The Social Network

The Social Network (2010) David Fincher

This is, by no stretch, director David Fincher's best film, nor is it the best film of the year (ahem, True Grit is probably the best film of the past two or three years). However, being a David Fincher film, it is incredibly precise, technically astounding, with an amazing score by Trent Reznor, an impossibly slick script by Aaron Sorkin, beautifully muted cinematography by longtime Fincher collaborator Jeff Cronenweth, and magnetic acting by everyone involved (except for Justin Timberlake). Also, this movie is not about the founding of Facebook. That is, it is about the founding of Facebook, but that's not what it's about. I'll get to that in a minute.

I'll get the technical stuff out of the way first. After the misstep that was The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button (a gorgeous, at times marvelous film bogged down by a maudlin, trite, ploddingly meandering plot and a plot device that ultimately was never really explored) David Fincher reigned it in considerably. Gone is any of his trademarks (high contract lighting; CGI-augmented camerawork (and performances); desaturated colors; single-frame shots), and instead the palette is a cold, mechanical metallic gray. His characters, being college students, are considerably more fun than his previous characters (with the exception of Bob or Tyler Durden...but even then there was a darkness to them).

Aaron Sorkin's script, as noted before, would be quotable if one could follow the whiplash-fast delivery provided by the actors (not at all a negative comment, don't get me wrong). Sorkin's script bounces around from the building of the site, and intercuts it with the settlement cases, wherein Zuckerberg gets all the juiciest lines. Trent Reznor's gorgeous score merely hints (early on) at the dark intensity hidden behind not only film-Zuckerberg, but also the plot (and, to an extent, every one of us); there's something animal and primal about it (seemingly-random piano chords repeating themselves to a brooding theme that is counterpoint to persistent low percussion, like approaching footsteps). One could imagine a collision about to occur. His arrangement of “The Madness Of King George” during a Yale crew meet was brilliant, playing against low-depth-of-field, slightly undercranked footage of the competing crew teams. Beautiful. Technically, this film is absolutely gorgeous, restrained, and engaging. Now, on to the nitty-gritty...

The film opens with with Mark Zukerberg (Jesse Eisenberg)getting dumped by his then-girlfriend Erica Albright (Mara Rooney) in 2003, getting drunk, and blogging about his breakup while simultaenously building a website to spite not only Erica, but also every girl within the area of Harvard University. This stunt arouses the attention of not only the Harvard faculty, but also the Winklevoss twins (both played by Armie Hammer) in Yale, who were hoping to build an exclusive website to connect the Yale and Harvard students online. As we all know (apparently) Zuckerberg agrees to help the Winklevoss twins, but instead, with the financial help of his friend and roommate Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield), steals the idea, creating Facebook (with the advice and support of Napster founder Sean Parker, played pretty terribly by Justin Timberlake, who looks, sounds, and acts as if he belongs in high school...that is, I've seen and worked with high school actors who knew better than to “act” while acting) and ultimately winding up the world's youngest billionaire...who has lost all of his friends in the process.

The film is not accurate, glossing over many fine details (such as the fact that Zuckerberg had a steady girlfriend throughout the founding of Facebook in real life), and fabricating others (it is suggested that Zuckerberg created Facebook to attract the attention of Erica, and, in a way, win her back). Up to the release of the film, the real Mark Zuckerberg gave interviews downplaying the implications made in the film, and deriding it as being inaccurate. His real motive, he's said, for creating Facebook is that he “wanted to create something...that's what these guys don't get: sometimes you just want to create something.” That's true, but also doesn't make for very good cinema.

And this is what the film is truly about: the romanticizing of our lives in a digital realm. Comparing real-life footage of Zuckerberg with the film's interpretation of him, one can't help but notice how tongue-tied, clumsy, and devoid of charm Zuckerberg is; Eisenberg's interpretation, however, dominates every scene he's in, and can barely stand the fact that he's smarter than everyone in his presence, nor can he conceal that fact. There is a charm to his pompous conceit, one which makes you loathe him and watch every move he makes: it's a delicate balance, one that a lesser actor would be unable to portray. Yes, film-Zuckerberg is a self-centered, narcissistic asshole, but there's a pity and brilliance to him, a youthful rebellion that transcends actions and makes him almost legendary (as his lawyer says at the end: “You're not an asshole. You're just trying really, really hard to be one”). And this is what we all do in social networking.

Those who deride the film (or laud it) for its handling of the founding of Facebook are missing the point. The film is not accurate, nor does it need to be so. It is a fictionalized account of a real-life event: just like JFK is, or Schindler's List. Or The Great Escape. Or...Die Hard. Yeah. What The Social Network does, however, is make visual all the digital histories we fabricate by building a profile on any number of social sites. One of the underlying philosophies behind Web 2.0 is the idea that we can get followers, fans, “likes”, hits, “friends”...whatever it is you want to call it...to follow our mundane lives. So how do we go about doing that? We create a version of ourselves that others would want to know and understand, or at least be interested in reading about. We don't talk about the uninteresting shit, nor about what we hope no one finds out about. We don't create digital selves to hurt our real selves. We romanticize our existence to make it something worthwhile, something meaningful and interesting.

No one wants to see the real Mark Zuckerberg in court for defrauding his friend, or the tedious court preceding, or sitting at a computer building code. While it is factual, it doesn't make for a very interesting film-going experience. One of the key moments in the film is when Zuckerberg realizes that adding a relationship tab is probably the most important thing he could add to the site, as people are interested in relationship statuses (or just relationships in general). The real Mark Zuckerberg said the relationship tab wasn't too big a deal, and the inspiration for it wasn't at all like it was in the film . Who cares? It's more exciting, more romantic, and more dramatic the way the film presents it (in the film, a classmate asks if Mark knows if a girl is dating someone, and he says “How should I know?” before getting the idea and running back to his dorm to add it to the site design).

The whole film is about relationships, and how they could be lost through passion, jealousy, or malice. In a larger sense, it's also about the relationship between the stories we tell ourselves through memory (“our” version of events, and others' version of events, to create Truth), and the relationships formed through fiction (how many “friends” do you have online? How many have you actually met? Talked to? Hung out with? Dated? How many have you lost? When you lost them, did it affect you? Or were they, truly, digital friends?) The Social Network is just another elaborate fiction created in a digital age to make life worth following. Doubt that explanation? Then realize that for the first time in almost a decade, Mark Zuckerberg is actually interesting to talk about, and is getting more interviews now than he has in the past. He derides the film, yet it has provided him with renewed publicity.

His fake self has made his real self that much more interesting.

Enter The Void

Enter The Void, (2009)

Director Gaspar Noe's Enter The Void is the first film by him that I've seen, and it is quite the introduction. Based somewhat on the Tibetan Book Of The Dead, the film begins with the main character, Oscar, being killed by Tokyo police after being set up in a drug-dealing sting. The “story”, as it were, revolves around those closest to Oscar, including his younger sister, Linda, and his best friend, Alex. As the repercussions of his death begin to resonate in their lives, Noe explores the themes of life, death, love, forgiveness, and honesty. Oh, and he also manages to do this by creating some of the best, trippiest visuals of any film I've ever seen, and by portraying the entire film in the first-person point-of-view. And also, the craziest title sequence you'll ever see.

The plot starts shortly after Oscar (Nathaniel Brown), a low-level drug dealer/user living in Tokyo with his sister, Linda (Paz De La Huerta) is shot and killed by police at the night club/bar The Void. Oscar's friend Alex (Cyril Roy), had accompanied him to the bar, but wanted nothing to do with the dealing, and managed to witness the police carrying out his friend's body; Alex's importance to the story is fixed both figuratively and immediately (Alex introduced Oscar to the supplier Bruno, who ultimately supplied Oscar with the load of drugs that got him killed), as well as having supplied Oscar with the Book Of The Dead that makes for the thematic core of the film. Oscar's death serves as the opening scene for what is essentially a treatise on life, love, hate, pain, anger, loneliness, friendship, loyalty, trust, and sex.

Lots and lots and lots of sex (I guess I know what void Noe was referring to! Ba-zing!).

The plot also serves the purpose of fully, completely immersing the audience in the lives of the characters: for the first thirty minutes or so, the camera is entirely in the first-person (something which has been attempted for the running time of a feature-length film only with Lady In The Lake, a film noir from the 1950's). The approach tends to fail, typically because without knowing the character's face, age, etc., the audience has trouble fully relating to characters (a lot can be learned about someone just by looking at their face). In the aforementioned film, the audience sees the main character's face only when he looks into a mirror; here, the same thing occurs: at one point Oscar looks into a mirror to rinse his face off, and we see his reflection. After Oscar's death, his spirit (or whatever it is the camera is supposed to represent) floats throughout Tokyo revisiting his friends and sister, and we never again see him (although we know, just by virtue of how the camera moves, in a very deliberate, hand-held manner, that Oscar is still present in some sense); other times, he relives and revisits his past life (he sees himself bathing with his mother and sister; he re-witnesses his parents' deaths during a head-on collision; he relives promising his younger sister he'd never leave her). His revisiting his past life is always shown from just behind his head (as if Oscar's spirit were watching from just of the shoulder of his past self).

Truth be told, this is a camera's film, one that redefines what one can do with a camera (and, also, where one can put a camera. The camera literally goes everywhere). The plot is largely inconsequential, as the film is more an affirmation of life, with all the ugliness, pain, and, ultimately, trippy beauty therein. It's a bold film, maddening in its repetition, and its apparent lack of taste (I never thought I'd watch a graphic abortion in a film...but, here we go...), and sporting performances that border on genius and heartrending and fearless (Paz de la Huerta; Emily Alyn Lind; Jesse Kuhn), to just...well...fucking bad (Nathaniel Brown. Truth be told, I'm glad he got shot early on. He was a bit charmless and extremely bland).

The real stars of the film, however, are the sound editors, scorer (Thomas Bangalter), and cinematographer (Benoit Debe). Especially the cinematographer. Damn. To essentially create a character out of something we never see, and to effortlessly fuse each image to create a narrative-long single shot deserves all the praise it could possibly ever get.

I might as well end this review here and say that this is a film that absolutely must be seen. It's maddening, it's not for everyone, it's overlong...but, ultimately, it is rewarding. It's emotional, it's sad, it's funny, it's trippy. It's beautiful. It's like. It's unlike anything you'll see.

You just have to be in a mood for it.

In Defense Of Levity (For Bond)

So, this post isn't going to be my typical review-tangent that I've devised for this blog. I've been away for a while, been thinking for a while, and been trying to keep up with film news. For those who don't really know or aren't aware, I'm a huge HUGE fan of the James Bond series (both the books and the movies). I'd recently completed the new Wii version of "GoldenEye", and I'm currently watching The World Is Not Enough and am in the mood to watch Quantum Of Solace immediately after that. I've essentially memorized both films by heart, but am here to make note of the most glaring difference between the previous films in the Bond series, and the markedly different (more "mature") version present by Daniel Craig.
I greatly enjoy Craig as Bond, and the two films have had their moments (well, to be fair, Casino Royale is one of the best in the series). However, with the recent swirl of casting rumors for the next Bond film (Javier Bardem? Ralph Fiennes? Both very fine, accomplished actors, don't get me wrong), and the surprising, intriguing choice of director and writer (Sam Mendes and John Logan respectively), the question I keep asking myself is: where'd all the fun go?
I understand that following 2002's wrong-headed and overblown effects-spectacle that was Die Another Day, the series needed to be toned down considerably (this happened throughout the history of the series: after You Only Live Twice came the unbelievably accomplished On Her Majesty's Secret Service; after the cartoonish Moonraker came the underrated For Your Eyes Only), so toning down the series was never something unheard of in the series. The difference, however, is that the latest three-picture arc seems to focus on the inner-demons and psychological turmoil of the character that is James Bond. To be honest...that's...slightly boring.
Look, Casino Royale was successful because we saw a version of Bond hitherto unseen: fragile, cold, single-minded, and, ultimately, naive. It was the first film in the series since On Her Majesty's Secret Service to actually treat "Bond the archetype" as "Bond the real life character", and the result was excitement in watching Bond get hurt, make mistakes, and grow as a character. It was bold, exciting, and fresh. And within this rebooted series was still the sense of flippant fun that characterized the series (a parkour chase in a construction site? Only in a Bond film!)
Quantum Of Solace (and, I fear, the next film in the series) treated Bond as just another tragic, tortured hero for the Millenials. In that film, he doesn't sleep, he drinks too much, and he kills without hesitation, and there is a real feel to the violence (when he kills Mr. Slate, he coldly waits until we see that character bleed out). He's tortured, yes, and when he dumps Mathis---his friend who was literally tortured for Bond's sake---in a dumpster and steals his money, you realize, "Wow. What an asshole."
And that's a line Bond always managed to deftly walk. He is chauvinistic, arrogant, sexist, and, essentially, a boy in a man's body. He's selfish, callous, possibly sociopathic, and a murderer. But he does it with such charm and assurance and grace that he's likable; although we know he'll always get out of a jam, we still enjoy watching his means of doing so. And have enjoyed his escapades for the past 49 years, 22 films, and 6 actors. Bond should enjoy being Bond; his existence is almost entirely materialistic, almost anal in the detail to class, high-living, and showing off money and elegance.
So why Bourne it up? Why choose directors who have almost no experience in the action genre (look, Marc Forster is a good director, but he was entirely the wrong choice to direct an action film...especially a Bond film. The same goes for Lee Tamahori and Michael Apted. These are good directors with some great films, but their movies rank in some of the blandest or worst of the series). I have hope that Sam Mendes will give the goods with his Bond film (he did direct the very accomplished Road To Perdition, which also featured Daniel Craig and had some atmospheric composition and at least decent action), but I for one am tired of "pushing the edge" with the Bond series.
Daniel Craig's serious take on Bond was predated by over 15 years by Timothy Dalton, who gets a lot of undo flak for his take on the character. Dalton's take was the best balance of film-Bond and novel-Bond, and he was badass (just look at the opening to his first Bond, The Living Daylights: he doesn't even talk until he's done some implausible stunt and exploded a living human being. It doesn't get more badass than that!) Craig and Dalton approach the character the same way and with the same gravitas; the difference, though is that the Dalton films still manage to incorporate the staples of the series (gadgets, outlandish set-pieces, beautiful locations, Moneypenny, Q) while giving a more "real-world" feel to the plot. It was an attempt to make Bond more realistic and gritty, but there was still the fantasy, still the wonder and excitement and, damnit, FUN that characterized the best of the series! (Want an example of where the Craig Bond films should go to keep that balance? Just watch the extremely underrated Licence To Kill.)
Maybe it's the state of modern action films. We want our heroes conflicted and tragic. We want our action gritty and dirty and confusing. We want everything grounded in a reality we can understand. But when we do that for every film, what do we lose? Maybe it's the same difference between 1989's Batman and The Dark Knight: The Dark Knight is by far a superior film, but it's just not as fun, it's not the film I would watch at 1 in the morning after drinking. It's the difference between 2004's Punisher (a film that takes itself much too seriously) and 2008's goofy, fun, violent Punisher: War Zone. It's the difference between Iron Man 2 (which spent too much of its over-produced runtime setting up The Avengers and throwing in geek references that won't pay off until films that come out at least a year later) and Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, which was just so damn buoyant and in love with itself you couldn't help but be charmed by its self-contained sense of fun. Why does "serious" mean "tragic"? Why does "realistic" mean "gritty and violent"? Why does "good" mean "down-to-earth"?
I want my Bond to enjoy being who he is, and not be a humorless dick. When Craig says to someone in Quantum Of Solace, in a scene right after an ultimately disappointing and confusing boat chase, "Here, take her. She's seasick.", he says it almost derisively, as if making a pun were a chore. His character can't enjoy himself, and I think Craig (the actor) is feeling it too. He's stated in interviews he'd wanted a fun romp to end his tenure. And I want that too. Bring back the gadgets and the machine-gun-toting cars. Make that balance between fantasy and topical events that were explored so well in From Russia With Love, and GoldenEye, and Casino Royale, and Licence To Kill. Have fun!
I'll end with this: I hope Mr. Mendes realizes that Bond is fantasy. He's the ultimate male fantasy. A "mantasy", if you will (my next article on sea mammals will also use that word). He's best enjoy on the big screen, with the loud music, and with his theme blaring in the background. The Wii game I just played does this balance well, and was more enjoyable than the last film.
The most memorable Bond films are the ones that are fantasy. Surely, the stunts of the modern version of Bond can do better than a confusing rooftop foot chase, or a dumb-as-shit boat chase. Or a confusing as shit car chase.
I'd want to be as blown away as I was watching the parkour chase five years ago.
Or go all out: upstage the parachute jump from The Spy Who Loved Me.
Make something as immaturely fun as the tank chase from GoldenEye!
Something memorable!
Whatever you do, just bring back the fun!

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.