Victory Tastes Yellow

Review: Schizopolis (1996)

2011-09-23T18:20:00.001-07:00

Find me another film that makes you say the words ‘Ker-fuck?’ every ten minutes. Yeah, there’s probably plenty… but shut up.

Called an “artistic awakening” in interviews, Schizopolis is a celebration of half-baked ideas and sight, sound, and editing gags, most of which are related directly to film as a storytelling medium. Built around it is the tiniest semblance of a plot tying together the few characters with actual names. Explaining what that is makes brain hurty so I won’t try. I’ll just say that the actual “story” part of the film begins to drag and fall apart on the asphalt as the third act rolls around.

Wielding the power of editing trickery and Python-like non-sequitors, Soderbergh constructs a film that says… something. Maybe about the uselessness of dialogue? Or the power of editing over a practically nonexistent story (he learned that in the last two films!). Or that film in general is dumb, real dumb, and can mean anything at any given time for any given person. Does he hate film? Possibly in a Terrence Malick sort of way. He does keep trying to retire.

For you meta-whores out there, attempting to interpret this scattershot film is exactly “the joke,” and might excuse its own failure to be coherent. It would delight Soderbergh to know that, in addition to enjoying the gags in the film, you attempt to navigate the quagmire and string together a structure that holds. Which would on one hand be a fool’s errand, the other giving him the power to state that you DO NOT GET IT.

Without the strength of its jokes, I could possibly hate this movie. I am frequently frustrated by “the setup is the whole joke, dummy, no, no, fuck you, I don’t need a punch line!” thing… sometimes it strikes me as laziness. Here, I have little doubt that the filmmaker at least knew what he was making, i.e. not inventing scenes on the fly the day-of-shoot, or sitting on his ass and filming the actors at a flat angle as they act “real,” like certain Sofia Coppolas out there. There’s drive and vision behind it, with about 40% of Soderbergh’s subconscious yapping at us. And there’s something satisfying about a narrative that doesn’t feel the need [FINAL THOUGHTS MISSING]

6.9/10

Review: Gray's Anatomy (1996)

2011-08-16T17:20:00.000-07:00

Keep your mind away from that awful show for a moment and try to remember that guy from The Paper, the one who tried to hire Michael Keaton away from his small time news rag. Yeah, he wasn’t too great in that… Okay, he’s Fran’s psychiatrist in The Nanny. That’s him. Him.

Spaulding Gray commits one of his stage monologues to film; a commentary on his search for a cure for his eye condition. He recounts advice from various sources and methods from various countries. Most end in some sort of full-circle punch line that is either amusing or sad, depending on the context. While Gray yacks at the camera, some set and compositional tricks move behind and around him, portraying the story in shadow or putting Gray in facsimiles of real settings.

Creativity credit goes to either Gray or Soderbergh for the staging; in Swimming to Cambodia, Gray sat in the same chair the entire time, which I’m more inclined to blame Jonathan Demme for doing because I hate that arrogant hackjob. Here, Anatomy’s crew gets all kinds of creative with set movements, shadow-play, projected backdrops, and changes in lighting. Also, Soderbergh breaks up Gray’s continuous monologue with interviews with people mentioned in Gray’s story and anecdotes from real people recounting unrelated eye injuries that frightened the shit out of them and by proxy, me, because eye injuries are fucked up.

Ultimately, enjoyment from this is inverse to how annoying Gray comes across. Anatomy works within a low maximum and high minimum, being One Thing for 80 minutes. But it’s a good Thing.

6.0/10

Review: Underneath (1995)

2011-03-12T12:45:00.000-08:00

This is much closer to what one would consider Modern Soderbergh -- color saturation, non-linear storytelling inspired heavily by Point Blank, time-saving jump-cuts. Instead of a gradual ascent we can clearly see a watermark for techniques that Soderbergh will use throughout the rest of his career. It makes it all the more tragic that the movie isn’t very good.

Through two different timelines, we learn of Michael Chambers’ (Peter Gallagher) past as a compulsive gambler and his burgeoning future as a co-conspirator in a bank robbery. Think about every heist film’s inside man and this is his story. Cornered by a desperate set of circumstances, Michael decides his only recourse is to help his ex-girlfriend’s crime lord boyfriend rob the bank Michael and his father-in-law go to sometimes so that he can take the money and save his ex-girlfriend from the crime lord’s clutches. Surprising revelations intersect with the plans too late in the game to avoid, causing predictably tragic outcomes.

Tarantino’s meteoric rise with Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs opened the flood gates to this type of modern gangster film, or Modern Noir with New Wave sensibilities. It’s why Danny Boyle got to make Shallow Grave, Paul Thomas Anderson got to make Hard Eight, why Suicide Kings exists and why Soderbergh got to do this (and later Out of Sight and the Limey). Basically, diverting strengths away from directors with other schemes in mind.

Soderbergh hides a weak story better in other cases. There is fun to be had in piecing together a linear narrative and seeing parallels in Michael’s psychology past and present; otherwise, there are no compelling reasons to like him or to empathize with the tragedy of his life because the story is funneled towards a foregone conclusion. There always seems to be a more sensible way out, or at the very least quicker way to get to his goal. As such, we are watching a man who cannot escape failure by “sheer velocity of mischief,” like in other movies. We get an impulsive, impotent coward who lives off of the charity of others until the urge to gamble his life away comes along. A man who right up to the end refuses to learn from his mistakes. A man who “should have never come back.”

There could be a good film in there somewhere; a lot of core ideas that drive a given scene are still visible, so without being emotionally involved, one can appreciate the creative decisions from afar. Using the Sex, Lies and Videotape method of characterization (documenting tiny nuances) ultimately doesn’t suit Underneath, and late-in-the-game suspense sequences that go nowhere aren’t helpful either. Oh and also the final scene of the film is stupid.

5.6/10

Review: King of the Hill (1993)

2010-10-24T14:53:00.000-07:00

Keep your mind away from Mike Judge for a moment and think Depression-era drama, starring a kid. Think Soderbergh’s first foray into eye-blasting color saturation, and return to really sweaty photography. Think the closest thing to American neo-realism a few steps back from 10 Items or Less. Think heavy character interaction without much of a plot to give them a structure to dance about in a jangly fashion. You’re here.

We watch a series of months in this kid Aaron’s life. He’s a good older brother, he stands up to bullies and excels in school, makes friends easily, rows with the Irish street cop… all in all he seems like a goodun in spite of fucking up in seldom-yet-major ways, some latent anarchism there, perhaps a type that will grow into one of them annoying artests. You know the kind, they write a book about their life years later and deny that they're proud of the crimes they got away with. Still, I can’t help but like him a little, thanks to Jesse Bradford’s performance… he’s the guy from Clockstoppers…

So, these series of events that happen alter his life like sudden jerks on a wheel but don’t have too lasting an impression on his life, (meaning “the movie,” I’m sure the character will remember that they happened). Aaron finds a dead body, almost crashes a car into a bunch of kids playing stickball, is trapped in all of his white lies at once, sees his mother off to a sanitarium, sees his brother off on a bus to granmama’s, watches a friend get arrested, almost starves to death, almost gets kicked out of his home, etc. etc. Until the film ends with the main players still alive, having learned… something…

Alternate title: Things That Happen Without Cohesion. Soderbergh might not have known what he was making, but it’s more likely that he relates to the material more than any of us ever will. This happens to filmmakers sometimes, and worst case scenario is a film that feels like a waste of time. Muddling it further is Cliff Martinez, a far cry from the Alice he will be in Traffic; he needs to ease up on the score a little.

For all intents and purposes, it’s the same film as Kafka: an individual as a tragic casualty in a world lorded by sinister figures in positions of authority, but played for whimsy from the eyes of a child. Then stuffed with nostalgia. Like all this shit already happened. You heard me, the eyes, damn you.

And like Kafka, this thing doesn’t have a region 1 DVD release. I have to settle for this VHS screener’s copy I stumbled across years ago. In an attempt to market it to these people and ease them into what they are about to experience, there are some blurbs on the back (in place of a plot description). One reads, “A thinking man’s Home Alone.” … I don’t think that’s what it is…

5.4/10

Review: Kafka (1991)

2010-10-03T23:08:00.000-07:00

This type of project has failed before. Hammett, also about a famous writer embroiled in a real mystery that somehow mirrors his fictional work, was an incredible misfire in all respects. Seriously, watch that fucking thing some time, try to comprehend its plot underneath all that inept directing and editing. Jesus. And that had two acclaimed directors working on it! How do you fuck that up?!

Oh, but not this, though. Sorry. This movie is awesome.

Lem Dobbs’s script reads like a test run for his later work, Dark City. It’s all about the ill-equipped Individual against a sinister, enslaving System perpetrating a bafflingly large experiment against The People. Unlike John Murdoch, Franz Kafka spends most of the movie ambivalent to the plot, skirting authoritarian and revolutionary alike and wanting nothing more than to be left alone. Much of the film’s action is Kafka suddenly involved in a chase, or an investigation he wants no part of, or as subject to an expository meeting. It is perhaps twenty minutes before the end of the film when he decides to man up and affect something.

Stylistically, the gulf between Kafka and Sex, Lies and Videotape is vast. Filmed in black & white (mostly) in Prague, Soderbergh creates an oppressive mood with dark alleyways that mirror the corridors of bureaucratic offices, and I suspect more than once directly referencing Orson Welles’s The Trial. Where Sex, Lies had a gritty, voyeuristic feel, this is like being trapped in an expressionist painting, shadows so sharp they'll cut ya.

If you didn’t love Jeremy Irons before (what’s wrong with you?), at least love him here. His standing performance alone carries the film beautifully, but his narration cracks with a strain that indicates a body supporting a monsterous, infinitely ancient world kept at bay from the mind. Plus I would totally be gay for that deep-ass voice of his.

It’s an incredibly smart story with incredibly smart casting and directing, the absolute ideal Second Project. Of Soderbergh’s, it’s the only one that vilifies a strong government rather than a strong corporation, and champions an individual for his own benefit and not one for the promise of social gain. It's also one of his best films.

7.5/10

Review: Sex, Lies and Videotape (1989)

2010-10-01T01:19:00.000-07:00

I can't imagine someone making a debut this way nowadays. It would either be a schlocky horror film with lots of tits or an abrasive, hard-to-see Dogme 95 film. Not many left would throw all of their budget into making a low-budget drama looking as understated as possible, the mantra "cast over equipment, cast over equipment!"

Peter Gallagher (John) is cheating on his wife Andy McDowell (Anne) with her sister Laura San Giacomo (Cynthia, and mmmm… mmhmmhmm…), when James Spader (Graham) comes along and disrupts their lives with his unusual method of masturbating. He is to marriage what Visitor Q is to family without that goddamn brick.

And that's pretty much it for the duration. It’s a thin premise that by appearance, only offers up future opportunities for sex-fucking. How else would you explain it to an investor? A man who films women merely talking about sex, not engaging in it, and this has the power to wake people out of an unhappy relationship. No sooner does Graham arrive than the affair falls apart and Anne finds out the truth without direct involvement on his part.

I suppose this isn’t entirely inaccurate in terms of how people actually operate within these situations. Sometimes the simple act of verbally confronting a habit is enough to spin people out of it. And Graham demonstrates an ease about sexuality that makes the other characters envious; even Cynthia, who is the movie’s slut. It’s only at the climax when Anne hijacks the moral high ground against Graham, just in case anyone thinks the film is saying that women should allow men to film them.

The climax, speaking of, is cumbersome. It sort of debases the truth manifest in the camera lens. Graham is made an actual person again. With a literal interpretation, it all seems too easy. The variant complexities of the characters fit into one another like a jigsaw. Cynthia goes and does art shit, John is left without a hole to fuck/cheat on and possibly declining status at work, which leaves Graham and Anne with each other.

It’s not an entirely satisfactory ending, but… it’s adequate, we’ll say. In spite of it, the story works. It doesn’t betray its internal logic and the filmmaking style doesn’t overtly attempt pretense with over-stylized bullshit, which one could argue permeates Soderbergh’s later work to a distracting degree.

6.5/10

Review: Yes: 9012 Live (1985)

2010-07-08T23:17:00.000-07:00

Yes: 9012 Live is not a narrative film. It is a concert film. Its enjoyability is largely dependent upon the person liking the band. I do not. I will attempt to offer insight by comparing it to the nearest thing I can think of…

Rick Springfield’s Beat of the Live Drum.

9012 begins with stock footage from a 50’s something-or-other about machines or music… some ridiculous illustration on how people don’t really act, I don’t know, followed by a bunch of weird special effects that imply this concert is taking place in a coliseum. In space. Then Yes plays for a bit. Their music is very shitty. Except for maybe "Hold On."

Beat of the Live Drum begins with a similar special effects shot of the exterior of a stadium, dark and shiny with a giant video screen that is too easy to realistically see. Rick Springfield begins to play. Their music is also shitty. Except for "Living in Oz."

Song after song by Yes is interrupted by strange special effects, our POV wandering down the Stock Footage Hallway, nightmarish collages of unrelated things, complete nonsense, exactly like Yes’ music. These things along with weird wipe-transitions disrupt the rhythm early on. Yes plays music as cameras film them. The crowd is obliterated by the harsh lights filming the stage and you have to wonder if anybody is actually enjoying the show.

Rick Springfield’s performance is supplemented by well-timed lighting, arcing cameras that mostly come in from below, and canned shots of an overacting audience in a soundstage miles away and filmed separately.

Much of the difference is here. Beat of the Live Drum is a product, one that comes in a slick package meant to sell the image of the band by making them look good and sound good (they’re miming, goddammit, they have to be!). Fincher makes them look like gods.

With Yes: 9012 Live, it eventually becomes clear that Soderbergh’s limited/failed approach produces one admirable thing: honesty. Yes sounds like they are supposed to sound... live, off-key, imperfect. There is nothing resembling a tarted-up lie, outside of the special effects transitions and the split-screen. What you can see of the concert is how they really look, however stupid, but only as long as you ignore the editing. Which brings me to…

Soderbergh’s Director’s Cut
For the DVD release, all of the special effects have been excised. The split-screens remain. Things are edited differently but I wouldn’t say better. While it is easier to focus on the actual concert, the camerawork and directing fail to sell the band as good performers or competent musicians. They look dead. I guess that's Yes' fault too.

Access All Areas
Also for the DVD release and far more interesting, and OH MY GOD it actually has some recognizable Soderbergh traits. Lotsa jump cuts and at least one shot that looks like it was taken out of Traffic. No dead weight, really; band and crew acting goofy before a gig. And Soderbergh even manages to capture some pretty heavy moments post-gig, a line "The magic is gone..." or something similar. That this not intercut with the above concert, The Last Waltz style, is a huge missed opportunity.

MTV 1’s growing empire in the 80's must have fueled these type of “films,” or hour-long advertisements for artists. The most flattering thing that can be said about them is that this is where at least two good directors have gotten their foot in the door. Soderbergh, however, appears to have saved all of his experimental gusto for other projects. Here, learned what not to do.

4.5/10

Review: Moon (2009)

2010-04-03T13:14:00.000-07:00

ABRIDGED SCRIPT/REVIEW FORMAT STOLEN FROM ROD HILTON BUT CURSE MY INABILITY TO MAKE IT LOOK AS GOOD

MOON

INT. GROUND STATION ON THE MOON

Sam Rockwell, tired of reading Merriam-Webster's definition of "Unfortunate Misfire" and only seeing the poster for Watchmen there, decides to mine for Moonium on the moon.

SAM ROCKWELL
I'm so glad I can be such an asset to this corporation and for everyone on Earth relying on this life-saving energy source. How prescient. Speaking of which, I think I get to go back soon, right Robot?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Yes, Sam, and it is very exciting. Would you a haircut or some dinner before you go?

SAM ROCKWELL
Sure, pal. Y'know, you seem... very intelligent for an articulated arm and some ball-bearings. We can carry on complex conversations and all. Why can't the company just put you in charge of this operation?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Because, Sam, that would spoil the secret concept operating behind the plot of this movie.

SAM ROCKWELL
Secret concept? I thought this was going to be about me going crazy from loneliness. What else could it be about?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Oh, you'll see...

EXT. OBVIOUS MINIATURE MOON LANDSCAPE

Sam Rockwell does work type-things in a crawler vehicle as his loneliness increases.

SAM ROCKWELL
Strange nightmares about my wife back on Earth, daylight hallucinations... I have to be going crazy. Even the awesome trailer for this movie said so. I- hey, what's that?

SAM is distracted by a THING, crashes his vehicle, and loses consciousness.

CUT TO:

INT. GROUND STATION

Sam Rockwell 2 suddenly wakes up on a hospital gurney.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Jesus, what the fuck just happened?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
You had an accident, Sam, and you need to rest. Please don't let my repeated insistence make you suspicious or anything.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Wow, you seem... very sophisticated, enough to be bad at lying. They really should have just let you man the station. Also, how did I get back here?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
STOP PRE-RUINING THE MOVIE. Now go to sleep and don't try to leave or anything.

Kevin Spacey-Bot floats away to do SECRET STUFF. Sam 2 follows and catches a snippet of a conversation between him and some CORPORATE SUITS on a monitor.

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Sam, what a shock to see you out of bed. Did you catch any
of that?

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Just enough to be incriminating, but oddly enough, my only question is why you're using the monitor. If you're connected to the station's systems, you could bypass any interface to send a message. It's just data.

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Very interesting, I will contemplate this-

Sam 2 busts open a valve that spills cheap CGI while Kevin Spacey-Bot is distracted.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Oh fuckle. Guess this means I have to go outside and fix it.

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Damn the conspirators' inability to make vital systems unavailable to you, thus making it easy to figure out THE SECRET.

CUT TO:

EXT. MINIATURE MOONSCAPE

Sam Rockwell 2 takes a spare spacesuit and a spare crawler (it had some) out to the site of the crawler accident. There he finds... another Sam Rockwell! Uh... the first one to be exact!

CUT TO:

INT. GROUND STATION

Injured SAM ROCKWELL 1 wakes up on a hospital bed with SAM ROCKWELL 2 brooding in the background.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
This is odd... there appears to be two of me. How weird. I will continue to have a nonplussed to reaction to this and only sorta try to figure this situation out, as it is progressing totally unlike what I imagined. Uh... Robot?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
No help from me until you ask again later.
(wheels away clunkily)

SAM ROCKWELL 1
And what about you, Other Me?

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Not really up for it. I mean, I was up for breaking shit a half an hour ago because of the tiniest of reasons, but now that I'm confronted with this huge proof of SOMETHING WRONG, I'm opting to be an insufferable dick for a bit, just to show off my ability to act to myself.

He does that for an incredibly irritating amount of time.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Okay, then. I wonder... for what reasons would I be having this hallucination? Why would I feel the need to split myself apart? Perhaps this is an id/ego thing, and sooner or later the superego is going to show up and explain it all. Or it has no meaning, other than my psyche creating a conflict to combat the mundane activies on the station. Surely some complex psychological reasons are afoot-

SAM ROCKWELL 2
I got it. We're clones.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
... Clones, did you say?

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Yes.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
... Okay, why?

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Think about it, man. It's cheaper for a company to-

SAM ROCKWELL 1
No no no no! This is one of those movies?! It can't be! You're just jumping to the first available conclusion. It's early yet, something else will develop.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
(long pause)
Help me look for the secret door to the clone facility.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Jesus H Chist! Robot, this shit isn't true, is it?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Afraid so, Sam. Right on the money.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
But how, how is that right on the money? Even if we are clones, they wouldn't keep the cloning facility here. What if we happened to stumble across it? Besides, Robot has no way of transporting us from the growth tube to the hospital gurney. How-

Sam Rockwell 2 kicks open a hatch and they find the hidden room with a bunch of clones.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
... Well, I'll be damned.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Convinced?

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Only that this is fucking retarded. Look at the size of this fucking room. Explain to me how this is cheaper.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
I don't have time to explain how it's cheaper. I forgot to mention that I caught Robot ordering a rescue team to our location. Since the company has done nothing but lie to us so far, obviously "Medivac" means "Kill Squad" in corporate lingo.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Just as much of a leap as your other theory, but that turned out to be true, so this is too I guess. I mean, it's still stupid. We're on the fucking moon. They can deny us any means of communication and therefore any method of exposing THE SECRET, right Robot?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Actually, Sam, you'd be surprised how much is available on this rock. Just enough for everything to go wrong with their operation, actually.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
That means there must be an antennae jamming the signal to Earth! Quickly, let's go find it!

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Goddammit...

Sam Rockwell 2 goes and does that for a bit while Clint Mansell uses ambient noises to produce a score. Sam Rockwell 1 drives around too but gives up because he's bored. And sick and whatnot.

INT. GROUND STATION

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Robot, I'd like more confirmation on this matter. How would I go about getting that?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Easy, Sam.

Robot plays tapes of all the other Sam Rockwell clones getting sick and also getting vaporized in a chamber that is supposed to send them home.

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Well, they're consistently terrible conspirators, at least. Although the smart thing to do would be to vaporize me before I start getting sick.

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
That would eliminate opportunites to be lazily tragic. Speaking of which, Other Sam has found a way through the jamming signal. Would you like to call your wife and daughter on Earth?

SAM ROCKWELL 1
Am I going to say anything useful to them?

KEVIN SPACEY-BOT
Oh heavens no.

Sam 1 does that, then gets sick some more. Sam 2 returns, having found the jamming dish.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
I say we smuggle you into the Moonium capsule and send you home while I stay here and hold off the away team.

SAM ROCKWELL
Nah, why don't you go? I'm too depressed about the way this all turned out to care about going to Earth. But aren't you worried that the Moonium Capsule won't keep you alive?

SAM ROCKWELL 2
I'll bring an air tank.

SAM ROCKWELL
But what about the temperature? And the entry into the Earth's- you know what, fuck it, I'm sure it will be fine.

SAM ROCKWELL 2
One more thing we need to do is have Robot create one more clone, so they think we're both still here for as long as possible.

SAM ROCKWELL
But won't they kill the new clone immediately? Doesn't that go against this entire theme of "Every life, even that of a clone, is precious"?

SAM ROCKWELL 2
(shrugging)
Feh.

Sam Rockwell 2 erases Kevin Spacey-Bot's memory by pressing one button and rockets away in capsule while Sam Rockwell 1 stays behind and is killed by the very mean Medivac team.

INT. MOONIUM CAPSULE

SAM ROCKWELL 2
Hmm. Maybe Sam 1 was making sense... how is this cheaper for a corporation to do? Why couldn't they hire a team of illegal immigrants with no social security numbers? They do dangerous work for practically nothing. Maybe illegal immigration isn't a problem in the future...

The CODA tells us that it is.

THE END

5.4/10

Review: Bodigaado Kiba (1993)

2010-03-12T04:04:00.000-08:00

Bodigaado Kiba (that's Bodyguard Kiba to you, I guess?) protects people for money. Sometimes that means protecting frightened American businessmen from random assassins merely to establish that he protects people for money. Kiba also gets assignments from the master of his Dojo, and apparently it's a huge fucking deal to be a part of a Dojo and to war with other Dojos in other regions. Kiba is a very nice man but will punch things when he must, and he mostly must. Very suddenly, he will get a weird "Years Later..." jump that doesn't appear to change any of the characters' appearance or context, and Kiba will get a new assignment wrought with danger and sudden fits of battling.

Takashi Miike made the jump from television director to film director here, and the difficulty in pinpointing his style is even more difficult. Everything is simply executed, to the V-formation dialogue scenes to the cutaway-filled fight scenes. Like most of his films, there is a diametric emphasis on movement behind characters who are still, which meshes weird in a punchpunch movie. I think here is where he learned to control violence involving a crowd of actors in a small location. Miike's favorit-ist thing to do is put two characters against a giant moving body of water. WHATSITMEAN?

So anyhow. Story consits of following Kiba as he protects his client. Obstacles appear in his way. A conflict arises and continues without much of his involvement. Will the good guys survive? Yeah...

Oh, another word on this early Miike: that television work must have done a number on him because as soon as he gets the chance to do a sex scene, OH MAN does he ever do one. His characters are drenched in sweat, the lens is burned with red light and Miike gets positions, positions, close-ups of bouncing tits, more positions... god, I get it, sheesh. Although I suppose I should be enjoyed this celebration of two characters who love each other because very very soon, it's all RAPE RAPE RAPE.

Bodyguard Kiba a straight-forward, low budget, modern kung-fu film that is easy enough to watch other than it looks like it was made a decade before it actually was. I suppose it could have been worse.

5.2/10

Review: Inglourious Basterds (2009)

2010-03-09T19:52:00.000-08:00

I have a strange relationship with this film. Seeing it in the theatre, I admired it at the time for having dialogue scenes lasting longer than five minutes and portraying historically notorious villains with things like motivations and personality, especially in an era where most films consider it unnecessary. On this day, where the projector failed FOR REAL during an important moment at the climax, I was left unsure about certain misgivings but felt content to say that the above aspects were what saved it.

Finally seeing it again, all the way through... I'm not so sure anymore.

There was a time when Quentin Tarantino's fragmented films could stand up to the highest levels of scrutiny. His scripts for True Romance and Natural Born Killers passed the ultimate test: being placed in chronological order. Jackie Brown, which now seems like a different century altogether, was his worst (unless you count Four Rooms) but remains interesting in repeat viewings; it has strong characters and a strong script, and the worst aspect of it is, dare I say it, the style he chose to do it in.

After a short hiatus, entering this sort of grace period wrought with denial on my part, Kill Bill is released in two "volumes" and carries some problems Tarantino's previous films don't have. Then Death Proof, part of a larger Grindhouse project and a little difficult to hold up to the same level of scrutiny, also has problems that one can forgive only if the rest is deemed worth the effort.

Now to Inglourious Basterds, and it's time to declare the grace period OVER. Tarantino had been talking about this film for awhile, and I don't know what I imagined other than "How is he going to fit a trunk POV shot into the story? Do WWII tanks have trunks?" For awhile, I think Michael Madsen and John Travolta were in it as Vega grandfathers and the title was "Untitled World War Two Epic." What would that film have been like?

Better, maybe. I'm told that, if this is a remake, it shares about as much kinship with the original Bastards as John Carpenter's The Thing does with the 50's version. Here, not even in name! So it's either a complete reimagining of the original with very little sense of loyalty to it, or it's an original screenplay retitled to tie into a 70's zeitgeist, as if his stlye weren't enough. Or he couldn't think of a better title.

Conspiracy theory time: this could be another case of Tarantino being dicked around by the Weinsteins. They used a Hanzo sword to cut Kill Bill into two separate releases, undermarketed the Grindhouse project, and shooting down the 'Once Upon a Time in Nazi-Occupied France' title, they say "Well, you can't put Bastard in a title. Fix it." And I think that same pressure forced Tarantino to make, I'll use his words, a "leaner, more concise film." Let's break it down.

1) Villains are introduced.
2) Title characters are introduced.
3) Third lead introduced/revenge plot formed.
4) Brief scene in Britain introducing a character that will die in the subsequent scene.

We are now halfway through a 2 1/2 hour movie.

5) Title characters appear in their second scene, half of them die.
6) Third lead refines revenge plot/title characters refine assassination plot.
7) Climax with all characters.

With the words 'leaner, more concise' reverberating in the background, I can see where those missing scenes would go. In a perfect world, Inglourious Basterds would be a well-researched but dramatically-deviated action film set during WWII. Aldo Raine would spend over half the film on a Nazi-killing warpath unbound by the Geneva Convention. Meanwhile, paralelling Patton's advance on Europe, the top brass could find ways to channel this into a strategic advantage, eventually happening upon the assassination plot to end the war. While this is going on, and entirely unrelated subplot about a Jewish girl escaping execution and stumbling across an opportunity to wreak vengeance on the man who killed her family is hatched coincidentally at the same time the Basterds' plot is to go down. Will she fuck up the plan? Who will survive? In a perfect world, this film would be 4 hours long.

On Shadow Earth, it's probably fantastic. Here, on Normal Earth (is it called Normal Earth?), we have to settle for the above bullet points. Point 1 is a brilliant way to begin the film, like Sergio Leone's insistence that it takes ten minutes for somebody to walk through a door. The tension rises beautifully, due to the unspoken deceptions going on during the dialogue. Things going on! Imagine!

I'll skip ahead here to Point 5, a scene that equals Point 1 when taken independantly from the rest of the film. A long conversation ends in a too-brief shootout and a lazy-ass killtransition to the next scene, what is basically the climax. Characters that we barely had any time to get to know are killed, setting the stage for a stupid, stupid plan. Its construction, however, is amazing. Tarantino is good at this, which I guess means he is good at fooling me.

Being "lean and concise," without MORE movie, these scenes are padding, set pieces at best. An ample amount of time is spent with Point 3 and her revenge scheme. On Shadow Earth, I would welcome the time spent with open arms. Here, it throws the film incredibly off-balance as it isn't broken apart and it takes too goddamn long.

At Point 7. We've spent two scenes with the title characters and have accelerated very suddenly to this assassination plot which feels in the film exactly as it feels outside of it: rushed, destined to fail. Plotlines don't so much converge as they do end in the same location. Both assassinations succeed anti-climactically (anti-historically) and due mainly to the conscious actions of the FILM'S VILLAIN.

This idea, that the war is ended by the enemy's participation, cannot be grappled with as it makes no statement about anything. There isn't a 'necessary evil' theme until this point, nor is there one about Aldo Raine learning to compromise until now. As it relates to Hans Landa, it doesn't even fit his character. He liked hunting Jews for the Reichsland, but now all of a sudden he doesn't. Okay, so what it is, then, is another attempt to fool me. I sure didn't see this ending coming... because it makes no sense!

It's one thing when a filmmaker is eventually crushed spirit-and-all by the weight of his environment, it's another when the machine is chruning slowly and the last functioning neurons are still firing. Great scenes are created in an otherwise frustrating, lazy excuse for a film.

6.5/10

Review: Extract (2009)

2010-02-03T20:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Michael Rotenberg,

Every time I go to conventions, nerds won't leave me alone about Office Space. That horrible experience earns me more praise than Beavis and Butthead and King of the Hill combined, and I can't for the life of me figure out why. Usually, it's the broad caricatures that win people over in mass droves, not the accurate, tight-knit commentary on paper-pushers. This, and a weird reverse-marketing phenomenon caused by 20th Century Fox's burial of Idiocracy leads me to believe that my name alone has enough Cult Pull to make a third comedy on a modest budget. I was thinking about something a little quieter, a little easier to do; I want to make an ensemble piece, what would be like Altman's Short Cuts, but funnier or whatever.

I have some scripts for short films, left over from when I went to college. To summarize, they are:

1) A story about a guy who loses his balls in a freak factory accident.
2) A guy who pays somebody to seduce his wife so he can cheat on her guilt-free.
3) A couple lives next to a neighbor who won't leave them alone, and when they finally snap on him, the neighbor dies of a heart attack (this will be funnier when you read the script).
4) A guy tries to get out of smoking weed with his friends because he gets paranoid, but he ends up smoking some anyway. Then he gets punched in the face (this will be funnier when you read the script).
5) A hot girl cons people out of stuff because she's hot.
6) Gene Simmons is a lawyer.

Blending these together in the right way can create a life-is-hell, people-are-dumb theme that has worked so well for me in the past, and the ensemble nature means we don't have to rush anything.

Let me know what you think.

-Mike Judge

YO MIKE:

That ensemble thing sounds stupid, and nobody likes those. All the rest sounds great tho! I dont know how you can get all of these elements to work in ONE STORY about ONE GUY, but you can pull it off i'm sure without making it seem like a total clusterfuck of stupid ideas! We can cast the Arrested Development guy to really reel in those Cult suckers, even if you cant make it work Fuck em they'll see anything.

Love Michael Rotenberg

P.S. last night's episode of the Goode Family was great!

4.8/10

Review: Avatar (2009)

2010-01-17T01:47:00.000-08:00

Continuing 2009's trend of movies that don't deserve to make as much money as they do but do so because a large amount of people are very fucking stupid, we have Avatar, James Cameron's first technical theatrical release in over ten years. What did Cameron do before that? Well, he did a student film I have never seen, a terrible low-budget sequel to a barely watchable Joe Dante film, pissed Harlan Ellison off, pissed Ridley Scott off, made an environmentalist-agenda film used as an excuse to show off special effects, the greatest action film of all time (probably), a good action film, the best 3-D film of all time (to this day), a good romantic drama, a what-the-hell-is-this-thing, Dark Angel, ruined Solaris, made an uninteresting documentary, another fucking Titanic documentary jesus shut up already, a weird thing that doesn't appear to be available anywhere, and- oh, we're caught up. Before Avatar, Cameron was also somewhere in my top five directors, but... we'll get to that.

Avatar begins with a barrage of information about this world we are about to enter. PLEASE PUT ON YOUR THREE-DIMENSIONAL SIMULATORS NOW. Apparently important information (i.e. informaton that pertains to nothing plot important, really) is that hypersleep sucks ass, Jake Sully's twin brother is dead and it is very sad, and that he has inherited a high-profile and extremely expensive project without doing all the hard work. He gets an all-expenses-paid trip to dangerous planet Pandora and, hey, because he's a cripple and gots nothing better to do, let's do it, semper fi.

All of this is told through a voice-over that, one would think, would either continue throughout the film or end as soon as they show the reason behind it: his first video log entry. SHUT OFF VIDEO LOG, FADE IN TITLE. But nope, you can expect it to appear sporadically when the storytelling gets lazy.

Information left curiously absent includes details about the Avatar Project that Jake has been thrust into. Instance: If resources are scant then how can this project exist if both military personnel and the corporation funding the operation on Pandora find it useless? Fuck you, you don't get to know. There is absolutely no other way to communicate with the Na'vi or collect plant samples other than using these engineered Blue Things? Fuck you, no. If you die in the Matrix, do you die in the real world? Fuck your mouth shut, stupid, and watch the pretty things that are behind the other pretty things.

And that's one word that is mind-numbingly appropriate for Avatar: pretty. Cameron took great pains to make the movie 1) beautiful, 2) well-designed. Everything about Pandora wildlife looks like it actually exists. For certain, Cameron is finally putting all that underwater study to good use... making a movie that won't take the time to create three-dimensional characters but create three-dimensional special effects. Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen.

It's not early on that the movie falls apart. We have a silent explanation for Jake accepting the Pandora Job: solely so he could drive a Thing with legs. While it's over quick and effectively eliminates any interesting dilemmas developing in the future by making his eventual betrayal an OBVIOUS CHOICE, it alone serves more a purpose than what the film then uses him for: running around with curiously one-dimensional Sigourney Weaver Blue Thing, looking at plants and collecting specimins. Uh... why do they need Jake again? Oh right, shut up, I remember.

Well, what you can do is force the movie to make sense by bringing a bunch of information to it, if that helps. Weaver brings in Jake to fill the Blue Thing body so her budget isn't cut, keeping up a false pretense to keep her position on the planet and satisfy the also-curiously-one-dimensional Giovanni Ribisi. Fine, but imagining that this is the case makes me think of a better movie that just didn't happen, a movie that spends its time giving me pertinent information, rather than wasting it as much as it wastes its talented actors. That's called RATIONALIZING, my psychologist girlfriend tells me.

Sully becomes a valuable member to both sides, to the military for providing strategic information, scientific information to the scientists, and... uh... cute comic distraction to the Blue Things, I guess. All the while we wait for Might-As-Well-Be-A-Racist-Tornado Military Man to do something heinous or shifty-eyed science nerd to betray Jake. The runtime goes up and up and the 3-D glasses hurt more and more as you try in vain to see Zoe Saldana's Blue Tits. By the end, everything has built to this point at the end that makes all the previous two hours an excuse... an excuse to have a large, effects-driven battle between two easily indentifiable sides, the villains being the biggest, easiest targets in any film (besides Nazis): human (American) CEOs, human (American) military. These two groups will always fuck things up and no one will care when their ranks die horribly, because hey, they spend 24/7 being huge dicks.

So... this formulation is obvious because we have seen this story before, haven't we? Yeah... King Kong. Peter Jackson's King Kong. The millions of dollars spend on facial capture technology, fantastical locale created entirely on bluescreen, an unfocused script that goes all over the place, one-dimensional characters, environmentalist message brought to you by a giant hammer that doesn't stop hitting you in the face, and an overwhelming amount of praise by the audience. Good lord, both even have a director that was a whole lot better in the 90's! I'm onto something.

Slightly softening the blow of James Cameron dipping so low after being so high for so long is not revisiting Titanic, considered by some to be one of the most overrated films of the 90's, but revisiting another film of Cameron's that is most similar to Avatar: The Abyss.

Like Avatar, The Abyss showed a conflict between benign scientists, hardened marines acting irrationally, and a third party of unknown lifeforms caught in between. Its third act makes a large case for environmentalism and points a big accussing finger at the human race for being just s'darn destructive. And of course, like Avatar, its final theme-push is a big anti-human statement that says 'you are only best as you are about to die.' Both movies are also overly-long and masturbate to the point of chafing, but what The Abyss does in the details makes it marginally better than Avatar. For one, Michael Biehn's character isn't a racist tornado, meaning he isn't 'just an asshole.' The story thinks up a reason for his sudden irrationality quite nicely, and as the film goes on, it becomes clear that the only way to solve this matter is to ice his ass. GOOD. What's better is that his role is only an obstacle. The story is still all about first contact with an unknown lifeform, and Biehn's insanity is secondary to that goal, and doesn't disappear once he is gone. Overall it's a tighter narrative and a more effective story (except for the ending, which sucks).

I've been convinced recently that Avatar also needed a nuke, somewhere.

It sounds dismissive to bring up all this 'environmentalist agenda' stuff, like that's what is bothering me. It isn't. The best example I can think of is Princess Mononoke, a movie that couldn't be any more anti-industry, pro-nature if it tried. However, Princess Mononoke doesn't preach, it demonstrates a struggle between two sides that have their merits and their failings. Its villain is barely a villain, one whose goal is understandable and, depending on where your values lie, preferable. Mononoke has an environmentalist message, but it's one that I can live with, because it makes its case. Avatar insists that its own message is self-evident.

But try telling all this to someone who loved the movie. They won't listen, or they'll shrug and say something like, "I'm a girl, I like pretty things." The current hysteria is baffling (note: as of writing this, Avatar is #37 on IMDB's 250 highest ranked films; Mononoke is at #120), and is incredibly frustrating that I have to keep talking about this fucking thing, politely. It's all I can do to keep from grabbing people by the throat and yelling "The Emperor doesn't have clothes! LOOK!"

Because he doesn't, y'know.

5.4/10

Review: Primer (2004)

2009-11-16T15:30:00.000-08:00

I'll admit that I have two weakness. The first: Chocodiles. Those things are fucking delicious. The second: Time travel. (If you were going to say my second weakness was "connecting ideas" then you're an asshole).

Time travel as a subject (or a subsubgenre) has the power to elevate any material from boring to not-quite-as-boring, from romantic comedies to, uh, other things. Not to say there haven't been bad time travel films; there are at least a couple. Time travel has, however, yielded more benefits than detriments. It began a more mature era of Harry Potter films, the best action film ever made, an okay-by-me Van Damme film, a Terry Gilliam film that *gasp* made a profit, at least one good Supernatural episode with TWO DEAN WINCHESTERS, and in fiction, Steve Aylett's best book and the return of the good Palahniuk novel.

But until I saw Primer, I hadn't really seen ANY grounded science in the mix. Being a largely theorhetical/impossible concept, it was more of a speculative excuse for the average man to wield power, or fix his life, or have wacky time-related deaths-by-paradox. Primer is an injection of adrenaline in a long-atrophied muscle.

After a dark sign of things to come in the form of a gruff voice over coming in on the receiving end of a telephone line, Primer showers us all in a technobabble bath, one that doesn't actually stop until the movie ends. Nearest I can tell, most of the technobabble in the first 15 minutes is useless to the time travel element and functions only to establish that the two main characters and their friends test things in their garage and are attemtping to create something innovative and most importantly, profitable.

In what is perhaps unique to time travel films, there is nothing obviously wrong about the main characters' lives. They have well-paying jobs, one of them has a wife and a house, and they enjoy a steady social life outside of work. Once they stumble across the time travel formula, there's no real incentive to meddle with the continuum outside of 'Let's see what happens.'

At the risk of ruining the plot (the film is only 77 minutes long so any specific detail is dangerously close to spoling the entire thing), I will just say that 'Ho man do they ever see.' Er, 'What happens, that is.' Even Primer's trailer has to resort to being incredibly misleading in order to sidestep ruination.

Being totally in the dark to the film's nuances is part of the experience, or in my case, continuing experience. The issues in sound design and acting quality, largely due to the budget, are unfortunate but not totally damaging. I love it. Carruth has created a complex story that refuses to hold my hand or promise an easy solution. Good.

7.8/10

Review: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)

2009-07-09T02:07:00.000-07:00

Darren Lynn Bousman is a goddamn cunt and I hope the guy from Buffy fucks him to death.

Whoa. I'd better start over.

I DO NOT LIKE DARREN LYNN BOUSMAN'S FILMS BECAUSE I DO NOT THINK HE IS A GOOD DIRECTOR.

There we go.

Thankfully, after somebody told him that he was the Joel Schumacher of the Saw franchise (and left it in the hands of probably somebody worse, I don't know), he decided to pursue other projects. Bousman's first choice was an off-Broadway opera (operetta?) where, if the movie is anything like the stage production, every lyric of dialogue is belted out in the same monotonous rhyme pattern and features lines like "Cursed by my genetics!!!" Did she mean genes?

What snagged me and near-filled me to the brim with hope is the plot: In a future where organ failure is an apparent constant concern due to pollution (message), healthy organs from the GeneCo are a recession-proof addition to the market. Payment plans are available for those with low-income, but if you miss a payment, they send the Repo Man to cut you the fuck open and reappropriate the liver, the lungs, penis and what-have-you.

It sounded radical! But Bousman's involvement in directorial capacity still incited some concerns; he's a child throwing dark watercolors at a canvas in a way that SORTA KINDA MAYBE looks like it would work when fitted into the full landscape. "Who cares though, just get the smoke in there and light it with some flourescents and we'll fix it later even though we probably can't. Put it on the fridge, ma." He can't even imitate a directorial style, so how in the name of Barny Juno can he carry his own film?

Answer: He can't, and probably never will.

The rigid driving force of any musical, follow me, is the music. Characters can monologue and converse and lament about how they are cursed by an entire scientific field -- it is all accepted if the music is adequate, better if it is good, best if the scenes themselves aren't treated like they are set to rules in actual theatres. Since Repo! fails effectively at all three, there is little that can be reappropriated. (And I read somewhere that Bousman did direct some Repo! stage performances... really?!)

The plot is pure convoluted Shakespearian tragedy that has been obsolete for a very long time, so very fucking long, I'm not kidding, I fucking mean it. If every character has to die, surely there are ways that aren't caused by LACK OF COMMUNICATION and INCESSANT BITCHING. I really do want to care about these people, and if they all deserve it, you're wasting my fucking time.

If not the story, the characters, the directing or the music, what then? ... Violence? Sure, who doesn't like violence. The thing is, gore with Bousman is plentiful, but never effective. Any makeup artist worth half his weight in Geldons can get the blood the correct color and skin the correct consistency, but if you treat these gifts like a chew toy, it will not come across. Violence is an involved and intimate practice, and in a film where the main character is opening people up and stealing vital components of their continued existence, often while they are still conscious, it should hurt to watch. Even in hyper-reality I can extend some empathy if the movie obeys its theme. Something that rips off Phantom of the Opera so heavily in that department, I should feel guilt directly after sympathising with the Repo Man. I do not.

Repo! The Genetic Opera is a masters course on what not to be, how not to act, and better than Bryan Singer could have ever taught you, how to not make a good film.

4.0/10

Review: Duplicity (2009)

2009-06-12T02:07:00.000-07:00

I'd like to briefly point out a small phenomenon that only I find interesting.

Billy Ray, a screenwriter skilled in writing quickfire military/industry-speak, shot a moderately-budgeted but kickass biopic, proving his ability to direct a film. His second film contained elements that made the first film good, but was mostly a palpable step down.

Tony Gilroy, another screenwriter skilled at writing quickfire military/industry-speak, also hit the streets with a great debut and proved his worth. His second film (not to ruin the forthcoming review) was also a step down, this time a considerable gap in quality to the first one. (Asidenote: weirdly, Gilroy and Ray both wrote the script for State of Play, which is exactly why I am avoiding it).

The above formula does not bode well for Rian Johnson, who parallels closer to Tony Gilroy only in that Johnson's second film is also 1) a con film, and 2) a comedy. But here's hoping the poor kid doesn't somehow reverse the prestige built by Brick, har har

Anyway, enough of that. Duplicity (by Gilroy, remember) begins with a 'years earlier' subtitle and since this is a spy slash con film, that means 'PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION' in my language. Note the location, the attitudes, the background characters, and Clive Owen's broken leg filling the frame. Note especially every word he says to Julia Roberts since this is their first meeting. This technique is taught at the David Mamet school of filmmaking, films that will pull a con on you WITHOUT YOU KNOWING YOU WERE EVEN WATCHING A FILM ABOUT CONS and the like. Hell, watch The Sting and you'll get it: collect the pieces, put them in order before the film does it for you and makes you feel like a mowgli.

The movie builds past the opening scene and wheels into the 'current time' subtitle with Clive Owen following some guy (take notes) and brandishing a small Rubik's cube (take particular note). He finds out that his contact is Julia Roberts, gets upset, and has a slightly-clever-yet-extremely-long verbal throwdown with her. They reluctantly decide to work together. Next, cue long expositional scene of what exactly they are working on: hostile corporate backstabbings over the secret formula to some miracle product (take a fuckload of notes). Clive goes home and the film reveals a not-at-all surprising plot twist and another tedious flashback ensues (take notes, just in case). In 'current time' Clive and Roberts put their plan into motion, attempting to get their hands on the miracle formula and sell it while the two companies sue each other into oblivion. Everything is going according to plan until Clive does something stupid and Julia gets angry, casting a small ineffective seed of doubt into the mix. Bad jokes about baldness. Another tedious flashback. Bad jokes about pizza. (Take notes out of habit). Some time passes and the climax happens, which without any reason to give a shit, resorts to loud music to increase the tension. The con fails... except that it doesn't. And then it does. OR DOES IT? Throw all of your notes away, they apparently don't mean fucking anything.

So... what just happened? Fucking shit happened. Some asshole orchestrated a con offscreen, before the movie began, used two unlikable spies as pawns to make some other asshole look like a mowgli for his own amusement. That's all. And what better way to tell the story than from the perspective of characters who have so little to do with the main action of the story. Like if R2-D2 and 3-PO never left the frame while Luke and Han shot down TIE Fighters nearby.

OR all of this was a metaphor for the inherent anger and mistrust in real-life relationships, that whether you're fucking in a hotel in an idyllic foreign country or spending a bunch of time stealing a secret formula by using the wire-tapped photocopier in an office building when you could have TAKEN A PICTURE OF IT WITH YOUR FUCKING PHONE THE ENTIRE TIME, as long as you're doing it together, that's what matters.

Never mind that Mr. and Mrs. Smith did that exact same shit, but funnier. And with GUNS.

4.9/10

Review: The Dark Knight (2008)

2009-05-18T03:11:00.000-07:00

What a difficult review to write.

Way back before the trailers for The Dark Knight showed that it looked nothing at all well okay maybe a little bit like Batman Begins (and both display the trailer editor's odd fixation on in-jokes/ironic statements centered around a fancy dinner), I'll admit there was only a slim chance of The Dark Knight ever interesting me. At least this time they gave the impression that Nolan was actually qualified to direct a Batman film, rather than in principle. After enough time passed and I managed to secure a place at table 2 in Nerd Hell, I was off to the midnight screening.

The Dark Knight is a product that I can mostly be happy with. It is an exciting story, long but well-paced, with interesting psychological interaction between the characters, a genuinely frightening and brilliantly portrayed villain, and some well-directed action scenes (finally, Nolan, sheesh). Bale's Bat-voice has improved (but still isn't good), and his face no longer pokes out from the mask like an inflated balloon. Rachel Dawes has morphed into a better actress, who can lend some amount of credibility to an unbelievable amount of one-dimensional bitchiness. Still present is the justification of an ever-compromising base of morals. I put it down to Nolan's British sensibilities; Altruism Over All is engrained into his DNA. The Dark Knight does better to hide it behind scenes of a man in clown makeup blowing things up. And the film is really, really good when you watch it after Batman Begins.

As if the Academy's practice of giving awards to dead people weren't enough, I'll address it once again -- yes, Ledger's performance is one to behold, but to the point where there is a feeling of guilt that comes from the enjoyment of his scenes. The HERO should be this likable, not the villain. Joker gets all the great lines, the oppotunity to cut faces, etc, while Batman scowls and bitches about not getting pussy from his unworthy lady friend. Scenes showcasing a character possessing wit, strength, intelligence, and a clear set of goals give way to scenes showcasing a character possessing reluctance, weakness, and with no clear goal other than "do what's best for Gotham, at any cost, unless you agree to love me, Rachel."

What I was hoping for was the final stage in Batman's development, from the line "I know what I have to become to stop men like him," a hero who gets in close to what he views as wrong and fights it head-on, devoid of all doubt. He does breach that wall, but in such a way that does not upset the values built by Batman Begins; he is not the one doing the judging, but an unseen, objective, metaphysical concept of right and wrong is what fells these villains. Batman needs only prevent the volitional, single-minded men from acting. Good in the common man (and apparently incarcerated criminal alike) will spontaneously manifest at just the right moment and IT WILL ALL WORK OUT SOMEHOW. Batman will set up The Patriot Act and reap its benefits, but will claim no responsibility in using it himself.

I never wanted Batman portrayed as a pulsating, freshly-fucked cunt, legs spread wide to allow entry, thrust, and release so you can go home and pretend you don't hate your wife and kids. I never saw him as a whore willing to do whatever I needed, nor would I wish that presented as something to admire (but not emulate, because if I emulated it he would tie me up next to Scarecrow and leave me for the police). Overloading him with weakness is not proof or biproduct of a three-dimensional character.

What I'm left with is a film that I enjoy begrudgingly, only if I can ignore the film's theme and Batman himself. Quantifying that is a goddamn ordeal.

Now that the Two Batman Films Only rule has been reached, I hope Nolan will continue working with his brother on adaptations, remakes of mediocre foreign films, and entirely original scripts centered around a narrative device. Because FUCK is he good at those.

7.0/10

Review: Twilight (2008)

2009-03-17T05:52:00.000-07:00

Math question: Is a vampire still a vampire if he 1) no longer feeds on humans, 2) is no longer killed by sunlight, 3) cannot shapeshift into any desired form, be it animal or swollen fog, 4) can still bite someone and not necessarily turn them into a vampire?

Twilight asks this question without ever asking it directly. It presents the term 'vampire' as a vague representation, a blanket that can cover whatever it wants, some of which are sexual aspects popularized by Anne Rice, others that are inventions of the author probably due to some unresolved and improperly tended fetishes.

In any art form, it is not a requirement for the material to conform to the formulas set by previous works. Isabella Swan, the main character played by Kristen Stewart who is for once not being terrorized in a house, arrives at a new school in the Pacific Northwest, pale, bulemic and smack dab in the middle of a painful 3-parent situation (how tragic). In spite of being crippled by what could be an obvious dramatic device, she has no problem making friends or attracting members of the opposite sex. She isn't bullied by teachers or her fellow students. Her father is the soulful, quiet chief of police, the furthest thing from an asshole or a creep. He buys Bella a truck and mostly leaves her alone, only attempting once or twice to connect with her.

Bella's first meeting with Edward (equally pale) is watching him rush out of class after she steps in front of a revolving fan. Other than this, there is no obvious indication that vampires are about to occur. The slow buildup to the revelation of a larger world underneath the normal one is actually (and surprisingly) well done. A rational, non-supernatural explanation is offered for every strange thing that Bella sees about and around Edward until he saves her from being crushed by a van. Then, it is only inevitable that she finds out: he is one of them 'pires.

It pretty much goes downhill from there.

Edward has heightened senses, super strength/speed, and a thirst for blood (which he sates by feeding on animals, calling the practice "vegetarian"). He sparkles in the sunlight like a Christmas ornament, but cannot shapeshift. He controls his filthy vampire urges enough to keep from biting his classmates. For fun, he plays vampire baseball with his family set to the inappropriate tune of Supermassive Black Hole by Muse.

It is exactly as stupid as it sounds.

Other than struggling with this relationship that is a poorly-concieved metaphor for relationships IN THE REAL WORLD, Bella spends much of her time fitting into her new life in the Pacific Northwest, which is still the most interesting part of the film but which is now a flaw due to the bullshit surrounding Edward, his family, and the arrival of some one-dimensional neck-feeders. When shit hits the fan and the third act kicks in, it is abrupt, awkward, and resolved in ten minutes. Then a couple of more scenes happen and the movie finally ends with a criminal misuse of Radiohead's 15 Step.

There is also promise of werewolves at some point, because the marriage of those two has always worked out so incredibly well.

The math equation above is a simple one to solve, like when the CDC suddenly discovered that zombies can run. The question is no longer "Is a vampire still a vampire?" but "Is a vampire still interesting?"

... No.

4.6/10

Review: CJ-7 (2008)

2009-03-17T05:38:00.000-07:00

Stephen Chow's movies have an odd comedic sensibility that I didn't notice before seeing CJ-7. Sure, I squirmed at how tough it was for the team to triumph in Shaolin Soccer and I cringed as the hero's face was punched (literally) into the ground over and over again in Kung Fu Hustle, but I didn't give those feelings much thought. These moments of sudden, grisly violence were spread well over the course of the stories, and seemed natural in their setting. My unease only indicated that the scenes were effective.

The plot of CJ-7 is something out of The Fucking 1980's; a poor kid who lives in a junkyard with his father finds a cute alien lifeform, and whimsical wackiness ensues. As if Chow watched E.T. and thought "I can do that!" Upon hearing the plot, my own thoughts were "Okay... but how will he fit martial arts into the story?"

After much time is devoted to establishing how miserable father and son are at both school and work, the kid finally discovers the alien. For reasons not indicated, the kid decides to hide it from his father. The father (played by Chow himself, by the way) finds it, but thinking it is a toy, then decides to test how resilient it is by twisting it in every direction and then hitting it with a frying pan while the alien screams in obvious pain.

It was here I noticed that something was very, very off.

Well anyway, with the ruse intact, the boy takes the thing to school to totally rock the socks off of everyone who has bullied him this far. The pins of Act I have been set up, and Act II is here to knock them down. Crazy, hilarious shit happens, the bullies get their comeuppance, the kid rights those who have wronged him, and finally gets a bit of happiness in his life.

And it's all a dream.

Oh, but not the alien part, mind you. The kid wakes up, happy and full of bushy-eyed hope, and actually takes the alien to school. This time, it goes horribly awry in such a way that is both highly predictable and palpatably painful. It is cruelty so harsh that it breaks free from the film and inflicts itself on anyone watching.

And suddenly it all makes sense. Leg Sing in Shaolin Soccer trains like mad but cannot win until an element totally outside of his control comes in to save the day. Likewise, Sing in Kung Fu Hustle abandons a way of life that has caused him nothing but pain and misery... until the very end when it suddenly works. More than Chow's method of storytelling, this is his sense of life. So naturally a cute space alien is not the primary method for bringing happiness to a father and son. Happiness for Chow, it seems, only comes in the last five seconds, by something arbitrary or something that is taken for granted. The rest is rife with punching, squirting blood/shit, and pee jokes (and is thus hysterical). He didn't think "I can do that!" after watching E.T. He thought "Here's what would have happened if it were me." He must have had one fucked up childhood.

Things do ultimately work out for the best... sort of. The characters learn "valuable" lessons, but at dire costs to the cute, hapless schmoo, and not before father and son commit awful, despicable acts that aren't the least bit endearing. And one scene in particular, watching the son chase the alien around with the honest intent to kill, I couldn't help but want to do the same thing to Stephen Chow.

5.2/10

Review: Watchmen (2009)

2009-03-08T03:18:00.001-07:00

How exactly does one adapt a complex, densly packed graphic novel from page to film while still retaining the themes that made it an incredible work, and at the same time pushing the limits of the medium in a similar fashion?

Zack Snyder's answer is: "By coldly transposing scenes directly into film form, inexplicably changing other details at random, awkwardly forcing in action scenes and highlighting them with gore that is inconsistent with the rest of the film, hiring a shitty actress to carry the crux of most of the dramatic dialogue scenes, and offering nothing of my own style other than the occassional speed-change and closeup of a broken bone. Did I get it right? Did I?"

Well, mission accomplished; Watchmen finally got made, after numerous failed attempts by more talented filmmakers (and Paul Greengrass). Snyder, still coming off of an exhaustless supply of adernaline from 300's near-constant stabbing and punching and never one to back down from an opportunity for a fistfight, begins the film with just that. An immediate problem occurs after it is over, when the subsequent scene goes over everything that just happened, containing no new information with characters who lack personality and only appear one more time, for two seconds. But who needs a concise film when you have an irrational sense of duty to the work you're stealing from?

There is no doubt in my mind that this is what the core issue is -- faithfulness to Alan Moore overrides the filmmaker's decisions (most, but not the decisions that involve making more action scenes). I understand the pressures of fitting so much into so small a container; almost three hours is the end result, and not much to consider or admire in that amount of time.

Watchmen suffers from a lack of clear focus. An opening credits montage does establish for newcomers that, yes, masked crime fighters did and do exist, and that what follows is a "what-if" scenario, where these heroes have been stripped of their nostalgia and outlawed in a world where their services are obsolete. Coming to this conclusion is work, however, as there is very little to be said about other masked heroes in this world. We know the fates of two. What happened to the rest? The flashbacks only provide a connection to The Comedian; they do not draw a coherent line to Present Day 1985. Too much is left unanswered.

Rorschach, lovable psychopath extraordinaire, narrates passages of exposition from his journal, and after a seemingly brief investigation of the murder, disappears for a bit and is replaced by flashbacks of the surviving crime fighters that rarely illuminate much but contain one or two pieces of important information that could come at any time. In addition to being frustrating, it is exhausting to sit through, and coupled with inappropriate moments of slow-motion, the movie's pace grinds to a crawl, making the film less of a philosophical feast and more of an endurance test.

At least intact are Moore's characters, each representing a philosophical-political archetype wrapped in different forms of neurosis. Nite Owl II and Silk Spectre II want normal lives, ones where they don't want or need to police an unstable populace, but cannot help but do so. Dr. Manhattan, like the universe itself, is largely indifferent and follows a path lived moment to moment; he does not understand or agree with human motivations/emotions. The Comedian is similar, but embraces his whims and instincts unquestioningly, finding nature's apparent amorality hilarious. Veidt and Rorschach each have a strict moral code, but differ in that Veidt is willing to sacrifice the few to save many, where common good is equal to how many of us survive. Rorschach's sense of justice extends past a threshold of what he views as evil, and deals with those evils in one manner: execution, on an individual basis.

It is enough that these nuances are visible. In these characters, one is asked to examine policies and how far to run with them, to find someone to agree with, or at the very least, relate to. Snyder and the screenwriters recognized this, I'm sure, but do little to provide a reality for them. The skeleton is visible, the vital organs are there, but there is no life to support. A larger world is implied but not created.

In 2005, there was another Alan Moore adaptation, V for Vendetta. A lot was different, a lot was changed by McTeigue and the Wachowksis, but nothing was missing. The theme is clear and beautifully stated, and like the graphic novel, it challenges the medium it presides in, with a clear, creative vision gleaned from an already creatively-executed work, and extending it far beyond and elimating much of the flaws and making it (crucify me) better than the graphic novel it was based on.

That is the primary reason for any adaptation. The idea that a movie that cannot stand on its own without in-depth knowledge of its source material is a flaw, and a major one, plain and simple. Nothing has been accomplished if what plays is a mirror, a mere companion piece to what one can watch and murmur "Hey, I recognize these scenes," and remember more meaning in them the first time around.

6.3/10

Review: My Bloody Valentine (2009)

2009-03-03T06:20:00.000-08:00

There are films that attempt either greatness or the emulation of greatness, and there are films that rely on a tornado's ability to construct an airplane in the middle of a junkyard. There is a clear choice that needs to be made about this distinction. Is it worse if a film tries and fails? Is it better if one succeeds through no fault of its own? Such questions cannot thrive outside of speculation -- I don't care what the filmmakers themselves claim to have been "intending." The decision lies at ground zero.

My Bloody Valentine is one, by my reckoning, that does try. It unfortunately ends up failing quite miserably, but oh how I cannot help but admire the effort.

More shocking than the pick-axe to the back of the head that caused that one kid's eye to pop out of his socket is that there is some meat to chew here. There is a (mostly) logical progression of events. There are characters with actual motivations, personalities -- dare I say it --density. There is compelling character development. There are even some genuinely gruesome kill-shots, something I haven't seen in a horror film for half a decade. I'm even considering dressing up like the killer for Halloween and breaking lightbulbs with a giant pick-axe. WHAT ARE THESE FEELINGS?!!

Whew... got those out of the way. Now let's rattle off some flaws!

Firstly, the film isn't scary on any level. At best, it is as suspenseful as Ron Howard directing a thriller that isn't Ransom (i.e. not very). Secondly, the acting of just about everyone is horrendous. I mean it. It's like watching a bad stage production and squinting your eyes in embarassment, watching anything but the stage until whoever is speaking just stops. The dialogue, terrible but gasping for air, definately cannot survive. There are also moments of unforgivable horror cliches: namely, get the hot bitch naked moments before she is iced. Or characters making dumb dumb dumb decisions on where to run, what noise to investigate, how late in the game to alert authorities, etc. Worst of all, the mystery surrounding the identity of the killer (I won't ruin it, but it's easy to figure it out) is handicapped by a trump that doesn't make any sense whatsoever (think of the I Dream of Jeannie Cusamano episode of The Sopranos... perhaps I have said too much...). Basically, shit that has been present in the horror genre since its incept date, and shit that has, for some reason, refused to evolve.

So that's that. Beyond what is obviously bad and oddly worth paying attention to, the film is pretty forgettable. And while I do believe that it is better to try and fail, I admit that it is far more aggravating when that is the case. And for something that isn't good, in fact sucks, in fact that I hate, merits slide out of my face with ease. GRAAAAAAAAAAH.

3.9/10

[Yes, I saw it in 3-D. No, it did not help.]

Review: Friday the 13th (2009)

2009-03-02T23:28:00.000-08:00

Michael Bay's Creatively Bankrupt Productions* strikes again with another remake/requel/restart/resurefire-way-to-make-money-by-swindling-newcomers-and-old-school-fans-alike, dropping into theatres like a lobbed sack of sweaty assholes.

The premise: teenagers arrive at the camp, Jason Voorhees kills them. That is all that anyone needs for a movie, right? Well, to complicate matters, one could begin by asking: Why do the teenagers go to the camp? They're growing weed there. Why does Jason kill? His mom told him to before she died. Why did she do that? The counselors were negligent and let him drown. Wait, Jason is dead? How did he come back to life? Uh... the mom might have been a witch or something. A witch? You have a prologue explaining their motivations but not the details behind their very existence? If you were a fan of the series, you would know the details. Yet... you created a prologue. Furthermore, you give the same information a second time through dialogue. The characters have to talk about something. Besides weed and fucking? I agree. Look, we wanted to put the title twenty-five minutes into the film. It's funny. If funny is a synonym for stupid. Hey, what's with all the questions, anyhow? I'm just trying to understand the rules of your fucking movie is all. So what happens next? Six weeks later, another group of kids go to the lake by the camp. To do what? Party. In the woods? In a country home. What's with the lulls in Jason's killing spree? If people can build houses and plant seeds for weed and not get killed, what makes the return trips so dangerous? Perhaps... Jason was sleeping sometimes. He's undead. Okay, then, sex is what gets his ire up. But Jason killed that one kid who was by himself, before anyone was even having sex. Then he doesn't have a motivation. He just kills. Whatever. These new kids, six weeks later, they're partying? With marijuana, I imagine... Yeah. And there's another one looking for his missing sister. She was with the previous group. Oh. So, do they help him? No way. Well, one does. But the leader of the group is an asshole, and the rest are so stoned that they don't bother helping. Why? Why what? Why is the guy an asshole? Uh... when they first meet, the one looking for his sister takes a long time at the register at a convenience store. Kind of a thin reason for the other guy to be a douchebag. Does this asshole die first? No. An inbred hick who masturbates, fucks mannequins, and grows weed dies first. That's where Jason gets the hockey mask. Is the douchebag the second one to die? No, his friend is. And then his girlfriend dies after water-skiing. Topless. You do realize that, since Jason kills indiscriminately, any scenes with nudity or sex are now pointless? So? Jesus... okay, they die, and then the douchebag finally dies? No. Good god, man, how long are you going to keep that piece of shit alive?! Almost to the end. We're killing off the comic-relief characters first. It's more dramatic that way. So, including the five kills at the beginning, there are a total of thirteen kills. That's kind of clever. Actually, there are twelve kills. The sister isn't dead. What?! How?! Jason keeps her alive. I'll think of some reason later. It doesn't matter. One more question. Who is the main character of this movie: the guy looking for his sister, or Jason? Hmmm... Don't strain yourself. If it's who I think it is, then there is no reason you need to devote so much time to these characters, most of whom go beyond being unlikable. And how long is this fucking thing? An hour and thirty-seven minutes. Basically, you wanted this film to be like torture. Nobody says anything interesting or intelligent, there is no clear reason for the things that are happening, the kills aren't creative and aren't even effective from a horror standpoint, and as a result of inept writing and filmmaking, there is no suspense and every second I spend watching this garbage is me wishing for Jason to slaughter everyone, and quickly. Welcome to Friday the 13th. You'd be a lot happier if you stopped asking questions. Go fuck yourself, I hate you.

It was god-awful.

2.9/10

*stolen from Kernunrex

Review: Quantum of Solace (2008)

2009-02-06T12:43:00.000-08:00

The MGM James Bond series, since the first official film, has spiked and flatlined like a GUILT-ridden dollgirl in Trauma Center: Second Opinion, alternating between two set modes. It goes like this: restart the series with a new actor = put your balls on the table and smash em with a mallet; continue the series with the same actor = wade into the shallow end with your balls nowhere near the waterline; repeat. Think Indiana Jones on a longer timeline. More thoroughly talked about here.

Dr. No was produced with every penny in the bank riding on its success, and while the film painfully comes off as a product of its era, it manages to retain an air of boldness, however naiive, that what remaining originality mattered even in the face of financial ruin. And what the hell, it managed to be popular. GoldenEye and Casino Royale were made under similar conditions, at times when they owed nothing to previous entries or more importantly, no pesky ground rules to determine their behavior. The same cannot be said for the films in the series that followed them.

I suppose it is with an almost mathematical certainty that the second Bond film starring Daniel Craig sinks into the same muck that so many others in the series have (Tomorrow Never Dies, Licence to Kill, From Russia With Love to a lesser extent) and cater to the imaginary needs of an idiotic organism that wouldn't know a good film if it emptied its testicles of semen.

Spearheading the show this time is Mark Forster, a talented director in his own right but not adept at directing action films. This is not necessarily a bad thing (director Michael Apted managed to surpass seasoned action director Roger Spottiswoode in the Brosnan era), but it did, in this case, become one. How? I can only speculate.

Here is one such speculation:

Forster: Hey Barb, just finished shooting the film.
Barbara: Cool, Mark. Get a workprint assembled ASAP.
Forster: Can I use my editor?
Barbara: Sure whatever. Bye.
(later)
Barbara: Hey, Mark. Just saw the workprint.
Forster: Oh yeah? What did you think?
Barbara: I thought you were a "handheld" director.
Forster: ... Oh! Yes, my style is primarily handheld-
Barbara: Right so... the film as I see it isn't... handheld enough.
Forster: What? I-
Barbara: (to assistant) Who's that guy who edited the last two Bourne films? The one with ADD? People love that no-talent fucker, he makes the simplest scenes so incredibly hard to comprehend. Bring him to me. Bring him to me this fucking second. (to Mark) Gotta go. We'll take it from here.
Forster: (to a dead line) Oh... okay... (cries self into stupor/adapts World War Z)

It probably happened exactly like that. Fuck you, I don't need evidence.

Quantum's running time is 96 minutes, but it sure feels a hell of a lot longer. This phenomenon might be hard to quantify (har), given that scenes last for two minutes tops before wheeling on to the next exotic locale or poorly-shot action sequence at the exotic locale, each one another opportunity for the idiot intern who hangs out at the studio to show off his text Photoshopping skills. A lot of shit happens in a very short amount of time, because the film not only distrusts whoever is watching it but its own abilities to let a scene exist. It is constantly yelling "Shit, are two people talking?! Let's go! We have five more tributes to previous films to go!!! AAHHHH!!"

A common element in a Mark Forster film, one that actually managed to carry over into this one, is a strange seismographic connection to the main character's state of mind, where the cinematography, music, and editing change to reflect that, like films in the 1970s (fine, here's some: The Conversation, Klute, The Parallax View).

Nearest I can tell, Forster was allowed to do it twice this time. The first is the scene at the Opera, a scene so good that it frustrates me for being in a film that doesn't deserve it. The second is actually in the first ten seconds, a helicopter shot that slams into glimpes of a car chase, edging in on a closeup of Bond's eyes as the score slowly rises in the background and suddenly climaxes as everything goes to hard-to-see hell and immediately begins to suck in a very awkward sense.

The biggest failure is Bond's characterization. Casino Royale ended perfectly -- it bridges the gap between the sociopath and the proficient assassin. The barely-visible smirk on Craig's face as he stands over Mr. White doesn't project a man consumed with revenge. It projects not the embodiment of Bond, but displays Bond himself, a man who has earned his 00 status by a commitment to the mission, and not to his own emotions. Straight old school.

This has been reverse engineered for Quantum of Solace, in what I believe is a very misguided effort at matching what made Casino Royale good. Quantum's Bond ups the clumsiness; he evades both agencies, killing everything and everyone, fucking bitches and destroying property (I think that's what was happening), all for vengeance that he ultimately doesn't bother to carry out.

Even though this has happened before, many times, I'm incredibly bitter that it was allowed to happen again. For a brief, shining moment, Bond had returned. It was glorious. Now, he is gone again. Be it the fault of the director, the writer, or the producer... whoever is responsible, fuck them to hell for doing it.

5.6/10

Review: Burn After Reading (2008)

2009-01-05T02:26:00.000-08:00

Like digging a foxhole or a grave, starting a project is always the hardest part. Film in particular, all of the elements have to be present for the brief moments preceding, during, or shortly after the opening credits if the rest of the film is going to fly. Even the worst films can fool me for a bit if the opening scene is on-target.

Burn After Reading is a spy film that is not a spy film; moreover, it is a comedy that is not a comedy (not in the way that Intolerable Cruelty wasn't a comedy... more in that O Brother, Where Art Thou? was The Odyssey but in many ways was not The Odyssey). As such, Burn After Reading is tough to get into and even tougher to comment on.

A second viewing helps tremendously.

It's not that I didn't enjoy the film the first time around. I liked it. I also thought it was... weird. Weird beyond proper description. Weird even for the Joel and Ethan Coen. The rhythm of their films are on a wavelength that will bend and pulse whether a passenger is onboard or not. Burn's opening scenes are particularly difficult to attune to, not because they don't work, but because they take off and don't wait for my ass to board the train.

Making this even more challenging is the score. My god the score. Scenes are given an incredible amount of emphasis, with intensity matching the stomping drum beats and siren calls in The Dark Knight. It is so goddamn inappropriate that it deserves its own paragraph in this review. The fucking score... holy moly...

Most of the film's elements can be matched to the Coens' previous work -- the dialogue in particular is as quotable as ever -- but can the film as whole? I'm not sure. Burn After Reading isn't like Miller's Crossing and doesn't fold over itself repeatedly, nor does it walk through the minute details that make up the destruction of the characters' lives, like Fargo. It isn't as wild as Raising Arizona and it isn't as subtle as The Big Lebowski.

The film offers the information, quickly, and moves on. This happens, that happens, these people die, the film is over. In that sense, I suppose it is most similar to No Country For Old Men, in that it is so close to its theme that the film is an example of it. Shit just happens, so get over it.

While Burn After Reading falls far short of reaching that level of greatness, it is good. It is genuinely funny and highly unpredictable. And after a second viewing, I can now say for certain that I have regained my trust in the Coen Brothers' filmmaking abilities. I can't wait for the next one.

7.1/10

Review: Be Kind Rewind (2008)

2009-01-04T02:07:00.000-08:00

My first exposure to Michel Gondry was Volume 3 of his Director's Works set, thanks to a friend, Jimmy Holliday, whose habit back then was to put on music videos during mild hangout sessions to fill the gap between conversation lulls/bong refills. While both Spike Jonze and Chris Cunningham serviced this idea quite well, Gondry's music videos made conversation an impossibility. Each video was a new idea, a new way to challenge and bend the medium. Watching was nothing short of magical. (Two favorites are Come Into My World and Let Forever Be).

It only took a short time for Gondry to mirror this magic in full-length features, decimating Spike Jonze's track record with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. All was well and good with the world, but coming close to repeating that feat is hard for even Gondry to do.

Be Kind Rewind is yet another slideshow of Gondry's eccentricities; among other things, it's a glimpse into his playground, a bridge between the darkside of The Science of Sleep and the lightside of Human Nature, and a welcome area to dream. The techniques he uses are less like tools and more like toys, and wielded so expertly that the execution is practically a physical manifestion of his own imagination (techniques which more than resemble his video for Lucas with the Lid Off.)

Even given this, the film is never overly self-indulgent. His characters, in this oddball fucking universe he has created, feel very real, and even though the opposing force in the film is more of a bully than a villain, their struggle against it is admirable.

Having made some films after high school (bad ones), what Be Kind Rewind manages best is to capture the excitement of getting together with friends and working hard at creating something, and having a blast while doing it. While my friends and I never made an entire city block giddy with appreciative laugher (Be Kind's largest but only major shortcoming), we managed one or two films to be proud of.

That's what I love most about the director. Cliches and conventions can provide the techniques but aren't a requirement. Hollywood may have built the industry, but it does not have a monopoly on creativity or ingenuity. Michel Gondry and his films are living proof of that.

7.2/10

Review: Australia (2008)

2009-01-03T01:59:00.000-08:00

Baz Luhrmann's films usually require a degree of stamina to watch. Even with words set firmly on paper, a camera set firmly on a dolly, clips locked firmly on Final Cut's timeline, his films still manage to explode free in garish, technicolor nightmare. The actors speak at a superhuman pace around edits, post-production slo-mo/fast-mo, slide whistles and prat falls while bright, bright colors spill between the widescreen bars in random piles, and all the while good ol' Baz hides behind the red curtains pulling madly at levers and cackling like a lunatic, where no amount of backpedaling or polite harrumphing could kill his momentum.

This is not necessarily a compliment.

Australia begins like his previous films, around a simple framing device that predicts what is to occur in the next two hours. Not that I'm a particular fan of this method to begin with, but it is clear at the offset that this time around, it really doesn't work. The theme is immediately unfocused, the timeline is too narrow, and Nullah's narration is completely and totally unnecessary, especially considering that the character isn't present for much of the interaction between Drover and Lady Ashley.

This and increasing issues in execution stagnate the films pace. With Nullah's narration bookending dramatic moments and act transitions, there is nothing left to wonder about, nothing to capture the imagination save for the occassional well-filmed landscape. Luhrmann writes 1+2=3 on the wall and leaves it at that, and it's exactly as boring as it sounds. There is a mystery that is easy to figure out, a body count lacking emotional oomph, and a villain so one-dimensional that any suspense left within is dead on arrival.

The only portion of the film that remotely resembles an exciting adventure across the outback is the cattle drive, a sequence approximately 40 minutes long with frequent breaks in believability thanks to obvious green screen cutaways and a wholly preposterous deus-ex-machina. Problems abound, the same that plague the rest of the film, but still exciting, and the sequence steers closest to what I wanted from the film: two people from different worlds fighting for one cause and one purpose and managing to win without compromise or exception, and especially avoiding fighting with one another over NOTHING.

Luhrmann's brand of scattershot methamphetamine writing typically has a direction to vessel it safely to the endpoint -- something that is impossible in the old school style of Hollywood. His remake of Moulin Rouge! didn't emulate Huston's original. Why, suddenly, should this film? Why should this one require so little imagination and only enough fortitude to keep from leaving before the film is over?

I will say that, in addition to the acting of both Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman, the mimickry of old Hollywood is successful, if only at its base definition. It compliments the past but does not extend or improve upon it. In the end, Australia can't even confidently stand up next to Baz's remaining filmography.

5.5/10