The Dark Knight (2008)

When it comes right down to it, the superhero as a concept is a troublesome being. Useful when s/he's under control, a benevolent para-law enforcement agent, exercising great responsibility over their great power. But in the end, we're still dealing with a group of people outside the law because there are no laws which can touch them, and precisely there to combat those villains the same laws can't touch either. Superman, for instance, is tolerated because everyone knows he's a boy scout who will do no wrong. But isn't it taking a lot on faith to assume that this godlike being isn't going to figure out that we're all inferior?

The Dark Knight takes a lot on faith as well, but the fact that the film is about the murky relationship between the public good (as dictated by those in the know) and ethics and vigilantism and chaos says a lot. Batman is still the hero, but it is acknowledged that he may be the sort of hero no one can own up to, that may well be morally reprehensible, that may in fact be contributing to the lawless streets of Gotham City. As in the Arkham Asylum graphic novel and the animated series episode which put Batman on trial for creating Arkham's denizens, the film is aware that there's a problem here, even as it shores up Batman's continued necessity in a diseased world.

While he'd most likely disown both, I can't help but observe that Nietzsche inspired both Superman and Hitler.

For a summer action movie, The Dark Knight is pretty self-aware and addresses some tough issues. It's basically action (which it is completely worth taking advantage of the IMAX experience to enjoy) with archetypes, and while it would be nice to have something which could accomplish that with actual characters, I think that's asking a lot of a corporate property summer blockbuster like this. Which is to say, this movie succeeds far more than I felt I had any right to expect from a franchise, and that made swallowing some of its inadequacies a lot easier. There were the requisite technological absurdities (an expansion of the “enhance!” trope you might be familiar with from any number of cop shows), a silly Batman voice, and some far-fetched physical feats. But then there was also (do I even have to say it?) Heath Ledger's Joker.

Praise has already been heaped, and it's well-deserved. This was not a casting decision I'd ever have expected, and Ledger had pleaded his case to director/co-writer Christopher Nolan before the script was even written. This is the scariest Joker I have ever seen (though the effect was not as acute on second viewing) and while it's certainly possible to prefer the more lighthearted incarnations (Mark Hamill's in the Animated Series should be classic) this reinterpretation is an achievement, taking the character to a place that is not only unique but integral to the film. This Joker and Batman are two sides of the same coin, which makes the inclusion of the Harvey Dent plotline, who is both sides of the coin at once, especially relevant. Thematically, the nearly unbelievable self-awareness of the Joker (and his lack of an origin story) culminate in his abuse of Dent.

The Joker's admission that he is an archetype, an agent of chaos, along with Bruce Wayne's inability to define just what the Batman is, leaves the film with an ambiguity that keeps both the legend of the superhero and his troubling ethical legacy intact in a way that, I believe, finally serves the material well. Complaints about its “relentless sadism” and moral deficits miss the point; if you're disturbed by a Batman which admits there's something wrong here, you should probably stick with the fully deputized, establishment, daylight Batman and Robin of the Adam West series. Superheroes are a fantasy which, when translated into the real world, starts to look a lot like fascism.

This movie is not perfect, nor did it change my life. But far more than its predecessor, Batman Begins, it addresses the inherent issues that have always plagued this character, and for that I am overjoyed.

Read more!

Juno (2007)

Juno

Like most of my reviews, this one is behind the times. Even more so, I think, because of the critical reception this film got and the accusations of “backlash” one might feel inclined to make towards what I am about to say.

I did not like Juno.

For those who haven't seen the poster, Juno is about the eponymous pregnant teenager (played by Ellen Page) and her decision to keep her baby long enough to give it up for adoption. A lot of talk has circled around whether this makes the film pro-choice or pro-life, and I'm not going to touch that because I don't think that's especially relevant. (I will say, however, that the string of recent “unwanted pregnancy” comedies in which no one seriously entertains the thought of abortion may be telling, but that's an issue for another day.) This is not my problem with the film, even if the ultimate abortion comedy will always be Citizen Ruth.

My problem with the film is that I felt that every single choice made in it, from slangy dialogue to cartoon opening to Cat Power was designed to take every hipster in the audience by the shoulders and say, “This film is for you, buddy. See what I did there? Those Chuck Taylors? That Thundercats reference? Don't you feel validated, now?”

The problem is, none of it was done very well. The references were off, and most of them didn't fit the characters. Apart from everyone talking the same artificial way, they often spoke without getting their facts straight. If Juno is such an old school punk aficionado, why is all the music Belle and Sebastian and Moldy Peaches? Why does a supposedly Japanese comic open on the right? Why in the world would Juno yell “Thundercats are go” when that was the Thunderbirds catchphrase?

It's “Thundercats, HO!” For the record.

Because, you see, you could put me in that nebulous hipster category no one owns up to. I wear Converse and (fake) vintage tees. I have the glasses, and a messenger bag, and every Belle and Sebastian CD, and I got all the references. That was exactly why I felt coddled by this film. People like me, people between the ages of Juno and Mark, are supposed to relate to both of them. Juno's old for her age, and Mark's young, and from that I think we're supposed to feel hip that 1) we can relate to teenagers and 2) yuppie parents can be hip, too.

This isn't to say I don't want films that speak to the ironic pop-culture saturated downwardly mobile geek I know I am. But I want it done right. From what I've read of interviews with the filmmakers, the music, color scheme and accessories were all carefully thought out, which highlights the film's self-conscious indie-incompetence and makes it of a piece with the preponderance of songs on the soundtrack that consist of lists of things sung in a monotone. Is there anyone in this movie who isn't a collection of quirks?

All that aside, and despite the vitriol, I didn't hate Juno. But the things I liked about it—Ellen Page in a hoodie, some of the music including the Belle and Sebastian song that always makes me cry, the curious and often untouched reality of a young girl not understanding her appeal to an older man—were sandwiched between so many appeals to my quirky sensibilities that I felt manipulated. The line is difficult to draw, but I think it lies between genuine characters portrayed with pop-culture savvy and pop-culture savvy (or attempts at such) portrayed as characters. And this might have been moot, had I walked into the film without the burden of Oscar noms weighing on it. As a small film, it would have passed muster as an afternoon's entertainment and provided flares of unexpected delight. But such is hype. Read more!

Innocence (2004)

Rarely has ambiguity been so gorgeous. Innocence is, perhaps predictably, a French film made by people who, not so predictably, like David Lynch. Or at least the visual/sonic atmosphere of David Lynch. The film takes place almost entirely at a mysterious, sylvan school where girls from about 6 years old to puberty are secluded until release, like the butterflies so often evoked. The story, such as it is, opens with a new arrival being delivered in a coffin, greeted by the other girls, and inducted into their color-coded system: in each house, the youngest girl wears the red ribbons, the next youngest orange, and so on up. The adults seem to be there to serve and teach the girls; no punishments are meted, but an enormous stone wall blocks the outside from view.

Viewers expecting all this to coalesce into a narrative will be disappointed. It's more a study, and it might be unbearable if it were not one of the most beautifully photographed and sound designed films I've ever seen. Everything about it is aesthetically perfect, and yet, despite a suggestive quote and Lolita-like photo of a girl's legs on the DVD cover, non-exploitative. I was prepared for the rampant sexualization of the prepubescent girls (remembering Brooke Shields in Louis Malle's Pretty Baby) but amazingly, the camera is merely an observer, not a voyeur. This phenomenon is highlighted during an episode in which the girls are being watched, the contrast striking simply because the audience, for once, is not implicated. The difference is subtle, but plain, and that is an accomplishment in itself.

It's not that the school holds no threat, or that this idyllic life should be read as genuinely utopic. I kept waiting for the secret that would reveal the school for what it was, and while there were dark hints it never happened: the sinister feeling of the woods after dark, the strange concentration of nymph-like, but not nymphet, children, was chilling enough, not because of what lay outside the walls. My conclusion, for the film holds none, is that the state of innocence is sinister in itself, completely apart from what lies in store for the innocent once she is exposed to the real world. Perhaps it is not reality we should fear, but the attractive/creepy connotations of the blithe, childlike state. (I can see many other possibilities here, some more concrete than others, but prefer the reading I mention.)

Whatever it is, unless you are willing to put in two hours for a payoff as unstructured as this, you will not enjoy the film. As narrative, which is what we all expect, it fails entirely and in fact judged on those merits has major structural problems. As a meditation, a visual event, it is breathtaking, and if you are willing to ask something different from your movie watching experience you should attempt to find your own meaning. And let me know. Read more!

There Will Be Blood (2007)

For most of Hollywood's output, the task of director falls to someone perhaps more aptly described as Entertainer, someone whose job it is to string together the elements of story into something a wide audience will enjoy. But There Will Be Blood reminds us of the great joy that can be had when a Director strings together these elements in service of the story first, audience to follow as they will.

I have enjoyed P. T. Anderson's previous films, but a certain perceived self-consciousness in his style kept me removed from them emotionally. Blood is devoid of many of his quirks which, enjoyable as they are, in their absence give this particular film a leaner, more “classic” style. Gone is the huge cast, the interweaving stories, the intertextual popular soundtrack. This is the story of one man, and a sociopath at that, playing unerringly by Daniel Day Lewis. (The one complaint I have about Lewis is that his cinematic reclusiveness, while perhaps refreshing in the sense that he is not overexposed, may in fact have had the same effect by overdetermining his presence in any film he's in.)

The cleanly-told story find parallels in Citizen Kane, Kane's inspiration Hurst, and the story of the West's activities in the Middle East. There's a moment where Plainview (Lewis) sells a small town (whose land is good for virtually nothing but goat-herding and oil) on his schemes by telling them that he's going to bring them education and roads, and I could not help but add “democracy” to his litany. Plainview is also, in a sense, the Devil, a view enforced by what I think is the most significant single shot in the film: a long take of Plainview's face, streaked with oil and blending into the black night behind him, as he watches his own derrick burn. The flames dance in his eyes as he seems to revel in the destruction even as it represents a loss, both financial and personal.

The film, as the above indicates, is beautifully shot. Nothing distracts from the desolate, 100 year old landscape. The soundtrack is bizarre and brilliant, and its seamless construction makes it a pity that, because it is not entirely original music, it cannot get Johnny Greenwood (Radiohead) nominated for an Oscar. The acting, too, is fantastic; Lewis is the obvious one here, but the revelation is Paul Dano as brothers Paul and Eli in a performance so committed and skillful it makes me wonder what the film would have been like without him, as it almost was. There are some child actors who do amazing jobs here as well, especially a baby who, in one long take on a train with Lewis, acts so perfectly I had to wonder if it was a puppet or something.

Like his other films, There Will Be Blood is about people it is difficult, if not impossible, to like, but Anderson pulls it off. I would argue that this one offers what I hope is a new era for him as a director, in which he will continue to succeed at doing this without the quirks which may have mitigated audience reaction in his previous films. It is starker than Magnolia or Boogie Nights, even if it is more beautiful. Films like this are expensive and time consuming to make, which is a pity, since it really makes me wonder what cinema might look like if more actual Directors were involved. Read more!

Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007)

As one of those people who knows all the words to Sondheim’s 1979 musical, I was certain to hate the movie, even as I secretly hoped for the opposite. I had heard clips of Johnny Depp singing and it had incensed me, and I threw myself into repeated listens to the Len Cariou original cast recording. “Why are they compromising on voice?” I asked anyone who would listen. “It’s a musical!”

Because, as I found out last night, the mechanics of Depp’s vocal cords make no difference when a movie is this beautiful. I hardly noticed the little deficiencies of his and Helena Bonham Carter’s instruments in the thrill of seeing a movie of a musical I loved and loving it, too.

Burton’s London is a comic book inhabited by his personal avatars (Carter and Depp) looking strangely attractive despite their deathly pallor and moral decrepitude. For those who don’t know, Sweeney Todd concerns the return and revenge of a mild-mannered barber turned to bloodthirstiness by the machinations of a lustful judge, who sent him away on a trumped-up charge to gain access to Todd’s wife. He now holds Todd’s daughter, Johanna, in his house, and may have designs on her as well. Todd’s neighbor, Mrs. Lovett (Carter), is an unsuccessful meat pie seller who remembers Todd and aligns herself with him in a scheme to kill the judge and revitalize her pie shop. Oh, and they sing.

For those who fear the musical part, I should inform you that the music and lyrics are significantly darker than anything you’ve seen on screen. It’s not Mary Poppins up here. One song cut from the film includes the line “Lift your razor high, Sweeney/Hear it singing, ‘Yes!’/Sink it in the rosy skin/Of righteousness,” and Burton doesn’t shy from demonstrating what happens when you do so. Gallons of red blood suffuse the dim landscape of blacks, whites and blues. The design rides a fine line between realism and Burton’s characteristic style—very successfully, in my opinion. The supporting cast is excellent, young Johanna resembling a blonde Christina Ricci and Alan Rickman deliciously lecherous as Judge Turpin. Sacha Baron Cohen as Pirelli the rival barber is outrageously perfect as well.

What works about Sweeney Todd despite my prior reservations is that the actors on screen are arresting, no matter how they sound. The music alone could support worse, and the experience of watching Depp mitigates my problems with his singing. I wouldn’t, couldn’t listen to this soundtrack on its own. But in the course of the film I hardly noticed. Likewise the numerous cut songs, some of them among my favorites—I will allow it in the interest of finally seeing a good movie made of a musical I like. And this is a good movie, surprisingly so in my opinion. And I think that if musical geeks like me can get around our vocal dubiousness, non-musical fans might be able to get over their resistance to people singing their plans to one another. It won’t be all things to all people, but it’s an amazing accomplishment and I, for one, am happy to have been proven wrong. Read more!

I Am Legend (2007)

Richard Matheson’s 1954 novella I Am Legend is one of the best stories I’ve read recently. It concerns the last man in a post-apocalyptic world which has been decimated by a vampire-like infection, but it deals with the details of his extraordinary yet mundane existence in such a gripping fashion I didn’t want it to end. So I was cautious about the new film version. I steeled myself for the changes, and consoled myself with the fact that the trailer looked good, even if it didn’t look like the book. That was fine, I thought. The transfer between mediums can excuse a lot.

The extra background info, for instance, might be a consideration for Hollywood audiences who don’t want to jump right into the post-apocalypse trope. Robert Neville’s dog, Sam(antha), gives Will Smith something to act against, essential if we’re to know him without the benefit of narration. And New York City in ruins is inherently interesting. The film could certainly have Hollywoodized things more than they did. Essentially, we watch a surprisingly good Smith wander around the city with his dog, stuck in an endless loop of video “rentals,” zombie-hunting and a futile search for a cure. He is the only one left, but he cannot give up. Because what else would he do? It is only when someone else does show up that we see how damaged Neville really is; how far apart he has grown from “humanity,” just like the creatures he hunts. What’s entertaining about the film (and book) are the little details of execution; Neville’s daily life, his rituals, the archived television broadcasts and clipped newspaper articles. Though I was disappointed to see that Hairspray is still on Broadway in 2009.

Now, this all sounds like I’m pretty happy with the film. And I was, until about ¾ of the way through. The minute Neville shouts that there is no God, that we did this to ourselves, I knew that the film was going to have to prove him wrong—no mainstream movie in America could get away with that sort of sentiment unpunished. Indeed, the film moves from being understandably updated from the book to being a complete repudiation of Matheson’s essential, and essentially dark, point. Neville is not a legend because he is a beacon of hope to guide humanity into some promised land; he is a legend to the inhuman creatures who seek to wipe him out. Hollywood has, for once, preserved enough of the original to make my sense of betrayal that much greater.

Because for an hour, I thought someone had gotten something right. And that little beacon of hope turned out to be less real than that which Neville offers humanity. It’s almost better when I know they’ve only stolen the title and don’t have to see the travesty. Read more!

The Intruder (1962)

In 1962, b-movie mogul and directorial impresario Roger Corman made a black and white “problem film” about, well... black and white. It is notable for two reasons: it tackled the tricky subject of a small town's reluctant school integration, and it starred one William Shatner.

Yes. That William Shatner.

The “intruder” of the title is double—the “intrusion” of the African American into white society (or at least high school) and the devilish Northerner who comes to rile the townsfolk over what would otherwise be a somewhat uncomfortable non-issue, like a racist Harold Hill. (Interestingly, the film version of The Music Man was released the same year, but it's amazing how blunt and “modern” this one is in comparison.) Shatner arrives with no other apparent motive than to stir additional discord. He is eventually thwarted, not by man's innate goodness but by the unpredictable nature of the mob; the would-be orchestrator becomes the naïve bystander as things hurtle out of control.

But let's cut to the chase, shall we? The only reason you're still reading this—the only reason I watched the movie, which is decent but unremarkable—is to see how Shatner fared, pre-Kirk. Well friends, let me tell you--

He is amazing.

Shatner's craft is finely honed even at this early stage of the game, and his vocal delivery is just fantastic. There are nuances here that denote careful thought and sharp instinct. He's riveting. And he's not Kirk, either; Shatner's an actor, and between this and Kirk it should be obvious that he didn't start playing “himself” until he was forced to by virtue of the public not allowing him to disappear into anyone else. Early Shatner, I'd say up until season 3 of Star Trek, is a marvel and I think he could have been huge as a “serious” actor. The oft-parodied pauses and grimaces aren't absent in his early work, but they're subtle and well-placed. They have weight and meaning. And he's got an animal magnetism which works equally well as the immoral seducer and the wily captain. He's built like an all-American cornfed boy but there's a crafty, almost feminine charm which maybe has to do with him being Canadian. I'm not sure.

I'm on the edge of fangirling here, if I haven't jumped over it already. But I'm not sure I care, after that performance. I am sold. And if you have any curiosity about what “might have been,” if you've ever mocked Shatner, go get this movie. I dare you to laugh.

Read more!

The Golden Compass (2007)

I have a bad habit of reading books just before seeing the movies they’re made in to. It’s the perfect formula for disliking something—the comparison is almost never flattering. In the case of The Golden Compass, I hadn’t been blown away by the first book in the trilogy. Even so, the film is a mishmash of prettily illustrated Cliffs Notes; interesting as a companion, but incapable of standing on its own.

In this super-compressed narrative which avoids any hint of subtly, we are informed straightaway of all the exciting things about Philip Pullman’s new world that, in the books, we were forced to learn as we went. There are parallel worlds, and in one particular world, much like ours but without a Hindenburg disaster, humans’ souls are external, animal-shaped daemons. The ruling power of this world, the Magisterium, is concerned about the fact that when children grow up and become dirty and wicked, their daemons “settle” into a particular form; and a mysterious invisible particle called Dust collects around them. At the center of a growing storm is Lyra, an orphan who, as played by Dakota Blue Richards, is the brightest spot in this film. She is worth the whole thing; she’s adorable and yet maintains the requisite hardness the inveterate survivor and liar needs. She’s more likable than in the book, but she has to be, to hold the scattered film together.

Lyra’s adventures are certainly interesting, but they seem haphazard, even for a children’s fantasy epic. Plot points turn up at convenient times, like an engine. We don’t ask how the train got here; we just get on and off at the right stops. And just in case we notice some lack of cohesion to the script, the score is one of the most blatantly manipulative pieces of film music I’ve ever heard. It sounds as if it’s been cobbled together from a hundred previous films via a blueprint for just what heightened emotion we’re supposed to feel when; and most offensively, the Tartar armies are always accompanied by a throat-singing sound, I suppose to heighten their Otherness. And like most primarily-CG films, there are numerous unnecessary “helicopter” shots and expansive camera sweeps. Because they can. The CG itself is fairly good, especially with the main characters, but the background animals couldn’t help but remind me of dogs from the Sims2 computer game in the way they moved.

Incidentally, I had become concerned upon hearing reviews that the film attempted to “secularize” the Magisterium, but I saw little evidence of this on screen. It is clearly a Christian organization; their headquarters, in one town, is clearly a Greek Orthodox Church (which gets smashed to bits). There is no overt naming of the Magisterium as a religious organization, but there is no other explanation for things like the repeated use of the word “heresy.” Controversy about what it’s saying about religion may reign as far as I’m concerned; what I don’t think can be debated is whether it is saying something.

There is definitely an audience who will thrill to the concepts introduced here, which are enthralling. But what is good in the movie is present in the book. That doesn’t make enjoying the movie a bad thing, and there is enough of interest here to make it not a complete waste of time. But regarded as a movie rather than a spectacle, it fails. And there are bigger spectacles out there; albeit none with souls in the form of talking ferrets.

Read more!

Sunshine (2007)

If you’ve been reading me for any length of time, you’ll have heard me rant about the dearth of decent science fiction film. There are lots of different kinds of science fiction novels; even television is doing okay. But how many movies are about people in extreme situations, rather than natural disasters or big aliens or nifty lasers? I still maintain that 28 Days Later is one of the best science fiction films of recent years, and luckily for me Danny Boyle is back with Sunshine.

It’s more “classically” science fiction, in the sense that I’m not going to get any arguments this time about whether it’s scifi or zombies. The plot is, in fact, almost absurdly simple: seven astronauts and scientists are traveling towards the sun with a payload that (the film remains cleverly vague about the details, which is always better than trying to blind us with lots of jargon) will reignite the dying star and temporarily relieve the permanent winter of the Earth. As always when you put humans in a small space with no chance of rescue, stuff happens. Bad stuff. There’s a failed mission from seven years ago! There’s a fire! There’s human error! And there’s a strange turn towards horror in the last act, which in my opinion was fairly unnecessary.

But that’s not really what you’re watching. What you’re watching is basically a feature-length exploration of Man’s timeless urge to look directly into the sun, despite certain destruction. Eyes abound here, from Cillian Murphy’s icy blues, to the psychologist’s shades surrounded by skin fried from his obsessive observation, to the round heat-shields of the ship itself, designed to stare constantly because blinking or looking away will spell death for the crew.

Of course there’s madness, and there’s a race against time. And it’s all artfully done, with a clear directorial hand. It’s not perfect, but it is impressive. Best of all, it’s thoughtful and entertaining without being obtuse, and the Transformers and War of the Worlds-style summer blockbuster has a viable alternative. Read more!

Sicko (2007)

My biggest problem with Michael Moore Is that I agree with him. In principle. It is one thing to denounce the propaganda of the other side; a much more disagreeable task to have to decry the means being used to further the ends you support.

But perhaps this is where we should be especially vigilant, lest our efforts be put to use against us—are you listening, Mr. Moore?

I thought not.

Sicko is everything the anti-universal healthcare side could wish for. Over the years, Moore has only gotten more anecdotal and polemical with his films until we are faced with two hours of stories told by crying Americans and shiny, bouncy ex-pats taking advantage of their country of choice. It's not that I think he lied, necessary. You don't have to. But he doesn't tell the whole truth, either, or give sources or statistics. The issue of healthcare can stand the harsh light of reality. This is a murky, manipulative film that only provides ammunition against the very position it takes. And Moore's self-congratulatory "man of the people" shtick is wearing thin; cutting to your own reaction shot when an interviewee mentions "educated, confident" Americans, or running a boatload of 9/11 workers to Cuba to give that country some free publicity, is not clever.

This country needs health care reform, and making a film about it is commendable. But we already know it's an issue; what it needs now is a debate. With facts, comparisons, and valid (i.e. systematic and not anecdotal) evidence. How can you sit and listen to a man tell us that true democracy requires an informed populace and then refuse to offer anything approaching a balanced look at the issue? If you don't want us to be stupid, treat us like we're rational people and inform us. Because you're not convincing anyone smart enough to see the holes in your argument, and the people already on your side don't want to be seen next to you.

Read more!

Hannibal Rising (2007)

The latest, and hopefully last, of the Hannibal Lecter movies is a triumph of marketing over character. Ever since The Silence of the Lambs, Thomas Harris has made a career of making over his accidentally ambiguous villain, rendered fascinating primarily by Anthony Hopkins’ performance and chemistry with Jodie Foster, into a stale anti-hero. What was a playful subtext in Lambs became ridiculously overt in Hannibal and starkly and uninterestingly un-mythologized in Hannibal Rising.

The film is constructed of moments which tease the audience about the mature killer to come; knowledge, and indeed some amount of worship, is required to make this film make sense. Not that it’s terribly complicated: war scavengers in WWII Lithuania eat his sister and he grows up into a sadistic cannibal. Naturally. Unfortunately, the film only uses this premise as license to be sadistic itself, rather than actually attempt to create a plausible backstory. And perhaps it is impossible, not to mention unadvisable, to try to explain a monster.

And sadistic the film is, not because it deals in cannibalism or revenge or gore, but because it does so gleefully, like Hannibal himself. And perhaps that’s why the film takes him as its hero—if we are to be implicated along with him, we will likewise be exonerated. The movie’s message is that Mankind did this to a boy who grew up to dish it back to Mankind; and the path that Hannibal’s later life follows does nothing to counter this view or tarnish his tragic anti-hero image.

My contention is not that Hannibal is not an interesting character, or is unworthy of our consideration as representative of something we, as a society, find endlessly fascinating. But Hannibal Rising deprives the character of his mystery, and has nothing on the original. It is one thing, after all, to read against the grain and find something attractive or heroic in the bad guy’s subtext, and quite another to take the text and shine all the ambiguity, all the fun of transgressive viewing, out of it. And for “transgressive,” read “fun.”

Hannibal Lecter, the character, is no fan of subtlety when it comes to his crimes. But in his tastes, he is a gourmet, and I can’t help but think he’d hate this movie. Then again, he likes to eat brains, so maybe he shouldn’t be our guide in these things. But it is altogether a different meal from Silence of the Lambs, and the fact that it is meant to be does not, in my opinion, excuse it. I didn’t want Silence of the Lambs Redux, but I’d have been much happier leaving it as my sole entrée into the mind of this particular killer. Read more!

Knocked Up (2006)

I have never wanted to have children. Knocked Up, despite having a trajectory that lends it a sort of family values sheen, only solidified that decision. Because really: if you (hot blonde-type Katherine Heigl with your lucrative onscreen career at E!) accidentally got preggers during a drunken one-night-stand with a jobless pot-smoking overweight sarcastic guy with constant 3-day stubble, wouldn’t you do your damndest to fold him into your family unit?

Of course, it’s a movie, and the guy’s Seth Rogan (from Freaks and Geeks), and even though you know you belong to a different rung of the dating ladder you’re going to give his deadpan sardonic charm a fair shot. Which is what is kind of great about this movie—it doesn’t pretend Rogan’s a heartthrob, but he is the leading man. That, in itself, is enough to make me like the film on principle. Like me, Judd Apatow (who worked with Rogan on the aforementioned show and cast him in The 40 Year Old Virgin) watched him and decided he should be used more. Thanks goodness, too; this movie basically expands on the best bits from Apatow’s previous film—Rogan and friends sitting around bullshitting about pop culture—and leaves out the more predictable humor and societal unease about sexuality.

Which isn’t to say the movie’s not conventional, or edgy, or vulgar, or sweet. It’s all of those things, with a cherry of dubious family stability on top. Abortion’s not really an option, but neither are we told this experiment in cross-clique breeding is going to be successful. The film’s model of marriage—Heigl’s sister and her husband, played by Apatow’s wife Leslie Mann and my personal favorite Paul Rudd—is a tar pit of frustration and mutual mistrust and snark. Both of the parents-to-be make mistakes, but also make compromises. Apatow says he wants to make films that look more or less like real life, and Rogan’s non-acting style perfectly suits it. Romantic comedies are rarely this raw or this funny, and that might be because as in life, romance gets the short end of the stick. Maybe that’s why it’s possible for people to walk away from it with completely opposing designs towards procreation, as many of my female friends prove; you come out with what you brought in, but with your stomach sore from laughing. Read more!

300 (2007)

The tempest in a teapot that has been the critical reaction to 300 has, as yet, been absent my voice. On the basis of the trailers and the graphic novel on which the film is based, I had a sense that it dealt in a philosophy of brutality and stark notions of good and evil. I was cautioned, however, against making my mind up before seeing the entire film. I hope that I went into it, finally, without this review already written in my head; doubtless those who disagree will believe that my conclusions were reached long before the evidence had been gathered.

300 is an ahistorical account of King Leonidas’ last stand against Xerxes and the Persian army. His 300 soldiers, supplemented by other city-states of Greece, seek glory rather than victory; an ideological battle for freedom and the potential represented by nascent Greek culture. These “free men” stand against Xerxes’ army of “slaves,” nevermind that the Greeks were no more above slavery than any other civilization—in fact, the Spartans’ own slaves outnumbered them three to one. They call the Athenians “boy lovers,” though Sparta was no stranger to the sexual mentoring of young men. Above all, the society that Leonidas commands seems like more of a military state topped with corrupt politicians and priests than a precursor to democracy; hardly a model from which cries of freedom ring.

Of course, it is only a movie. And it’s an active one, which recreates the book in great detail. Like Sin City (though aesthetically less pleasing to me), it is a graphic novel brought to life, and that is an interesting achievement. Great care was taken in this process, and that is impressive. To me, the art of the book is far more beautiful than the film managed to be, but that is a matter of personal taste. And while the color palate was acceptable, and the acting decent, I found the film ugly in its clumsy dialogue, awkward political subplot and laughable fake wolf. Without the controversy, I would probably dismiss it out of hand, as neither worth seeing for its brief pleasures or worth arguing about its numerous flaws.

But while it is too silly to take seriously as a socio-political statement about anything, it does not follow that the film should be immune from speculation about what cultural currents run beneath it. And there is much in 300 to worry me; so much so that I can’t understand how it could be missed. Anyone who is not a Spartan—or more specifically, is not Spartan by a very narrow definition of the word—is ugly, black, or effeminately gay (Leonidas is, by the way, Scottish). Those who look like monsters will act like monsters; those who look like Europeans may be worth trusting. Even the argument that Stelios and Astinos’ homosocial bond may be read as homoerotic does not lesson the homophobia inherent in portraying Xerxes as a beautiful and androgynous sexual predator. Homophobia can just as easily operate by informing us which kind of social transactions are acceptable and which are not. It is an old belief that men in homosexual situations are only men as long as they play a “man’s” role.

None of this means that anyone connected with the film was trying to make a political statement. Neither does it mean that the movie should not have been made in whatever manner they chose, or that audiences shouldn’t enjoy it for its visceral appeal. But the bloodthirsty imagery and the heroic golden light bathing the Spartans tells me that we are meant to side with them; meant to consider their cause worthy, their glory earned. We may not be able to say that any film is a concrete philosophical statement; but I don’t see how 300 can be read as free of any troubling social commentary.

Read more!

Spider-Man 3 (2007)

The third installment in the Spider-Man movie franchise is not the pinnacle of moviemaking. It’s not even the apex of superhero cinema. It’s a film rife with coincidence and absurdly simplistic morality, made by people who want to tell us the world is full of shades of grey but who can’t get over the ease of black and white. So when I tell you I loved it, it doesn’t mean I wasn’t sitting there shrugging my shoulders at its rampant stupidity.

But I loved it.

Let me recap: I hated 1. I thought it was cartoonish and silly. 2, somehow, opened up before me as an exploration of the superhero as normal guy; everything I’ve always wanted from a comic book. I’ve always been far more interested in how the heroes’ alter egos live with themselves than in watching them leap tall buildings in a single bound. The second film was a lovely exposition along that theme, with a tastefully relevant villain.

For the third film, it seems that someone decided that it wasn’t enough to play with Peter and MJ’s relationship; not enough to throw Parker’s darker “black Spider-man” at him; not enough to have Harry-son-of-Green Goblin lose his memory, find it again, and come after Peter multiple times; not enough to include not one but two mutant villains; but they all had to be interconnected somehow in a ridiculous, excuse the expression, web of association and happenstance. Oh, and dancing. The movie asks us to believe far too much in its too long 141 minutes; convenience is par for the course in American comics, but played out monthly it’s probably easier to swallow.

At the same time, I ate every bit, and would have sat for more. Because the things I loved about the second film—the missed opportunities, adolescent selfishness and misunderstanding, growing up and apart from friends; with special powers, of course—they were still there. They were hidden in the new effects (mostly occurring at night, which they’ve finally figured out masks much sin) and the loaded (and sometimes cheesy) script and clumsy moralizing, but this is still a story about a guy trying to figure it all out, with just as much to deal with as most of us. And that’s not typical in Hollywood. As silly and transparent as it is, most movies wouldn’t have a fight scene hinge on the fact that a the hero’s more concerned about not losing the ring he wants to propose to his girl with. And I admire that. I also admire any movie where Bruce Campbell attempts to convince us of his accent by informing us he’s French.

So every time I started to scoff at the movie, and mock its attempts to curry favor with fans, I remembered that this guy had made Army of Darkness, and I sat back again to enjoy the ride. I love Army of Darkness. And in the end, the good humor apparent behind both movies won me over, despite all reason. It’s goofy, contradictory and cheesy, but then, so’s my life. And maybe that’s why I relate to it. Read more!

film review index

• 300 (2007)
  
• Adaptation (2002)
• Alien (1979)
• An American Werewolf in London (1981)
• The Apple (1980)
• Art School Confidential (2006)
• Bad Education (La mala educacion) (2004)
  
• The Black Dahlia (2006)
• Borat (2006)
• A Boy and His Dog (1975)
• The Boys in the Band (1970)
  
• Brazil (1985)
  
• Brokeback Mountain (2005)
• Broken Flowers (2005)
• C.S.A.: The Confederate States of America (2004)
• Candy (2006)
• Casualties of War (1989)
• Children of Men (2006)
• Compulsion (1959)
  
• Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2002)
• The Constant Gardener (2005)
• The Conversation (1974)
• The Dark Knight (2008)
  
• Death Race 2000 (1975)
• Deliverance (1972)
• Dune (1984)
• The Full Monty (1997)
• Galaxy Quest (1999)
• Garden State (2004)
  
• GAS-S-S-S (1970) and Wild in the Streets (1968)
• Get to Know Your Rabbit (1972)
• The Golden Compass (2007)
  
• Hannibal Rising (2007)
  
• Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle (2004)
  
• Heavenly Creatures (1994)
• The Hours (2002)
• I Am Legend (2007)
  
• Ice Princess (2005)
• Inland Empire (2006)
• Innocence (2004)
  
• Inserts (1974)
• The Intruder (1962)
• Jane Eyre (1944)
  
• Jarhead (2005)
• Jesus Camp (2006) and Soldiers in the Army of God ...
• Journey Into Fear (1943)
  
• Juno (2007)
  
• King Kong (2005)
• Knocked Up (2006)
  
• The Last Days of Disco (1998) and Metropolitan (1990)
  
• The Last Picture Show (1971)
• Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man (2006)
• The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou (2004)
• The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005)
• Logan's Run (1976)
• The Loved One (1965)
• The Magnificent Ambersons (1942)
  
• The Man Who Fell to Earth (1975)
• Marie Antoinette (2006)
• Match Point (2005)
• Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005)
• Metropolitan (1990) and Last Days of Disco (1998)
  
• The Odd Couple (1968)
• OldBoy (2003)
• Pan's Labyrinth (2006)
• Peeping Tom (1960)
• Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)
• The Plague Dogs (1982)
• Pretty Persuasion (2005)
• Pretty Poison (1968)
• Pride and Prejudice (2005)
• Prince of Foxes (1949)
  
• Quadrophenia (1979)
• Rashomon (1950)
• Rent (2005)
• Ripley's Game (2002)
• Rocky Balboa (2006)
• Rosemary's Baby (1968)
• Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Silk Stocking (2004)
  
• A Scanner Darkly (2006)
• The Science of Sleep (2006)
• Shopgirl (2005)
• Shortbus (2006)
• Sicko (2007)
  
• Sideways (2004)
  
• Sin City (2005)
  
• Soldiers in the Army of God and Jesus Camp (2006)
• Spider-man 2 (2004)
• Spider-man 3 (2007)
  
• A Star is Born (1976)
• Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith (2005)
• Stardust Memories (1980)
  
• Stranger than Fiction (2006)
• Sunshine (2007)
  
• Superman Returns (2006)
• Sweeney Todd (2007)
  
• Swimming Pool (2003)
  
• Targets (1968)
• There Will Be Blood (2007)
• Tomorrow is Forever (1946)
  
• Transformers: the Movie (1986)
• Tristram Shandy: a Cock and Bull Story (2005)
• The Untouchables (1987)
• Vera Drake (2005)
• A Very Long Engagement (2004)
  
• Walkabout (1971)
• Wallace and Gromit: the Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005)
• Wet Hot American Summer (2001)
• The Wicker Man (1973)
• Wild in the Streets (1968) and GAS-S-S-S (1970)
• Y tu mama, tambien (2001)

Read more!