I spent a week at my mom's house, during which time I watched something like a dozen movies. Her TV is set up in a way where huge boxes of glare shine into the center of the screen, making actual enjoyment fairly difficult. As such I mostly tried to watch movies I was vaguely curious about seeing, but suspected I wouldn't like.
In an effort to speed along this blog process and catch up to something close to where I should be with my movie reviews, I've decided to give these dozen movies short shrift and stick them all together in one hastily written post.
The Last Man on Earth (Ubaldo Ragona & Sidney Salkow, 1964)
By default the best adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend. None of the three are good, but this one is, I suppose, the least bad. If I'm being honest I sort of hate Vincent Price's theatrical acting in this. I am not familiar enough with his work to know if this is his typical style of acting, or if too long pauses and over-emphasis on the dramatic words of a sentence are simply his forte. In any case, it gave everything a feeling of Masterpiece Theatre, which the grimy desperation of the character needs anything but. The Omega Man must've got the part where the main character becomes a martyr, rather than realizing he's the monster, from this movie. Kinda defeats the whole point of the book.
The Box (Richard Kelly, 2009)
Lately I've fallen in love with describing certain movies as "cinema wallpaper." It seems a short and easy way of stating that they feel a whole lot like watching nothing. There are things happening on screen, but none of them seem to add up to an experience that is like watching a whole movie. The Box is certainly like that, and, sadly, that's enough to make it Richard Kelly's best movie (based on Donnie Darko and the 20 minutes I was able to get through of Southland Tales). Again, like in DD, he uses period detail without much point -- the film takes place in the '70s, but it could just as well be now (and, for a lot of it, now would make more sense). But, again, I guess nothing beats the low-hanging fruit of Donnie Darko's attempts at '80s satire. It's pretty difficult to even understand why or how this was made.
Swordfish (Dominic Sena, 2001)
Uses that Matrix rotating camera trick to much greater effect than was ever used in the Matrix. Gave the feeling that, despite the awfulness of Travolta's opening monologue, I might actually be about to watch an interesting movie. Unfortunately it turns out the opening sequence is one of those Begin at the End hooks, and the ensuing flashback to Hugh Jackman as a paroled hacker (quite easily the buffest man to ever be jailed for spending 16 hours a day sitting behind a computer) being enticed back into the life is dull nonsense -- though, at least, breezy, hastily paced nonsense. I didn't hate it, even if all the potential was eventually wasted, and the movie can never decide whether it wants to be a big, outlandish cartoon of an action movie or a gritty, violent down-to-earth action movie with Jackman as a plausible moral center, trapped in a world of chaos and violence.
Man on Fire (Tony Scott, 2004)
Honestly, I was completely surprised how much I enjoyed this. My general feeling towards Tony Scott is that, despite certain critical opinions, he is in fact even worse than Ridley. This, however, is the most I've enjoyed a movie by either of the two brothers, which I guess puts Tony back in the lead even if Ridley never made a movie I hated as much as True Romance. It is mean and bleak and gross, and wearing its "gritty" Denzel broken down Man of Action heart on its sleeve does it no real favors, but its ultra high contrast music video cinematography is so gorgeous I could watch nearly anything happening to it and be enthralled. Perhaps it speaks to my sense of aesthetic (and how bad it is), but I just plain love looking at this movie and if I could make a movie that looked just like it I would be pleased as punch. Dakota Fanning is pretty good, too.
The Manchurian Candidate (Jonathan Demme, 2004)
At first looks and feels like a bad attempt to revive '70s paranoia-style filmmaking, with weird deep fisheye cameras and strange zooms. This visual style eventually stopped bothering me, though it never completely gelled with the rest of the movie. Despite these stylistic problems, and Meryl Streep's boring Meryl Streep performance, Demme's attempt to make a big budget movie also be somewhat politically subversive ends up giving it enough oomph to push it into a pretty decent movie. The way it mirrors the hypnotic suggestion of its characters with the rhetoric of television punditry and political speeches to suggest that our entire political system is a broken down mess of mass hypnosis and it doesn't really matter which party you support, as long as everyone is talking the same way about the same things is a pretty unusual (if a mite obvious) outlook for a Hollywood political thriller, even if Demme eventually becomes trapped in offering the audience an easy happy(-ish) ending escape.
Freejack (Geoff Murphy, 1992)
Actually starts like an interesting movie, possibly. Though that is only because I misinterpreted the opening sequence to think it was about something completely different. The opening intercuts Emilio Estevez in a bright, sunny, idyllic, Best Day of My Life scene with a dark Mick Jagger-led post-apocalypse wasteland. The implication at the time, to me, was that Estevez was jacked into some kind of virtual reality world where he relived the positive aspects of his life as an escape from the reality that he was seriously injured or something along those lines. You could go interesting places with a concept like that. Instead it's about how in the future you can snatch people's bodies just before their death and, if you have enough money, transfer your personality into them to live forever -- like some kind of reverse on the Bradbury story Sound of Thunder. Estevez escapes and the movie proceeds from there in a series of poorly executed chase sequences until it eventually ends.
X2: X-Men United (Bryan Singer, 2003)
Still too long, just as I remembered, but otherwise an efficient slice of superhero action movie. Singer is, with little doubt, one of our best living action directors and this movie goes far to demonstrate just what is dull and lacking about the sleepwalking action sequences in Matthew Vaughn's newest X-Men movie. The tension, the sense of place and motion, in the opening action sequence alone would probably make it one of the best American action scenes of the last decade or so. It moves with a steady, pure kinesis that is almost unseen in action movies lately. I also have to admit I appreciate the mutants as metaphor for the struggle for gay rights, and the goofy fun Singer has with it ("have you ever tried... NOT being a mutant" asks a fretful mother) a lot more than I like it as a metaphor for black civil rights ala the new one. Guess I should finally get around to watching Valkyrie and see if it has some glimmers of awesome in and around how awful I expect to find some of it.
X-Men: Last Stand (Brett Ratner, 2006)
Actually not as awful as I remembered. Kelsey Grammar is a terrible choice for Beast (come on, it's fuckin' Frasier, how did anyone think this wasn't ridiculous), and it mostly skates along without any ideas about anything -- it doesn't, for instance, even attempt to grapple with the idea that despite Magneto hating Nazis he basically wants to be a mutant Hitler. But it does skate along briskly and with a kind of gleeful abandon. No doubt working with the knowledge that this was gonna be the last real X-Men movie, Ratner and screenwriters spare no opportunity to kill off as many main characters as they possibly can. And while this is, in itself, not anything like an inherently good thing, I can find a small amount of pleasure in it compared to the usual way of handling super teams in movies. Cover it with an ecstatic layer of sentimental cheese and you have a movie that, while not at all something good, is at least a joyful and unbridled show of passable mediocrity.
Jurassic Park III (Joe Johnston, 2001)
I guess this would be kind of the opposite end of a similar sequel spectrum. This is even more unapologetically schlocky than Last Stand, yet it works far less well. The biggest issue is that Joe Johnston is so obviously beholden to Spielberg's work that what he ends up with is merely sticky, oozing Velveeta Spielberg. An indiscernible mess of could-be Spielberg, yet everything about it looks, feels, tastes and smells wrong. Even the music is weird, having been able to successfully license the Jurassic Park theme song -- but not John Williams himself. So we alternate between big, uproarious moments with the (actually pretty annoying) theme, then seque into some not at all good faux-Williams music for the next part. Then the movie will do something completely inexplicable, like try to reprise that first Jurassic Park moment, when you've spent 20 minutes talking about dinosaurs and getting hints of dinosaurs, then you get the big BAM moment when there's a dinosaur... only they do it 3/4ths of the way into this movie, which has already been filled with dinosaurs since the beginning. Why are you trying to replicate (almost exactly) the big majestic moment at a completely ill-fitting time when everyone is trying to run away and not get eaten? While I can understand not liking The Lost World, or probably honestly any of the Jurassic Park movies, do not trust anyone who claims this is better than the second one.
Minority Report (Steven Spielberg, 2002)
So after all that fake Spielberg I decided to watch a real one, albeit not even close to one of his best. In many ways this is the most conflicted of his movies that I've seen, constantly battling itself between his impulse for humanistic gravity about the future, where America/humanity appeared to be heading in a post-Patriot Act world of security and paranoia -- and a bunch of awful jokes like Tom Cruise chasing his eyeballs down a ramp and Peter Stormare as a doctor blowing snot everywhere. This is definitely Spielberg at his most weirdly unrestrained, apparently literally throwing every idea he can think of into the movie whether good, bad, offensive, childish, interesting or dull. Just a whole big kitchen sink of a movie which, somewhat unfortunately, also happens to have some of the most interesting sci-fi world building that exists in a recent movie -- blending utopic and dystopic ideas into a world that seems like a plausible reality in 20-30 years (Xbox Kinect already offers the ability to control TV menus by moving your hands, and, from what I hear, cars that drive themselves are in a constant state of testing).
The X-Files: I Want To Believe (Chris Carter, 2008)
A ridiculous exercise in combining what would be, even by its standards, a pretty bland episode of the show with a seemingly endless string of kowtowing fanbase appeasement. Mulder and Scully are finally together and doing it as they get roped back into working for the government for One Last Job. Xzibit co-stars as the only black guy, who also happens to be surly, dislikeable and useless. Even late in the movie, when it appears his time for redemption has come, as Scully angrily calls out his masculinity ("if you can't do it, find me someone with the balls who will") instead is just an excuse to bring back Skinner for a worthless cameo and Xzibit never appears in the movie again. Also attempts to mirror the killer with an at first extraneous seeming medical case Scully is working on, where a boy is probably dying from a rare brain disease and an experimental and highly painful treatment has only a very small chance of saving him. The killer, meanwhile, is kidnapping people and sawing them up with the hope of curing his husband's cancer. The question, eventually, appears to be: How far is too far to save someone you love? But then the end completely ignores this connection, as Scully powers on with the treatment. Mercifully, we never find out whether it works, but it still seems completely at odds with what the rest was trying to suggest. Easily the worst movie of the trip, despite Duchovny's charming attempts to rescue it with every scene he's in. (Gillian Anderson is also completely awful, it is little wonder her career has stagnated without the show)
Mission: Impossible III (J.J. Abrams, 2006)
Watched this both because I had not seen it since the theatre, and as a primer for my anticipation of seeing Super 8 when I arrived in Atlanta. That it turned out to be much better than that movie was a surprise, although it is still nothing worth writing home about. The bit of stunt casting that put Phillip Seymour Hoffman in the villain's chair likely won Abrams much of the movie's critical respect, but to me he does nothing but exude a pale, mealy-mouthed narcissist's idea of quiet, direct menace. He's so obviously caught up in trying to be scary without being overtly scary that it ruptures the entire movie's existence. The whole fiasco is a case of Actors Gone wild, as Cruise pulls out all the stops in appearing as Tom Cruise-y as possible at all times, while Billy Crudup tips his hat too early by being oily and shooting furtive glances. The rest of the movie is the usual Abrams celebration of gender roles, with Cruise as the jaded spy who falls in love with a girl because of her innocence and naivete (creepy), then must rescue her when his life, and his mistakes, ensare her. A few of the espionage aspects seem interesting at first, though eventually end in cliche (one particularly elaborate sequence's finale comes down to spilling a drink on someone and then ambushing them in the bathroom). Here's hoping Brad Bird's first foray into live-action can breathe some life into this tired franchise (but, sadly, who's really holding their breath?), as who doesn't love the idea of spies doing cool spy stuff?
No comments:
Post a Comment