Batman Begins
With each repeated viewing the seams in the script become clear: the overabundance of the word "fear", the sheer implausability of Ra's Al Ghul using "economics" as a weapon to effectively blame him for Bruce's parents' death, the old guy who constantly bellows "The MAINS is gonna BLOW!" during the climactic train scene, the irony-drenched epilogue complete with lazy, recycled one-liners like "Didn't you get the memo?", the now-obligatory rejecting pointy-nippled love interest out of responsibility and duty scene, that stupid old bum with the coat...
But we can just blame all that on Blade 3 director and co-scriptwriter David Goyer. A lot in this movie works - a whole lot - but if it's one thing it's director Chrisopher Nolan's messianic respect for the Batman character.
Now I can finally give my copy of Mask of the Phantasm a well-deserved break.
Sin City
Filmmakers like Rodriguez, Tarantino and Peter Jackson may get flack for their boyish, unrealistic yarns of torture, swordfights and lack of regard for human life but thank GOD for them. For all the stuffy Sean Penns and overbearing Constant Gardeners directors like them need to come around to punch - LOUDLY - theatergoers square in the jaw with off-the-wall fantasy.
After Lord of the Rings, King Kong, Kill Bill - and Sin City - I walked out of the theater and shouted, triumphantly, "That's why I love the movies!!" Nevermind the "digital backlot" Sin City was filmed on. To see geeks raised on television, pulp comics and old swashbuckler serials produce material as unabashedly ruthless as Sin City gives me great hope for the future of filmmaking.
Steamboy
Katsuhiro Otomo celebrates destruction. Nearly everything he's produced was an epic apocalyptic carnival... involving children. Either they're causing it (Akira, Metropolis), trying to prevent it (Domu), causing it accidentally (Memories part 2) or causing it mechanically, without thought, worry or really knowing why. (Memories part 3) Otomo's children are lost. The adults are corrupt, fat with greed or consumed in swarthy, self-important ideals like SCIENCE.
Steamboy, set at a time when the world is about to lose its innocence to the complications of mass production (note the vast "wind-up toy" army, the big sales pitch to the international buyers, Scarlett's endless reflections in the Crystal Hall), features only one short shot of blood. One doesn't even realize there hasn't been a single fatality until this moment, especially considering the body counts of Otomo's previous works. The girl who finds this bloody body of armor exclaims to her horror "There's a person inside!" and then, like the saying goes, it's no more fun and games.
Innocence is lost all over the place. Even the carnival Otomo is so fond of malfunctions. Could Grandpa Steam be Otomo himself? Am I mad or is there more to Steamboy than steam?
Oldboy
Tarantino once said something to the effect of "I love playing with the audience. Making them laugh, making them laugh, making them laugh, then bang, shocking them into silence. Then making them laugh again."
That said, Oldboy is one of the most exhausting movies I sat through. It's exploitation for sure, but I've never seen it this brilliantly realized. It's ridiculous how over-the-top the stakes get. Look at the premise: the protagonist is released after 15 (again: FIFTEEN) years of solitude to find out, in five days, why this happened to him. What follows is unbelievable, outrageous, and often pretty funny. Or monstrous. Like its denouement suggests, it's up to you.
Good Night, and Good Luck
Who knew Seth Gecko would direct a movie as sleek and smart as this? Visually, it's a delicious marble cake. Blacks, white, grays meld and blend and swirl in the air like smoke from many, many, many cigarettes. I really wanted to take up smoking after watching this. So cool, so chic. Why do they have to be so hazardous? And why don't more men wear hats and suits? Why isn't jazz constantly playing anymore? Why aren't journalists daring anymore?
This movie isn't hiding anything. It's liberal to a fault. It wears its message on its sleeve. It's one-sided and frankly, pretty paltry when it comes to anything else besides "history is repeating itself."
But that's okay. The real attack isn't on the Republicans, Bush or the Patriot Act (thought they certainly receive a lot of collateral). It's on Fox News, CNN, MSNBC, journalism, television itself. A lazy public. No one is brave anymore. Anyone can write an editorial but it takes a certain amount of balls to do it on network TV, right in your target's face.
King Kong
The Jimmy + Hayes subplot is dumb as hell. Get past that and King Kong, a throwback to old monster movie serials with all its trappings (hokey dialogue, slow set-up, rushed and ironic ending), is a lot of fun. It's the zenith of action blockbusters and it's unfortunate it didn't come out at summertime when it would have undoubtedly done incredible business.
I mean, c'mon, who wouldn't pay to see Naomi Watts and, uh, whatever it is that makes her so desirable? Yet at the beginning she's thrown away. She can only turn to burlesque. Jack Black wants her... but for his own gain. Adrien Brody wants her... but for, as far as I can tell, sex. She's never truly needed till Kong finds her. It's a pure need.
No other movie this year brought me back to my happy, childish days when arguments like "Who would in a fight - the Power Rangers or the Ninja Turtles?" were the only thing I had to worry about. "King Kong or Godzilla" is the one everyone asks but the answer is obvious. It doesn't matter who or what King Kong fights, King Kong, according to the incredible ****ing stuff he does in this flick (THREE T-rexes!) will always win... so long as he has Naomi Watts to love and protect.
Capote
I didn't think much of Capote at first but as the movie continued and Truman's relationship with murderer Perry Lewis developed into something darker and more twisted than I expected I was haunted. Haunting is definitely the word for Capote.
Well, aside from self-absorbed, narcissistic, or manipulative, haunting is the word for Truman Capote. It's difficult to sympathize with a man exploiting a small town's tragedy for his next bestseller -- indeed, you shouldn't. But what Capote finds changes himself and everything. Journalism, non-fiction fiction, writing... A common assumption about writing - good honest writing - is that it is inescapably obsessive, introspective, self-destructive, painful. Capote takes this attribute and runs with it to the inevitable. In that respect, Naked Lunch makes a great companion piece. To write is to hurt.
And Academy be damned, Seymour Hoffman deserves that Oscar.
The Elephant Warrior (Tom yum goong)
I made a mistake. There is one person King Kong would lose to -- easily. The poor ape wouldn't stand a chance against TONY JAA. Ong-Bak fans know how talented the Muay Thai martial artist is but (Tom yum goong, to my knowledge, is only available through crappy bootlegs) they may not know how much better The Elephant Warrior is. A refinement of Ong-Bak in every way the plot is quickly out of the way (It's "something is stolen from Tony Jaa and he wants it back" again) those stupid replays are absent, there are no annoying girls shrieking your ear off and there's a LOT more action, even a little gunplay.
It's also technically more impressive. There's a long, long shot with NO CUTS in which Tony Jaa runs up a HUGE spiral staircare fighting everyone! It's so outstanding, so FLAWLESS you'll replay it and wonder just how the hell they were able to pull that off only to implode from the incomprehensible awesomeness of it all. And that's not even the bonecrunching climax.
The Elephant Warrior is exhiliration. In a way, it ruins action movies. Or rather, all other action movies. I just scoff, throw up my arms in protest and indignantly ask "Where's Tony Jaa?"
....to be continued.
With each repeated viewing the seams in the script become clear: the overabundance of the word "fear", the sheer implausability of Ra's Al Ghul using "economics" as a weapon to effectively blame him for Bruce's parents' death, the old guy who constantly bellows "The MAINS is gonna BLOW!" during the climactic train scene, the irony-drenched epilogue complete with lazy, recycled one-liners like "Didn't you get the memo?", the now-obligatory rejecting pointy-nippled love interest out of responsibility and duty scene, that stupid old bum with the coat...
But we can just blame all that on Blade 3 director and co-scriptwriter David Goyer. A lot in this movie works - a whole lot - but if it's one thing it's director Chrisopher Nolan's messianic respect for the Batman character.
Now I can finally give my copy of Mask of the Phantasm a well-deserved break.
Sin City
Filmmakers like Rodriguez, Tarantino and Peter Jackson may get flack for their boyish, unrealistic yarns of torture, swordfights and lack of regard for human life but thank GOD for them. For all the stuffy Sean Penns and overbearing Constant Gardeners directors like them need to come around to punch - LOUDLY - theatergoers square in the jaw with off-the-wall fantasy.
After Lord of the Rings, King Kong, Kill Bill - and Sin City - I walked out of the theater and shouted, triumphantly, "That's why I love the movies!!" Nevermind the "digital backlot" Sin City was filmed on. To see geeks raised on television, pulp comics and old swashbuckler serials produce material as unabashedly ruthless as Sin City gives me great hope for the future of filmmaking.
Steamboy
Katsuhiro Otomo celebrates destruction. Nearly everything he's produced was an epic apocalyptic carnival... involving children. Either they're causing it (Akira, Metropolis), trying to prevent it (Domu), causing it accidentally (Memories part 2) or causing it mechanically, without thought, worry or really knowing why. (Memories part 3) Otomo's children are lost. The adults are corrupt, fat with greed or consumed in swarthy, self-important ideals like SCIENCE.
Steamboy, set at a time when the world is about to lose its innocence to the complications of mass production (note the vast "wind-up toy" army, the big sales pitch to the international buyers, Scarlett's endless reflections in the Crystal Hall), features only one short shot of blood. One doesn't even realize there hasn't been a single fatality until this moment, especially considering the body counts of Otomo's previous works. The girl who finds this bloody body of armor exclaims to her horror "There's a person inside!" and then, like the saying goes, it's no more fun and games.
Innocence is lost all over the place. Even the carnival Otomo is so fond of malfunctions. Could Grandpa Steam be Otomo himself? Am I mad or is there more to Steamboy than steam?
Oldboy
Tarantino once said something to the effect of "I love playing with the audience. Making them laugh, making them laugh, making them laugh, then bang, shocking them into silence. Then making them laugh again."
That said, Oldboy is one of the most exhausting movies I sat through. It's exploitation for sure, but I've never seen it this brilliantly realized. It's ridiculous how over-the-top the stakes get. Look at the premise: the protagonist is released after 15 (again: FIFTEEN) years of solitude to find out, in five days, why this happened to him. What follows is unbelievable, outrageous, and often pretty funny. Or monstrous. Like its denouement suggests, it's up to you.
Good Night, and Good Luck
Who knew Seth Gecko would direct a movie as sleek and smart as this? Visually, it's a delicious marble cake. Blacks, white, grays meld and blend and swirl in the air like smoke from many, many, many cigarettes. I really wanted to take up smoking after watching this. So cool, so chic. Why do they have to be so hazardous? And why don't more men wear hats and suits? Why isn't jazz constantly playing anymore? Why aren't journalists daring anymore?
This movie isn't hiding anything. It's liberal to a fault. It wears its message on its sleeve. It's one-sided and frankly, pretty paltry when it comes to anything else besides "history is repeating itself."
But that's okay. The real attack isn't on the Republicans, Bush or the Patriot Act (thought they certainly receive a lot of collateral). It's on Fox News, CNN, MSNBC, journalism, television itself. A lazy public. No one is brave anymore. Anyone can write an editorial but it takes a certain amount of balls to do it on network TV, right in your target's face.
King Kong
The Jimmy + Hayes subplot is dumb as hell. Get past that and King Kong, a throwback to old monster movie serials with all its trappings (hokey dialogue, slow set-up, rushed and ironic ending), is a lot of fun. It's the zenith of action blockbusters and it's unfortunate it didn't come out at summertime when it would have undoubtedly done incredible business.
I mean, c'mon, who wouldn't pay to see Naomi Watts and, uh, whatever it is that makes her so desirable? Yet at the beginning she's thrown away. She can only turn to burlesque. Jack Black wants her... but for his own gain. Adrien Brody wants her... but for, as far as I can tell, sex. She's never truly needed till Kong finds her. It's a pure need.
No other movie this year brought me back to my happy, childish days when arguments like "Who would in a fight - the Power Rangers or the Ninja Turtles?" were the only thing I had to worry about. "King Kong or Godzilla" is the one everyone asks but the answer is obvious. It doesn't matter who or what King Kong fights, King Kong, according to the incredible ****ing stuff he does in this flick (THREE T-rexes!) will always win... so long as he has Naomi Watts to love and protect.
Capote
I didn't think much of Capote at first but as the movie continued and Truman's relationship with murderer Perry Lewis developed into something darker and more twisted than I expected I was haunted. Haunting is definitely the word for Capote.
Well, aside from self-absorbed, narcissistic, or manipulative, haunting is the word for Truman Capote. It's difficult to sympathize with a man exploiting a small town's tragedy for his next bestseller -- indeed, you shouldn't. But what Capote finds changes himself and everything. Journalism, non-fiction fiction, writing... A common assumption about writing - good honest writing - is that it is inescapably obsessive, introspective, self-destructive, painful. Capote takes this attribute and runs with it to the inevitable. In that respect, Naked Lunch makes a great companion piece. To write is to hurt.
And Academy be damned, Seymour Hoffman deserves that Oscar.
The Elephant Warrior (Tom yum goong)
I made a mistake. There is one person King Kong would lose to -- easily. The poor ape wouldn't stand a chance against TONY JAA. Ong-Bak fans know how talented the Muay Thai martial artist is but (Tom yum goong, to my knowledge, is only available through crappy bootlegs) they may not know how much better The Elephant Warrior is. A refinement of Ong-Bak in every way the plot is quickly out of the way (It's "something is stolen from Tony Jaa and he wants it back" again) those stupid replays are absent, there are no annoying girls shrieking your ear off and there's a LOT more action, even a little gunplay.
It's also technically more impressive. There's a long, long shot with NO CUTS in which Tony Jaa runs up a HUGE spiral staircare fighting everyone! It's so outstanding, so FLAWLESS you'll replay it and wonder just how the hell they were able to pull that off only to implode from the incomprehensible awesomeness of it all. And that's not even the bonecrunching climax.
The Elephant Warrior is exhiliration. In a way, it ruins action movies. Or rather, all other action movies. I just scoff, throw up my arms in protest and indignantly ask "Where's Tony Jaa?"
....to be continued.
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