Kicking the Tweets

(500) Days of Summer (2009)

(Hopeless)ly in Love

Gene Siskel once said that a movie is not what it’s about, but how it’s about it. (500) Days of Summer is the rare film that requires two kinds of reviews: one objective, one subjective.

I wasn’t on board with the film’s premise, which tracks the span of the relationship between Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), a love-starved greeting card writer, and Summer (Zooey Deschanel), an emotionally unavailable flake who Tom believes to be the love of his life. The movie flashes forward and backward, mixing up day four—on which they meet—with day 344—on which they’re broken up, but not really, finally so. I don’t doubt that there are desperate man-children who will put up with mental abuse and consistent heartbreak by a woman who gives him frequent, obvious signs (while still stringing him along, out of boredom)—I just don’t want to watch them for an hour-and-a-half when all of his problems could be solved with a simple, “I’m annoying; you’re annoying; let’s not speak anymore.”

So that’s the subjective issue, and I understand that it’s mine alone. Objectively, how does the movie play? Sadly, not very well.

The movie is undeservedly smug. It’s drenched in a sort of knowing irony that is meant to evoke laughs from hipsters (I guess), but that merely serves to stall the plot and astound the non-suckers in the audience with a clown-car’s worth of tired quirk clichés. From the wise-old-man narrator to the fantasy dance number sequence in a park (which proves that screenwriters Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber have seen 9 to 5 and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off) to Summer’s heart-shaped birthmark, (500) Days of Summer plays like really bad teen poetry (or just teen poetry).

Brief sidebar: why is Peter Parker’s impromptu dance number in Spider-Man 3 considered the death knell of a franchise, but Tom’s dancing with an animated bluebird is supposedly a lively and inventive stroke of genius? Sorry, back to the review...

The one sequence that’s executed well is a split-screen trip to a party at Summer’s apartment, in which we see Tom’s expectations on the left and his reality on the right. Director Marc Webb makes those three minutes sing by laying off the wackiness and going casual. If the rest of the picture had been as subtle and honest as that moment, the film might have been really special.

Instead, we’re treated to speech after speech about how pointless love is and how everyone feels the need to label everything; it’s just inauthentic noise that smacks of young, coffee-shop liberals who don’t know thing one about true love (it A. exists and B. is amazing, but not easy). Now, I don’t mind watching a movie that challenges my beliefs, but I need either a compelling argument or at least sharp, insightful dialogue to hold my interest (unfortunately, the “comedy” in this film is telegraphed sitcom pabulum; no offense to people who consider spit takes to be the best that indie screenwriters can deliver).

I would love to see an honest romantic comedy/drama featuring the lead actors from this film, as shot by the same director, but in the service of a story that actually says something about modern romance. And, no, there’s nothing wrong with a traditional three-act Hollywood structure that favors meets-cute over funky time jumping—as long as the writing and performances hold up.

In fairness, the movie begins by informing us that it is not a love story. But it’s also not a story about any people I’ve ever met, nor would I like to get to know. Tom’s puppy-dog desperation wears thin by the second time Summer tells him their relationship isn’t going to evolve past the “friends-with-benefits” stage; by the fifth time, I really just wanted to turn the movie off. (500) Days of Summer is the romantic comedy equivalent of torture porn.


Frozen (2010)

Gangrene with Enmity

It’s okay for some characters in horror movies to be unlikable—that’s part of the catharsis in seeing them creatively killed off; but in a straight thriller, it’s usually a good idea for the audience to care what happens to them. In 2006, writer/director Adam Green gave us the 80s horror throwback Hatchet, an uninspired Friday the 13th rip-off that—according to who you ask—is either a brilliant genre satire, or just boring, generic and sad (guess which camp I’m in). The movie is full of ditzy, young idiots who meet their doom at the hands of an axe-wielding swamp-dweller. The only thing that abated the depression of watching them speak and do really stupid things was watching them die in quick succession.

Green’s newest film, Frozen, is masked in legitimacy, but commits a fatal crime: Porting over one of the slasher genre’s best archetypes (the jock asshole), multiplying it by three, and then expecting us to care about them being stuck on a chair lift for sixty minutes. Two best friends, Joe and Dan, and Dan’s girlfriend, Parker (played by Shawn Ashmore, Kevin Zegers, and Emma Bell, respectively) wind down a weekend at a Massachusetts ski resort that is only open from Friday through Sunday. Joe, bitter because he and Dan have had to forego real skiing in order to look after Parker the novice, convinces Dan to go on one good run before they leave. Parker, of course, tags along and—through a series of small mistakes beyond their control—the three end up on a stopped chair lift, in the dark, hovering fifty feet over hard snow. Frozen unfolds as they struggle to survive amid harsh weather and hungry wolves stalking the woods below.

This sounds like a great idea for a movie—or maybe an hour-long short—but the problems all go back to the characters (and, by extension, the script). The first twenty minutes of Frozen sees Dan and Joe convincing Parker to sex it up for the rube lift operator, hoping that her tits and a hundred bucks will get them all a discounted ride up the mountain; since they bicker about what minimum wage is, I assume they’re just being cheap. Next, we’re treated to several (yes, several) conversations about how Dan isn’t the same now that he’s dating Parker; the boys at the local bar all miss him; she’s tearing two best friends apart ‘cause she’s an icky, dumb girl. At first I thought these were supposed to be high school students; turns out they’re in college (though Shawn Ashmore is 31 years old), and have apparently learned everything they know about male/female relationships from Maxim Magazine and reruns of Home Improvement.

By the time they get stranded, I felt queasy. Not because of the heights or the sub-zero cold, but by the realization that all three characters are horrible to each other in the best of times. I could only imagine how quickly and ugly matters would get when death became a possibility. Sure enough, they continue to get on each other’s nerves and fight.

Luckily, this is the point where Frozen briefly becomes a comedy. Dan decides to jump out of the seat and try his luck on the ground. Following a hilarious POV shot of his legs hitting the snow and shattering, we’re treated to five minutes of him sitting on the ground with bones jutting out of his bloody pants, screaming. Joe and Parker throw clothing at him to help tie up the wounds, and all three performances make a ridiculous looking splatter gag play out like the Mad TV version of a Magruber skit. The capper is the awkwardly staged first appearance of the wolves, which made me laugh out loud.

The rest of the film is a series of weird vignettes in which something awful happens, the characters ignore the awful thing, and eventually, so does the plot; these include, but are not limited to frostbite on the cheek, a bare hand frozen to the safety bar, and a loose bolt in the lift support that threatens everyone’s safety—for a couple minutes; the loose bolt takes a break from being menacing and returns to full dramatic capacity later on.

Frozen is supposed to be a “drama/thriller”, but there’s no tension in a story when the people it’s about are neither interesting nor sympathetic. It doesn’t matter how many stories Joe tells Parker about crushes he had in school or meeting Dan in the first grade; he’s more often than not selfish and dumb. I’ll give Adam Green this: the things the characters do to survive are—for the most part—reasonable. But the arrogance, jealousy, and pettiness that led to their predicament are hard to overcome. I got the feeling that the main reason Dan, Joe and Parker wanted to survive was so that they could hold the incident over each others’ heads for the rest of their hateful lives.


Diary of the Dead, 2007 (Home Video Review)


George Romero needs to stop. It’s been about forty years since he defined the “zombie” horror sub-genre with Night of the Living Dead, and twenty-five years since he made a zombie movie that was worth a damn (Day of the Dead). Sure, he tried to make a comeback with the chronologically deficient Land of the Dead in 2005, but it was such a slick, action-packed spectacle that it became an altogether different type of film; Land also jumped the shark on Romero’s trademark social commentary, ending, literally, with an “eat the rich” bloodbath. After that movie, it was clear the writer/director had run out of fun things to do with the walking dead.

Which is why watching 2007’s Diary of the Dead was such a chore. Romero rightly believed that his franchise could use some updating; he was wrong to assume that (poorly) aping The Blair Witch Project was a good creative decision.

The conceit of Diary is that it’s a film cut together using footage taken by University of Pittsburgh (Ontario campus) students in the first days of the zombie apocalypse. This collection of hip, ridiculously attractive kids are making a mummy movie out in the woods when the first reports of zombie attacks come in over the radio. Soon they’re driving a Winnebago across the state—with their drunkard professor in tow—trying to reach their respective homes, capturing everything on a pair of what look to be big, clunky TV cameras.

Diary of the Dead has three major problems. The first two are the acting and dialogue, which make the movie nearly unwatchable. The group of kids tries way too hard to bring really bad writing to life; it’s as if they believe Romero’s monologues about pervasive media (“If it’s not on camera, it isn’t real”) are too profound to be understood by the audience, so they over-emphasize EVERYTHING. The constant asides and obviousness bog down the film’s first hour, which might have been okay if the third issue were not so glaring.

Whereas Romero’s first three zombie movies used amazingly gruesome practical effects, Diary of the Dead suffers from an over-reliance on CG gore. Worse yet, one can tell that the digital effects ate up so much of the budget that the practical stuff was apparently left to half-drunk interns. All of the gunshots-to-the-head look like they were generated with the default settings of an After Effects plug-in, and the zombie makeup and eviscerated body cavities could have been pulled from behind the counter of a costume store. Part of the joy of watching the original zombie pictures was marveling at how wizards like Tom Savini and Greg Nicotero pulled off such believable kills; Diary comes off as a tutorial in an on-line film course.

The most frustrating part of the movie is that the last half hour is much better than anything that preceded it (including Land of the Dead). By the time the group holes up in a rich friend’s fortified mansion, most of the annoying cast has been killed off. The owner of the house, Ridley, has gone insane and still roams the halls wrapped in the mummy costume from their movie. It’s here that Romero recaptures some of the claustrophobic magic of Night of the Living Dead; he even makes his media concept work, via omnipresent surveillance cameras, which are put to good use in the story. However, not even the last act is immune from idiocy, as the script calls on the characters to act in ways that defy belief for the sake of padding a pretty slim run-time.

In the years since Diary of the Dead, two films have come along and fared much better with the concept. Cloverfield set the bar for the authentic-feeling “found footage” monster movie (I thought the characters were kind of annoying until I watched Diary), and Paranormal Activity dialed back the visceral shocks in favor or more subtle scares. What the creators of both films understood is that the foremost point of a horror movie is to take the audience on a terrifying, believable ride; it’s not to hit them over the head with generic anti-establishment ideas and rely on the “gee-whiz” niftiness of modern technology.

George Romero has been known to complain about studios not giving him enough money to make the really big zombie movies he has in his head. Based on his last two pictures, I’d say they’re justified in holding back. Romero needs to revisit the simplicity of Night, Dawn, and Day. He knows how to direct tense scenes and get great performances from real (read: adult) actors, and it was the lack of money that led to some of the most memorable splatter moments in horror history—because his crew had to be inventive, instead of simply able to press a “Render” button. If he decides to work in the zombie genre again, I would suggest that he direct someone else’s material; specifically, Max Brooks’s superb novel, World War Z. Otherwise, he really should just stop.

Note: Perhaps the worst offense in Diary is the sloppiness of one particular scene in which the kids encounter a black militia that has taken over a small town. Their leader claims that anyone “without a natural sun tan” fled when the outbreak began. Yet, ten minutes later, this smiley, creepy looking white guy is helping our filmmaking heroes load canned goods into their mobile home. This makes less sense than the movie-length suspension of disbelief that a guy would not once put down his camera to help people (including his friends) in immediate danger—a problem Cloverfield solved a year later.


Dark Star (1974)

Please Tweeze Me

A friend recommended Dark Star, saying that it was a great satirical comedy. I did a double take and asked him to clarify. “It’s like Dr. Strangelove in Space”, he said, thoroughly confusing me.

I’d heard about the film a few years ago, but had never checked it out. I knew it was John Carpenter’s first movie and, last December, that it was Alien writer Dan O’Bannon’s first film as well (he died in late 2009). Carpenter is known mostly for directing horror movies, so I just assumed Dark Star was one; the idea that he started out in sci-fi comedy was enough to immediately place it at the top of my Netflix queue.

Dark Star is definitely a comedy, but I can only recommend it cautiously. First of all, it’s an early-Seventies student film (more accurately, it’s an expanded version of a student film), so for anyone unable to appreciate pre-Jurassic Park special effects, stay away. Second, the humor reminds me of the kinds of things my really smart friends in high school would die laughing over; it’s catnip for science geeks, Monty Python fans and Dr. Who devotees. Lastly, all of the actors have these crazy Castro beards! This isn’t a valid criticism, I know, but I really wanted to reach out and shave these people.

Dark Star tells the story of an eponymous space ship that tours the galaxy, blowing up uninhabitable planets to make way for corporate development. When the four-man crew isn’t traveling from sector to sector planting talking, self-aware bombs, they wrestle with boredom, talk about surfing, and contend with their alien mascot—a gigantic beach ball with the hands of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Dark Star isn’t plot-driven so much as it is a series of witty vignettes that reveal character and lead to a logical conclusion (wait, isn’t that the definition of a plot? Shit.).

What’s most striking about the movie, aside from its incredibly smart humor and ideas, is the crew that created it and the groundbreaking work that went into the production. It may seem unfair to break objectivity here, but it’s impossible for fans of genre filmmaking to not consider these things when watching Dark Star today. Carpenter and O’Bannon (who co-wrote the picture, created the effects, and stars as crewman Pinback) bridged the SFX gap between Kubrick’s 2001 and Lucas’s Star Wars. I’d always assumed that the Millenium Falcon was the first ship to make the jump to hyperspace, but, no, it was the Dark Star; it’s stunning to see those warping star fields done just as well on a fraction of the budget. O’Bannon would, in fact go on to do effects on Star Wars three years later—two years before Alien came to the big screen.

Alien is probably the biggest recipient of Dark Star’s conceptual generosity. The beach ball monster is a quirky ancestor of the xenomorph that terrorized Sigourney Weaver: an eye-less, leaping beast that hides in the ductwork and attacks the crewmembers’ heads. There’s also a bizarre scene in the climax involving a visit with the ship’s deceased captain, whose body has been suspended in a block of ice while his brain lives on, in thoughts interpreted through a computer. The scene reminded me instantly of the cut scene in Alien, where Tom Skerritt is cocooned half-alive in the ship’s wall.

I should really mention John Carpenter’s contributions here, as it is, technically, his show. What struck me the most is how easily the director managed to turn comedy into suspense, particularly in the scene where Pinback gets trapped in an elevator shaft. What starts as a funny gag, goes on for minutes; the duration takes us from amusement to claustrophobic panic in a beat, much as the situation must have occurred to Pinback. It’s here that Carpenter sheds the skin of Kubrick and promises us films like Halloween and Escape from New York.

Dark Star is a great, brisk little movie. If any of what I’ve written sounds appealing, you’re likely to enjoy a really fun 83-minute ride. If none of this interests you, I have a feeling you checked out at the phrase “Dr. Strangelove in Space.”


Edge of Darkness, 2010

The Detarded

I approached the “edge of darkness” several times during Mel Gibson’s new movie, which is to say I had a hard time staying awake. Never have I seen such an interesting cast in such a well-shot picture slog through such a boring 108 minutes.

Edge of Darkness stars Gibson as Boston (sorry, “Baaah-stin”) detective Tommy Craven, whose activist daughter, Emma (Bojana Novakovic) is gunned down on his front porch by a masked assailant. It turns out Emma worked for a private defense company whose CEO is in league with the government to produce allegedly foreign-made weapons on U.S. soil (a sort of back-pocket pre-emptive strike option, I guess). Emma and three environmental activists tried to get evidence of the crime and were subsequently killed. Of course, we don’t learn any of this until about an hour into the movie, as we’re introduced to myriad superfluous characters and red-herring sub-plots that involve Tommy leaving behind police protocol and busting heads.

If this sounds like a throwback to the good old days of Lethal Weapon, it’s not. Lethal Weapon was a mystery that had the good sense to stay on course and provide lots of crazy action and violence, letting the audience believe that they were experiencing thinking-man’s ‘splosions. Edge of Darkness gets bogged down in shabby knife fights and face punches in the service of about five thousand pointless conversations between actors who are either undeserving of sharing the screen with their co-stars, or are too good and too embarrassed to deliver their clunky lines. About an hour’s worth of scenes could be trimmed from this movie and the central story and decent surprises would still be just as effective. Edge of Darkness is too dumb to be a good political thriller and not exciting enough to be an action movie.

And that’s a real shame, considering director Martin Campbell gave us the superb Casino Royale, a movie that, while over-long, managed to excite the mind and the pulse. Here, the material he’s trying to bring to life is a convoluted mash-up of the man-on-a-mission revenge fantasy. Tommy’s frequent visions of his daughter as a young girl and the intermittent presence of a shadowy enforcer named Jedburgh (Ray Winstone) are meant to add weight to the picture, but they pop up too often and add absolutely zero forward momentum to the story. So instead of being moved or intrigued, we’re left to marvel at Winstone’s pronunciation of the word “daughter”, which comes out, “doe-uh”. I mean, I know he’s a great English actor, but here he comes off as an Eastern Kentuckian doing Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

Speaking of distractions, whose genius idea was it to put Mel Gibson into so many scenes with actors who are waaaay taller than he is? And is everyone in Boston obsessed with Ginger Ale? Is that a local thing I’m not hip to? Why did Martin Campbell waste so much time and money on the scene where Tommy gets knocked out in his kitchen, kidnapped and taken to a nuclear facility only to awaken, knock out the guards and return to his kitchen (in the span of three minutes’ screen time)? Sorry, all of this went through my head while I was busy not being stimulated by the events on the screen.

It’s hard to believe that Edge of Darkness is based on a mini-series; in my opinion, there’s just enough plot to flesh out a decent episode of 24. I left the theatre angry, tired and confused. Some have hailed this movie as Mel Gibson’s triumphant return to acting. If that’s the case, I hope he remembers that some of his greatest roles were buoyed not by macho bluster and handguns but by screenplays that knew the difference between a well-scripted cover-up and gratuitous diversions meant to cover up weak writing.