A wise man once said, "There's no lesson to be learned if there's no one left to learn it."
I guess I could classify myself as a moderate. I hate being a moderate. It's like I should shit or get off the pot. I'm liberal on war and drugs, but I'm conservative on gun control and other hot button topics. I like to think I'm no ones bitch (although I'm probably lying to myself) and that I control and govern myself without "help" from the United States of America. I guess this is why I became so enamoured with punk. It's like there was a bunch of people like me saying what I thought before I'd even thought it. It's just a big "fuck you" to everyone and everything, and I like that. Most people and things need and deserve a big "fuck you."
Movies deliver a less blunt and rude "fuck you" in most senses. Movies tell stories, and you can draw from them however you like. I know pable talked about Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas before, but this is a perfect example for me. This movie is all about making your own choices and living by your own standards and rules to me. They lived in their own dimension, which is what drugs do for them. They lived outside mainstream society, but within it, and that is my goal.
I'm my own goddamned person and no one can take that away from me.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
How Many Surrealists Does It Take To Screw In a Light Bulb?
So a while back, I was working with some of my students on a piece that was clearly non-linear. There was a clear divide in the group, but of course I only managed to hear the half that was frustrated and confused – the half that didn’t want anything to do with all this weird, arty bullshit, the half that wanted to get laughs and get paid. They wanted an explanation for what was going on onstage – and, hell, they deserved one – but what could I say? I didn’t understand it, either. And I’d usually end up going home equally frustrated.
So I went home and started channel-surfing and (astoundingly) what should be on but Institute Benjamenta? I used to be obsessed with the brothers Quay, but I hadn’t seen this movie of theirs in years. I stumbled into the middle, but it only took a few minutes for me to get swept up into the – "action" isn’t the right word, "story" isn’t the right word – but whatever it was, I was captivated.
Every twenty seconds, there’d be another image, another transition, another big ball of ideas with no explanation behind it – and, Jesus, it was liberating. The sense that I’d been obsessing over what people would think of a quirky line of dialogue – and to see someone who just didn’t care, who would create movement for no other reason than the fact that it was sort of interesting to look at, who would cry so unapologetically to fuck narrative, fuck reality – why be yoked to reality when the world of the imagination is so much more compelling?
And I envied it, too – it’s a courage I’ve never possessed. Even in my most expressionistic pieces, I’ve never been able to fully abandon fairly conventional plotting and characterization. But the absolute triumph of form over content is something that’s truly breathtaking to witness.
(Tangential thought – reviewing shows for the Minnesota Fringe this year, and particularly pieces like Audiographic Synesthesia, I was struck by how far modern surrealism has drifted from its roots – that originally, it was an expression of rage, of contempt for the rising middle-class social mores, a scream of disgust against everything that they held to be sacred. Now, it’s come full-circle: surrealism has been fully embraced by the middle class, something that rich white kids churn out to demonstrate their sophistication. It’s truly disheartening to witness.)
So I’m a Julie Taymor fan, for many of the above reasons. I guess I’m surprised by the degree of hostility in Andrew’s reviews – at worst, her movies could be viewed as silly, pointless intellectual exercises. I don’t really get the outright anger directed towards her work. That kind of rage is reserved, for me, for work that I find ideologically repugnant – so I suspect that I’m not grasping the fullness of your point.
I’m in no position to defend Across the Universe (not having seen it), but I can say that the appeal of Titus for me wasn’t simply some kind of cerebral masturbation – it’s the fact that I was actively moved, consistently startled, frequently laughing and always engaged. It’s certainly possible that this is because I’m bringing something to viewing the movie that’s not inherent in the movie itself, but that’s still a valid part of my viewing experience, no?
I can’t help thinking of the actual lyrics of Across the Universe:
words are flowing out
like endless rain into a paper cup
they slither while they pass
they slip away across the universe
pools of sorrow waves of joy
are drifting through my opened mind
possessing and caressing me...
What do those words mean? I have no fucking idea. And the answer, I suspect, is that they don’t mean anything. They’re a collection of sounds, seemingly random but far from arbitrary. I’ve listened to the song hundreds of times and I’m not tired of it yet. I can’t articulate exactly what it is that keeps dragging me back to Taymor’s work, any more than I can articulate exactly what it is that the lyrics to this song mean. But I know that they resonate with me on some level beyond language, that they both evoke something very real for me, something I’ve experienced many times before.
Just not when I’m awake.
So I went home and started channel-surfing and (astoundingly) what should be on but Institute Benjamenta? I used to be obsessed with the brothers Quay, but I hadn’t seen this movie of theirs in years. I stumbled into the middle, but it only took a few minutes for me to get swept up into the – "action" isn’t the right word, "story" isn’t the right word – but whatever it was, I was captivated.
Every twenty seconds, there’d be another image, another transition, another big ball of ideas with no explanation behind it – and, Jesus, it was liberating. The sense that I’d been obsessing over what people would think of a quirky line of dialogue – and to see someone who just didn’t care, who would create movement for no other reason than the fact that it was sort of interesting to look at, who would cry so unapologetically to fuck narrative, fuck reality – why be yoked to reality when the world of the imagination is so much more compelling?
And I envied it, too – it’s a courage I’ve never possessed. Even in my most expressionistic pieces, I’ve never been able to fully abandon fairly conventional plotting and characterization. But the absolute triumph of form over content is something that’s truly breathtaking to witness.
(Tangential thought – reviewing shows for the Minnesota Fringe this year, and particularly pieces like Audiographic Synesthesia, I was struck by how far modern surrealism has drifted from its roots – that originally, it was an expression of rage, of contempt for the rising middle-class social mores, a scream of disgust against everything that they held to be sacred. Now, it’s come full-circle: surrealism has been fully embraced by the middle class, something that rich white kids churn out to demonstrate their sophistication. It’s truly disheartening to witness.)
So I’m a Julie Taymor fan, for many of the above reasons. I guess I’m surprised by the degree of hostility in Andrew’s reviews – at worst, her movies could be viewed as silly, pointless intellectual exercises. I don’t really get the outright anger directed towards her work. That kind of rage is reserved, for me, for work that I find ideologically repugnant – so I suspect that I’m not grasping the fullness of your point.
I’m in no position to defend Across the Universe (not having seen it), but I can say that the appeal of Titus for me wasn’t simply some kind of cerebral masturbation – it’s the fact that I was actively moved, consistently startled, frequently laughing and always engaged. It’s certainly possible that this is because I’m bringing something to viewing the movie that’s not inherent in the movie itself, but that’s still a valid part of my viewing experience, no?
I can’t help thinking of the actual lyrics of Across the Universe:
words are flowing out
like endless rain into a paper cup
they slither while they pass
they slip away across the universe
pools of sorrow waves of joy
are drifting through my opened mind
possessing and caressing me...
What do those words mean? I have no fucking idea. And the answer, I suspect, is that they don’t mean anything. They’re a collection of sounds, seemingly random but far from arbitrary. I’ve listened to the song hundreds of times and I’m not tired of it yet. I can’t articulate exactly what it is that keeps dragging me back to Taymor’s work, any more than I can articulate exactly what it is that the lyrics to this song mean. But I know that they resonate with me on some level beyond language, that they both evoke something very real for me, something I’ve experienced many times before.
Just not when I’m awake.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Titus: The First Twenty Minutes
Alright, Julie. What gives?
I don't like you. I don't like you Julie Taymor, because you think sooo highly of yourself that you assume people will be willing to sit through 3 hours of your bullshit art direction without anything else to carry us along like, say, a sooooul?
Lucky for you, Shakespeare provided a story. So he gave you some semblance of a plot. At least it wasn't another Across the Universe mess where you don't even feel obligated enough to string a respectful plot line between your fancy pants bedazzles and shmefrazzles. At least you had a story with some sort of depth to work with. Only, you know... you don't give a shit about that. You rely on Anthony Hopkins and Alan Cumming to over assert themselves so that we maybe sorta feel like what's going on outside of the fantastical imagery matters. But you don't really care that they're trying. You don't expect them to try. You probably couldn't have cared less if they hadn't.
The language is forced. Jessica Lange is awwwwful. The imagery is disjointed. It doesn't work in any cohesive fashion, and is overbearingly "clever" to the point of pretentiousness. And it doesn't come out of the story. You take your ideas and you force them into the source material.
Your work isn't inspired, it's flaunty and self-congratulating.
I'm only twenty minutes in and this shit isn't worth my time.
I hope you get hit in the skull with a brick.
Love,
Andrew
P.S. What the fuck is this bullshit with the little boy? It's retarded and cliche to the point where I can't even find and use a constructive vocabulary. Fuck this shit. Fuck shit piss. Piss shit. Ass.
I don't like you. I don't like you Julie Taymor, because you think sooo highly of yourself that you assume people will be willing to sit through 3 hours of your bullshit art direction without anything else to carry us along like, say, a sooooul?
Lucky for you, Shakespeare provided a story. So he gave you some semblance of a plot. At least it wasn't another Across the Universe mess where you don't even feel obligated enough to string a respectful plot line between your fancy pants bedazzles and shmefrazzles. At least you had a story with some sort of depth to work with. Only, you know... you don't give a shit about that. You rely on Anthony Hopkins and Alan Cumming to over assert themselves so that we maybe sorta feel like what's going on outside of the fantastical imagery matters. But you don't really care that they're trying. You don't expect them to try. You probably couldn't have cared less if they hadn't.
The language is forced. Jessica Lange is awwwwful. The imagery is disjointed. It doesn't work in any cohesive fashion, and is overbearingly "clever" to the point of pretentiousness. And it doesn't come out of the story. You take your ideas and you force them into the source material.
Your work isn't inspired, it's flaunty and self-congratulating.
I'm only twenty minutes in and this shit isn't worth my time.
I hope you get hit in the skull with a brick.
Love,
Andrew
P.S. What the fuck is this bullshit with the little boy? It's retarded and cliche to the point where I can't even find and use a constructive vocabulary. Fuck this shit. Fuck shit piss. Piss shit. Ass.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Hei kek ji wong
"As a prostitute knows no true love, so an actor knows no true feelings."
-Chinese saying
"King of Comedy" is less a coherent movie than it is a series of comedy sketches, half of which focus on an incompetent extra trying to sneak back onto a film set (which grants the opportunity to parody any number of Chinese action films), half of which focus on the acting lessons he gives to local gangsters and hookers. The comedy's pretty hit-or-miss, but it's funny enough often enough -- there's even some genuine (if mild) satire, as he takes perfectly nice, normal people and transforms them into incoherent lunatics with his "acting advice." But ultimately, there's exactly two things that make this movie worth seeing: Stephen Chow, and Stephen Chow.
The first is Stephen Chow the actor, and it's his appealing, wide-eyed naivete that sells most of the jokes. Over the course of the flick, he's repeatedly slapped in the face -- both literally and metaphorically -- and it's his refusal to indulge in self-pity that makes him a sympathetic character. The second is Stephen Chow the celebrity, and it's hard not to read the storyline as being at least pseudo-autobiographical. In particular, an early cameo by Jackie Chan manages to be both hilarious and somewhat moving.
In fact, the movie gets both surprisingly dark and surprisingly sentimental for a Cantonese comedy. And it's an impressive feat that the climax -- in which he is incapable of breaking character until a wounded police officer utters the word "cut" -- manages to be both absolutely ludicrous and surprisingly touching. It's no "Shaolin Soccer," but it's worth seeing, if only as a reminder to how Stephen Chow got where he is today -- by being a first-rate clown, whether he has a lot of expensive toys to play with or not.
-Chinese saying
"King of Comedy" is less a coherent movie than it is a series of comedy sketches, half of which focus on an incompetent extra trying to sneak back onto a film set (which grants the opportunity to parody any number of Chinese action films), half of which focus on the acting lessons he gives to local gangsters and hookers. The comedy's pretty hit-or-miss, but it's funny enough often enough -- there's even some genuine (if mild) satire, as he takes perfectly nice, normal people and transforms them into incoherent lunatics with his "acting advice." But ultimately, there's exactly two things that make this movie worth seeing: Stephen Chow, and Stephen Chow.
The first is Stephen Chow the actor, and it's his appealing, wide-eyed naivete that sells most of the jokes. Over the course of the flick, he's repeatedly slapped in the face -- both literally and metaphorically -- and it's his refusal to indulge in self-pity that makes him a sympathetic character. The second is Stephen Chow the celebrity, and it's hard not to read the storyline as being at least pseudo-autobiographical. In particular, an early cameo by Jackie Chan manages to be both hilarious and somewhat moving.
In fact, the movie gets both surprisingly dark and surprisingly sentimental for a Cantonese comedy. And it's an impressive feat that the climax -- in which he is incapable of breaking character until a wounded police officer utters the word "cut" -- manages to be both absolutely ludicrous and surprisingly touching. It's no "Shaolin Soccer," but it's worth seeing, if only as a reminder to how Stephen Chow got where he is today -- by being a first-rate clown, whether he has a lot of expensive toys to play with or not.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Across The Universe
And the award for best trailer of 2007 and maybe even of ever in the whole wide world goes to...
*drum roll*
Across The Universe!!!
*wild applause*
The other nominees smile for the camera, the makers of The Bratz Movie smiling hardest of all. The Dragon Wars guys clap enthusiastically, though inside they are already planning the fastest way home to drink themselves into a bitter stupor.
The thing about the trailer for Across The Universe is that, well... it is the greatest trailer ever. For the first time in a while the trailer actually sold me on the film with no help at all from any synopsis, cast list, or director. I've heard Julie Taymor's done neat things. I thought The Lion King stage show was pretty dazzling. I heard Titus was pretty balls. The end. I didn't really care that A.t.U was hers. But the trailer... my goodness, it was mind blowing.
The genius of the trailer is that it tricks you. It presents itself at first by saying "Hello, nice to meet you. I am just another cliche love story, but I use Beatles tunes to call myself a musical."
"Ho hum," says I in response.
"But wait!" the trailer says. "Just hear me out! I'm not just a plain old love story! I was kidding before when I said that!" and then it explodes. It explodes everywhere. There is an explosion of music, of color, of action, of unbelievable imagery. There is an emotional progression to the trailer, an awe-inspiring swell of sound and visuals and puppets and Eddie Izzard.
"FUCK YOU," the trailer screams with glee. "I'M NOT WHAT YOU THOUGHT I WAS AT ALL! I WILL BOGGLE YOUR MIND! COME SEE ME!"
So I did. I went and saw it, my mind prepped to be boggled.
Now... here's the thing. Some might say that I just got overexcited about it. That I had simply psyched myself up so that my expectations, once again, exceeded any possibility of being satisfied. But see... that's not what happened. I didn't tell myself that this was going to be amazing. I had been told already. The trailer told me. It screamed at me, even. "FUCK YOU" it said, if you will remember.
I had no idea what the movie was going to involve. I had no idea the story it was going to tell. I had no idea what it was going to dwell on. I had no preconceived notions. I just knew, I knew because I had been told, that Across The Universe was something special, something different, something unique and influential and arresting.
I had been lied to.
Across The Universe wasn't... bad. Well, it wasn't horrible. I guess it was bad. And it most certainly wasn't good. It was a disjointed, incoherent, inconsistent, unemotional, rambling, scattered, cliche ball of self-indulgent, half-realized, two-dimensional, wannabe pop art.
Sorry Julie...
Some say it was just a love letter to the '60s. The revolution, the image heavy creative expression, all of which was encapsulated by Beatles music. Yummy.
I LOVE THE BEATLES!!! you and the rest of the world says. I KNOW, RIGHT!?
But if it was a love letter, it was, and I'm sorry about lame phrasing, written by someone without a heart. Or maybe just a heart made of poo-poo doo-doo.
I heard a rumor that Taymor had nearly a whopping 90% of the music sung live on the set! Exclamation point! Boy, the sound in the film is so over processed you sure can't tell! But that doesn't matter. Many of the covers are really nice. A great stand-out for me is Joe Cocker's "Come Together" cameo. Really really fantastic. Eddie Izzard's Mr. Kite is pretty friggin' swell, too. And "Let It Be" is really... really nice.
And most of the visuals that accompany the songs are really astounding. Everything surrounding Mr. Kite's musical romp was thumbs up great. The choreography to songs like "I Want You" is not only really freakin' creative, but superbly executed.
So if all this is so nifty, why does the movie blow my nuts?
'Cause it doesn't MEAN anything! A lot of the musical segments make for reeeally neat music videos. The end. They have no bearing on one another, on the film as a whole, on any over lying message, and they certainly don't come together to form a coherent "love letter" so don't dare spew that jargon at me, you.
There is no progression to the film as a whole. The musical numbers don't build on each other. Not emotionally, not thematically, nothing. And they certainly have no baring on the half of the film that serves as some semblance of a... plot. "Plot."
The film doesn't amount to anything. There is no energy to half the songs, never mind any part that isn't musical at all. There are characters that serve no purpose other than to provide a stretch of an excuse to sing another song (Dear Prudence) and plot points that aren't fully realized and some that are completely assumed.
The music meant nothing to the film, the film meant nothing to the characters, and the characters meant nothing to me. There was no emotional release. There was nothing. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Nothing.
How can you do that? How can you demonstrate for over two hours great promise, the ability to paint a beautiful picture with song and mesmerizing images and have it mean nothing?
Because that's all it was. A beautiful picture. A painting. A painting inspired by the 60's, overwrought with references and artistic imitation in the form of an homage. But paintings are 2-D, and may generate some "Oohs" and "Aahs" but evoke no emotional response. Not the kind of response this should have garnered at least.
It was just a freaking over extended music video for Christ sake, stretched way too thin.
At least Hard Days Night and Yellow Submarine had some fun with themselves. And were both under an hour and a half.
*drum roll*
Across The Universe!!!
*wild applause*
The other nominees smile for the camera, the makers of The Bratz Movie smiling hardest of all. The Dragon Wars guys clap enthusiastically, though inside they are already planning the fastest way home to drink themselves into a bitter stupor.
The thing about the trailer for Across The Universe is that, well... it is the greatest trailer ever. For the first time in a while the trailer actually sold me on the film with no help at all from any synopsis, cast list, or director. I've heard Julie Taymor's done neat things. I thought The Lion King stage show was pretty dazzling. I heard Titus was pretty balls. The end. I didn't really care that A.t.U was hers. But the trailer... my goodness, it was mind blowing.
The genius of the trailer is that it tricks you. It presents itself at first by saying "Hello, nice to meet you. I am just another cliche love story, but I use Beatles tunes to call myself a musical."
"Ho hum," says I in response.
"But wait!" the trailer says. "Just hear me out! I'm not just a plain old love story! I was kidding before when I said that!" and then it explodes. It explodes everywhere. There is an explosion of music, of color, of action, of unbelievable imagery. There is an emotional progression to the trailer, an awe-inspiring swell of sound and visuals and puppets and Eddie Izzard.
"FUCK YOU," the trailer screams with glee. "I'M NOT WHAT YOU THOUGHT I WAS AT ALL! I WILL BOGGLE YOUR MIND! COME SEE ME!"
So I did. I went and saw it, my mind prepped to be boggled.
Now... here's the thing. Some might say that I just got overexcited about it. That I had simply psyched myself up so that my expectations, once again, exceeded any possibility of being satisfied. But see... that's not what happened. I didn't tell myself that this was going to be amazing. I had been told already. The trailer told me. It screamed at me, even. "FUCK YOU" it said, if you will remember.
I had no idea what the movie was going to involve. I had no idea the story it was going to tell. I had no idea what it was going to dwell on. I had no preconceived notions. I just knew, I knew because I had been told, that Across The Universe was something special, something different, something unique and influential and arresting.
I had been lied to.
Across The Universe wasn't... bad. Well, it wasn't horrible. I guess it was bad. And it most certainly wasn't good. It was a disjointed, incoherent, inconsistent, unemotional, rambling, scattered, cliche ball of self-indulgent, half-realized, two-dimensional, wannabe pop art.
Sorry Julie...
Some say it was just a love letter to the '60s. The revolution, the image heavy creative expression, all of which was encapsulated by Beatles music. Yummy.
I LOVE THE BEATLES!!! you and the rest of the world says. I KNOW, RIGHT!?
But if it was a love letter, it was, and I'm sorry about lame phrasing, written by someone without a heart. Or maybe just a heart made of poo-poo doo-doo.
I heard a rumor that Taymor had nearly a whopping 90% of the music sung live on the set! Exclamation point! Boy, the sound in the film is so over processed you sure can't tell! But that doesn't matter. Many of the covers are really nice. A great stand-out for me is Joe Cocker's "Come Together" cameo. Really really fantastic. Eddie Izzard's Mr. Kite is pretty friggin' swell, too. And "Let It Be" is really... really nice.
And most of the visuals that accompany the songs are really astounding. Everything surrounding Mr. Kite's musical romp was thumbs up great. The choreography to songs like "I Want You" is not only really freakin' creative, but superbly executed.
So if all this is so nifty, why does the movie blow my nuts?
'Cause it doesn't MEAN anything! A lot of the musical segments make for reeeally neat music videos. The end. They have no bearing on one another, on the film as a whole, on any over lying message, and they certainly don't come together to form a coherent "love letter" so don't dare spew that jargon at me, you.
There is no progression to the film as a whole. The musical numbers don't build on each other. Not emotionally, not thematically, nothing. And they certainly have no baring on the half of the film that serves as some semblance of a... plot. "Plot."
The film doesn't amount to anything. There is no energy to half the songs, never mind any part that isn't musical at all. There are characters that serve no purpose other than to provide a stretch of an excuse to sing another song (Dear Prudence) and plot points that aren't fully realized and some that are completely assumed.
The music meant nothing to the film, the film meant nothing to the characters, and the characters meant nothing to me. There was no emotional release. There was nothing. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Nothing.
How can you do that? How can you demonstrate for over two hours great promise, the ability to paint a beautiful picture with song and mesmerizing images and have it mean nothing?
Because that's all it was. A beautiful picture. A painting. A painting inspired by the 60's, overwrought with references and artistic imitation in the form of an homage. But paintings are 2-D, and may generate some "Oohs" and "Aahs" but evoke no emotional response. Not the kind of response this should have garnered at least.
It was just a freaking over extended music video for Christ sake, stretched way too thin.
At least Hard Days Night and Yellow Submarine had some fun with themselves. And were both under an hour and a half.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Shoot 'Em Up
I'm a victim of my own hyped up expectations. For whatever reason, I have psyched myself up for movie after movie to the point where there was no way the movie could have been as good as I feel ready for it to be. Transformers is a great recent example. I'm not big into the whole Transformers... deal. I didn't play with the toys, I didn't cream for the cartoon when I was little. In all honesty, I just thought the concept was pretty... hokey. And by pretty hokey, I mean really hokey. I just couldn't do it. But then the idea for a live-action Transformers explodes onto the scene and Michael Bay is slated to direct. I hate Michael Bay. He is an unoriginal schmuck in love with explosions and unbelievably ridiculous, but well executed, action action action. This is the perfect film for him. Perfect. The only reason for making a live-action Transformers movie would be to take the hokey cartoon characters and make it baaaad ass. And it could have been. It should have been. And I was ready to see cool shit blow up.
Shit blew up. But there were also lame attempts at both character development and tongue-and-cheek slapstick sequences featuring the Auto-Bots themselves. What? The fuck?
That's not a Michael Bay movie. And the one time I'm excited for a Michael Bay movie he sticks a fork in my pooper. Metaphorically speaking.
Anyways, my point here is -- I might have been able to enjoy it if I hadn't already decided what it was supposed to be. Enough people like it, so it's obviously fun enough.
I just... screwed any chance of liking it for myself.
So! Funny story! Same thing happened with Shoot 'Em Up!
It's a perfect idea, really. It's an action movie spoof. Celebrating ridiculousness and cheesy dialogue. Glorifying plot holes and unbelievable violence. And when I heard about the opening scene where Clive Owen delivers a baby in a warehouse while in the middle of a shoot out with an endless stream of baddies, I was instantly pumped. This isn't just cheap silliness, this is clever goofiness. Clive Owen is the guy who would be and is cast in these kinds of movies. He is a bad ass. Paul Giamatti can do anything. And Monica Bellucci is a babe. So the cast is a thumbs up, too.
Now, writer/director Michael Davis didn't take a good idea and puke all over it ala Mr. Bay, he just didn't realize it's full potential. Or perhaps he was just a victim of a poor budget. Or maybe he ran into a lot of other pot holes. Or maybe he was just lazy. It was a fun movie that should have been amazing. It could have been amazing. It showed glimpses of amazingness. But it never got there.
First of all, the concept alone an endless bowl of good times. There is no limit to ridiculousness. Ridiculousness is limitless. And the writing itself is reeeally really clever. There are sequences of puuure genius. I would list them, but I'm lazy. Trust me. Juuuust trust me.
The problem the film had was in how it was presented. The camera work and editing was just... lame. The production value was bland. It was hokey and uninvolved. Which maybe...? Was the point...? But that leads me to a problem.
You can't really spoof the action genre. You just... can't do it. In a sense, action films are spoofs in and of themselves. They're explosive exaggerations of some anti-reality, and while the good ones sell you this ploy, convince you to suspend your disbelief and gawk and cheer, they're still unspoofable. If you're going to try and simply spoof an action movie, you're going to make a bad action movie, and that's just boring and uninventive.
You just can't just spoof 'em. Spoof 'em up, if you will. LIKE THAT?
Shoot 'Em Up is not a bad action movie. It latches on to the ridiculousness. It's not about plot structure and character development, but about making people say and do crazy shit. Maybe it exploits bad action movies, but it is not one of them. But it's not... a good one either.
The way to sell an action movie like this is to make it flashy and ridiculous. Take Hot Fuzz for example. An amazing parody/homage that thrives because it is genuinely funny (Hilarious, even?) on it's own, crafty, quick, solid, and a damn good buddy cop action flick. I know Shoot 'Em Up and Hot Fuzz are not one in the same, and they are not aiming for the same thing, but my point still stands. Hot Fuzz works because it is a great movie on it's own. Just like Shaun of the Dead. SotD stands above other zombie movie parodies and comedies because it's a really good zombie movie.
There were a lot of times Shoot 'Em Up was just boring. And while I could smile and nod at some of the clever ideas, they just never kept me too involved outside of that. And there are plenty ways to be flashy and hokey at the same time. It was just bland and uninvested.
So... that... was a bummer...
Can't find a way to... end... this...
... the end...
Shit blew up. But there were also lame attempts at both character development and tongue-and-cheek slapstick sequences featuring the Auto-Bots themselves. What? The fuck?
That's not a Michael Bay movie. And the one time I'm excited for a Michael Bay movie he sticks a fork in my pooper. Metaphorically speaking.
Anyways, my point here is -- I might have been able to enjoy it if I hadn't already decided what it was supposed to be. Enough people like it, so it's obviously fun enough.
I just... screwed any chance of liking it for myself.
So! Funny story! Same thing happened with Shoot 'Em Up!
It's a perfect idea, really. It's an action movie spoof. Celebrating ridiculousness and cheesy dialogue. Glorifying plot holes and unbelievable violence. And when I heard about the opening scene where Clive Owen delivers a baby in a warehouse while in the middle of a shoot out with an endless stream of baddies, I was instantly pumped. This isn't just cheap silliness, this is clever goofiness. Clive Owen is the guy who would be and is cast in these kinds of movies. He is a bad ass. Paul Giamatti can do anything. And Monica Bellucci is a babe. So the cast is a thumbs up, too.
Now, writer/director Michael Davis didn't take a good idea and puke all over it ala Mr. Bay, he just didn't realize it's full potential. Or perhaps he was just a victim of a poor budget. Or maybe he ran into a lot of other pot holes. Or maybe he was just lazy. It was a fun movie that should have been amazing. It could have been amazing. It showed glimpses of amazingness. But it never got there.
First of all, the concept alone an endless bowl of good times. There is no limit to ridiculousness. Ridiculousness is limitless. And the writing itself is reeeally really clever. There are sequences of puuure genius. I would list them, but I'm lazy. Trust me. Juuuust trust me.
The problem the film had was in how it was presented. The camera work and editing was just... lame. The production value was bland. It was hokey and uninvolved. Which maybe...? Was the point...? But that leads me to a problem.
You can't really spoof the action genre. You just... can't do it. In a sense, action films are spoofs in and of themselves. They're explosive exaggerations of some anti-reality, and while the good ones sell you this ploy, convince you to suspend your disbelief and gawk and cheer, they're still unspoofable. If you're going to try and simply spoof an action movie, you're going to make a bad action movie, and that's just boring and uninventive.
You just can't just spoof 'em. Spoof 'em up, if you will. LIKE THAT?
Shoot 'Em Up is not a bad action movie. It latches on to the ridiculousness. It's not about plot structure and character development, but about making people say and do crazy shit. Maybe it exploits bad action movies, but it is not one of them. But it's not... a good one either.
The way to sell an action movie like this is to make it flashy and ridiculous. Take Hot Fuzz for example. An amazing parody/homage that thrives because it is genuinely funny (Hilarious, even?) on it's own, crafty, quick, solid, and a damn good buddy cop action flick. I know Shoot 'Em Up and Hot Fuzz are not one in the same, and they are not aiming for the same thing, but my point still stands. Hot Fuzz works because it is a great movie on it's own. Just like Shaun of the Dead. SotD stands above other zombie movie parodies and comedies because it's a really good zombie movie.
There were a lot of times Shoot 'Em Up was just boring. And while I could smile and nod at some of the clever ideas, they just never kept me too involved outside of that. And there are plenty ways to be flashy and hokey at the same time. It was just bland and uninvested.
So... that... was a bummer...
Can't find a way to... end... this...
... the end...
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Too Much Reality
"Too much reality is not what the people want."
-Woody Allen, Stardust Memories
So I was just thinking about the conversation that spun out of Alex's review of "Sunshine," in which Andrew referred to Danny Boyle as "the anti-genre guy." I think I get what you mean, and I guess I have mixed feelings about it. ("Unbreakable" springs to mind as a movie trying something similar and failing kinda dramatically.)
In fact, talking about superhero comics, there's a similar divide in thinking there, as well. Without going into too much geeky detail, there's a school of thought that adheres to silver-age images like the Flash standing with his hands pressed against the sides of his head and screaming "Everything around me is green...green...GREEN!" On the other hand, there's comics that feature the Joker firing a bullet into Barbara Gordon's spine, stripping her naked, and taking photographs of her mutilated body for her father. That argument's even there (albeit in a subtler way) in the movies -- contrasting the first X-Men movie as a grittier sci-fi thriller with the first Spider-Man as a big, colorful, over-the-top fantasy.
But it's a trend towards -- I don't really know what to call it, exactly. But it's widespread, in the grim-'n-gritty approach to comics, in the tsunami of reality television. Video games seem to be reaching towards more and more elaborately simulated environments, particularly in the rise of massively-multiplayer online gaming. Animation has shifted away from gorgeous, stylized, hand-painted artwork, to this hideous, stiff, jagged CGI. I sometimes think that I'm the last fantasy writer left in theatre. And the internet -- with the rise of myspace, youtube, and, er, opinionated blogs -- I know of at least one person who referred to Time Magazine's designation of "You" as the person of the year as "Lamer than anything that has previously been called lame", and I don't disagree with the sentiment, but I think that they're onto something.
I dunno. I don't really have any big realization or anything about it to offer, but I do wonder what it all means.
-Woody Allen, Stardust Memories
So I was just thinking about the conversation that spun out of Alex's review of "Sunshine," in which Andrew referred to Danny Boyle as "the anti-genre guy." I think I get what you mean, and I guess I have mixed feelings about it. ("Unbreakable" springs to mind as a movie trying something similar and failing kinda dramatically.)
In fact, talking about superhero comics, there's a similar divide in thinking there, as well. Without going into too much geeky detail, there's a school of thought that adheres to silver-age images like the Flash standing with his hands pressed against the sides of his head and screaming "Everything around me is green...green...GREEN!" On the other hand, there's comics that feature the Joker firing a bullet into Barbara Gordon's spine, stripping her naked, and taking photographs of her mutilated body for her father. That argument's even there (albeit in a subtler way) in the movies -- contrasting the first X-Men movie as a grittier sci-fi thriller with the first Spider-Man as a big, colorful, over-the-top fantasy.
But it's a trend towards -- I don't really know what to call it, exactly. But it's widespread, in the grim-'n-gritty approach to comics, in the tsunami of reality television. Video games seem to be reaching towards more and more elaborately simulated environments, particularly in the rise of massively-multiplayer online gaming. Animation has shifted away from gorgeous, stylized, hand-painted artwork, to this hideous, stiff, jagged CGI. I sometimes think that I'm the last fantasy writer left in theatre. And the internet -- with the rise of myspace, youtube, and, er, opinionated blogs -- I know of at least one person who referred to Time Magazine's designation of "You" as the person of the year as "Lamer than anything that has previously been called lame", and I don't disagree with the sentiment, but I think that they're onto something.
I dunno. I don't really have any big realization or anything about it to offer, but I do wonder what it all means.
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