Lettergrade: B
Having been burned by shitty "part 4s" in the past, I feared the worst for Live Free Or Die Hard. The TV ads, which have been shoved into every known crevice in the television broadcast universe, depict a level of surreality that seemed foreign to Die Hard. In them, John McClaine (played once again by the venerable Bruce Willis) is a one-man wrecking machine, spouting off ridiculous one-liners and taking part in insanely elaborate, unrealistic action. Consider, for example, the trailer-friendly segment where an astonished Justin Long stares agape at Willis' recent stunt: Running a car up a ramp so that it smashes into a helicopter that's been shooting at them. "You just killed a helicopter with a car!," exclaims the 'Macintosh' half of the popular Mac / PC commercials. "I was out of bullets," replies McClaine cooly. This seemed to be a far cry from the earlier movies, where McClaine was more of a reluctant every-man caught in a crazy-but-vaguely-plausible situation.
After seeing the picture itself, however, I'm pleased to say that despite all the insane action, silliness and general implausibility, Live Free Or Die Hard is actually pretty good. Well... by "good," I mean "entertaining." It's more like an old school Bruce Willis action movie from the 80s than the trailers would have you beleive, and it surprisingly feels pretty much in keeping with the spirit of the other movies.
Each successive movie has upped the scale a bit, while adopting increasingly stupider titles. Die Hard had McClaine in an LA office building taken over by German terrorists. In Die Hard 2: Die Harder McClaine battles mercenaries who hijack the communications systems of Dulles International Airport and threaten to crash planes unless a South American drug lord is released. In the third movie, Die Hard With A Vengeance, a mad bomber threatens to blow-up various parts of New York City unless McClaine and Samuel L. Jackson run around town and play his deadly game of "Simon Says." The dude doing all the bombing (Jeremy Irons) is the brother of Alan Rickman's character from the first movie. This might explain the With A Vengeance part, but the title still sucks.
Which brings us to Live Free Or Die Hard. Derived from a famous state motto symbolizing aggressive American independence, the title suggests that we'll finally be getting what fanboys have dreamed of since the series began; Die Hard: New Hampshire. Alas the film never visits the Granite State, but McClaine is sent off on a wild race through much of the east coast when a band of cyber terrorists hack into pretty much every computer in the US simultaneously, holding the entire nation hostage unless paid a shitload of money. I am barely tech-savvy enough to post this movie review, and as such I have no clue if the film's scenario is even remotely possible, but I'm guessing it's mostly fantasy. I'm willing to go with it, however, as long as the action scenes and the vague semblance of story remain engaging (which they do).
The key problem with the shitty-but-enjoyable Die Hard With A Vengeance is that it didn't really have the heart of the first two pictures. In 1 and 2, Willis was working to rescue his wife, played by Bonnie Bedelia, who was in various ways in peril as a result of what the bad guys were doing. I know it would have been silly for McClaine to be saving his wife in every single movie, but the alternative they came up with in part 3 was to turn McClaine into an alcoholic burn-out, estranged from his Bedelia altogether. Part 4 introduces McClaine's daughter, seen briefly as a child earlier, I believe, and uses her pretty much in same way that Bedelia was used.
A major weak link in the movie is that the main antagonist isn't especially interesting or threatening. Alan Rickman as Hans Grüber in the first Die Hard expanded on the James Bond tradition and forever changed what scenery-chewing villains were all about. The lead bad guy here is played by the exceedingly metro-sexual Timothy Olyphant, who looks like he's running his entire cyber-terror operation out of a Banana Republic outlet center. I've liked him as an actor in the past, but I think he was the wrong guy for the roll.
Another problem I have with the movie is that the bad guys have apparently hacked the nation's cyber security to the point where they can press a button and make anything happen anywhere pretty much instantly. While I can understand the screenwriter(s) impulse to do this, I sort of feel that they diminished the tension by giving the bad guy too much power. It's sort of like what they did with the female Terminator in Terminator 3: Rise Of The Machines... she could control "anything with a microchip" ala Maximum Overdrive, making her powerful, yes, but oddly not as menacing as Robert Patrick as the T-1000 in T2, who had limits.
A word about the editing... The general thinking is that it's often tough to evaluate how the editor did unless something really isn't working. For the most part, the cutting here is smooth, albeit a little hyperactive in places. There is the occasional scene, however, where I seriously did not know what the fuck was happening. Not only is it unclear where people are in the scene (and who is looking at what), but there is, without question, the most inept ADR that I've ever seen in a movie. I assume that some of these scenes were edited like this to compensate for plot changes that happened during post production. Why not, however, simply hold on McClaine's face for a little longer while Justin Long says whatever he's saying off camera?
And now for a bit of unsolicited personal history. I wasn't always as jaded and cranky about movies as I am now. There was a time when I was much more excited about summer blockbusters and action movies than the black-hearted pessimist who's been keeping this blog the last several months. I know when the change happened, too; It was July of 1998, when I excitedly plunked down my money to see Lethal Weapon 4. I had really liked the previous three movies, which I considered to be fine character-based storytelling combined with the added bonus of shit blowing up semi-frequently. Part 4, however, as anyone who was unfortunate enough to have seen it knows, ranks among the most perfunctory piles of shit ever shoveled into theaters. I read that the movie had been rushed into production only seven months before it was released because of a hole in Warner Bros.'s summer release schedule after Tim Burton's proposed Superman reboot dissolved. And it showed: Mel Gibson was playing a character who in no way resembled the guy he was playing in the first picture, and I later found out that producer Joel Silver basically cut-and-pasted the script together from four completely different attempts at writing a sequel previously!
From that point on, I've had a certain hostility toward schlocky, corporate studio decision-making, and manipulative misleading marketing bullshit. I will say, however, that if I - nearly 10 years later - can go to see a picture like Live Free Or Die Hard and walk out pretty much satisfied, perhaps there's hope yet.
June 27, 2007
June 23, 2007
SiCKO (06/23/07)
Lettergrade: A-
I was in high school when a friend made me watch Roger & Me, Michael Moore's first movie which depicted the effects of General Motors' decision to close its factory in Moore's home town of Flint, Michigan. I can honestly say it became one of the most influential films of my youth. I was simply amazed by what Moore was able to pull off: during the film I felt angry, I felt deep empathy and sadness, it made me realize that I needed to educate myself and read the news... and of course at times it was very funny. I understood immediately (and had a lot of affection for) what Moore was trying to do. At the risk of repeating myself, I'll mention my former writing instructor's contention that using humor to tell a grim story is an excellent way to get people to listen to what you've got to say.
These days, of course, Moore needs no introduction. After several films, two TV series, a slew of books, an immensely popular website, and legions of both supporters and detractors, Moore is about as public as it gets. His new picture, SiCKO centers around the American health care system and contrasts it with that of other nations. Like his previous movies (Bowling For Columbine in particular), the film is structured as a collection of vignettes that all deal with social issues loosely surrounding the same subject. SiCKO is actually a little less scattershot than his previous two movies, focusing largely on insurance company horror stories, and then shifting to the pathology of U.S. private health insurance, and the country's long-standing aversion to socialized medicine. The latter part of the film is spent visiting several other nations and having a look at how their public care systems work.
Is it propaganda? You bet. As always, Moore has a masterful way of using music, pop-culture references and juxtaposed images to make his point. People cry on camera - which he milks for all he can - and interview fragments are taken slightly out of context to make certain people seem slimier and more calloused than they might have appeared otherwise. Moore makes no bones about wearing his biases on his sleeve, and frankly I have more of a problem with news and documentaries that clearly use similar tactics, but do it while claiming to be objective.
The big criticism of the movie is that Moore spends a good deal of time painting a very rosy picture of the socialized health-care systems in Canada, England, France and Cuba. My finaceé's parents are from England and lived in Canada before moving to the US. One of my sisters also lived in Canada for several years and is now in France. Although each will commend certain things about health-care in those respective countries, there is also a good deal to complain about in terms of having to wait weeks to see a specialist, etc. I can't remember if the film brought this up, but it is common for the wealthier citizens of France, for example, to have private health insurance to supplement the service that the government provides. These complaints go virtually unaddressed in Moore's film, and have already been major attack points for its critics.
The omissions are also disappointing because it seems he missed an opportunity to underline a point that is suggested at in the movie, but never stated clearly: While none of these other countries are devoid of problems, some kind of American socialized medicine system, however flawed, would at the very least be a God-send for the 50 million or so who cannot afford it or cannot get it through their employer (to say nothing of the thousands more who are left out in the wind when their insurance company refuses to approve something necessary). Such a system in America would not be perfect and would certainly mean significantly higher taxes (another point the film doesn't annunciate clearly, although it should be kept in mind that one might no longer pay for private insurance). The unspoken reality is that a combination of the systems detailed in Moore's film will probably be needed if better health-care is to materialize in the US.
While Jon Stewart has been careful to remind people that The Daily Show isn't trying to be great social commentary, Moore seems to be a bit more eager to promote himself as the spokesman for the angry and under-represented of America. You can safely call him a muckraker (in the very best meaning of the term, of course), and it's fair to call him obnoxious at times as well. One of my friends who is _not_ a Michael Moore fan recently described him as a blunt instrument, lacking subtlety on pretty much all levels.
These are all valid complaints, but I will say that I'll always have a soft spot for guys like Moore. Not because I agree with his politics all the time (although I frequently do) or because I think he has some good ideas for the country (some of them are good, some of them are bat-shit crazy), but really because he's achieved a certain kind of celebrity and a particular public podium which he uses to prompt discussion on ideas he really cares about. Both Moore and Stewart take delight in running footage where politicians give wildly contradictory statements on the same issue. Both point out when newscasters and politicians alike are fear-mongering, spreading misleading information, or otherwise exhibiting behavior that we should not tolerate from our nation's legislators and decision-makers. People who might not be inclined to read a lot of news or take part in political discussion could perhaps watch for the entertainment, but walk away a bit more informed. I'll gladly take that over any Michael Bay movie you can show me.
I was in high school when a friend made me watch Roger & Me, Michael Moore's first movie which depicted the effects of General Motors' decision to close its factory in Moore's home town of Flint, Michigan. I can honestly say it became one of the most influential films of my youth. I was simply amazed by what Moore was able to pull off: during the film I felt angry, I felt deep empathy and sadness, it made me realize that I needed to educate myself and read the news... and of course at times it was very funny. I understood immediately (and had a lot of affection for) what Moore was trying to do. At the risk of repeating myself, I'll mention my former writing instructor's contention that using humor to tell a grim story is an excellent way to get people to listen to what you've got to say.
These days, of course, Moore needs no introduction. After several films, two TV series, a slew of books, an immensely popular website, and legions of both supporters and detractors, Moore is about as public as it gets. His new picture, SiCKO centers around the American health care system and contrasts it with that of other nations. Like his previous movies (Bowling For Columbine in particular), the film is structured as a collection of vignettes that all deal with social issues loosely surrounding the same subject. SiCKO is actually a little less scattershot than his previous two movies, focusing largely on insurance company horror stories, and then shifting to the pathology of U.S. private health insurance, and the country's long-standing aversion to socialized medicine. The latter part of the film is spent visiting several other nations and having a look at how their public care systems work.
Is it propaganda? You bet. As always, Moore has a masterful way of using music, pop-culture references and juxtaposed images to make his point. People cry on camera - which he milks for all he can - and interview fragments are taken slightly out of context to make certain people seem slimier and more calloused than they might have appeared otherwise. Moore makes no bones about wearing his biases on his sleeve, and frankly I have more of a problem with news and documentaries that clearly use similar tactics, but do it while claiming to be objective.
The big criticism of the movie is that Moore spends a good deal of time painting a very rosy picture of the socialized health-care systems in Canada, England, France and Cuba. My finaceé's parents are from England and lived in Canada before moving to the US. One of my sisters also lived in Canada for several years and is now in France. Although each will commend certain things about health-care in those respective countries, there is also a good deal to complain about in terms of having to wait weeks to see a specialist, etc. I can't remember if the film brought this up, but it is common for the wealthier citizens of France, for example, to have private health insurance to supplement the service that the government provides. These complaints go virtually unaddressed in Moore's film, and have already been major attack points for its critics.
The omissions are also disappointing because it seems he missed an opportunity to underline a point that is suggested at in the movie, but never stated clearly: While none of these other countries are devoid of problems, some kind of American socialized medicine system, however flawed, would at the very least be a God-send for the 50 million or so who cannot afford it or cannot get it through their employer (to say nothing of the thousands more who are left out in the wind when their insurance company refuses to approve something necessary). Such a system in America would not be perfect and would certainly mean significantly higher taxes (another point the film doesn't annunciate clearly, although it should be kept in mind that one might no longer pay for private insurance). The unspoken reality is that a combination of the systems detailed in Moore's film will probably be needed if better health-care is to materialize in the US.
While Jon Stewart has been careful to remind people that The Daily Show isn't trying to be great social commentary, Moore seems to be a bit more eager to promote himself as the spokesman for the angry and under-represented of America. You can safely call him a muckraker (in the very best meaning of the term, of course), and it's fair to call him obnoxious at times as well. One of my friends who is _not_ a Michael Moore fan recently described him as a blunt instrument, lacking subtlety on pretty much all levels.
These are all valid complaints, but I will say that I'll always have a soft spot for guys like Moore. Not because I agree with his politics all the time (although I frequently do) or because I think he has some good ideas for the country (some of them are good, some of them are bat-shit crazy), but really because he's achieved a certain kind of celebrity and a particular public podium which he uses to prompt discussion on ideas he really cares about. Both Moore and Stewart take delight in running footage where politicians give wildly contradictory statements on the same issue. Both point out when newscasters and politicians alike are fear-mongering, spreading misleading information, or otherwise exhibiting behavior that we should not tolerate from our nation's legislators and decision-makers. People who might not be inclined to read a lot of news or take part in political discussion could perhaps watch for the entertainment, but walk away a bit more informed. I'll gladly take that over any Michael Bay movie you can show me.
June 17, 2007
Fido (06/17/07)
Lettergrade: F
Fido is the sort of film that makes for a funny trailer, but a dull, laughless movie. Produced in Canada and starring some moderately well-known actors, the film takes a look at what would happen if - after space dust turns the Earth's deceased into flesh-eating zombies - those zombies were then domesticated and put to work in closed-off communities that resemble the American 1950s for no reason whatsoever. It's a horror/comedy that is frequently gruesome rather than scary, and marginally clever rather than funny.
After we saw the movie, the guest host on Ebert & Roeper reminded me that the picture is pretty much derived from a 12 second gag at the end of the infinitely superior Shaun Of The Dead, where a news clip announces the government's program to do pretty much the same thing that the government does in this movie. The concept could make for a funny movie, I suppose, but in Fido it all plays out in a surprisingly lengthy way that makes it almost impossible for anything to have a good comedic snap.
Fido himself is a zombie that is bought by an unhappy family. Mom and dad (Carrie-Anne Moss and Dylan Baker) don't interact much with one another, or with their adolescent son Timmy. Timmy isn't popular at school, and Fido (played by an unrecognizable Billy Connolly) becomes his only friend. While playing in the park one day, Fido's restraining collar momentarily deactivates and he savagely chews the arm off of the old woman who lives next door (I could fish around on IMDB and try to figure out what her character was named, but fuck it). Anyway, because a zombie bite will turn you into a zombie, Timmy whacks the old lady's head off with a shovel and buries her in a local park. Unfortunately, she rises from her grave (it is later explained that a zombie head can reattach itself) and starts a whole wave of zombie killings in the town that need to be covered up by Timmy and his mom (who has become smitten with Fido for reasons that are unclear).
What I just described plays out over 45-50 minutes... quite a bit more time than would seem to be needed. We understand right away that it's a Leave It To Beaver / Lassie type world in which zombies live. It takes maybe 40 seconds of screen time to communicate that, and yet the movie found it necessary to set the premise up somewhat meticulously, as if we'd start questioning things if details were glossed over. We also might feel like we're a little more in on the joke if the human characters more closely resembled campy archetypes from TV of that era, but instead the film puts some effort into giving them nuance and depth where it is really not required. It's all an unhappy marriage of material that probably shouldn't have been combined like this.
Yet another inhibitor to the comedy is the film's slick production value: The cinematography is bright and saturated, the sets and costumes are elaborate, and there's a wall-to-wall music that sounds like it was recorded with a big orchestra. I generally feel that movies like this - which try to strike a bizarre / satirical / subversive chord - are better when they feel cheaper (or at least give the illusion of cheapness).
It might have been okay as a bizarre retro-comedy ala The Brady Bunch Movie or some of the more successful segments of Grindhouse, but Fido's nearest relative might surprisingly be 1998's Pleasantville. In that movie, Tobey Magurie and Reese Witherspoon are sucked into a Donna Reed like TV show to illustrate the point that while it might be easy to romanticize the past as this wonderful time where everyone was nicer to one another, in truth there was a lot of repression, bigotry, and pressure to stick to social norms that people selectively leave out when getting nostalgic. Maguire learns that a little rebellion and social progress can be a really good thing, while Witherspoon starts to understand that an excessive amount of the same can be quite bad.
Fido operates in a similar way, setting its people and zombies in a fictional past, the likes the which never existed. There's a character arc toward the end that seems to be trying to make the point that the uninhibited zombies sort of of show the living how to really live. If the movie is indeed trying to be deep on this level, however, I don't understand what the filmmakers want us to take away from everything. The zombies teach people who would never have had to endure such social conditions to throw up their heels in a way that really isn't relevant to anything going on today (or at least, it's not all that relevant to life as I have experienced it). It's okay if your movie doesn't have a "central message," but I've got a problem with movies that act like they're about something when in fact a small amount of critical thinking directed at the plot makes everything completely unravel.
I'm not saying that every movie has to have an underlining theme or a message, you understand, but I somewhat feel that if you're not going to have a good reason for existing, you at least need to be entertaining on some level. Fido doesn't do either of those things, and as such it should pretty much be avoided.
Fido is the sort of film that makes for a funny trailer, but a dull, laughless movie. Produced in Canada and starring some moderately well-known actors, the film takes a look at what would happen if - after space dust turns the Earth's deceased into flesh-eating zombies - those zombies were then domesticated and put to work in closed-off communities that resemble the American 1950s for no reason whatsoever. It's a horror/comedy that is frequently gruesome rather than scary, and marginally clever rather than funny.
After we saw the movie, the guest host on Ebert & Roeper reminded me that the picture is pretty much derived from a 12 second gag at the end of the infinitely superior Shaun Of The Dead, where a news clip announces the government's program to do pretty much the same thing that the government does in this movie. The concept could make for a funny movie, I suppose, but in Fido it all plays out in a surprisingly lengthy way that makes it almost impossible for anything to have a good comedic snap.
Fido himself is a zombie that is bought by an unhappy family. Mom and dad (Carrie-Anne Moss and Dylan Baker) don't interact much with one another, or with their adolescent son Timmy. Timmy isn't popular at school, and Fido (played by an unrecognizable Billy Connolly) becomes his only friend. While playing in the park one day, Fido's restraining collar momentarily deactivates and he savagely chews the arm off of the old woman who lives next door (I could fish around on IMDB and try to figure out what her character was named, but fuck it). Anyway, because a zombie bite will turn you into a zombie, Timmy whacks the old lady's head off with a shovel and buries her in a local park. Unfortunately, she rises from her grave (it is later explained that a zombie head can reattach itself) and starts a whole wave of zombie killings in the town that need to be covered up by Timmy and his mom (who has become smitten with Fido for reasons that are unclear).
What I just described plays out over 45-50 minutes... quite a bit more time than would seem to be needed. We understand right away that it's a Leave It To Beaver / Lassie type world in which zombies live. It takes maybe 40 seconds of screen time to communicate that, and yet the movie found it necessary to set the premise up somewhat meticulously, as if we'd start questioning things if details were glossed over. We also might feel like we're a little more in on the joke if the human characters more closely resembled campy archetypes from TV of that era, but instead the film puts some effort into giving them nuance and depth where it is really not required. It's all an unhappy marriage of material that probably shouldn't have been combined like this.
Yet another inhibitor to the comedy is the film's slick production value: The cinematography is bright and saturated, the sets and costumes are elaborate, and there's a wall-to-wall music that sounds like it was recorded with a big orchestra. I generally feel that movies like this - which try to strike a bizarre / satirical / subversive chord - are better when they feel cheaper (or at least give the illusion of cheapness).
It might have been okay as a bizarre retro-comedy ala The Brady Bunch Movie or some of the more successful segments of Grindhouse, but Fido's nearest relative might surprisingly be 1998's Pleasantville. In that movie, Tobey Magurie and Reese Witherspoon are sucked into a Donna Reed like TV show to illustrate the point that while it might be easy to romanticize the past as this wonderful time where everyone was nicer to one another, in truth there was a lot of repression, bigotry, and pressure to stick to social norms that people selectively leave out when getting nostalgic. Maguire learns that a little rebellion and social progress can be a really good thing, while Witherspoon starts to understand that an excessive amount of the same can be quite bad.
Fido operates in a similar way, setting its people and zombies in a fictional past, the likes the which never existed. There's a character arc toward the end that seems to be trying to make the point that the uninhibited zombies sort of of show the living how to really live. If the movie is indeed trying to be deep on this level, however, I don't understand what the filmmakers want us to take away from everything. The zombies teach people who would never have had to endure such social conditions to throw up their heels in a way that really isn't relevant to anything going on today (or at least, it's not all that relevant to life as I have experienced it). It's okay if your movie doesn't have a "central message," but I've got a problem with movies that act like they're about something when in fact a small amount of critical thinking directed at the plot makes everything completely unravel.
I'm not saying that every movie has to have an underlining theme or a message, you understand, but I somewhat feel that if you're not going to have a good reason for existing, you at least need to be entertaining on some level. Fido doesn't do either of those things, and as such it should pretty much be avoided.
June 16, 2007
June 10, 2007
June 2, 2007
Knocked Up (06/02/07)
Lettergrade: B
The marketing campaign for Knocked Up sort of went nuclear the week before the film came out. The 92% freshness rating on Rotten Tomatoes -- along with the hearty endorsement of most critics, several internet sites, and Oprah -- all suggest that it's the funniest movie of this year and many another. Of course, the problem with this sort of astronomical hype is that it sets expectations that no movie can really meet. Joe Audience is bound to be disappointed when such a well-reviewed picture turns out to be merely "good."
And in spite of the media blitz, Knocked Up is pretty good. The movie was written and directed by Judd Apataow, who made 2005's The 40 Year Old Virgin among other quality projects. Like that film, this one is a surprisingly well-written, layered movie that hides inside a very vulgar, funny one.
The movie starts with the tried and true tradition of pairing people who normally wouldn't associate. Alison (Katherine Heigel) is a floor director at E! Entertainment Television. Ben (Seth Rogen, who was also in Virgin) is in the country illegally, lives off a settlement he got from a car accident when he was a teenager, and doesn't do much other than smoke a lot of weed with his five roommates. The two go their separate ways after an awkward breakfast following a drunken hook-up. Weeks later, she discovers she's pregnant and calls to let him know. Alison considers the options and decides she wants to have the baby. Ben, after a great scene where his father (played by Harold Ramis) says that having a son is the best thing that ever happened to him, decides that he wants to be there and as supportive as possible.
It might sound a little like Look Who's Talking without all the talking baby shit, but it really isn't. One thing that usually pisses me off about this sort of movie is when characters behave in ways that no one in real life ever would. I appreciated that Knocked Up is mature enough to deal with ideas and situations relevant to actual relationships that people have. The movie tries to find humor in reality, rather than twisting reality to accommodate some contrived gag. When Alison and Ben have an argument, it's over something highly plausible -- not because of a cheap plot device such as her snooty ex-finaceé showing up at the weekend house suddenly, or because she walks in and finds him with his dick in a pie. For instance, I liked the scene where Alison and Ben scream f-bombs at each other in the waiting room of her OBGYN, which manages to be incredibly uncomfortable, tragic, and entertaining all at once.
That's not to say the movie doesn't have a couple leaps which don't entirely add up, but it's not as insulting as your average bullshit Ben Stiller / Adam Sandler / Ashton Kutcher movie these days where the lead guy is some overly cute, independently wealthy frat boy who everyone loves, despite his clear psychological issues and man-child like aversion to responsibility. In this movie, you can understand why Alison starts to fall for Ben as they get to know one another better, and it is refreshing that at the end not all the problems are solved or tied up neatly.
I had a writing instructor in college who often would underline the difference between telling a depressing story in a depressing way, and telling a depressing story in a less obvious, possibly comedic way. The meaning I took is while any method you choose is perfectly valid, a "light" approach to heavy material can often make what you're trying to say more palatable to people who might not listen otherwise.
That's sort of over simplifying things, of course, but the neat thing about Knocked Up is that it manages to contemplate having children (whether planned or not) and accepting the responsibility and the role of being an adult, while still pleasing a crowd the way something like There's Something About Mary or Talladega Nights might. You can argue that Knocked Up isn't as funny as those movies, but it does have a lot of interesting thoughts and layered ideas in it, and for a big summer comedy to pull that off is something worth seeing.
The marketing campaign for Knocked Up sort of went nuclear the week before the film came out. The 92% freshness rating on Rotten Tomatoes -- along with the hearty endorsement of most critics, several internet sites, and Oprah -- all suggest that it's the funniest movie of this year and many another. Of course, the problem with this sort of astronomical hype is that it sets expectations that no movie can really meet. Joe Audience is bound to be disappointed when such a well-reviewed picture turns out to be merely "good."
And in spite of the media blitz, Knocked Up is pretty good. The movie was written and directed by Judd Apataow, who made 2005's The 40 Year Old Virgin among other quality projects. Like that film, this one is a surprisingly well-written, layered movie that hides inside a very vulgar, funny one.
The movie starts with the tried and true tradition of pairing people who normally wouldn't associate. Alison (Katherine Heigel) is a floor director at E! Entertainment Television. Ben (Seth Rogen, who was also in Virgin) is in the country illegally, lives off a settlement he got from a car accident when he was a teenager, and doesn't do much other than smoke a lot of weed with his five roommates. The two go their separate ways after an awkward breakfast following a drunken hook-up. Weeks later, she discovers she's pregnant and calls to let him know. Alison considers the options and decides she wants to have the baby. Ben, after a great scene where his father (played by Harold Ramis) says that having a son is the best thing that ever happened to him, decides that he wants to be there and as supportive as possible.
It might sound a little like Look Who's Talking without all the talking baby shit, but it really isn't. One thing that usually pisses me off about this sort of movie is when characters behave in ways that no one in real life ever would. I appreciated that Knocked Up is mature enough to deal with ideas and situations relevant to actual relationships that people have. The movie tries to find humor in reality, rather than twisting reality to accommodate some contrived gag. When Alison and Ben have an argument, it's over something highly plausible -- not because of a cheap plot device such as her snooty ex-finaceé showing up at the weekend house suddenly, or because she walks in and finds him with his dick in a pie. For instance, I liked the scene where Alison and Ben scream f-bombs at each other in the waiting room of her OBGYN, which manages to be incredibly uncomfortable, tragic, and entertaining all at once.
That's not to say the movie doesn't have a couple leaps which don't entirely add up, but it's not as insulting as your average bullshit Ben Stiller / Adam Sandler / Ashton Kutcher movie these days where the lead guy is some overly cute, independently wealthy frat boy who everyone loves, despite his clear psychological issues and man-child like aversion to responsibility. In this movie, you can understand why Alison starts to fall for Ben as they get to know one another better, and it is refreshing that at the end not all the problems are solved or tied up neatly.
I had a writing instructor in college who often would underline the difference between telling a depressing story in a depressing way, and telling a depressing story in a less obvious, possibly comedic way. The meaning I took is while any method you choose is perfectly valid, a "light" approach to heavy material can often make what you're trying to say more palatable to people who might not listen otherwise.
That's sort of over simplifying things, of course, but the neat thing about Knocked Up is that it manages to contemplate having children (whether planned or not) and accepting the responsibility and the role of being an adult, while still pleasing a crowd the way something like There's Something About Mary or Talladega Nights might. You can argue that Knocked Up isn't as funny as those movies, but it does have a lot of interesting thoughts and layered ideas in it, and for a big summer comedy to pull that off is something worth seeing.
May 26, 2007
Pirates Of The Caribbean 3: At World's End (5/26/07)
Lettergrade: B
I know I'm in the minority on this, but I'm one of the few who thought that Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest, was a better, more dynamic movie than the first one. I've been crankier and more cynical toward big summer blockbusters over the last couple years, but have found both Dead Man's Chest and this new one, Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End, to be imaginative and terribly exciting. Like its two predecessors, At World's End is pretty damn long with some remarkably dense plotting. Fortunately, it's also quite entertaining.
The story is a direct continuation of the events of Dead Man's Chest. If you haven't seen it, you won't know what the hell is going on in this one. Even if you have, you might be at a loss at times to explain what exactly is happening. This is a movie where pretty much each character has his / her own objective, and is constantly telling vague partial-truths, making side-deals with enemies (and then deals upon those deals), and double crossing everyone else. I have spent a good deal of time talking with Laura about who was trying to do what to whom during which part of the film over the last couple days, and I'm still not convinced I have it all figured out.
The spoiler-free synopsis is that East India Trading Company sales-rep Lord Cutler Beckett -- the evil asshole who set the events of part 2 in motion by busting up Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley's wedding -- continues to round up and eradicate pirate-kind from the face of the earth. Thanks to the climax of Dead Man's Chest, he now has the disembodied heart of Davy Jones, and can make Jones (voiced by a scenery gnawing Bill Nighy) and his ship of damned-sailors-mutated-into-supernatural-sea-life help him do it. Meanwhile, Knightley, Bloom, and Geoffrey Rush (as Captain Barbosa, who died in the first movie) stage an expedition to rescue Johnny Depp from Davy Jones' Locker (which is sort of like Hell / Purgatory / Utah). Assuming they are successful and make it back to the Land of the Living, they then must find a way to save their people from extermination and kick the collective ass of the East India Trading Company. A good deal of the pleasure of watching this movie comes from seeing how the characters and plot threads from Dead Man's Chest payoff, so I won't divulge much more.
The remarkable thing is that somehow the Pirates of the Caribbean flicks have managed to capture more of the feeling of the classic Star Wars movies than the new Star Wars movies did. The big difference is that Pirates gives Han Solo and Boba Fett more attention than Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, which I certainly won't complain about.
Two key things, however, have somewhat hurt all three movies in the series for me: The first is that the screenplays are written as if every single character is memorable and vitally important. I saw part 2 with my friend Tom, who leaned over to me part way through and asked who the hell some of the people in the movie are and if we, the audience, are supposed to know them. Although I had the benefit of having watched part 1 again recently, I had a bit of trouble recalling who everyone was myself.
The second drag is flair for excess. At World's End is nearly 3 hours, and much like parts 1 and 2 there are sequences that are a bit more bulky than they probably need to be. I was sort of hoping that there would be something in part 3 that would explain why we needed the 25 minute sequence on Cannibal Island in part 2, but nope. The filmmakers seem to be staunch believers in the more-is-more philosophy of filmmaking, which I suppose is fine is you have the time and money, but I really do believe that there's a diminishing returns theory that comes into play when movies get this lengthy. You don't enjoy the end as much because you're so wiped out from the middle. More often than not, I feel it is more effective to pace things on the modest side and let the audience walk away wanting more. But then, no one's paying me to make these things, so maybe I should keep my yap shut.
The movie was directed by Gore Verbinski, who in addition to making the other two pictures, was responsible for Mousehunt, The Mexican, The Ring, and those commercials from years back featuring alcoholic frogs who promote Budweiser products. While he undeniably has great skill for staging elaborate scenes and getting pretty images on film, I'm still not convinced he has the best story sense. All the films mentioned above (as well as Pirates of the Caribbean 1: The Curse of the Black Pearl) have really suffered from the same overindulgence issues that I think have harmed these last two movies.
When it comes down to it, though, it's hard to deny how well-made these things are, and how pleasurable they are to watch. At its heart, At World's End is a classic Hollywood spectacle; an amazing achievement in set design, visual effects artistry, elaborate staging, and popcorn moviemaking. Pacing issues aside, it's rare for a movie to try to do something so elaborate these days, and to pull it off as well as it is done here.
I know I'm in the minority on this, but I'm one of the few who thought that Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest, was a better, more dynamic movie than the first one. I've been crankier and more cynical toward big summer blockbusters over the last couple years, but have found both Dead Man's Chest and this new one, Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End, to be imaginative and terribly exciting. Like its two predecessors, At World's End is pretty damn long with some remarkably dense plotting. Fortunately, it's also quite entertaining.
The story is a direct continuation of the events of Dead Man's Chest. If you haven't seen it, you won't know what the hell is going on in this one. Even if you have, you might be at a loss at times to explain what exactly is happening. This is a movie where pretty much each character has his / her own objective, and is constantly telling vague partial-truths, making side-deals with enemies (and then deals upon those deals), and double crossing everyone else. I have spent a good deal of time talking with Laura about who was trying to do what to whom during which part of the film over the last couple days, and I'm still not convinced I have it all figured out.
The spoiler-free synopsis is that East India Trading Company sales-rep Lord Cutler Beckett -- the evil asshole who set the events of part 2 in motion by busting up Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley's wedding -- continues to round up and eradicate pirate-kind from the face of the earth. Thanks to the climax of Dead Man's Chest, he now has the disembodied heart of Davy Jones, and can make Jones (voiced by a scenery gnawing Bill Nighy) and his ship of damned-sailors-mutated-into-supernatural-sea-life help him do it. Meanwhile, Knightley, Bloom, and Geoffrey Rush (as Captain Barbosa, who died in the first movie) stage an expedition to rescue Johnny Depp from Davy Jones' Locker (which is sort of like Hell / Purgatory / Utah). Assuming they are successful and make it back to the Land of the Living, they then must find a way to save their people from extermination and kick the collective ass of the East India Trading Company. A good deal of the pleasure of watching this movie comes from seeing how the characters and plot threads from Dead Man's Chest payoff, so I won't divulge much more.
The remarkable thing is that somehow the Pirates of the Caribbean flicks have managed to capture more of the feeling of the classic Star Wars movies than the new Star Wars movies did. The big difference is that Pirates gives Han Solo and Boba Fett more attention than Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, which I certainly won't complain about.
Two key things, however, have somewhat hurt all three movies in the series for me: The first is that the screenplays are written as if every single character is memorable and vitally important. I saw part 2 with my friend Tom, who leaned over to me part way through and asked who the hell some of the people in the movie are and if we, the audience, are supposed to know them. Although I had the benefit of having watched part 1 again recently, I had a bit of trouble recalling who everyone was myself.
The second drag is flair for excess. At World's End is nearly 3 hours, and much like parts 1 and 2 there are sequences that are a bit more bulky than they probably need to be. I was sort of hoping that there would be something in part 3 that would explain why we needed the 25 minute sequence on Cannibal Island in part 2, but nope. The filmmakers seem to be staunch believers in the more-is-more philosophy of filmmaking, which I suppose is fine is you have the time and money, but I really do believe that there's a diminishing returns theory that comes into play when movies get this lengthy. You don't enjoy the end as much because you're so wiped out from the middle. More often than not, I feel it is more effective to pace things on the modest side and let the audience walk away wanting more. But then, no one's paying me to make these things, so maybe I should keep my yap shut.
The movie was directed by Gore Verbinski, who in addition to making the other two pictures, was responsible for Mousehunt, The Mexican, The Ring, and those commercials from years back featuring alcoholic frogs who promote Budweiser products. While he undeniably has great skill for staging elaborate scenes and getting pretty images on film, I'm still not convinced he has the best story sense. All the films mentioned above (as well as Pirates of the Caribbean 1: The Curse of the Black Pearl) have really suffered from the same overindulgence issues that I think have harmed these last two movies.
When it comes down to it, though, it's hard to deny how well-made these things are, and how pleasurable they are to watch. At its heart, At World's End is a classic Hollywood spectacle; an amazing achievement in set design, visual effects artistry, elaborate staging, and popcorn moviemaking. Pacing issues aside, it's rare for a movie to try to do something so elaborate these days, and to pull it off as well as it is done here.
May 18, 2007
Shrek The Third (05/18/07)
Lettergrade: D
Shrek The Third has some good laughs, but the thinness of the plot combined with a relative lack of ambition sort of makes the whole thing feel like a direct to video sequel.
In this one, Shrek's father-in-law dies early in the movie, meaning that Shrek (Mike Myers) and Fiona (Cameron Diaz) are the new rulers of 'Far, Far Away.' Shrek doesn't want the title or the responsibility, and sets out to find Fiona's distant cousin Arthur, a nerdish high school kid voiced by Justin Timberlake, to take crown instead. As he is leaving on his quest, Fiona tells Shrek she's pregnant, leading to a ton of anxiety on Shrek's part about whether or not he'll be an adequate father. Meanwhile, Prince Charming (Rupert Everett), disgraced after the events of Shrek 2, plots to take over 'Far, Far Away' in Shrek's absence.
While part 2 advanced the characters from the first picture considerably and mixed them all up in an inventive plotline, there's not much surprising about what transpires in this one. The basic dilemma, once again, is that Shrek feels he cannot fit in or achieve a certain task because he's an ogre. While there's a nice sentiment in there about believing in yourself and pushing forward all the same, it's pretty much the same note hit upon by the previous two movies. How fucking insecure is this guy that he needs to be reassured of his self-worth in every movie? Again, it has some good jokes and it is not a bad movie by any stretch, but I doubt that any children will experience a blinding flood of enlightenment or inspiration while in the theater.
I didn't like the first Shrek very much. The back-story on it is that Jeffrey Katzenberg was the #2 Disney who was unceremoniously fired around the time The Lion King came out in 1994. In retaliation, he got together with Steven Spielberg and David Geffen and formed Dreamworks SKG. Katzenberg would essentially run Dreamworks Animation and most of its pictures would bear his executive signature.
At time it came out in 2001, the first Shrek appeared to be a thinly veiled "fuck you" to Katzenberg's former bosses. Prince Farquaad (fuckwad?), voiced by John Lithgow, was even reported to have many of the same quirks and mannerisms as then-Disney CEO Michael Eisner. If so, I don't know how a reasonable person can fail to see it as a remarkably petty multimillion dollar vendetta project.
Shrek The First took a lot of the old Disney pictures to task for being sappy and somewhat irrelevant (which is fine), but then delivered a really saccharine Disney-style ending itself. Then there were the modern songs and all the pop culture references, which felt like blatant youth-appeal corporate-synergy cross-promotional bullshit, robbing the movie of any potential class or timelessness.
Shrek The Third tones all this down considerably, but perhaps it is telling of the series that once the novelty of the vocal talent starts to wear off and you peel away the garish soundtrack, what's left, while pleasant, isn't really all that interesting.
Shrek The Third has some good laughs, but the thinness of the plot combined with a relative lack of ambition sort of makes the whole thing feel like a direct to video sequel.
In this one, Shrek's father-in-law dies early in the movie, meaning that Shrek (Mike Myers) and Fiona (Cameron Diaz) are the new rulers of 'Far, Far Away.' Shrek doesn't want the title or the responsibility, and sets out to find Fiona's distant cousin Arthur, a nerdish high school kid voiced by Justin Timberlake, to take crown instead. As he is leaving on his quest, Fiona tells Shrek she's pregnant, leading to a ton of anxiety on Shrek's part about whether or not he'll be an adequate father. Meanwhile, Prince Charming (Rupert Everett), disgraced after the events of Shrek 2, plots to take over 'Far, Far Away' in Shrek's absence.
While part 2 advanced the characters from the first picture considerably and mixed them all up in an inventive plotline, there's not much surprising about what transpires in this one. The basic dilemma, once again, is that Shrek feels he cannot fit in or achieve a certain task because he's an ogre. While there's a nice sentiment in there about believing in yourself and pushing forward all the same, it's pretty much the same note hit upon by the previous two movies. How fucking insecure is this guy that he needs to be reassured of his self-worth in every movie? Again, it has some good jokes and it is not a bad movie by any stretch, but I doubt that any children will experience a blinding flood of enlightenment or inspiration while in the theater.
I didn't like the first Shrek very much. The back-story on it is that Jeffrey Katzenberg was the #2 Disney who was unceremoniously fired around the time The Lion King came out in 1994. In retaliation, he got together with Steven Spielberg and David Geffen and formed Dreamworks SKG. Katzenberg would essentially run Dreamworks Animation and most of its pictures would bear his executive signature.
At time it came out in 2001, the first Shrek appeared to be a thinly veiled "fuck you" to Katzenberg's former bosses. Prince Farquaad (fuckwad?), voiced by John Lithgow, was even reported to have many of the same quirks and mannerisms as then-Disney CEO Michael Eisner. If so, I don't know how a reasonable person can fail to see it as a remarkably petty multimillion dollar vendetta project.
Shrek The First took a lot of the old Disney pictures to task for being sappy and somewhat irrelevant (which is fine), but then delivered a really saccharine Disney-style ending itself. Then there were the modern songs and all the pop culture references, which felt like blatant youth-appeal corporate-synergy cross-promotional bullshit, robbing the movie of any potential class or timelessness.
Shrek The Third tones all this down considerably, but perhaps it is telling of the series that once the novelty of the vocal talent starts to wear off and you peel away the garish soundtrack, what's left, while pleasant, isn't really all that interesting.
May 4, 2007
Spider-Man 3 (05/04/07)
Lettergrade: F
Wow, what a pile of shit. I thought the first Spider-Man was kinda okay bordering on generic. The second was something of an improvement: It was quite decent and well-made, despite having a couple minor issues. This one... I just don't know what the hell happened. So much of it is so awkward and messy. There are way too many characters and plot-lines knocking around, and the story threads are introduced and revisited pretty much at random. Sitting here now, I'm trying to think through the movie chronologically and I simply cannot do so. I can't recall what happened when, to whom, and why. Such behavior would be somewhat acceptable if the movie had a strong heart and an over-all thematic point. Since it has neither of those things, the picture lumbers from scene to scene, feeling painfully long at 140 minutes.
Allow me to elaborate on what exactly goes on in this movie: As the picture starts, things are going atypically well for Spider-Man / Peter Parker. The general public likes him, and he's about to propose to Mary Jane.
Enter James Franco (as Harry Osborne), who I will insist is a strong, nuanced actor despite there being no evidence of that here. You may remember that he's the son of Willem Dafoe's Green Goblin from the first movie. At the end of the second movie, Harry vows revenge after discovering that Peter is Spider-Man and might have killed his father. As 3 starts, it's unclear how much time has passed between this revelation and now, to say nothing of what exactly Harry's plan is. Harry's main form of revenge seems to be sending larger floral arrangements to Mary Jane than Peter can afford. There is a scene very early in the picture where Franco casually walks out of a retro-futuristic steam room while Green Goblin equipment stands by. Perhaps he's subjected himself to the same performance enhancing gas that made his father go insane in the first movie? If so, there's no real explanation for why Franco himself doesn't have similar psychotic episodes, but what the hell.
Anyway, while all this is going on some futuristic space goo lands, and attaches itself to the back of Peter's motorcycle. What the fuck is it? Who knows. We won't see it again for an hour, so you can sort of forget about it for a while.
Then Flint Marko (played by Lowell from Wings) breaks out of prison. He visits his daughter who's apparently sick or something. Later, he falls into a completely unexplained top-secret science experiment that's happening in a field in the middle of nowhere. Why Flint happens to be out in that field is also completely unexplained. Anyway, from that point on he's part man, part sand - or the "Sandman" - and decides to use his newfound power to remain inarticulate and rob banks occasionally.
Eventually, the black goo from way earlier in the movie takes over Peter and turns him into Dark Spider-Man, much like the bad Kryptonite did to Superman in Superman III... except no Richard Prior. After a painful section of the film where Peter somewhat resembles an Emo-ed out Adoplh Hitler, Spider-Man rips the black suit off, and it lands on Topher Grace (a rival photographer at the Daily Bugle), turning him into Venom, yet another under-nourished villain.
Still with me? There's a lot of soap opera and bad laugher as the movie proceeds and all these plot lines begin to interweave. Most critically, however, a central thrust is missing that at least made the second picture move forward in a reasonably exciting way. In that movie, Doc Ock builds a large fusion doo-hickey that might destroy the city if it is not stopped. Nothing of the sort happens in this one: No ticking time-bomb, no impending doom, nothing. Just a ton of vaguely drawn characters who are introduced and occasionally revisited, but never given much to do. Harry has amnesia for most of the movie, and Peter begins a vague, non-defined flirtation with Gwen Stacey (Bryce Dallas Howard) that never amounts to anything. It's all just maddeningly aimless.
My solution to this unholy clusterfuck would simply be to remove Sandman from the movie altogether. Although his inclusion supplied the movie with its one good scene (the one where Sandman tries to pull himself together for the first time), it pissed me off that they retroactively shoehorned him into the storyline of first movie... suggesting he actually killed Uncle Ben while Peter was wrestling the Macho Man Randy Savage. Making the space goo / Dark Spidey / Venom storyline front and center might at least allow the movie to proceed in a direct line toward its conclusion. And we are told that Sandman has turned to crime to buy medicine for his sick daughter. Well, we see him knock over an armored car and several banks during the flick... how goddamn sick is this kid?
In any case, I must say that I don't know if I can take many more comic book / super-hero movies. I thought last summer's Superman Returns was labored and painful, and I'm rarely interested in the genré anymore apart from the occasional X-Men movie or something like Ang Lee's Hulk, which I _did_ like despite the fact that the general public hated it passionately.
As with all movies, utter realism isn't as important to me as a concept that at least makes me think. During Spider-Man 3, I was mostly thinking about what I wanted to eat after the movie was over, and how I could most efficiently get my laundry done before work on Monday. Perhaps that's what Sam Raimi wanted me to be thinking about, but more likely than not, I would guess that he started making the movie without having a clear idea of what he wanted to do with it.
Wow, what a pile of shit. I thought the first Spider-Man was kinda okay bordering on generic. The second was something of an improvement: It was quite decent and well-made, despite having a couple minor issues. This one... I just don't know what the hell happened. So much of it is so awkward and messy. There are way too many characters and plot-lines knocking around, and the story threads are introduced and revisited pretty much at random. Sitting here now, I'm trying to think through the movie chronologically and I simply cannot do so. I can't recall what happened when, to whom, and why. Such behavior would be somewhat acceptable if the movie had a strong heart and an over-all thematic point. Since it has neither of those things, the picture lumbers from scene to scene, feeling painfully long at 140 minutes.
Allow me to elaborate on what exactly goes on in this movie: As the picture starts, things are going atypically well for Spider-Man / Peter Parker. The general public likes him, and he's about to propose to Mary Jane.
Enter James Franco (as Harry Osborne), who I will insist is a strong, nuanced actor despite there being no evidence of that here. You may remember that he's the son of Willem Dafoe's Green Goblin from the first movie. At the end of the second movie, Harry vows revenge after discovering that Peter is Spider-Man and might have killed his father. As 3 starts, it's unclear how much time has passed between this revelation and now, to say nothing of what exactly Harry's plan is. Harry's main form of revenge seems to be sending larger floral arrangements to Mary Jane than Peter can afford. There is a scene very early in the picture where Franco casually walks out of a retro-futuristic steam room while Green Goblin equipment stands by. Perhaps he's subjected himself to the same performance enhancing gas that made his father go insane in the first movie? If so, there's no real explanation for why Franco himself doesn't have similar psychotic episodes, but what the hell.
Anyway, while all this is going on some futuristic space goo lands, and attaches itself to the back of Peter's motorcycle. What the fuck is it? Who knows. We won't see it again for an hour, so you can sort of forget about it for a while.
Then Flint Marko (played by Lowell from Wings) breaks out of prison. He visits his daughter who's apparently sick or something. Later, he falls into a completely unexplained top-secret science experiment that's happening in a field in the middle of nowhere. Why Flint happens to be out in that field is also completely unexplained. Anyway, from that point on he's part man, part sand - or the "Sandman" - and decides to use his newfound power to remain inarticulate and rob banks occasionally.
Eventually, the black goo from way earlier in the movie takes over Peter and turns him into Dark Spider-Man, much like the bad Kryptonite did to Superman in Superman III... except no Richard Prior. After a painful section of the film where Peter somewhat resembles an Emo-ed out Adoplh Hitler, Spider-Man rips the black suit off, and it lands on Topher Grace (a rival photographer at the Daily Bugle), turning him into Venom, yet another under-nourished villain.
Still with me? There's a lot of soap opera and bad laugher as the movie proceeds and all these plot lines begin to interweave. Most critically, however, a central thrust is missing that at least made the second picture move forward in a reasonably exciting way. In that movie, Doc Ock builds a large fusion doo-hickey that might destroy the city if it is not stopped. Nothing of the sort happens in this one: No ticking time-bomb, no impending doom, nothing. Just a ton of vaguely drawn characters who are introduced and occasionally revisited, but never given much to do. Harry has amnesia for most of the movie, and Peter begins a vague, non-defined flirtation with Gwen Stacey (Bryce Dallas Howard) that never amounts to anything. It's all just maddeningly aimless.
My solution to this unholy clusterfuck would simply be to remove Sandman from the movie altogether. Although his inclusion supplied the movie with its one good scene (the one where Sandman tries to pull himself together for the first time), it pissed me off that they retroactively shoehorned him into the storyline of first movie... suggesting he actually killed Uncle Ben while Peter was wrestling the Macho Man Randy Savage. Making the space goo / Dark Spidey / Venom storyline front and center might at least allow the movie to proceed in a direct line toward its conclusion. And we are told that Sandman has turned to crime to buy medicine for his sick daughter. Well, we see him knock over an armored car and several banks during the flick... how goddamn sick is this kid?
In any case, I must say that I don't know if I can take many more comic book / super-hero movies. I thought last summer's Superman Returns was labored and painful, and I'm rarely interested in the genré anymore apart from the occasional X-Men movie or something like Ang Lee's Hulk, which I _did_ like despite the fact that the general public hated it passionately.
As with all movies, utter realism isn't as important to me as a concept that at least makes me think. During Spider-Man 3, I was mostly thinking about what I wanted to eat after the movie was over, and how I could most efficiently get my laundry done before work on Monday. Perhaps that's what Sam Raimi wanted me to be thinking about, but more likely than not, I would guess that he started making the movie without having a clear idea of what he wanted to do with it.
May 2, 2007
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