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Mar 29 2013
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Film

Sell! Sell! Sell!

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (2010) is one of the most frustrating kind of bad films. It actually has quite a few things going for it, and it keeps seeming like it’s going to be a good film, but it just never quite happens. For whatever reason, the film just can’t pull together all of the good elements it has going for it. And make no mistake: this film actually has a lot going for it.

The acting, for one thing, is excellent. The much-maligned Shia LaBeouf didn’t seem any more out of place in the suit and tie of a young Wall Street hotshot any more than Charlie Sheen did in the original, Michael Douglas is consistently excellent, and Carey Mulligan had great chemistry with both men. A lot of the economic and political commentary was pretty spot-on, especially given the backdrop of the late-00s Wall Street-driven economic downturn.

The thing is, that actually gets us right into one of the film’s biggest flaws. The film keeps dancing around this political commentary, building anticipation… and then it just doesn’t do anything with it. And that’s really a microcosm of the film as a whole. It tricks you into thinking it’s going to be a good film with interesting dialogue and character interaction, and before you know it you’re 90 minutes into the film wondering what happened.

The most damning thing about this film is the ending, though. It’s so abrupt that I was actually pretty astonished when the credits started rolling. The way the film was paced, I honestly thought there was at least another half an hour of film left.

It’s lazy to call this an “unnecessary sequel” and leave it at that, but it’s in the ending that anyone who loved the original Wall Street (1987) can see the stark difference. Where the original’s ending had an almost physical impact, representing a fitting payoff to the escalating tension that had carried the film’s entire narrative, the sequel’s seems tacked on and lackluster.

This is a disappointing film not merely because it’s a mediocre followup to a universally acclaimed film, but because it follows a film that really had something to say with one that had nothing to say. And it’s all the more disappointing because the atmosphere this film established at times would’ve been a spectacular environment for a film that actually had something to say about that environment.

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Mar 22 2013
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Film

Exposition Hill

I don’t have a lot to say about Silent Hill: Revelation because, frankly, it had far too much to say. The film tried for a few interesting angles early on, but it just never really went anywhere. Adelaide Clemens was fine as the lead, and Kit Harington was even better as the conflicted maybe-enemy maybe-love interest, but their relationship seemed like it was going to be a lot more interesting than it ever ended up being. Like everything else about this film, the narrative was more interested in explaining them than having them do anything.

Unlike a lot of people, I actually liked the first Silent Hill, but I just can’t find a lot to redeem this one. Perhaps more frustrating, it wasn’t even bad in interesting ways, it was just pretty boring and frustrating.

You know what a Silent Hill (or, really, any horror franchise) film probably shouldn’t be? Bland. It shouldn’t be bland. And that’s exactly what this film was. I’m not going to waste my time or your time trying to find something interesting to say about this film when there just isn’t anything.

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Mar 21 2013
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Film

Double Review: The Princess Diaries 1 & 2

Sometimes you can’t tell whether or not you liked a film right away. Other times, you can tell so immediately that all you need is what I call the “credits test.” If as soon as the credits roll, you feel strongly compelled to flee your seat, eject the DVD, close the media player on your computer, etc–and not because you urgently need to use the restroom–it’s very likely the film has failed on some very important levels. If, however, you find yourself letting the music of the ending credits wash over you, wanting to extend the experience of watching the film for a few extra minutes even though there is (usually) no further action or dialogue to be had, it’s likely the film was quite enjoyable.

Such was the case when I watched The Princess Diaries. It’s not really news that I enjoyed this film: I fully expected to. What surprised me was how much I enjoyed it. I mean, sure: I already looked at Anne Hathaway like a kind of goddess before seeing this and The Devil Wears Prada (the fact that I enjoyed her work enough to consider myself a fan without having seen either of these two films baffled quite a few people). But we’re talking about a Disney film about an awkward teenage girl discovering she’s actually a princess, in which a major plot point is her going through a serious makeover. We really don’t think there’s any chance this could’ve turned out to be pretty insulting on more than a few levels?

Thing is, the film’s resolution involves Mia (Hathaway) giving a speech to a group of dignitaries and journalists while wearing a hoody and soaking wet from rain, and the world doesn’t end. So yes, we do get the oddly specific trope of Anne Hathway starting a film as “unattractive” (in a very Hollywood-friendly definition), being given a total makeover, and then having everyone gawk (“Anne Hathway is attractive? How far-fetched!”), but the film takes great pains to make clear that being a princess is about a great deal more than looking pretty and having impeccable table manners.

As a quick aside: I call the Anne Hathaway makeover thing a trope because it seriously happens in half of her movies. Two questions spring to mind. 1) Does no one else have serious suspension of disbelief issues here? I mean, it’s Anne Hathaway. She doesn’t ever not look good. 2) How incredible would it be if they had pulled this trope of in The Dark Knight Rises?

Now, there are some easy criticisms about this film that I’m going to gloss over quickly, because I don’t think they really deserve anyone’s focus, but I know if I don’t mention them at all someone’s going to say, “Hold on a second! How can you say this was an excellent film? You didn’t even mention [irrelevant detail]!” So here we go.

Yes, the film deals with the rather important detail that hereditary leadership is inherently unfair with a throwaway line by a nameless reporter about Mia “Winning the genetic lottery.” (Honestly, how much would you complain if your queen were Julie Andrews and Anne Hathaway was next in line? That’s what I thought.) Yes, the Baronness who would inherit the crown if Mia refused it is given like three lines in the entire film and we are given absolutely no reason to think that would be a bad thing other than the fact that she seems pretty generically unpleasant and spiteful for no apparent reason.

But do you know who cares about those things? … well, plenty of people, I’m sure. But not me. This film is about Mia. It’s about her growing, making mistakes, making choices, and finding out who she is. You know what’s a pretty darn good backdrop for that? Being crowned a princess. It gives a sort of dramatic flourish that most films for young girls are only able to achieve by having her end up with a man. (Yes, she does dance with a boy at the same ball, but that is not the dramatic focus of the scene. Mia’s triumph is her own.)

It’s no surprise that Julie Andrews and Anne Hathaway were brilliant (though the latter was a surprise at the time as it was her film debut), but you know absolutely almost stole the show at times? Hector Elizondo as Mia’s chaffeur, Joe. His career has mostly consisted of voice acting roles and guest appearances on various critically-acclaimed television series, but he was absolutely perfect here. His attitude was part of the overall freshness of the film.

The sequel, The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (2004) was honestly more of the same, but with the added bonus of an antagonist played by John Rhys-Davies (yes, really) and a brilliant film debut for Chris Pine. Wow, this series was exception at discovering big time future talent. Whoever did the casting for these films should probably do the casting for… well, everything.

The central plot ends up focusing on an outmoded law that in order to be queen, a female heir must marry. This sets up a cat and mouse game between Mia and Nicholas (Pine), who it turns out is the next male in line. I won’t spoil the ending, but I will say that the film does avoid the most predictable resolution this plot suggests (having Hathaway marry Pine), and all the potentially troubling implications this could entail.

The sequel might feel a bit repetitive to some, given that it follows many of the same dramatic beats, but it definitely goes new places. Mia continues to grow and, really, show off how exceptional she is and why she ought to be queen. There are plenty of fun moments, plenty of serious moments… pretty much everything that worked in the first film works here.

What really struck me about both Princess Diaries films was just how pleasant they were to watch. They were relaxing and uplifting, but that didn’t stop them from being engaging. If you unironically use “chick flick” as a pejorative term, you should probably see these films as soon as practically possible. (And, you know, stop doing that.) They’re definitely chick flicks. And they’re definitely well-written, well-made, life-affirming, and pretty much everything that film should be.

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Mar 08 2013
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Film, Gaming

Triple Review: Red Dawn (1984, 2012), Homefront (PC/X360/PS3 2011)

1984. John Milius and Kevin Reynolds co-write Red Dawn, a paranoia-exploiting film about a “World War III” that only seems to involve the United States and Russia.

1991. The Cold War ends. Remarkably, without the United States being invaded by Russia.

2009. Development begins on a remake of Red Dawn, not involving Milius or Reynolds.

2010. John Milius begins writing a script for a video game based on a Chinese invasion of the United States.

2011. Homefront is released, but due to pressure from the Chinese Ministry of Culture the game’s antagonists are changed to a unified Korea.

2012. The Red Dawn remake is released. In a remarkable coincidence, the Chinese antagonists are replaced by North Korea.

Honestly? The story of the development of these two movies and one video game are probably dramatically more interesting than the movies or game themselves. Can we just stop there? No. Fine. If you don’t want to take my word for it, let’s… dive right in.

Red Dawn (1984)
We see an introductory text explaining how the United States has become increasingly isolated while the unstoppable Russian juggernaut takes almost all of Europe without firing a single shot. (Hey, did I mention that Russia was actually collapsing economically at the time? And that the United States was putting their economic foot on Russia’s throat? No? Because that was totally happening!) We also find out that a communist coup happens in Mexico… for some reason.

We open at a high school on one fine morning in rural… no, suburban… no, rural… no… ruralurban Colorado. The vague setting couldn’t possibly be a cheap attempt to get the audience to relate to the film no matter where they lived, though, right? Anyway, for some reason an invasion force lands and starts shooting up a high school. Because that makes perfect strategic sense.

Don’t worry, though! We quickly find that the Russians are not the only antagonists. They’re accompanied by Cuban allies. Why? Because having to constantly have your antagonists use Russian accents so you can differentiate them from “normal” white people can get grating, so you want to make sure you have some brown people who yell in Spanish to shoot at, too. The commander also sends one of his people to a local sporting goods store to obtain records of gun ownership in the city so they can round up anyone who owns a gun. Because no right-wing paranoia exploitation-fest would be complete without proof that gun regulation is bad news!

Okay, I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I need to step outside of this narrative. Later in the film we’re going to learn that Russia has nuked Washington D.C. and several other strategic targets and taken the western third and eastern third of the United States, leaving only the middle third unoccupied. With this much territory under their control, how in the hell do they have this much time and attention to devote to what seems to be a strategically unimportant town full of blue collar “aw shucks” type folks?

We see them applying pressure to their mayor (Lane Smith), who seems to exist completely for the sake of showing us that collaborators are bad. Actually, everything we see the Russians doing seems to be to hammer home the point that they’re very, very evil, but makes very little strategic sense. We see them setting up reeducation camps and executing civilians. Again… why? They’ve taken two thirds of the country, including Los Angeles and New York. Yeah: as far as we know they didn’t nuke Los Angeles or New York. Just Washington, D.C. (makes sense), Kansas City (… huh?) and Omaha (???). With so much territory under their control, why are they bothering with this random town of no obvious strategic value? Then again, they nuked Kansas City and Omaha, so maybe they’re just really bad at reading maps.

Since we don’t have enough things that don’t make sense, Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen (I’m not going to bother with their names) form a group of resistance fighters. They name themselves the “Wolverines” after their high school sports teams (yep), and 75% of their dialogue for the rest of the film is screaming, “Wolverines!” while firing wildly.

There’s some really uneven and poorly-paced cat-and-mouse games with the Russians. An American Air Force pilot (Powers Boothe) crashes at one point and joins up with them for a while. He mostly seems there to give the aforementioned report about how the war is going. Ostensibly he gives them some advice on tactics, but there isn’t any noticeable change between how the Wolverine’s operate before he shows up and after. Around this part of the film the script also decides it’s time to work in some vague anti-war messages about how “war is hell” and all that, which is pretty odd considering this film was about a manufactured war that basically serves as an extended commercial for a Cold War that was in its death throes. There’s also an attempt to humanize one of the Cuban commanders (Ron O’Neal) toward the end of the film which comes completely out of nowhere and doesn’t accomplish much. And… that’s pretty much that.

It isn’t even just that the Russians’ actions make absolutely no logical sense other than “evil for the sake of evil.” It’s that the film just isn’t very entertaining or pleasant to watch. The only part I enjoyed was the initial invasion, and that was just laughing at the sheer absurdity of it. (“We will take your high schools! What will you do then!” “Look on with fear, puny Americans! We blow up your cars!”) The rest of the film was a clumsy attempt to shoehorn as many war clichés as possible into what was essentially a propaganda film, and it wasn’t even a very good attempt at that.

Look. I’m sorry to sound dismissive, but this film didn’t take its audience seriously, so why should I take it seriously?

Homefront (2011)
As the only “current gen” system I’m blessed with is a Wii (and that really doesn’t even count), I wasn’t able to play the game on my own. Instead, I watched playthrough videos on YouTube. So I can’t comment on the gameplay aspects of the game (from the looks of things, they were adequate but hardly remarkable), but my focus is on the story anyway.

So. We get an opening sequence featuring some truly awful dubbing of stock footage of Hillary Clinton (Is she supposed to be President? Vice President? Secretary of State? Who knows! We don’t, because the game never tells us!) and some news footage featuring North Korea conquering South Korea (pretty implausible), Japan (okay, what?), and then detonating a nuke in orbit to knock out the entire American power grid. They proceed to conquer over half of the United States and irridiate the Mississippi river to divide the country in half.

We then move from video cutscene to gameplay cutscene. Oh, hey, look at that! The game takes place in Colorado, which is also the setting of Red Dawn. How… cute. Your character is almost immediately roughed up by some Korean soldiers and then taken on a guided tour through the occupation zone on a prisoner bus. What follows is actually a more extreme version of how the Russians treated civilians in Red Dawn as you see civilians being rounded up and dragged off, or shot in the streets, all for no apparent reason. Once again, logic is simply waved away in favor of “look how evil they are!” (Then again, what did you expect from a game that opens by explaining that North Korea has conquered nearly all of Asia and then successfully invaded America?)

In case you couldn’t tell, there’s another prisoner on the bus to helpfully inform you over and over that what you’re seeing is very, very bad. Fortunately, your bus is blown up and you escape. Let’s play our game!

One of the most common criticisms I’ve heard of this game is that it was “too short,” and I have to say that’s actually probably one of the most merciful things about the game. I mean, yeah, that keeps it from being impressive… but was there any serious danger of it being that? To me, the game’s length mostly results in less… bad.

Your character runs along playing good little resistance soldier as you discover all kinds of lovely horrors–a school being used as a labor camp, a baseball field being used as a mass grave, a town being slaughtered… you get the picture.

So yeah, basically? Red Dawn on steroids in the form of a short, mediocre video game whose main defining feature is how incredibly offensive and ridiculous it is.

Oh, want to know the best part? Even though the developer that made it went bankrupt, someone actually bothered buying out the rights to this trash and there’s going to be a sequel. Ick.

Red Dawn (2012)
Okay. So this paranoia-fest of a franchise has one last chance to deliver an at least mildly entertaining piece of media. (Other than the surely hotly-anticipated Homefront sequel, that is.) How’d it do?

Look, I’m not going to sit here and argue that the 2012 version of Red Dawn is a good film. Because it isn’t. But I would go so far as to describe it as “reasonably competent,” which is more than I can say about either the 1984 film or the related 2011 video game.

Yes, the antagonists are never given any clear motivation for their invasion and the audience is somewhat forced to supply that motivation in the form of modern anxieties about the nation in question. But the invasion itself at least makes a lick of sense. Our setting is actually a fairly major city (Spokane, the second largest city in Washington), so it makes at least a bit of sense that they’d commit quite a few resources to its occupation. The few war crime-level atrocities that are shown are relevant to the plot, unlike in the 1984 film when they shoot up a high school for no apparent reason or the game where they round up people and shoot them in the street just to give us the atmosphere of an Evil Enemy committing Evil Acts because They Are Evil.

Then again, is it really better to have an enemy with no apparent motivation than one whose motivation is Because We’re Evil? The latter is certainly more offensive, which makes this film somewhat more watchable… yet it also makes it somewhat less interesting.

From a technical standpoint, this film has some pretty glaring flaws. Both its beginning and ending feel incredibly rushed, which isn’t particularly forgivable in a 93-minute film that could’ve easily been longer. There’s a pretty transparent attempt to cram the film’s entire exposition into about thirty seconds of dialogue with all of the main characters at a bar after a football game. There’s also a pretty forced romantic subplot between our protagonist (Chris Hemsworth) and the girl who provides a lot of the exposition in that bar scene (Adrianne Palicki). When it comes to our two lead brothers, Hemsworth is a dramatic improvement while Josh Peck is a major step down. He gets better as the film goes on, but his first few scenes are so brutal I really don’t understand how they made it into the finished film.

If the film has one redeeming quality, it’s that it accidentally makes its viewers think. Hemsworth at one point makes a reference to the fact that in the conflicts he’s been involved in as a soldier, his side has been “the good guys” enforcing order while guerrilla “bad guys” tried to cause chaos. His takeaway from this is that he and his ragtag group of rebels are now the “bad guys.” Of course, he pairs this observation with the fact that fighting for your homes and freedom makes a lot more sense than any of the wars he’s been involved in in the past.

Thing is? I don’t think he has the “good guys/bad guys” dynamic quite right. I think it’s pretty telling that in order to have a film that’s unambiguously comfortable with American patriotism, Red Dawn essentially had to put America in the place of America’s military enemies in every armed conflict of the last few decades. I’m not sure if it was the film’s intent to provoke debate on this topic, but at least it’s something.

Although infinitely more watchable than its original incarnation, the 2012 version of Red Dawn is still really not a successful film. I’m not going to spoil the ending, but there’s a “shock value” event after you think the main action of the film is over, which leads to a Hollywood ending the film didn’t really earn. It’s still dramatically superior to the original film’s ending, but it’s better in the same sense that the rest of the film is: bland is superior to incredibly stupid, but only just so.

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Feb 28 2013
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Film

ParaNorman (2012)

So, there’s this kid named Norman (Get it? ParaNorman?). Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, but he’s different from other kids and that makes him an outsider. Worse, the thing that makes him different is that he can talk to dead people–think a significantly friendlier, less unnerving version of the kid from The Sixth Sense. This makes him an object of ridicule, with pretty much everyone at his school calling him a “freak.” Except for his one friend.

Could we cram a few more clichés in there? How about an emotionally distant, strict, traditionally masculine father? Oh, we got that one? Sweet. Can we pair him with a sympathetic but powerless mother? Okay, good. And, let’s see… a really shallow sister who can’t stand her brother because he’s so, like, whatever? Okay, sounds like we’re all set.

The film reveals Norman’s gift in a pretty clever way, having him watch TV with his grandmother, who it turns out has been dead for quite some time. It’s a very understated way of going about it. We then see him happily greeting people on the street that no one else can see. Most of his encounters with ghosts are of this nature.

Things take a dramatic turn, however, when Norman’s uncle passes away and he inherits the responsibility of protecting the town from a witch’s curse. This is actually when things start to get interesting. Norman decides that the solution that has been used for the past few hundred years isn’t good enough, and that he needs to do something that “no one else has done before.”

Actually, the entire sequence with Norman facing the witch is brilliantly animated, and heightened by an effective soundtrack. Norman makes good on his promise to do something “no one else has ever done before,” breaking the cycle of misery and demonstrating incredible empathy and maturity in the process.

This film successfully avoids becoming buried under all the clichés it sets itself up for by taking those cliches and making something new out of them. Ultimately, this film ends up having interesting things to say about themes like tolerance, being yourself, and all that familiar touchy-feely stuff.

Honestly? I was perhaps expecting a bit more from something that quite a few people were calling the best animated feature of the year (2012, that is). But it was smart, charming, well-written, well-animated… well-everythinged. While it may not be busting into the canon of animated features (but consider the exceptional quality that already exists there), I have no problem recommending it.

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Feb 25 2013
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Film

Rapid Reaction: The 85th Academy Awards

Best Film Editing. Best Makeup and Hairstyling. Best Cinematography. Best Adapted Screenplay. Best Picture.

You might be asking yourself, what do these awards have in common? Well, they’re the minimum of what I would’ve voted for Cloud Atlas for.

That I didn’t have that opportunity wasn’t only owing to the fact that I am not a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, but also because Cloud Atlas, despite being one of the most original, most ambitious films I’ve seen in my entire life, was not nominated for a single one of those categories. Or any other category, for that matter.

It has been suggested that Cloud Atlas is a racist film. I’ve discussed that particular irony previously. It’s a pretty lazy accusation, one that relies entirely on either not having seen the film or having seen the film but chosen not to engage one’s eyes or one’s mind. The entire point of the film is having characters from different lifetimes cross ethnic and gender boundaries, to show that all of us–every single one of us–is connected. That everyone, everything, is dependent upon each other. Does that sound racist to you?

That this film was likely shut out to avoid “offending” anyone is what really galls me. Let me tell you what offends me.

What offends me is celebrating mediocrity.

What offends me is that Silver Linings Playbook was nominated in eight categories (eight!), even Snow White and the Huntsman was nominated for two, and Cloud Atlas wasn’t nominated for a single one.

What offends me is that we really ought to change the name of the “Best Animated Feature” Award to the Pixar Award.

What offends me is that last year’s Best Picture winner was probably the least memorable film of the year. (Did you even see it? If you did, did it entertain you in some new and thrilling way? Did it make you think any original thoughts? Did it make you think at all?) That the winner the year before had only one exception quality: acting. (Last I checked, they give out awards for that separately.)

I was under the impression that the function of the Academy Awards was recognizing and promoting great art. How do you expect people to take your art form seriously when you keep celebrating mediocrity, when films that take absolutely no creative risks are the ones that are glorified?

There were a few things that made me genuinely happy. Anne Hathaway deserved an Oscar. Maybe this wasn’t the “right” film for it, but damn it, she deserved one, and these awards are so broken that I really don’t care which film she gets it for as long as she got it. Adele’s “Skyfall” for Best Original Song? Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. And I absolutely would’ve given Lincoln Best Production Design and Best Actor. (I probably would’ve thrown in Best Costume Design, but you take what you can get.)

And probably the award I was most happy about? Django Unchained for Best Original screenplay. I can honestly say I didn’t see that one coming, because that film took risks, and as we’ve seen we don’t like to reward that kind of thing around here. I mean, we’re talking about art. That doesn’t have anything to do with taking risks, right?

Look. I know this isn’t the end of the world. I know this won’t matter in ten years, when Cloud Atlas is on every “movie nerd’s” shelf, and conversations like this happen: “Huh. It didn’t win anything? Really? Well, those things are so political.” And I genuinely take solace in that fact. But damn it, if we’re going to have a big public spectacle whose ostensible purpose is to recognize art, can we please, pretty please with sugar on top, figure out a way to make this an evaluation of art?

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Feb 21 2013
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Film

With Due Apologies to Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell

I’ve been prepared to love The Evil Dead (1981) ever since I heard of its existence. This was it. The film that made Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell big. The cult classic that was responsible for many of the conventions of the modern horror genre. It came highly recommended by both popular consensus and more importantly the opinions of people whose taste I generally rely upon.

I am going to go ahead and proactively admit from the outset that I do not have a very good track record when it comes to films that have achieved universal acclaim. Citizen Kane (widely considered the greatest film of all time) just depresses me too much for me to appreciate how admittedly brilliantly-composed it is. 2001: A Space Odyssey did succeed in impressing me with how beautiful each individual shot was arranged, but I found it so incredibly dull I was unable to enjoy it as a whole. The Godfather and Scarface? Dull. If it weren’t for The Shawshank Redemption and Pulp Fiction, I would be worried that it was just impossible for me to enjoy films with universal acclaim.

A more directly-related example of my poor luck with universally acclaimed films is The Exorcist, widely considered the “scariest film of all time.” Unlike many of the other films I just mentioned, I was astonished to find that it was just… bad. It wasn’t just that I didn’t enjoy it, it was poorly written, poorly acted, poorly filmed, and just poorly made in every conceivable way. Worse, it wasn’t even scary. It relied entirely on “shock value,” “gross out” scares.

While The Evil Dead doesn’t fail on quite the same level, its shortcomings are remarkably similar. While it is not as ill-conceived and technically deficient as The Exorcist, I found the The Evil Dead to fail on some pretty basic levels. I never felt any kind of connection with the characters; they never felt like real people at all, but they also weren’t distinct enough to function as parodies. This failure is pretty startling considering the first 15 minutes of this 90 minute film featured the characters just literally sitting around talking. Before we even got into the film’s conflict, I found myself wondering why I should care about any of these people or what happens to them.

As the film went on, however, I was quite disappointed to find that the “horror” part of the film bore a strong resemblance to The Exorcist. It was of the “shock value,” “gross out” school of horror. A combination of this and the protagonists’ unrelenting blandness made me feel disconnected from the film for the entire time I was watching it. A film in the horror genre can be forgiven many faults, but being so boring it fails to draw you in is not one of them.

Honestly? The only “scare” in the film I found remotely interesting or original was the infamous “tree rape” scene. It was strange, it was brutal, and it was arguably the most well-filmed scene in the film with an effective use of closeup shots to emphasize each action of the scene. So… kudos on a well-done tree rape scene? I guess?

I’m not going to give away the rest of the film (though surely the statute of limitations for spoilers has long since expired), but I will say that unless you’re a huge fan of “scares” that consist mainly of people bleeding profusely or vomiting all over themselves, you might not find this a particularly enjoyable film. Due to this series’ reputation, I’m going to give it at least one more chance, but if Evil Dead II is more of the same I’m not going to bother beyond that.

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Feb 11 2013
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Film

Pulse (1988): An Unexpected Pleasure

So, when I heard the premise for Pulse (1988) was more or less “household appliances come to life and try to kill you,” I reacted the way most people probably would: with unconcealed glee. This film was going to be “great”… by which I of course meant it was going to be terrible in predictable and entertaining ways. I’m honestly pretty surprised that writer/director Paul Golding didn’t go on to do much of anything. In fact, Pulse appears to have been his last credit for either role. What happened?

Okay, to be fair, the film is pretty easy to make fun of at times, especially early in the film. In the first scene, an entire neighborhood is awakened in the middle of the night by what sounds like someone destroying their house in the throes of some unidentified mental illness. However, due to the magic of dramatic irony and knowing the film’s premise, we know that what’s actually happened is his household appliances have gone mad and are trying to kill him! The police break into the house while trying to keep the crowd at bay, and we find that the kitchen sink has overflowed and flooded the entire first floor of the house. (“That’s not electricity! That’s water! I feel cheated!” By the way: I’m going to be sharing the snarky comments I made when I thought this was going to be “that kind of movie” in parentheticals. If it makes you feel any better, it’ll make me look kind of dumb later. But only a little.)

From this nighttime scene of unbridled destruction, we are whisked to a much brighter (both literally and figuratively) scene of our main character–David Rockland (Joey Lawrence), a preteen boy–staring out the window of an aircraft. (“My God! He’s on a plane that sounds like a helicopter from the outside!”) He is picked up at the airport by his father (Bill Rockland, played by Cliff De Young) and his stepmother (Ellen Rockland, played by Roxanne Hart).

They show David around their new home which they’re sure he’ll love, complete with… barred windows? The neighborhood doesn’t seem particularly dangerous aside from the homicidal home appliances nobody knows about yet, and the need for barred windows is actually never explained. Undaunted by such trivialities, David’s stepmother shows off the fact that the bars on the picture window are electronically retractable. (“Isn’t that great? It’s just like a prison!”)

The film’s first act is a series of somewhat awkward exchanges among the family with David seeming preemptively dissatisfied with everything for no apparent reason. There’s one notably awkward exchange early on with his stepmother about how his mother is paranoid about microwaves, which his stepmother calmly points out is rather silly. (“We embrace electricity in this house!”) This is without a doubt one of the most forced conversations in the entire film, and is clearly only there because of the film’s subject matter, but it’s hardly unforgivable.

We move on to a night where David is left home alone and several appliances start behaving rather oddly. He’s very shaken by the experience, but predictably his father plays the “you’re just being a scared child” card. This was when I really thought I knew exactly what direction the film was going to go in. This impression was only reinforced when David meets another boy, Stevie (Matthew Lawrence), who has the most distractingly perfect bowl haircut in the history of bowl haircuts. (“Don’t become friends. Don’t become friends. Don’t become friends.”)

At this point, I was prepared for the film to go downhill. You had the film clearly getting psyched up to play the “you’re just a scared child” card, which films like this often do even when it makes no sense and begins to actually make it harder to suspend disbelief. Meanwhile David, who has been doing an admirable job of not being an annoying child main character while interacting with adults has been introduced to another child who obviously the film was going to fixate on, leading to plenty of forced interactions between the two. Sigh.

And then this strange thing happened: the film went in a completely different direction. Stevie’s entire purpose was just to help David sneak into a boarded up house (remember the neighbor who died in the opening scene?) and then get scared and run off. David meets Indiana Jones’s creepy older brother who somehow knows everything about the strange things going on with electrical devices. Well… in the sense that he knows that there are strange things going on with electrical devices. (That’s actually kind of all we ever find out, which I will admit is this film’s biggest shortcoming.)

It was roughly at this point that I realized I was watching a 1980s film about electrical devices and yet it didn’t feel seriously dated. Yes, the devices themselves were dated, but because this film was actually primarily about (prepare to gasp) characters and relationships, it didn’t make it hard to watch. They didn’t spend ten minutes becoming fascinated with how a television worked or the latest in radio technology. The electronic devices were there for completely utilitarian purposes to the plot, and the narrative never fixated on them. This might seem like a very small point, but I think the film’s focus is a big part of why it was entertaining. It just seemed to deftly dodge all of the traps it could’ve easily fallen into given its genre and subject matter.

Speaking of which, we very quickly dispensed with the “just a scared child” routine before it had a chance to develop into a genuine nuisance. One of my favorite things about the film’s early acts was the relationship that developed very quickly between David and his stepmother. This came in handy as, after the second very strange mishap involving home appliances (this time actually nearly killing the boy), Ellen loses her cool.

But, flying in the face of cinema conventions (I hate to harp on this point, but: especially considering this film was made in the 1980s), Ellen actually directs her anger in the right direction. It would’ve been easy to be upset with David considering this “accident” caused significant damage to their home and these “accidents” started after his arrival. In fact, that’s the route films like this usually take. After being given very flimsy explanations for both accidents by the repairmen involved in both respective incidents, Ellen demands of her husband how many more “accidents” have to happen before they accept that something strange is going on. This is quite possibly the smartest thing anyone says in this entire film, and at this point I was genuinely convinced that my expectations about this film had been dramatically misguided.

From this point on, things escalate, but not in the way I had expected going into the film. After another major incident in their home, Ellen ends up in the hospital and Bill finally begins to take things seriously. There’s a climactic final scene involving all hell finally breaking loose and all the electronic devices in the house pretty blatantly trying to kill Bill and David, but as over-the-top as this might seem it never really ends up being about that. Instead the entire scene ends up being about reinforcing the relationship between father and son, and this focus carries through to the film’s rather satisfying conclusion.

Oh, except for one little thing: they never explain what the heck was happening! Yes, there are a lot of zoom ins and internal views of how exactly these electrical devices are going haywire… but why? What’s causing it? We know it has something to do with the wires, but what? Is it a malevolent entity of some sort, like a demon or a ghost? Is electricity itself a sentient being, or a supernatural force of undirected evil? What are we supposed to be getting out of this?

This might seem like a pretty major flaw, but it actually didn’t impact my ability to enjoy the film. Yes, this film wasn’t even close to what I expected. I expected over-the-top violence in the vein of, say, Final Destination. While that would’ve been enjoyable in its own way (and would’ve allowed me to keep up my running snarky commentary), ultimately I think this film’s focus on characters and their relationships was much more satisfying than if it had met my original expectations. This film was an unexpected pleasure, and I can happily recommend it.

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Feb 10 2013
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Film

The Adequate Brief

It is rare for a film based on John Grisham’s works to be either exceptionally good or exceptionally bad. I can actually only think of two that were notable in either direction. Joel Schumacher’s The Client, starring Tommy Lee Jones and Susan Sarandon, is the lone entry I would place in the “exceptionally good” category. The Gingerbread Man, notably based on a discarded manuscript by Grisham, is likewise the only notably bad one. This is, by the way, despite featuring perhaps the most extravagant all-star cast of any Grisham film (Kenneth Branagh, Robert Downey Jr, Famke Janssen, Robert Duvall…).

In fairness, I should mention that there are a few Grisham films I haven’t seen yet. Namely, A Time to Kill, The Chamber, and Christmas with the Kranks. And I can honestly see all three of them having the potential to be outliers in one direction or the other (I’ll leave it to you to guess which films I predict in which directions).

But aside from the two films I’ve already identified as exceptions, and the three Grisham films I haven’t yet seen, I’ve noticed a very distinct pattern in the quality of most films based on John Grisham’s work. What you’re generally in for is a definitely-watchable but thoroughly-forgettable thriller with big name actors. From Tom Cruise and Gene Hackman in The Firm to Francis Ford Coppola directing and Matt Damon starring in The Rainmaker to Dustin Hoffman, Gene Hackman, John Cusack, and Rachel Weisz in Runaway Jury, what all of these films have in common is that they’re quite competently made entries into their genre and yet immediately forgettable.

The Pelican Brief is another entry into this canon of films with absolutely no surprises, complete with the requisite all-star cast. Julia Roberts (as Darby Shaw, a law student) and Denzel Washington (as Gray Grantham, a reporter for the fictional Washington Herald) are your protagonists. Perhaps just as recognizable to many readers is John Lithgow (of 3rd Rock from the Sun fame) in a supporting role as Grantham’s boss.

Like many of Grisham’s films, The Pelican Brief has a very distinct way of creating its atmosphere of drama and mistrust. In The Firm, for example, it was Cruise’s “too good to be true” law firm actually being (spoiler alert) a front for the mafia. In The Rainmaker it was the corruption of the seedy underbelly insurance industry. The Pelican Brief opts for an old-fashioned conspiracy reaching the highest levels of the federal government, complete with car bombs and murdered Supreme Court Justices.

Yeah: murdered Supreme Court Justices. Actually, that’s what the entire film is about.

The film opens with Grantham meeting with his old mentor, Justice Rosenberg (Hume Cronyn) as the most generic and mismatched group of protesters ever gathers outside for no apparent reason. Seriously, just look at some of the signs they’re holding up. “Abortion is murder!” “Fur is death!” “AIDS cure now!” “Lesbian rights!” “Free people own guns! Enslaved people don’t!”

… what are these people protesting? And more to the point, why are they protesting together? Why are they here? Other than for Rosenberg to scoff at them in the next scene, of course.

So, the film’s opening scene and its nonsensical, dramatically-convenient protesters introduce us to Justice Rosenberg. Don’t get too attached, though: one of the next things that happens is that we find out that he and another Supreme Court Justice, with whom he seems to have nothing in common, are shot dead.

Well, there’s clearly nothing suspicious about this! Let’s just let the FBI and CIA do their thing, under the direction of the President who could clearly have absolutely nothing to do with it, and meanwhile he can start thinking about who he wants to nominate to fill these two vacancies on the high court.

Hang on! It seems that a second-year law student who’s sleeping with her professor (Thomas Callahan, played by Sam Shepard) has come up with a crackpot theory involving what these two otherwise dissimilar judges have in common. We have to wait until about two-thirds of the way through the film to find out what this mysterious connection is, but we learn fairly early on that this theory that no one else possibly could’ve thought of involved our second-year law student studying each judges’ rulings and realizing that despite being polar opposites on virtually every issue, they did agree on one thing.

At this point, I hope you’re thinking what I’m thinking. Yep! Only a second-year law student could possibly have the insight to realize that when two Supreme Court Justices were murdered it might be a good idea to look into their decisions and find out if they had any in common.

Shaw doesn’t think much of her own theory, but her professor/boyfriend decides to show it to a friend he has at the FBI. A friend who is well aware of his predilection for sleeping with students half his age. Ethics! That friend shows it to some of his colleagues, and to the shock of absolutely everyone except the audience Callahan is killed in a car bomb that only misses out on killing Shaw because they have an argument and out of spite (and surely not out of dramatic necessity) she decides to walk home.

From this point on, the thriller aspect of this film naturally kicks into high gear. Shaw rather sensibly tries to contact her professor’s FBI friend, which ends up not working out so well for either of them. When this fails, she does what any reasonable person would do: contacts a political reporter.

No, seriously. That’s actually what she does.

Shaw’s relationship with Grantham, while not necessarily explored a great deal, does provide another interesting element to the story. Despite initiating contact, Shaw is at first reluctant to trust Grantham. Eventually, she spills the entire story to Grantham and the audience at the same time. I’m not going to spoil it, but… well, I’m fairly confident you’ll also find yourself yelling at the screen, “Oh come on! Really? No one else could possibly have figured that out?”

I know I keep harping on this point–and it’s honestly a pretty important one, given that it’s the lynchpin of the entire film. Still, characters do not have to behave in a logical way for a film to be well-composed and entertaining. Aside from these few frustrating lapses in logic, this really is a good film. As pretty much every John Grisham film (except you, Gingerbread Man…) it’s a competently-made thriller full of cloak-and-dagger mistrust, car chases, corruption, all in suits, ties, dresses, or law school hoodies. It is still infuriating that so many of the films based on John Grisham’s novels managed to take some of the most well-known actors in Hollywood and make incredibly forgettable films out of them, but if you liked any of the films I mentioned earlier in a positive light (The Firm, The Rainmaker, Runaway Jury, and The Client, just to remind you), you’ll probably like this film.

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Feb 09 2013
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Film

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Missteps

One of the most glaring holes in my boyfriend’s film-watching experience was the Indiana Jones series. I took it upon myself to rectify that, and about two years ago I sat him down to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark. Despite having seen the movie approximately 96,000 times as a child, I have to say I enjoyed that viewing nearly as much as I enjoyed my first. Or my 95,999th, for that matter.

The fact that it’s two years later and we just now got around to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom should give you some idea of how much I was looking forward to the second film in the series.

To be even more blunt, Temple of Doom is by far my least favorite of the Indiana Jones films, so I’ve pretty deliberately avoided seeing it for a rather long time. As a result, watching it with him gave me some time to reflect on exactly why I dislike the film so much.

It’s difficult for me to understand why this film is nearly as popular as it is. I don’t like to consider Rotten Tomatoes and similar venues remotely relevant for judging a film’s quality, but they’re at least fairly reliable for gauging public reaction to films. And Temple of Doom actually puts up similar numbers to the other 80s Indiana Jones films. Raiders of the Lost Ark is by far the most popular with a 95% aproval rating among critics and 93% audience approval, but Temple of Doom isn’t very far behind with 85% and 80%, and also compares favorably with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade which comes in at 89% and 91%. I frankly find this astonishing given all the problems I have with this film. I will admit it had pretty good production values (especially for 1984, the year before I was born), but… that’s all the film had going for it. Well, except one other thing, but we’ll get to that later.

First of all, and this should be pretty transparent, this film is incredibly racist and sexist. Look, I like to try to take a more nuanced view of issues of identity politics. I subscribe to the view that it’s actions and ideologies, not people, who are racist and sexist. So applying that label to this film is actually somewhat contrary to how I believe racism and sexism operate… but good gods this film makes it hard to do otherwise.

Just consider Dr. Jones’s “sidekicks” in this feature. First we have Short Round (Jonathan Ke Quan), a racist caricature of a young Asian boy about whom it’s probably best to talk and think as little as possible. And that isn’t even where the problems with this character stop. He is easily the most annoying character of the series, and keep in mind that if we count Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull (2008) this is a series that included Shia LaBeouf. “Shorty,” as he’s affectionately called by a clearly temporarily insane Dr. Jones, is Indiana Jones’s Jar Jar Binks.

Then we have Willie Scott (Kate Capshaw), a nightclub singer whom the film’s Wikipedia entry describes as “gold-digging.” (Seriously.) There aren’t words for how much I hate this character, but I’m going to try anyway. Her entire function throughout the film is to fall down, drop things, almost get her two companions killed on a number of occasions, become easily frightened, scream in an exaggerated mockery of male ideas of female weakness when she does so, and last (and most definitely not least) complain. This last she does in an excessively whiny voice about a laundry list of male ideas about what women stereotypically complain about. (“I broke a nail!” “I hate being outside!” “This is disgusting!”)

What’s so frustrating about this element is that it was such a strength in Raiders of the Lost Ark, and would again be a strength in Last Crusade and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. (Yes: I said something nice about Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Deal with it.) All three of these films feature strong female characters–Kingdom of the Crystal Skull actually features two, a protagonist and an antagonist.

So what happened? Why does Temple of Doom have the most gratingly annoying, helpless, useless female character this side of some of the the 1960s-80s James Bond films? Did they think Ford’s unaffected, casual masculinity would be more obvious when juxtaposed with an insulting caricature of femininity? Because it wasn’t! Willie’s hysteria didn’t play off of Jones nearly as well as Maria Ravenwood’s (Karen Allen) feistiness or Dr. Elsa Schneider’s (Alison Doody) cunning. If anything, it distracted from it.

Oh, and did you think Short Round (who named this character?) was the only racist thing about this film? Are you in for a surprise!

The film was actually prohibited from using locations they wanted to film in India because the government found the film racist. And that’s just from reading the script! Without actually seeing the infamous monkey brain dinner scene. But let’s be fair! Although the monkey brains understandably get the bulk of the attention in this scene, let’s not forget that other Indian delicacies were on display! Like eyeball soup and the snake-stuffed-with-live-bugs and… actually, yeah, never mind.

In general, this film draws on insulting ideas about the occidental/oriental dichotomy. Indians are, of course, backwards and strange people. And need a white guy to punch them or save them depending on their situation. If they live in the lavish palace that has a crazy witchcraft voodoo cult underneath it, you need a white man to punch you. (By the way: voodoo? If we’re going to be racist, can we at least make sure we’re being racist about the right race?) If you live in the impoverished village of what appear to be rock and sand farmers, you need a white man to save you.

You might have forgotten by now, but I mentioned the film did have two major redeeming qualities. One which I already mentioned was the high production values, especially in the many action scenes. A notable example of this is the well-choreographed action scene at the beginning of the film. Incidentally, it’s possible to pinpoint the exact moment when this film falls apart: when Indy and Willie jump out the window and land in a car driven by Short Round. Not coincidentally, this is the first time Short Round appears in the film. You know how you felt the first time you re-watched Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace and Jar Jar Binks first appeared on the screen? Yeah. Let’s move on.

The other strength actually provides a rather nice segue into the film’s other major shortcoming. Throughout the film, Indiana Jones seems very in-character, and as always very well-played by Harrison Ford. This is clearly the same man we saw in Raiders of the Lost Ark and will see again in Last Crusade and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (no matter how much whiney fanboys might loudly protest that last one). There’s even a really cute scene reminiscent of the infamous scene in Raiders where a sword expert menaces Indy with a series of complicated sword tricks and Indy calmly unholsters his gun and shoots him. This time, however, Indy reaches for his gun and finds that it isn’t there. Cute.

So yes, that’s the best I can do for “something nice to say” about the film: good production values and Indiana Jones is… Indiana Jones. He isn’t poorly written. You might think to yourself, “Huh. If that last part was worth mentioning, does that mean everything else was poorly-written?”

Well… yes. And that leads me to the film’s other major shortcoming. Did you know this film was a prequel? I didn’t until today. That’s a true story. I probably saw this film for the first time fifteen years ago, and until I was researching this article I had absolutely no idea that Temple of Doom, despite being produced after Raiders of the Lost Ark, actually took place before it. Now, you’re probably thinking, “The films use dates, can’t you tell from that?” And that’s reasonably fair, but here’s the thing… shouldn’t I have noticed without having to pay attention to that? Seriously, if the only way you can tell a film is a prequel is by a date on the screen, what’s the point of it being a prequel?

And it’s not just that I couldn’t tell it was a prequel, it’s that this film has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the series. And, actually, the rest of the series has nothing to do with this film. All three of the other four films are interconnected. The events of the previous films are discussed. Characters like Marcus Brody (Denholm Elliott) and Sallah (John Rhys-Davies) appear or are at least referenced. This film alone among the four seems strangely disconnected from the rest of the series. With Dr. Jones so thoroughly in character and the rest of the world around him so different than the other films, my boyfriend commented that it made this film seem like it was a strange dream Indy was having. I had a similar impression, that it felt like Indiana Jones had stumbled into some very bad fanfiction but remained the one thing that was perfectly in character.

I did some reading and discovered that George Lucas (of course it was him) decided that he didn’t want the second film to have anything to do with the Nazis (who were the primary antagonist in the first film). That explains things… a little. But it doesn’t explain why the film decided to throw out the first film’s strengths, including strong female characters and, if not cultural sensitivity at least not outright racism.

My boyfriend suggested a possible explanation for this. Throughout the other films, Jones displays at least a bit of a sexist streak when dealing with the much stronger female characters he encounters. Curiously, despite this film’s female lead being easily mistaken for the punchline of every dumb blonde joke, Jones doesn’t act in an overtly sexist manner. So, my boyfriend concluded that the entire point of this film was to be an origin story for Jones’s casual (and mostly-inoffensive, but in saying so I’ve probably offended some) sexism in the other films.

Honestly? It’s as good an explanation as any.

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