Avatar (FINALLY)

Avatar (2009), by James Cameron

Avatar was okay. Good, not great, and definitely a film that deserved to be seen on the format for which it was designed (3D-IMAX). Director James Cameron's first film since 1997's Titanic was released and eventually became the highest-grossing film (until his subsequent film, this one, which doubled Titanic's $1.4 billion gross. DOUBLED IT. THAT'S NEARLY $3 BILLION FOR ONE MOVIE.) The film is set in the year 2154, when Earth's resources have been depleted and the resources of the lush moon Pandora (home to the indigenous, blue-skinned Na'vi) are being mined and shipped back to Earth. Space marine and newly paraplegic Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) is shipped to Pandora to replace his brother, Tommy, who died and was previously part of the Avatar program, in which specially-designed human/Na'vi hybrids are mentally controlled through the aid of MRI-like machines. Jake is sent to accompany the Avatar program leader, Grace (Sigourney Weaver), in studying and trying to gain the trust of the Na'vi, as well as secretly gather intel for Colonel Quaritch (Stephen Lang), who is in the employ of corporate leader Parker Selfridge (Giovanni Ribisi) to help gather the valuable resource unobtainium. Jake then gets lost and it is only with the aid of Na'vi princess Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) that he is able to survive the harsh jungle environment of Pandora. Eventually, Jake is forced to prove his worth as one of the Na'vi, and must choose between helping Quaritch, or helping the Na'vi.

That is the entire plot. There was very little to surprise me the first time I saw the film. Technically, the film is absolutely perfect: the CGI and motion capture are extremely well done (although not as ground-breaking as either Jar Jar Binks was back in 1999, or the quantum leap that was Gollum in 2002), and the utilization of the 3D effects was used less as a gimmick and more as a natural extension of the cinematic world that was created. The effect actually added to the depth-of-field of the screen (the first shot of Jake Sully ---bathed in blue light and floating in zero-gravity and pointing towards the screen, where a single drop of water floats--- immediately impressed me), and provided a sense of interaction with the screen that became more and more natural as the film progressed. Weta Workshop's engineers (they're the same team that pioneered Gollum eight years ago) have finally managed to perfect computer-generated fire, smoke and (perhaps the most difficult) water (there is a scene where Jake's avatar climbs out of a river after being chased by some panther-like alien, and the effect of his CGI clothing sticking to him and appearing wet actually impressed me more than anything else in the movie...I'm not kidding. Rendering realistic water effects is fucking hard). The effects work and cinematographer Mauro Fiore's lush photography were impeccable, technically perfect, and absolutely beautiful. If every 3D movie were shot with this amount of care and attention paid to the effects work, and if every science fiction film were this beautiful, going to the cinema would return to being an Event. However technically beautiful and perfect the film looks, nearly everything other than the effects work suffers from almost fundamental flaws that ultimately hampered my enjoying the film.

First off, the characters are entirely one-dimensional. Entirely. Quaritch's personality trait is Evil-Army-Colonel. Selfridge's personality trait is Selfish-Corporate-Yuppie. Grace is Jaded-Open-Minded-Scientist. Jake is Gone-Native-Man. At the end of the film, they are exactly the same. The simplicity of each character undermined the overall richness of the visuals and of the social strata developed for the Na'vi. Neytiri and the other Na'vi (Mo'at, Tsu'tey, and Eytukan) have a rich and fully developed cultural history that is hinted at, but those dynamics sadly never add up to, once again, character tropes: the Na'vi are too perfect and so pefectly balanced with their environment to ever really become too interesting; half the time it seemed as if we were observing a diorama of what a civilization such as the Na'vi would have appeared as to our untrained and ignorant eyes, than as if we were truly observing the continued existence of a race that has existed for hundreds if not thousands of years. The film was plagued horrendously with the “white guilt”, and as a result everything about it seemed trite and heavy-handed.

Having said all that, I still admire and respect the film, but merely on a technical level. The script was horrible, with one dimensional characters, predictable plotting, some slight pacing problems, and (despite all the technical innovations that would make the rendering of any thing ever IMAGINABLE possible) rather limited character design. While the overall message of the film was commendable, it still suffered from being entirely pedestrian in its telling, without any real level of suspense or surprise, and the death of one of the major characters added nothing to the story, except to incite Jake into finally acting out against the military (which I guess qualifies as his character arc). The culture of the Na'vi, while rich and dense, seemed too much a metaphor for Native Americans for me to identify with the Na'vi on their own terms; it seemed as if this film were James Cameron trying to present a message with the subtlety of a wrecking ball, where a scalpel would have been the only tool needed to get the job done; had he given the Na'vi a culture that identified them as something unique rather than merely being a tool for pedestrian messaging, I would have found them to be more appealing. However, since he didn't, I was able to make my own guess as to where the story would go...and failed to be surprised when it progressed exactly as I'd predicted.

Science fiction has often been used as a means of expressing or redirecting the concerns or fears of modern culture: Star Trek used aliens to shine a light on race relations, and the Cold War; Star Wars (the first one) seemingly reinvented the mythic hero style of storytelling, while conforming entirely to that paradigm; and so forth. Name a science fiction television show or movie made since The Forbidden Planet (and you can include Metropolis in there too), and chances are there is a plethora of subtext to be examined (hell, even B-movies like Starship Troopers could be examined in like). Even Cameron's own Terminator 2 and The Abyss (still my favorite film by him) could be be examined under several pretenses (which I might elaborate on in future articles. But with most of these films, the metaphor is subtle and told in a precise way, and it feels organic to the story and to the characters. With Avatar, the message seems so sloppily presented that it came across as feeling a bit weird (the scene where Grace is presented to the Tree of Souls, to become one with Ey'wa, always, always, makes me feel uncomfortable, and I'm not entirely sure why), and, at worst, perverts the characters (who become mechanisms in service of the plot). I feel as if there was a point during the making of the film where Cameron forgot how to write the way he used to, or to direct action scenes in a way that raises the stakes considerably.

Comparing the finished film to the original treatment, Project 880, which was considerably more dense and detailed, makes me think that I would have preferred to watch the original vision for this film than what ultimately feels like a CliffNotes version of it. Despite its runtime, Avatar still feels rushed and cramped, with none of the characters taking any time to develop emotionally, or with any sort of real connection to the audience. The audience feels for Jake Sully because he is the one who has the most screen time, not necessarily because he is interesting, or likeable, or played by an actor who has any chemistry (sorry, Worthington...you've still not grown on me as an actor). For a movie that promised (and delivered) so much in terms of special effects and the movie-going experience, it is such a shame that Cameron chose to display all this prowess on such an empty film.

The epic score by James Horner coupled perfectly with the visuals to create an epic, heroic swell to the film, and may have actually been the second-most-enjoyable aspect of the film (number one being, of course, the visuals). Mauro Fiore's lush cinematography (despite most of the visuals being computer-generated) still added a lovely feel of the exotic to the proceedings. The fact that motion-capture has progressed as far as it has since 2002's The Two Towers (or even The Phantom Menace back in 1999, when it really hit the public consciousness) is impressive, and what Cameron managed to do with the technology is worthy of praise. But, again, it boils down to one simple thing that made this film work as a story....

...the plot just sucked. It was awful. None of the character beats were surprising, and the fact that it was so predictable and rote made the characters that much less interesting; half the time I was waiting for the inevitable plot twist which would cause the character to change. The characters' decisions failed to feel real, as if service was being paid to the characters as people, and not as plot mechanisms, and for that reason I just couldn't give a rat's ass about anyone. And when you think about the ending of the film, it narrows down to a human coming to an alien world and showing the aliens how to navigate their own culture, tame their own world, and become better warriors than they ever could aspire to be (only after he'd learned everything there was to learn about them), and be the only hope to band them all together in order to rid their world of other humans (whose victory at the Hometree was guaranteed by....the same human outdoing them at everything). Also, once the technologically-superior humans are beaten and sent off Pandora, what's to stop them from just sending more ships, more men, and larger weapons? It seems a rather hollow victory in the long-run.

Avatar is a visually beautiful, lush film that fully utilizes the technical potential of 3D, motion-capture, and computer-generated imagery. As a story and a film, it falls apart, and in a few years, when this very pioneering filmmaking technique is used in every blockbuster film, it'll be sidled alongside films like The Jazz Singer or The Birth Of A Nation: very finely-crafted films that are important on a historical sense, but don't really add up to all that much when you finally get around to seeing them (I've gotta say, for a talkie, The Jazz Singer has an awful lot of inter-title sequences). It's the technical achievement and talent brought aboard that matters, but it's merely to inspire the newer generation of filmmakers to take those tools and use them in more interesting ways. How Avatar, a film that was expressly designed for 3D IMAX viewing, will play on a 2D home-theater system is another question entirely: does it live up to repeat home viewings?

Avatar, for the time being, is a beautiful time and a fun ride, like a roller coaster: exciting, fun, and a true experience, but you can see all the twists and turns a mile away, and you're stuck in a chair full of people you'll never think about again in your life.

Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World

Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World (2010)

I wanted so much to love every single thing about this film...and to a point I do. To a point. I've only just recently watched director Edgar Wright's previous films (by "recently", I mean at the beginning of this year), and had gone through artist Bryan Lee O'Malley's 6-volume series several times before this film premiered, and had been building up hope upon hope with every frame of footage and bit of news that was released. I had even gone to a Q&A with the cast and director a few days before the release up in New York. And this film has so much going for it, so much charm, so much energy...but it just barely trips at the finish line. Don't get me wrong, I love this film to death (I did catch it twice in theaters), but it didn't deliver what I had hoped it would.

The plot, in case you don't know, involves title character Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera), a 23-year-old slacker living with a gay roommate, Wallace Wells (the incredibly likable and funny Kieran Culkin), who plays in a garage band trying to make it big called Sex Bob-Bomb. He has just gotten together with Knives Chau (Ellen Wong), a 17-year-old who idolizes him, and has very little prospects of ever actually growing up (or getting a job for that matter). However, when he meets the literal girl of his dreams, Ramona Flowers (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), he forgets about Knives entirely, and focuses on winning Ramona's heart...which involves defeating her seven exes in various, fantasy-themed forms of combat. I know, reading that, it sounds kinda stupid. IT IS NOT. The film is fashioned after the side-scrolling video games of the late 1980's, early-1990's (complete with special moves, scoreboard, Double-Dragon-type twins, extra lives, and villains who turn into coins when they're defeated), each ex being defeated in decidedly different fashions and with different abilities. The film is rife is pop culture references, a trend in film-making that has become so common that it has spawned a new genre: Meta Films.

However, back to the movie...

The movie is great, a fun, energetic, fast-paced, visually amazing film with a lot to please fans of the comic, Edgar Wright, and fans of pop culture. However, there are some glaring flaws that keep it from greatness, the biggest of which is its lead actor.

Michael Cera, while presumably the most bankable star, is miscast. Scott Pilgrim, the character, is a slacker, yes, but he's also amazingly excitable, and not as sedate and seemingly laid-back as Cera portrays him. As much as I'd wanted to believe otherwise, this is very much "Michael Cera playing Michael Cera...with flaming swords"; that opinion became much more apparent on a second viewing. However, again, Cera is the most bankable star, and would be the only real recognizable face used to sell the film (although this apparently backfired). Had production waited a few years, I might even be able to envision Jimmy Bennett in the role...if only he weren't 14.

However, the rest of the cast fares incredibly well. Mary Elizabeth Winstead is incredibly attractive, although she seems entirely too cool for the likes of Scott, or any of his friends for that matter (sometimes her hairpiece got a bit distracting too), but otherwise she nailed the role and seemed more than capable in her action scenes. The supporting players more than embodied their roles, at times looking literally like the character as drawn (such as with Marc Webber, Brandon Routh, Aubrey Plaza, and Kieran Culkin). And, speaking of Kieran Culkin, every scene that man was in he owned, hands down; from the comic timing to the staging to the editing choices (I know, it wasn't Kieran's decisions, but still), he ruled every scene in which he appeared. Allison Pill as Kim Pine, however, seemed to actively hate Scott and everything he did so much that it seemed slightly unlikely that she and he would remain friends (although that is tied up nicely by the end of the film). Ellen Wong, for her part, plays the enamored, enraptured high-school-fake-girlfriend very well, just bordering on being annoying, but never crossing that border; the look of heartbreak when Scott breaks up with her seems genuine, and one can't help but feel sorry for her. Of the changes between the comic and the film, her resolution with Scott helps make her transformation into a more mature person that much believable.

Now...the changes from the comic...

Adapting an extensive, dense work such as this would have been difficult for any lesser director, but Edgar Wright accomplishes it impressively (but not flawlessly). One of the major problems of the film (and, to an extent, the comics themselves) is that there is no real explanation as to what it is that makes Ramona so special: she appears in Scott's dreams, plays mysterious in regards to her past, and dresses like the alt-hipster that she appears to be. The core components that make her unique and special when compared to the other characters is hinted at in the comics, but in the film she merely appears and Scott is smitten immediately. While it doesn't make her any less of character, it did slightly annoy me that I couldn't really see exactly what it was that Scott saw in her (and the fact that she became dismissive of him much more quickly in the film than in the comics made her seem incredibly fickle).

The time line in the film rushed several plot threads together into a single night (the film goes from Scott fighting Roxy to facing the Kataynagi Twins seemingly the next day; the Clash At Demonhead is introduced and Kyle defeated within the same night). The beauty and fun of the comic series is the time taken to get to know each character, know who they are, their history, their relation to each other, and so forth. The subplots broadened the fantasy world, legitimizing it by creating situations to which the reader could relate, and enriched the minor characters (although Stephen Stills' transformation in the comic seemed somewhat trite). In comparison, the film made the same mistake the final book in the series seemed to make: it focused purely and solely on Scott and on the fights he had to undergo to win Ramona. Again, with someone who is moderately uncharismatic as Cera in the lead, focusing purely on his relationship with Ramona, who is fascinating for reasons not purely explained, relegates every other character to second-tier status and makes Ramona little more than a trophy for him to earn. Knives Chau and even Gideon Graves were more charismatic and interesting to watch.

It might seem as if I'm ragging on this film, but I genuinely do like it and know that it will be a constant rewatch. From the non-stop pop culture references (from the Seinfeld theme drop; the bad guys turning into coins when they're killed...and they ARE killed...to the use of the Zelda theme, the outright kineticism, speed, tone, power-ups...EVERYTHING!), to the visual gags, the set design, the incredible lighting, editing techniques...COMPLETE LACK OF CUTS LESS THAN 2 SECONDS IN LENGTH...everything is fun. Absolutely fun. And the charm and fun of this film is what makes it so great, so memorable, so excitingly alive. No other film this year is so in love with itself (in a good way) and so charming and sincere that it trumps its flaws.

Is this the best film ever made? No. Is it fun? Yes. Is it exciting? Yes, once you get its central conceit. Is it underrated? For the time being, but, in years, it will become a cult film, I can sense it. Is it worth watching? YES. Absolutely yes. It's so hard to get excited with modern action films when "angst" and "gritty" is supposed to equate "sincerity" and "excitement". Here, Scott Pilgrim is gaily wailing on bad guys with a flaming sword conjured out of pure love, to a rocking soundtrack by Beck, and he's doing it in broad daylight and enjoying every minute of it. I sat down expecting to love this film, and I wasn't disappointed. It's a relief to know that cinema-going can be fun again. "Continue?" Yes, of course...

A Nightmare On Elm Street (Remake)

A Nightmare On Elm Street (2010)

Freddy Kreuger has been given a facelift of sorts in this remake by director Samuel Bayer, who is known for his music video direction (and also as the director of Nirvana's “Smells Like Teen Spirit”). Here he brings a somewhat grungy look to the film but, unfortunately, it wasn't enough to save this film, which played out predictably and felt on par with a film school or high school student's attempt to make a convincing horror film. Missing was any real sense of dread, fear, unnerving, or suspense, all of that being replaced by an appreciation for Jackie Earle Haley's interpretation of Kreuger, and a sense of annoyance that I was instead noting the plot-based flaws of the film rather than truly getting involved with it. While I am a moderate fan of the original series (I remember watching the sequels mostly, not so much the original film), I did not mind some of the differences with some of the sequences (although I did miss Johnny Depp exploding out of a television screen), and I think this iteration of Kreuger is much more skeevy and unnerving, while at the same not having a clearly defined motivation (more on that later). Much of the atmosphere is created with tired cliches (including the musical cues, rainy exteriors, etc.), supported by a horrible script (although Freddy does get the best lines).

The film starts solidly enough with a teaser involving Crissy (Katie Cassidy) and her boyfriend, Dean (Kellan Lutz), as they meet up during the middle of some rainy night at a diner. Dean admits he hasn't slept in 3 days, and the reason is that he keeps having a dream involving a man in a hat (guess who it is?). Crissy for some reason finds what he's saying to be ludicrous, and she disappears for a few moments. Dean winds up falling asleep and immediately dreaming about Freddy, and the two fight briefly before Freddy overpowers him and slices his neck open with a table knife (the kind that doesn't really cut too well. Why Freddy would use a table knife while his entire right hand is a knife is not explained.) From her perspective, Crissy only sees Dean struggling with himself before jamming the knife into his neck.

The teaser worked well. Every single character in the movie is introduced (literally all the main characters witness the event. One of the faults of this film is the fact that the only characters that seem to exist are the victims. They don't have any friends outside of each other, and we aren't introduced to anyone other than them; this last part would be helpful in shaping out the inevitable sequel by having characters that were introduced in previous installments, but, alas...), the mood is set, and the throat-slitting is graphic and shocking enough (but not too much). The next scene, though, is where the film started to fall hopelessly apart.

Dean is buried in a graveyard. Naturally. At the wake are the main characters to whom we'd just been introduced, and their parents (who are all single. I have a theory for this...). And then Crissy sees a little girl with red slashes across her chest. No one else seems to notice the little girl except her. Crissy gets up to investigate, and out of the ground Freddy's clawed hand shoots out and grabs her ankle; Crissy then wakes up screaming to the confused faces of the other attendees. Crissy fell asleep at her boyfriend's funeral. She had watched her boyfriend get horrendously murdered in a fashion that could only be described as suicide. And she fell asleep at his funeral. Who the fuck does that? I can only imagine that the people staring at her in the scene were wondering the same thing, what this heartless bitch is doing at this funeral. This scene immediately took me out of the movie and for the remainder of the runtime I was more interested in the cinematic techniques employed throughout and the plot holes than about anything that was actually occurring onscreen.

And these cinematic techniques are of the type employed by first-year film students and directors being ironic, rather than the director of the video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, as well as music videos for Garbage, Green Day, and the Cranberries (among others). This was an unbelievably bland, lifeless horror film that telegraphed every scare it attempted to make, and perhaps the leap from 4-5 minute-long video director to narrative feature film was one that Mr. Bayer was unable to make. Nothing in the film seemed genuine, everything was contrived, and the updated nods to the original (Freddy's hand coming out of the bathtub; Crissy's mid-air death; Freddy coming out of the wall) were pointlessly added for no purpose other than to show how much more effective they were in the original film, which utilized limited resources and budget.

I would normally not want to compare a remake with the original film upon which it was based, but instead try to judge the film on its own merits; but here, the comparisons need to be made. The original 1984 film sported a gritty, washed-out look with highly contrasting use of light and shadows. Moreso, the dream sequences themselves were decidedly surreal, possessing an almost Jungian sense of dread. Coupling that with a concept that is still among the most unique in the horror genre (a killer that manifests himself in the dreams of his victims), and you've got yourself one of the most memorable of horror films (and a classic, wholly original horror villain). What this remake failed to take into account was the fact that the limitations of the original filmmakers meant pushing themselves to create something truly terrifying, and one way to do that was to focus on the undercurrent of the story. The 1984 original, at its core, was about parents who went too far in protecting their children, and in doing so guaranteed the very danger they were hoping to avoid, a danger which manifested itself during the one time of the day where a person should feel absolutely safe. This film is saying nothing that subtle.

Jackie Earle Haley does give a lot of effort in his portrayal of Freddy, adding subtle touches to distinguish himself from Robert Englund: Haley's is a much more sadistic Freddy, lacking the overt wit and (surprising to say) charm that Englund exuded. While it is hinted at that Haley's Freddy is enjoying what he's doing (referring to his slaughtering of his victims as “playing”) it is never really shown. This Freddy does not outwardly enjoy the fact that he can manifest himself in the dreamscapes of his victims. Haley's habit of rubbing two of his bladed fingers together, as if he can't wait to get down to the slicing and dicing, is a great touch, but then the damage he inflicts is comparatively minimal (given the budget this film has, you'd think something would top the Freddy tendon-marionette-kill from Elm Street 4...or 3...I don't remember which sequel it was). Another lingering question: what the fuck does Freddy want? Does he want to just kill the kids? At first, that's what I thought, and figured that he could just get it over with in a few nights. But then, later on in the film, he tells Nancy that the reason he's “alive” is because their memories keep him alive...but they didn't even remember him until he started showing up in their dreams, and he started showing up in their dreams to torment them, but to also lead them to the cellar of the preschool where he worked and molested them so that they could...remember? Right? So...if his goal is to make them remember him, thus keeping him “alive” somehow, then why would he want to kill them? And if he wants to just up and kill them, then why waste time with all that “he wants us to go back so we can remember” bullshit? C'mon, Frddy! You live in dreams and have a bladed hand! Be interesting, for God's sake! What's your motivation! Someone! Someone in this movie, make sense! How could your friend have been said to have "died in their sleep" when they are eviscerated? And what the fuck is up with just cutting Freddy's neck and assuming that'll do the trick, Nancy? You just pulled the dude out of your sub-fucking-conscious and dragged him into the real world...you take that board cutter and you hack Freddy for, like, 8 hours until he's a bunch of tiny pieces, and then you take those pieces and burn them, and then you take the ashes, put them in 20 cardboard boxes, and sink those in 20 different lakes! That's what you do! Not, "Oh, paper cut. That'll do it. Yeah, he's dead. Let's go fuck." FUCK YOU, MOVIE!

In fact, Haley's is the only performance worth noting...or the only thing worth noting to make this Goddamned movie bearable. Mara Rooney as heroine Nancy Holbrook was (as with Kyle Gallner's Quentin Smith) unbelievably bland and boring, lacking any of the transformative arc present in the original: here, both Nancy and Quentin are first presented as fucked-up and depressed, made-up and dressed up as if they walked off a Death Cab For Cutie video. The psychological aspect of Freddy ---he drives normal, clean-cut kids into sleep-deprived maniacs--- is completely lacking, as the characters start off at that point to begin with. There's no nuance, no substance, nothing truly deeper going on rather than “There's a killer who kills people in their dreams. That's cool...right? Guys?”

For a film that boasts a budget that easily could've financed the original film several times over, this film is a cheap, empty cash grab that defuses the inherent psychological horror of Freddy Kreuger. This film is a forgettable and derivative as the washed-out color scheme of the not-very-original-looking dream-scapes. And the worst part? The final scene promises a sequel. Rent it only, and even then, just to compare to the original. And trust me...you'll sleep as soundly as I did in the theater.

I hate this movie.

Toy Story 3

Toy Story 3 (2010), Lee Unkrich

Toy Story 3 is impossibly close to being a truly perfect film; but the minor quibbles I hold for it do not prevent it from being yet another amazing achievement from the ever-impressive Pixar. Director Lee Unkrich, along with fellow writers and Pixar veterans John Lasseter and Andrew Stanton, have crafted a surprisingly dense closing to one of the more consistently satisfying film series (and also a pretty dense one, for a kid's film).

With an explosive, kinetic opening in which Sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks), with the help of Jessie (Joan Cusack), Bullseye the horse, and Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) are engaged in a Western-style chase involving runaway trains, exploding bridges, a pig-shaped spaceship, and death by monkeys, that closely follows the opening (pretend) scene in the 1995 original. Alas, as it was then, this scene is all a scenario concocted by the hyperactive imagination of Andy (Charlie Bright as a child; John Morris as a teenager). We then watch Andy grow up via his mother's video recordings, the hero toys in tow. In seemingly no time at all, though, Andy has grown into a 17-year-old ready to head off to college and consistently being hassled by his mother not only to pack up, but also to decide which of his toys he wants to throw out, which will be stored in the attic, which are going to be donated to the local Sunnyside Day Care, and which will be going with him to college. Through a mix-up, the hero toys (sans Woody, who was chosen to be taken to college) wind up on the curb to be thrown out. After a close call with a trash compactor, the hero toys then wind up being donated to Sunnyside Day Care and greeted by the multitude of toys there, led by the genteel, Southern-lulling Lotso-Huggin' Bear (played fittingly by Ned Beatty), where the plot takes on a decidedly darker tone.

That's not to imply the film is too dark to enjoy, as its darkness is balanced out by its affable and buoyant charm and mostly genuine emotion. And, for the most part, the darkness present is not so much out of a desire to purely raise the stakes for the sake of raising them (again, for the most part), but instead to illustrate many of the resonant themes present therein. The film is "dark" due to its honesty and openness in regards to certain unavoidable and inevitable aspects of life. Some friends grow apart. Others, for one reason or another, leave forever. Children move out...and on. For whatever reason, one way or another, we may be forgotten by those we once loved. Faith can be lost. Change is painful and unavoidable and necessary; but sometimes, it can also be a beautiful thing. That's a lot for a children's summer movie to ask its mostly young audience to consider.

The theme of faith, however, remains the most prominent in the film, and there are three main instances in which it shines brightest. Early in the film, Woody and the gang concoct a scheme to get Andy to play with them: they steal his cell phone and store it in the toy chest (where they are kept), and then call it using the house phone; when he comes to retrieve it, they hope he'll remember to play with them upon seeing them. Instead, he simply pulls Rex off the cell phone and walks away. Alone again, the toys are excited that he at least looked at them, and Rex is beyond ecstatic to have been picked up by him. Here, the act of just being looked at and picked up (even momentarily) is a joyous, exciting event (which makes the final scene that much more poignant).

Lotso's back-story, meanwhile, is rooted in the idea of loss of faith, and a resentment towards a world in which that loss is permitted. His history reflects Jessie's back-story, but whereas she remains (initially) broken, Lostso turns that pain inward, becoming a menacing force of control and dictation, overbearing and resentful. When he tells Woody, "We're just pieces of plastic. We're meant to be thrown out," he speaks not just about the plight of fictional toys: the world is not governed by kind, benevolent masters, but rather is a cold, methodical system (much like the ojne he created in Sunnyside) that objectifies every single person. In such a place, everyone and everything is easily replaceable, and the kind, benevolent master is an easily-destroyed illusion. In the end, everything is just a thing.

(***SPOILER***) Which leads to the final set-piece. Whoa. With a single motion (all the hero toys holding hands), the film forced the audience to confront the very motion of mortality. Without getting into the specifics as to how, the hero toys eventually find themselves at a landfill incinerator and without any way of escaping. And in a silent instant, just looking at each other, they decided to actively accept their fates. Perhaps they are just pieces of plastic, and perhaps that's all they've ever been, but there's still no avoiding the unavoidable. Fighting the inevitable is a far less brave notion than facing up to it. Sure, there is a literal deus ex machina that emerges at the nick of time ("The Claw!"), but it is still a scene in which the heroes lose faith and instead accept their fates, even if their fate is death (***NO MORE SPOILER!***)

It is through that trust in faith, ultimately, that reunites them with Andy. The reunion is brief, as Andy ultimately gives the toys to Bonnie, a young neighbor who briefly had Woody in her possession following his escape from Sunnyside. When Andy introduces Bonnie to each of his toys, highlighting their personalities, and ultimately playing with them one last time before driving off to college, it's clear that beyond the frozen stares and blank faces, the toys are beyond ecstatic, but will never be able to tell him that. As much as the toys and Andy need each other, they'll never be able to truly connect in the ways that each needed, nor to communicate that need. Even Andy's final goodbye ("Thanks, guys.") is whispered as he's already in his car. The closest the toys ever get to actually communicating with Andy is when Woody writes Bonnie's name and address on a post-it note for Andy to see. The reliance each feels for the other can never be communicated, but in the end, once change truly occurs and the toys find a new home, everyone is able to move on. Change occurs, and then life goes on. C'est la vie.

Technically, the film is beautiful, with rich, lush colors and impressive use of lighting and depth of field for an animated film (a bit more impressive in 3D). The entire voice cast was great, with Beatty's Lotso emulating Strother Martin or a lucid Slim Pickens, among others, for a decidedly grandfatherly, droll performance. Bonnie's toy, though appearing only briefly, were great fun, with what I felt was a decidedly meta casting choice in Timothy Dalton as the thespian, always-in-character stuffed porcupine, Mr. Pricklepants. The action in this film was also pretty inspired, from the opening Western action scene, to Woody's escape from Sunnyside, to Mr. Potato Head's surreal escape from a sandbox, to Woody and Slinky Dog's battle with the watch-guard,

My minor quibbles with the film involve Andy, for the most part. First off, for three full films the toys get lost or otherwise disappear, only to wind up in the most obvious place possible, despite us seeing Andy and his mother having looked all over multiple times. Hey! The toys happened to be in this box we just happened to have finished packing this second, and neither of us can remember putting them in there! Isn't that weird? Ah, screw it! Something should have given away the fact that something...weird...has been going on this whole time. I mean, really, who else could have written Bonnie's name and address on the box if the only three people in the house were all in the hallway? Second, it appears Andy has no friends at all, which makes him kind of...creepy. In the "growing up" montage, Andy is shown with his toys only....watching movies. Having a birthday party. Having a slumber party. There is no other child present. The absolute pristine quality of all the hero toys (no smudges, cracks, chipped paint, faded stickers, etc.) suggests Andy has WAAAAAYYYY too much time on his hands.

But, now that I think of it, Andy comes from a single-parent home. There is no father in any of the films. Perhaps the hero toys (the ones to survive this installment, with the exception of Bullseye, Mrs. Potato Head, the Pizza Planet aliens, Buzz, and Jessie) were given to him by his father, and that is why they mean so much to him (especially Woody. If Toy Story 2 is to be taken into account, it makes sense that Woody belonged to Andy's father and was passed down to his son: what boy in 1995 would own the last surviving Sheriff Woody doll from the 1950's, unless it was owned by someone close?) Actually, looking at it that way, it makes sense.

But I wasn't too much of a fan of Randy Newman's score, which seemed too sickly, syrupy sweet. (*SPOILER*) And the near-death of the toys just slightly felt tacked on to make the final denouement that much more satisfying, but just felt like too much unneeded melodrama for the characters to face (and how could Slinky drop down from the magnet on the conveyor? His entire middle section is still metal, and the magnet wasn't turned off, as the toys actively jumped down...whatever (*END SPOILERY PART*)

Anyway, the point is, this film is a fitting finale to a great series (if finale it indeed be). While this summer has been mostly dreary and full of comparatively dismal excuses for films (Hello Eclipse and Marmaduke! I see you!), this truly is one of the best films out this summer, and near the top for the year. Pixar just keeps on doing it, and God bless them, I hope they never stop.

If you do see this, see it in 3D. This time, the 3D is worth it.

Kick Ass

Kick-Ass (2010)

I'm back, writing reviews on a more regular basis. I know it's been a while, but fuck it, I'm back.
I'm back and here to review Matthew Vaughn's latest film, Kick Ass. I had no preconceived notions of this film outside of the SXSW reviews, and web film critic Devin Faraci's ode to it over at CHUD.com, so I have no idea how faithful this film is to Mark Millar's and John Romita Jr.'s original graphic novel. Frankly, though, it doesn't matter. This film surpasses its namesake, and is by a long shot the single most unadulterated entertaining film this year (so far). Between this film, Iron Man 2, The Expendables, and Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World (and, to an extent, Knight And Day) this summer is going to be the best since 2008. But that is besides the point.
Kick Ass is nihilistic, morally reprehensible, anarchic, gratuitously violent, subversive and socially bankrupt; and I absolutely love it for that. Don't walk into the theater expecting a treatise on the human condition (although, with another viewing, I'm sure I can find plenty of exceptions to that warning), and don't expect this film to be a game-changer of the genre the way The Dark Knight seems to be viewed. The plot concerns Dave Lizewski (Aaron Johnson), a teenaged comic book nerd who no one notices and few care about. He spends his afternoons hanging out with his two friends Todd (Evan Peters) and Marty (Clark Duke) at Atomic Comics, and his days trying to attract the attention of Katie Deauxma ((Lyndsy Fonseca) by doing absolutely nothing. As he laments in the opening narration, he “wasn't bitten by a radioactive spider and he isn't the orphan of some doomed planet”; the most tragic part of his life (played as an off-handed punchline by Vaughn) is that his mother died of a brain aneurism at the breakfast table. After realizing that normal civilians in New York (where the story is set), don't give a shit if they see someone getting mugged, or asking for help, he orders a scuba diving suit, dons a mask, and goes out in his first night as a costumed crimefighter, Kick Ass. He promptly gets his ass handed to him during his first foray, and spends six months in hospital in consequence. A result of his first battle is that his nerve endings were so damaged he can no longer feel pain, and he has metal grafted onto his skeleton to keep it together. His second night out as Kick Ass is more successful, and he soon finds himself a YouTube and internet sensation, and inspiring several other masked vigilantes, including the father-daughter team of Big Daddy (Nicolas Cage) and Hit Girl (11 year-old Chloe Moretz). A case of mistaken identity finds Kick Ass the target of mob boss Frank D'Amico (Mark Strong), who eventually agrees to let his son, Chris (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), don the costume (and Dodge Charger) of the Red Mist, in an attempt to draw the heroes out.
The Red Mist, as embodied by Christopher Mintz-Plasse, is the ultimate poser. At first, Dave is also, but he slowly grows out of that stage into actual “superhero” status. Red Mist, however, is in it purely for the appeal and the fame (as well as the Mist-Mobile, which he shows off and describes in a braggart tone)...which makes sense given the character of Chris D-Amico as presented in to film: nerdy, lonely, and unable to relate to anyone due to his bodyguard. The appeal of becoming Red Mist is to gain some fame, a chance to make a friend (Kick Ass), and to potentially make his gangster father proud. Mintz-Plasse plays the character with a surprising amount of menace towards the end: sure, the kid is goofy and nerdy, but his earnestness to make some sort of impression to someone (Kick Ass, his father) leads him to make some pretty poor decisions: and its these decisions that make cause the most damage (some of it fatal). No longer is Mintz-Plasse “McLovin'”; that moniker is dead with this. He is, now, the Red Mist.
First of all, Nicolas Cage is GOOD in this film as former cop Damon Macready; this is the Leaving Las Vegas Cage. The Rock Cage. The Bringing Out The Dead Cage. While it's difficult for me to remember a Nic Cage movie released within the past 5 years (that I've actually seen) in which he was actually trying, he really does an amazing job here; sure, his character is insane, and an asshole for essentially brainwashing his daughter into being the most adorable psychotic in years, but he still makes the character likeable. The Big Daddy/Hit Girl dyad is one that while entertaining and violent and psychotic, is oddly touching because the two are doing what they're doing because they genuinely do love and care about one another. And speaking of Hit Girl...
Chloe Moretz owns this movie. While the scenes of Hit Girl in action are the most outlandishly “comic-book-y” of the entire movie, she plays the character exceedingly well; there was no doubt that this 11 year-old in purple wig, pink utility belt, and plaid skirt will kill every living thing in sight. She's the mouth of a sailor, the looks of a schoolgirl (which is odd, considering it is revealed she never went to school), and the artillery skills of a soldier (or, to keep the comic book comparisons alive, a more talkative Punisher). All this talk in the more mainstream reviews addressing and decrying the sexualization of this 11 year-old are playing into the caveats and satirization of the entire comic book genre: the women in comic books are (for the vast majority) entirely sexualized. Just look at the costumes for the Huntress, Witchblade, Poison Ivy (who usually goes nude, depending on the artist), Power Girl, or Wonder Woman (just to name the first few to pop in my mind). There is no way those costumes are practical. Hell, Power Girl's emblem just seems to be her exposed cleavage. The only female super hero I can think of who has a practical, non-sexualized costume is the latest incarnation of The Question; but even then, her sexualization is displayed in the form of her homosexuality (which has only just, post-52 mini-series) become something more than just a character trait. Perhaps even Spellbinder, but even she is killed not long after her appearance. The sexualization of female characters within comic books is, sadly, nothing new. And I doubt the same critics lamenting Hit Girl's fetishistic costume (which, to me works as a physicalization of the modern aspects of comic books: brightly colored, silly, and ironic, but deadly serious and extremely violent when you get down to it).will be making the same complaints over Scarlett Johanssen's Black Widow costume in Iron Man 2.
The concern here is that, being a child, Chloe Moretz will be setting herself up to be a bad example, merely becoming a perpetuation of the same exploitation of girls that persists all throughout film as a medium. Forget the fact the fact that the character is interesting, fun, has desires and motives, and is surprisingly strong (and driven by a cause), and never once has to resort to her status as “girl”. If the character had been a boy, perhaps the brouhaha over Hit Girl would be different. Perhaps the emphasis would actually be on the strong, bloody violence that an 11 year-old inflicts. Perhaps it would be the cuss words used by said 11 year-old. Perhaps it would be film's satirization of online sensations and the fame earned therein, of citizens taking the law (and guns) into their own hands. Or, if the character had been removed entirely (making Big Daddy merely a revenge-driven psychopath...again, like The Punisher), maybe something else would be blown out of proportion. Like...the frank depictions of teenage sex.
Yes, Kick Ass gets the girl. But only after a certain condition is met. And Aaron Johnson, perfectly cast, doesn't really make the audience want him to get the girl. Sure, we want him to sustain his relationship with her after the fact, but we're not too invested in whether he gets to fuck her or anything. Johnson pulls off that likability perfectly, allowing the audience to warm on Kick Ass as a character long before we fully warm on Dave Lizewski as a person. It was easy to picture myself encountering Dave in college or back when I went to high school, and that was what made him incredibly appealing. Whereas Big Daddy and Hit Girl seemed to know they were in a fantasy (Big Daddy even talking in the campy Adam West style of cutting his words), and where Red Mist obviously played the whole lifestyle as a nerd and celebrity (and casting Mintz-Plasse made it easy to identify him as a nerd, someone who isn't a threat...and his final confrontation in his father's gym ended on a decidedly nerdy, funny note), Dave seems like someone who has a passion and then quickly...and violently...realizes that his passion is getting people killed. And could potentially get him killed too.
The film doesn't hold back with the ridiculous costumes (Red Mist's is especially comic-book-y...with a superfluous cape) and the bright colors, but when the violence occurs, it gets plenty violent. However, Vaughn manages to keep every set piece interesting, shooting each in a stylistically unique way (the first-person-shooter sequence was probably the most visually kinetic, though not the most exciting...although the use of the theme from 28 Days Later was an inspired touch). Kick Ass's first two forays are realistically handled, each hit and punch being felt and having real weight and consequence and the damage inflicted being brutal (also, I love the fact that Kick Ass has to use batons, as he has no real stopping power in his attacks at all).
Cinematographer Ben Davis films much of the movie as a teen-centric comedy (the general tone of the Dave-centric scenes reminded me a lot of Donnie Darko), and a moderately smooth use of the camera (no shaky-cam or handheld, techniques I tend to hate for their confusing nature...and not the sort of “confusing” that the directors intend). Two sequences stand out in terms of sheer cinematic ingenuity: Dave's second night out as Kick Ass, where he beats up three gang members while a diner full of patrons film him; in that scene the lighting suggests a park-set school brawl, and intercutting the action with shots of the security-camera and videophone footage not only made the scene more kinetic, but also more visually interesting. The other exceedingly well-executed scene is the aforementioned first-person-shooter sequence, which works on so many levels, both visually, plot-wise, but also thematically (an 11-year-old being the focus of a POV sequence fashioned after a video game...in which she is shooting and killing men? Start the discussion!); the use of strobe lighting, slow-motion, music, pacing, visual ingenuity, and genuine emotion (one of the characters gets burned alive) makes this sequence perhaps the most well-executed in the entire film. The kinetic cutting technique employed (rather than a shaky camera) provides much of the action scenes with its kineticism.
The use of music (both contemporary pop songs and themes, as well as the original score) grounds the film in a modern realism, and the original theme is hinted at throughout the film until the end of the final action sequence, in which Kick Ass has finally, literally, made himself into a superhero the type of which might be found in the pages of a DC or Marvel comic. At that point, Kick Ass's main theme resounds triumphantly, and I for one couldn't help but smile and think, “Fuck yeah”, watching the sequence.
Thematically, the film is playing with a lot of different ideas, each handled light enough to start a conversation over, but not heavy-handed enough to defuse the film or make it some sort of moralistic “message” film (questions abound: why does Dave seem to spend most of his time in costume reading his MySpace? Why do the only times we see him in action –aside from the climax- serve only to benefit him? What can be said about Dave's opinion that Big Daddy and Hit Girl are “real” superheroes only because they kill the villains?). The film at once celebrates the entire superhero genre, while breaking it down, much like last year's very uneven Watchmen. But unlike Watchmen, Kick-Ass presents a much more convincing view of a world in which costumed heroes run around punching each other in the face and that doesn't feel as if the director were trying his damnedest to please the core fans. The morals here are extremely shaky (again, “superheroes” are defined as such by their willingness to kill the enemy; Kick Ass's acts primarily benefit himself; Big Daddy and Hit Girl kill not only drug dealers, but also drug users, as well as people who just happen to be in the room), and the film does take a dark tonal shift at the end of the second act (much, much darker than would have initially been expected, even if the film follows the proper three-act structure). However, I've seen this film twice already, and will probably watch it once more when it reaches the $4 theatre in my town.
Kick Ass is the first purely fun, memorable, energetic film that I've seen since Star Trek, that also has a lot of points of discussion, and that works on so many levels (teen comedy. Satire. Superhero film. Action film. Etc. etc.) So much works here that it's hard not to be charmed by this film, and the relative success of it (in comparison to Matthew Vaughn's previous two films) promises that a sequel is not too far in coming. But this is also a film that is not going to conform to your idea of what's going to occur, nor is it going to play safe; already critics (including Roger Ebert) are swooping down on this film, listing many reasons why you shouldn't see it and why you should stick to the movies that have a clear moral lesson. Fuck that. Embrace the anarchy and actually make your own judgment about what you think and feel, and why. If Kick Ass is a precursor to the films that are going to be coming our way this summer, then this is going to be an entertaining summer.

P.S--- Preceding the film were trailers for Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, Iron Man 2, The A-Team (which looks like loads of fun), A Nightmare On Elm Street (which looks promising with Jackie Earle Haley as the newest incarnation of Freddy Kreuger), and The Expendables, the trailer that got the largest applause that actually built in severity as each of the actors was individually introduced. I cannot wait.