Quite possibly the dumbest, most self-satisfied film ever made. Don’t believe me? Let me just recount the plot for you: The superintendent of a Philadelphia area apartment building (Cleveland Heep, played by Paul Giammati), who is hiding a deep dark secret (this is Shyamalan remember), finds a water nymph in the complex’s pool. This nymph, called a narf for some reason, is meant to find a person (called the vessel) who, upon seeing her, will be inspired to do something great. That done, the narf can then mount a giant eagle (called the Great Eaglon) and return to her home, the Blue World. Trying to prevent her return is a wolf-like monster with grass for fur called a scrunt. There are certain nights during which the scrunt cannot attack the narf because the super evil tartutic (three monkey-like creatures made of wood who all share the one name of tartutic) will punish them. But, since this particular narf is the madame narf (an important narf who’s return to the Blue World will herald great change), the scrunt is willing to risk the wrath of the tartutic to attack the narf as she awaits the Great Eaglon. Thus the narf must enlist the help of certain humans who have been blessed with certain abilities and have felt compelled to reside in a place near the narf, in this case, in the apartment complex. Of course, the people don’t know they have these gifts so Cleveland must seek them all out. And there are a lot. There’s the “symbolist” (any similarity to Robert Langdon’s fictional occupation is purely coincidental I’m sure), the healer, the interpreter, the guardian and a group of people called the guild. Finally, with these ten or so people surrounding her, the narf has her rendezvous with the big eagle.
Seriously, that is the simplest and quickest summary of the plot of this film possible. It’s so convoluted and ridiculous that almost all of the film is spent conveying the plot. Two thirds of the dialogue is simply exposition. And the characters responsible for this exposition are two horribly stereotypical Korean women who once heard this tale as a fable back in Korea (never mind that the names “scrunt”, “ narf”, and “tartutic” sound not the least bit Korean).
Watching the film and hearing the slowly unraveling complications of the narf’s return to the Blue World, you get the distinct impression that Shyamalan is making this up as he goes. Each new development or obstacle is more unlikely and nonsensical than the last. And, perhaps most damningly, not one person in the entire film behaves like a real human being.
For example, upon finding this naked girl in the pool and hearing her tale, Cleveland doesn’t for even a moment think she’s a nut with serious mental issues. And when he begins to tell more and more of the residents of the apartment complex about her, none of these people think the whole thing’s just some crazy yarn and call the men in white coats. I guess it makes sense that the people who are unknowingly gifted (the healer, the guardian, the guild, etc.) might believe the story but plenty of non-magical people hear it too and not one person is an unbeliever. Further, the plan these people concoct to get the narf to safety is just about the most convoluted and silly strategy possible (it involves a big party and a band). It is said early on in the film that the scrunt cannot attack the narf when she is in the water. The pool is like fifty feet from the building. Why not just toss her in the pool and wait for the stupid eagle?
Okay, so the plot is ridiculously stupid and the mythology of this Blue World is inane to the point of being insulting but that is not what makes this film so smug and self-satisfied. No, that comes when you see what character Shyamalan has chosen to play and which character he has chosen to punish with the film’s lone act of violence. Remember that one person whom the narf was to influence? That’s the role Shyamalan’s chosen for himself. And the narf’s influence compels him to write a book that will not only change the world, it also causes him to be murdered, martyred for his art. As for the character that is on the receiving end of the film’s only violence, that character’s a film critic (named, for some reason, after Manny Farber, a champion of B movies and unknown auteurs).
These two taken together clearly indicate the absurd depths of Shyamalan’s messiah complex. He sees himself as the lone voice of truth and beauty in the world, his constant critical drubbing a sort of near-religious persecution. He is perhaps the only artist capable of bringing light and beauty into the world and as such must constantly fight against those (critics) who attempt to shroud that light and silence his voice. Therefore, in his mind, attacking his films becomes an attack on beauty and truth not a simple discussion of the relative merits of his films. And thus, as each successive film becomes more and more ridiculous with less and less people willing and able to defend it, Shyamalan increasingly sees himself as more and more the true artist. Eventually he’ll be making films for an audience of one and still firmly believing that he’s going to change the world. You simply cannot get more smug and self-satisfied than that.
I think I go to Shyamalan’s films to pick them apart, to dissect them and poke holes in the nonsensical plot machinations and lack of any believable reality. But, if I were to be totally honest, I also go to Shyamalan’s films because, despite the increasing amount of ludicrousness, there’s always a moment or two in which Shyamalan’s wonderful way with images wins out and the film becomes, for just a moment, everything its creator thinks it is. These moments of pure cinema magic (the baby monitor sequence in Signs or the conversation on the train in Unbreakable or the murder in The Village) are worth the two hours of nonsense that surrounds them if only because they allow the viewer to hold out hope that one day Shyamalan will make a whole film that fulfills the promise of these few scenes. Unfortunately The Lady in the Water is not that film. And worse, there are no such magical moments in it at all. I don’t know what this bodes for Shyamalan’s future but if his visual skills are going the way of his writing skills (i.e. straight up his ass) there will very soon cease to be any reason to see or talk about Shyamalan’s films. And maybe that’ll be a relief. Shyamalan can see himself as becoming completely like Christ (persecuted to the point of (career) death) and we, the movie-going public, will be spared his nonsensical self-aggrandizing mythology. I, for one, am starting to think I won’t miss him. And judging by the lackluster box office returns, it looks like I might not be the only one.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Sunday, July 9, 2006
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MAN’S CHEST – gore verbinski - 4.8 / 10
Midway through the second hour of the way-too-long two and a half hour Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, three men, all battling each other for some mystical trinket or other, find themselves atop the wheel of a river mill that has become detached from its moorings and is rolling through the forest. Initially this little bit of whimsy is perfectly appropriate for a jokey action-adventure film. The stout-hearted Will Turner (again played by the ridiculously awful Orlando Bloom) is all grimace and gritted teeth as he balances precariously atop the rolling wheel of destruction battling the sometimes good sometimes evil (former) Commodore Norrington. The outlandish and ridiculous Captain Jack Sparrow (again played by the best thing about the film, otherwise known as Johnny Depp) ambles, in that inimitable way of his, along the bottom of the wheel hoping to swipe the trinket while the others are busy hacking and slashing away at each other. It’s all good ol’ silly fun. But it just keeps going on and on and on. And just when you think it must finally be over, the wheel rolls off a cliff and the whole thing lurches back to life one more time.
This, in a nutshell, is what’s wrong with the entire film. It’s fun and enjoyably goofy for while, then it gets bogged down in its torpid plot machinations and arcane mysticism, then when you think it’s pulled itself out of its own ass, the whole thing goes completely off the rails and you’re left staring at your watch and wondering what else is going on in the world. Pirates 2 isn’t a bad film, really, it’s just a mediocre one that doesn’t know when to quit.
The biggest error the filmmakers commit is making Jack Sparrow the hero and central focus of the film. I suppose it makes a certain kind of sense considering what’s transpired between the first and second films (Johnny Depp’s Oscar nomination, the world’s belated realization that Orlando Bloom is an incompetent ass (see: Kingdom of Heaven and Elizabethtown)). But just because Johnny Depp’s the better actor and Jack Sparrow’s the more interesting character doesn’t mean that what the audience wants to see is more more more of Captain Jack. And even if that is what the audience says it wants, that doesn’t mean you should give it to them. Will’s the hero and Jack’s the sidekick, deal with it.
Making this second film into The Captain Jack Story turns the whole affair into an overly complicated and conflicted mess. The filmmakers are forced to twist and turn and contort the plot until it breaks under the enormous strain. They try to give Jack the proper hero’s treatment (and a proper hero’s quest) by making him the center of everyone’s attention. He has a heroic and seemingly impossible task (finding the key that unlocks the chest that contain the still-beating heart of Davy Jones (don’t ask)). He has a mortal enemy (the aforementioned Davy Jones). He has a mighty beast to slay (the Kraken, an octopus-like creature capable of destroying ships). And, as is indicated in the film’s final moments, he will have a journey to Hell and back. In fact, the filmmakers are so in love with Jack Sparrow that they think everyone else, including Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley), should be too. So they have her wandering around after him the whole film with stars in her eyes, a development that is just silly to the point of distraction. Obviously the world of Pirates of the Caribbean is not meant to substitute for historical reality but there’s no way the Elizabeth Swanns of any reality would possibly mate with the Jack Sparrows. And it’s insulting for the filmmakers to have even considered it let alone make it the central emotional conflict of the film.
There are times when a film all but demands a sequel (Indiana Jones, Star Wars, etc.). And then there are times when a sequel is demanded of material that doesn’t warrant it. Unfortunately Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest falls into the latter category. And even more unfortunately, the filmmakers, rather than come up with something altogether new and exciting when faced with the challenge of making two sequels, decided to follow the patented route to sequel failure, namely making everything they think worked about the first film twice as big and ignore everything else. This is why Jack Sparrow is the center of the film. And it’s why there are two action setpieces with giant contraptions rolling down hills. And it’s why there’s another ship full of otherworldly miscreants. And it’s also why the film’s no good.
This, in a nutshell, is what’s wrong with the entire film. It’s fun and enjoyably goofy for while, then it gets bogged down in its torpid plot machinations and arcane mysticism, then when you think it’s pulled itself out of its own ass, the whole thing goes completely off the rails and you’re left staring at your watch and wondering what else is going on in the world. Pirates 2 isn’t a bad film, really, it’s just a mediocre one that doesn’t know when to quit.
The biggest error the filmmakers commit is making Jack Sparrow the hero and central focus of the film. I suppose it makes a certain kind of sense considering what’s transpired between the first and second films (Johnny Depp’s Oscar nomination, the world’s belated realization that Orlando Bloom is an incompetent ass (see: Kingdom of Heaven and Elizabethtown)). But just because Johnny Depp’s the better actor and Jack Sparrow’s the more interesting character doesn’t mean that what the audience wants to see is more more more of Captain Jack. And even if that is what the audience says it wants, that doesn’t mean you should give it to them. Will’s the hero and Jack’s the sidekick, deal with it.
Making this second film into The Captain Jack Story turns the whole affair into an overly complicated and conflicted mess. The filmmakers are forced to twist and turn and contort the plot until it breaks under the enormous strain. They try to give Jack the proper hero’s treatment (and a proper hero’s quest) by making him the center of everyone’s attention. He has a heroic and seemingly impossible task (finding the key that unlocks the chest that contain the still-beating heart of Davy Jones (don’t ask)). He has a mortal enemy (the aforementioned Davy Jones). He has a mighty beast to slay (the Kraken, an octopus-like creature capable of destroying ships). And, as is indicated in the film’s final moments, he will have a journey to Hell and back. In fact, the filmmakers are so in love with Jack Sparrow that they think everyone else, including Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley), should be too. So they have her wandering around after him the whole film with stars in her eyes, a development that is just silly to the point of distraction. Obviously the world of Pirates of the Caribbean is not meant to substitute for historical reality but there’s no way the Elizabeth Swanns of any reality would possibly mate with the Jack Sparrows. And it’s insulting for the filmmakers to have even considered it let alone make it the central emotional conflict of the film.
There are times when a film all but demands a sequel (Indiana Jones, Star Wars, etc.). And then there are times when a sequel is demanded of material that doesn’t warrant it. Unfortunately Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest falls into the latter category. And even more unfortunately, the filmmakers, rather than come up with something altogether new and exciting when faced with the challenge of making two sequels, decided to follow the patented route to sequel failure, namely making everything they think worked about the first film twice as big and ignore everything else. This is why Jack Sparrow is the center of the film. And it’s why there are two action setpieces with giant contraptions rolling down hills. And it’s why there’s another ship full of otherworldly miscreants. And it’s also why the film’s no good.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
SUPERMAN RETURNS – bryan singer – 5.0 / 10
There’s a lot to love about Bryan Singer’s cinematic reimagining of the Superman mythos for the modern (read: computer-generated) era, unfortunately none of it is the plot or the narrative. But let’s start with what’s done right. Give Singer all the credit here because everything that’s done well is all in the direction (although you can knock him for the story stuff too cause he’s got a story by credit up there in the same unimpressive electric blue graphics as in the first film).
In fact, the directorial flourishes are really the only things to love in this version of Superman. During one scene, wherein Superman catches the Daily Planet’s globe logo on his back, Singer frames the shot to mimic the famous statue of Atlas. At a couple points in the film Superman is compared to a god (with a positive connotation when Jimmy Olsen says it and a negative one when it’s Luthor doing the talking). And he’s depicted as a messiah in no less than three different shots. And then, of course, he dies and rises again just like a certain other Messiah.
All that god-making effectively conveys just how isolating and lonely it is to be the world’s most powerful being. There’s really no way to get close to anyone and to really feel a “human” connection. You can never tell if the person (read: Lois) wants to be around you because they like you or because they are impressed by you. Further, as Spider-Man found out at the end of Sam Raimi’s first Spidey film, allowing someone to get close to you is a good way to get that person killed. And if you go ahead and let them get close to you anyway, you’re taking on a huge responsibility that you probably can’t fulfill. It’s lonely and isolating being God and Singer’s Superman understands this and really feels the weight of it, which is pretty heady stuff for a superhero flick.
Unfortunately it’s really the only aspect of the movie that seems to have been given much thought because the rest of it makes very little sense. Let’s start with the inconsistency of Superman’s powers. In the film’s one dynamic action setpiece (which comes about thirty minutes in, a crucial pacing error), wherein Superman saves a seemingly doomed 747 (with Lois aboard, natch), he seems to have quite a struggle keeping the couple thousand ton machine off the thousands of spectators in the baseball stadium below. Then, later, when Lois is once again within moments of death, Superman struggles mightily with the larger half of a destroyed yacht as he raises it out of the water. But then, a little while later, he has no problem lifting a piece of rock the size of Rhode Island out of the water and into space, despite the fact that said piece of rock is composed of Kryptonite which had only a short while before rendered Superman human enough for Lex Luthor to stab him in the side (and that’s leaving aside the fact that it’s pretty unlikely that this hunk of rock would remain in one piece with all its weight concentrated in one spot).
I’m not trying to arbitrarily poke holes in the film here. I know it’s a comic book film based on a superhero who was created nearly seventy years ago for a much less demanding audience. But that’s exactly the point. Superman and his ridiculous powers defy all rational explanation. To even attempt to enjoy anything Superman related, a viewer has to suspend a large amount of disbelief. That being the case, the last thing a Superman story needs is anything that doesn’t adhere to the internal logic of the story. The audience is already overburdened with logic defying powers and situations, asking them to accept a story that doesn’t even make sense within this already contrived world is just asking too much.
And it’s not just the superhero stuff that defies all logic and reason. Lois Lane, intrepid (and in this film Pulitzer Prize winning) reporter for the Daily Planet, is played by Kate Bosworth. Twenty-three year old Kate Bosworth. But she has a five-year-old kid (who, of course, turns out to be the spawn of Superman. It’s unclear whether they used condoms in their ridiculous tryst in the Fortress of Solitude in Superman II but I doubt simple latex could have held back the big guy’s little soldiers anyway). This means that she’s become a world-renowned reporter for a major metropolitan newspaper at the ripe old age of twenty-three all while raising the spawn of Superman. Unlikely doesn’t begin to cover it.
But it doesn’t stop there. Lois has a fiancé (Richard White, played by James Marsden who’s making quite a career for himself being the awkward third leg of a love triangle) who believes the cute little supertyke is his. So, unless the half-Kryptonian kid’s gestation period is longer than nine months, the continuity of the whole thing had to go something like this: Superman impregnates Lois and, having finally gotten the one thing he’s been wanting for all of the first two films, promptly leaves the planet for five years. Lois, having just slept with the most perfect being on Earth and terrifically upset by his sudden departure, hops straight into bed with this Richard guy. And I mean straight into bed, within a week or two or else this subterfuge wouldn’t hold up. I know Metropolis is populated by a bunch of morons who can’t see that Clark Kent and Superman are the same person but this is just basic math. Oh, and by the way, they don’t hand out Pulitzers for one op-ed piece, a series maybe but not a single article.
And then there’s the hokey and ridiculous plot that finds the best action setpiece occurring half an hour in and the end basically an episode of ER without the drama (You think Superman’s gonna die? Yeah, sure.) wherein doctors try to stick needles in Supes and defibrillate his heart. Leaving aside the fact that there are undoubtedly biological differences between Kryptonians and humans, it’s just astounding that a medical crisis is the climax of the film. Who the hell, when plunking down their ten bucks to see Superman Returning, thought they’d get this nonsense as the climax to a film about the most powerful superhero of them all? I’m all for subverting audience expectations but if they want candy you can’t give them a fucking banana and think they’ll be satisfied.
I guess maybe there’s something to be said for showing the universe’s most powerful being reduced to just another sad victim in a paper gown (How did they get that costume off him anyway? And where did they put it?). It’s a brave move at the very least as it surely contradicts almost everyone in the audience’s preconceived ideas about the character. And in and of itself it’s not a bad moment. But this is the climax of the film, the climax of Superman Returns. He returns to spend a few days in a hospital bed and then go fly around in the sun for a bit? That’s it? Really?
Superman Returns isn’t a bad film, it’s maybe even better than mediocre but I can’t believe that’s all there is to it. Maybe it’s the fault of expectations raised too high. Maybe it’s the fault of misleading advertising. But as the credits rolled, all I could think was “That’s it? That’s Superman’s big comeback?” If this is as powerful and Super as the Man of Steel can be, he really doesn’t deserve the tent-pole treatment he’s been given.
In fact, the directorial flourishes are really the only things to love in this version of Superman. During one scene, wherein Superman catches the Daily Planet’s globe logo on his back, Singer frames the shot to mimic the famous statue of Atlas. At a couple points in the film Superman is compared to a god (with a positive connotation when Jimmy Olsen says it and a negative one when it’s Luthor doing the talking). And he’s depicted as a messiah in no less than three different shots. And then, of course, he dies and rises again just like a certain other Messiah.
All that god-making effectively conveys just how isolating and lonely it is to be the world’s most powerful being. There’s really no way to get close to anyone and to really feel a “human” connection. You can never tell if the person (read: Lois) wants to be around you because they like you or because they are impressed by you. Further, as Spider-Man found out at the end of Sam Raimi’s first Spidey film, allowing someone to get close to you is a good way to get that person killed. And if you go ahead and let them get close to you anyway, you’re taking on a huge responsibility that you probably can’t fulfill. It’s lonely and isolating being God and Singer’s Superman understands this and really feels the weight of it, which is pretty heady stuff for a superhero flick.
Unfortunately it’s really the only aspect of the movie that seems to have been given much thought because the rest of it makes very little sense. Let’s start with the inconsistency of Superman’s powers. In the film’s one dynamic action setpiece (which comes about thirty minutes in, a crucial pacing error), wherein Superman saves a seemingly doomed 747 (with Lois aboard, natch), he seems to have quite a struggle keeping the couple thousand ton machine off the thousands of spectators in the baseball stadium below. Then, later, when Lois is once again within moments of death, Superman struggles mightily with the larger half of a destroyed yacht as he raises it out of the water. But then, a little while later, he has no problem lifting a piece of rock the size of Rhode Island out of the water and into space, despite the fact that said piece of rock is composed of Kryptonite which had only a short while before rendered Superman human enough for Lex Luthor to stab him in the side (and that’s leaving aside the fact that it’s pretty unlikely that this hunk of rock would remain in one piece with all its weight concentrated in one spot).
I’m not trying to arbitrarily poke holes in the film here. I know it’s a comic book film based on a superhero who was created nearly seventy years ago for a much less demanding audience. But that’s exactly the point. Superman and his ridiculous powers defy all rational explanation. To even attempt to enjoy anything Superman related, a viewer has to suspend a large amount of disbelief. That being the case, the last thing a Superman story needs is anything that doesn’t adhere to the internal logic of the story. The audience is already overburdened with logic defying powers and situations, asking them to accept a story that doesn’t even make sense within this already contrived world is just asking too much.
And it’s not just the superhero stuff that defies all logic and reason. Lois Lane, intrepid (and in this film Pulitzer Prize winning) reporter for the Daily Planet, is played by Kate Bosworth. Twenty-three year old Kate Bosworth. But she has a five-year-old kid (who, of course, turns out to be the spawn of Superman. It’s unclear whether they used condoms in their ridiculous tryst in the Fortress of Solitude in Superman II but I doubt simple latex could have held back the big guy’s little soldiers anyway). This means that she’s become a world-renowned reporter for a major metropolitan newspaper at the ripe old age of twenty-three all while raising the spawn of Superman. Unlikely doesn’t begin to cover it.
But it doesn’t stop there. Lois has a fiancé (Richard White, played by James Marsden who’s making quite a career for himself being the awkward third leg of a love triangle) who believes the cute little supertyke is his. So, unless the half-Kryptonian kid’s gestation period is longer than nine months, the continuity of the whole thing had to go something like this: Superman impregnates Lois and, having finally gotten the one thing he’s been wanting for all of the first two films, promptly leaves the planet for five years. Lois, having just slept with the most perfect being on Earth and terrifically upset by his sudden departure, hops straight into bed with this Richard guy. And I mean straight into bed, within a week or two or else this subterfuge wouldn’t hold up. I know Metropolis is populated by a bunch of morons who can’t see that Clark Kent and Superman are the same person but this is just basic math. Oh, and by the way, they don’t hand out Pulitzers for one op-ed piece, a series maybe but not a single article.
And then there’s the hokey and ridiculous plot that finds the best action setpiece occurring half an hour in and the end basically an episode of ER without the drama (You think Superman’s gonna die? Yeah, sure.) wherein doctors try to stick needles in Supes and defibrillate his heart. Leaving aside the fact that there are undoubtedly biological differences between Kryptonians and humans, it’s just astounding that a medical crisis is the climax of the film. Who the hell, when plunking down their ten bucks to see Superman Returning, thought they’d get this nonsense as the climax to a film about the most powerful superhero of them all? I’m all for subverting audience expectations but if they want candy you can’t give them a fucking banana and think they’ll be satisfied.
I guess maybe there’s something to be said for showing the universe’s most powerful being reduced to just another sad victim in a paper gown (How did they get that costume off him anyway? And where did they put it?). It’s a brave move at the very least as it surely contradicts almost everyone in the audience’s preconceived ideas about the character. And in and of itself it’s not a bad moment. But this is the climax of the film, the climax of Superman Returns. He returns to spend a few days in a hospital bed and then go fly around in the sun for a bit? That’s it? Really?
Superman Returns isn’t a bad film, it’s maybe even better than mediocre but I can’t believe that’s all there is to it. Maybe it’s the fault of expectations raised too high. Maybe it’s the fault of misleading advertising. But as the credits rolled, all I could think was “That’s it? That’s Superman’s big comeback?” If this is as powerful and Super as the Man of Steel can be, he really doesn’t deserve the tent-pole treatment he’s been given.
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