You've likely never heard of Kathryn Bigelow. At one time she was married to James Cameron of Terminator fame. Aside from that brief brush with greatness she directed a little known film called Point Break starring Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze. That was, and has been, the high point of her directing career. She followed up Point Break with a poorly received film called Strange Days. I think I'm one of the seven people who paid to see it in the cinema. It's overly long and takes itself way too seriously, but it doesn't suck. Ralph Fiennes is in it doing a passable American accent and Angela (should have played Storm) Bassett plays his love interest/bad-ass driver. It's a decent yarn about the end of the millennium set in a near-future that looks nothing like the actual future that came to pass. Most near-future movies are that way. Instead of "near-future" they should call them "silly special effects budget expenditure". All of which is beside the point. In 1987 Kathryn Bigelow, you can tell she's serious because she spells her name with a "y", co-wrote and directed a largely unseen film called "Near Dark" and it rocked. However, as with most movies, it was also stupid.
The concept of Near Dark is fairly simple. Boy meets girl, girl bites boy and turns him into a vampire, boy is abducted by girl's vampire family consisting of weird urban shit-kickers and, for some reason, a young boy who is really an old man. Freaky. That would pretty much be the end of it were this an episode of the Twilight Zone, but our hero cannot bring himself to kill anyone in order to eat and this means trouble as the vampire gang has gotten used to the idea of killing and eating humans. Those members who are not on board with this dynamic must leave and by "leave" I mean "get ripped apart by angry vampires". Thus a young country boy from Texas is on the run from a who's who of supporting character actors who frequently appear in James Cameron films.
Sounds great, right? How could this movie, which I so obviously like, be stupid? Allow me to illustrate. Apparently this gang of supernatural killers has been roving around the US since some time in the mid 1800's killing folks left and right without being noticed. That's some trick. I'm sure a whole raft of serial killers would love to know how to pull that one off. A little known fact about law enforcement: They take murder very seriously. Most murder cases are solved and many are solved in short order. These days they just run any DNA they find through a database and start building a profile of their killer within hours of the crime. But even in the archaic 1980's the police were not, contrary to popular belief, incompetent. Generally speaking, if you killed somebody in 1987, the police would track you down and arrest you. Whether alive or undead, everyone was subject to the law. And as such one has to wonder how a group of bloodthirsty killers can leave bodies strewn all over the countryside year after year for over a hundred years and never get caught. One could argue that they use their otherworldly powers to subdue their prey and that they further use their supernatural strength, speed and cunning to hide away their crimes that they might work in secret for all time. One could argue that, but one would be contradicted by the movie at every turn.
Here we have a group of scruffy-looking people riding around in an RV or van or SUV or other large vehicle with the windows blacked out. That alone would raise suspicions among even the most disinterested of observers. Add to that the fact that they stalk their prey by walking up to them, making small talk, and then ripping their faces off. In one scene from the film the band of merry murderers kill all but one patron in a bar and then burn the place to the ground. This is one of the few times when the film makes some kind of sense because the lone survivor calls the police who then promptly hunt down the killers. Unfortunately for both the cops and the viewers the vampires are able to escape by...wait for it...driving away. Indeed, after a harrowing shootout with the state police the vamps make good their escape by getting in their van and driving away. The cops do not give chase or even call in backup via their radios. I guess they just hang around in the desert for a while until they figure out that the bad guys aren't coming back. After that they go to Waffle House for some coffee and pie. The Waffle House bit doesn't happen in the movie, but I imagined it happening and that made me smile.
There is more idiocy to be had as the story unfolds. First a minor gripe among the many other, better fed, gripes: why don't they black out the windows of their vehicle when they steal it? Twice they are shown to be rapidly deploying their half-assed efforts to block the sunlight as dawn approaches. You'd think that after a century of hunting and hiding they would have this all down to a science. However, these are clearly the slacker vampires who never get a book published about them. Without a doubt any group of nocturnal death merchants who periodically forget that the sun will kill them are not long for this world. How they made it all the way to 1987 without bursting into flames is beyond me. In any event, my plan would go like this were I the cranky leader of a bunch of dusty cowboy vampires: Step 1) Steal a car. Step 2) Black out all the windows thoroughly. Step 3) Cautiously hunt my prey and then dispatch them where they will never be found. Step 4) Arrive at predetermined sunlight-free location to sleep. That's it. How hard could that possibly be?
More gripes; A common problem with modern movies is that directors seem to think we are morons. This is especially true when it comes to firearms. In the movie world anyone one not on camera cannot hear the report of a hand gun or a rifle. This movie has shotgun blasts in the middle of the night that arouse no suspicion and a large caliber hand gun is fired in a hotel room with no intervention by the police or other authority figures. You see, if you're not on screen you must be deaf. In addition to the soundless gun play there are buckets of blood after every attack, but everybody stays relatively clean. One scene involves a vamp using his sharpened spurs to cut a man's throat. At the end of the scene the floor, walls and even the ceiling drip with blood, but later that same vamp is plasma-free. Speaking of blood, that brings me to my final gripe.
Modern vampire stories have become morose and dour. Anne Rice made it her goal in life to douche-fy the vampire and make him a sad and lonely creature living on the edge of society wishing he could join his human brethren and no longer be on the outside looking in. Boo Hoo. One thing she got right was the idea that you can't just stop being a vampire because you don't like it anymore. Not so in Near Dark. After our hero escapes the vampires with the help of his family who just happened to be staying at the same hotel, the father gives him a blood transfusion that de-vamperizes him. Seems to me that anybody reporting to an Emergency Room with a strange blood disorder would be treated in a similar manner. A quick trip to any Doc-in-the-Box would be enough to undo the horrible fate that had befallen you. Within the confines of this vampiric paradigm the unearthly kiss of the Nosferatu is not unlike a case of syphilis. Sure, vampirisim would have been a terrible plague upon the world striking terror into the hearts of men and causing mothers to hold their children tightly to them at night for fear of the ancient evil that walked like men. This would have been true right up until the mid-1800's when blood transfusions started to become more common. By the 1900's it was a well tested technique with proven results. If all it takes to cure vampirism is a well-known and widely available medical procedure, then the vampire was defanged as far back as 1825. So, to sum up, one can stop being a vampire by taking in large quantities of human blood. That makes no sense whatsoever and begs the question: Has Kathryn Bigelow ever heard of vampires before?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Movies are Stupid: Round One...Ricky Bobby
The people who make films don't like them very much and the people that write films are way too connected to their projects. In the middle, us. We the movie viewing public are forced to endure films that are, at the same time, the anemic step-children of some disinterested studio head and the over-fed, bloated pet project of some under-appreciated and reality-detached writer. As a result, there are far too many hyphens floating around this review. As an example of both studio malaise and artistic overindulgence I will be using Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
Studio executives are convinced of one thing that guides their every cinematic decision: Star Power equals dollars. Now, we all know that this is patently untrue. Look at Catwoman or Batman and Robin or any Arnold Schwarzenegger film not directed by James Cameron. Just because you put a known quantity on the poster does not mean we the viewing public will turn up in droves to give you our money. However, year after year we are served up the same actors (of varying degrees of skill or charm) in a spate of unwatchable films. Will Farrell is one such actor.
I am a Will Ferrell fan. Let's just get that out of the way. He was the one bright spot of Old School and often the only truly funny character on SNL during his tenure there. Imagine the Spartan Cheerleaders with any other male performer from those years. And that bit was just barely funny. The point is: He's got talent and he's willing to do just about anything to entertain. Certainly such a man should be high on any filmmaker's list of leading comedic men. And as such he appears time and again as largely the same character in a host of mediocre comedies that waste both his natural charisma and our time.
In Talladega Nights Ferrell portrays Ricky Bobby an idiot redneck NASCAR driver who wins despite all logic. His secret skill to winning so many NASCAR races? Drive Fast. Yep, all these years the other NASCAR drivers have been ignoring those upper gears that allow for great speed. But not Ricky Bobby. He looked down at the diagram on the gear shift and determined that there were other selections beyond 1st and 2nd. Genius! I know, I know, it's a stupid comedy. But couldn't they at least have come up with a better conceit as to how he wins so many races without having a brain in his head? Guess not.
The foil for Ricky Bobby is none other than Borat. Sacha Baren Cohen plays a gay, French, formula one racer who has come to destroy Ricky Bobby. Oh noes! How does this upstart Frenchy intend to win against such a racing virtuoso as Ricky Bobby? He's gonna drive even faster. Oh yeah, he's going all the way to 5th gear while Ricky languishes in 4th. The Fool!
Rounding out the cast for this humorous tour de force is Ricky's wife, whose name escapes me (such is her contribution to the movie), his two sons Walker and Texas Ranger (actually a funny joke) and Ricky's best friend, that guy from Boogie Nights that isn't Marky Mark. With such a stellar cast how could one go wrong? Let me explain. The wife is a moron like Ricky and that's fine. The charm of these movies is there wacky characters who defy all reason because reason is stupid and should be destroyed...as we all know. Unfortunately they cast an attractive, but not spectacular looking, actress in the role of Mrs. Bobby. A running gag throughout the film references her amazing breasts but even a cursory inspection of the goods reveals small, pert breasts to be sure, but not awe-inspiring. How much would it have cost to get an actress with a huge rack? Hell, even if they like the actress they had, why not use some of the Jar Jar Binks technology for a good purpose and increase her bust to epic proportions? I'm a stickler for such things. By "things" I mean "boobies" and by "stickler" I mean "I like to look at boobies".
Ricky's best friend and fellow racer is dumber than Ricky. He too uses the secret upper gears to gain better standing in the races, but he never wins. Why he doesn't just drive on past the lead car and become a winner himself is never explained. He just can't seem to do that and we accept it.
The two boys, Walker and Texas Ranger, are foul mouthed heathens. They actually made me laugh several times. Good for them.
Also, Ricky's father appears several times as part of a subplot involving Ricky driving fast because his daddy told him to...or something. There's a live cougar involved. Anyway, Gary Cole is in the movie and I like to see him working.
So, why does this movie fail so powerfully on every level? People went to see it in the theater. It is considered a financial success. Doesn't that prove that people are exactly as dumb as the studio execs think they are? To a degree they are right. But that doesn't make this movie funnier. It doesn't justify the seven dollars you paid to see it or the two hours it took to tell a weak story. And that brings me to my gripe with the screenwriters.
These guys toil in obscurity. They write scripts that no one will ever read. Scripts that get read but not produced and occasionally they get to write a script that will get produced but the studio gets final say on just how funny it can be. You see, it's not that the screenwriters can't write funny, it's that they are told to rewrite so many times that they lose sight of just what funny is. The result is a bloated script full of every gimmick, schtick, or half-baked joke they can dream up. It's the scattershot version of writing. Just give them everything and hope something sticks.
What the screenwriters don't seem to know is that the studio bosses don't really care that much about a NASCAR comedy. They only really want to put their mark on the film by pissing on the script a few times just to let everybody know they are still in charge. Once finished with their excretory actions, they move on to pee on other scripts. That leaves a urine soaked screenplay that is far too long. Ricky Bobby only really has to race a little bit, be wacky, beat the Frenchman and drink a Bud. Maybe he could push a little brown person down the stairs or something.
There were several times, early in the film, when I laughed out loud. Oh that nutty Ricky Bobby with his two first names. He's a hoot with his ignorant hillbillydom. This is, after all, a Judd Apatow produced film and that is almost always a good thing. But before long both my wife and I were checking the clock and making trips to the bathroom without pausing the film. Because the storyline follows no descernable arc there is nothing to keep up with. The characters don't change and neither do the jokes. Finally you are reduced to watching non-descript idiots wander around in front of the camera. Sure, there are pretty colors, but that only gets you so far with a viewer such as myself. What made the other well-known Apatow comedies so good was an investment in the characters. Knocked Up, Superbad, 40 Year-old Virgin all had good storytelling on top of silliness that draws a viewer in and makes you care in some small way about the idiots. If Ricky Bobby had died in a horrible flaming crash at the one hour mark of this film with no explanation as to what happened next, I would have been much happier with the product. The point is, too many gags strung together in the guise of a plot.
There we have it. A perfect example of a movie studio with no idea how to make a movie and screenwriters who don't know when to stop making a movie. The Ballad of Ricky Bobby is in no way alone in this strange vortex of suckitude. Semi-pro, Blades of Glory, anything starring Jimmy Fallon...all of these are terrible and pointless. "Wave your arms and scream like a banshee" isn't direction enough to make a performace worth watching. Movies can be insane, I like insane, they just need to come to a point and then shut up. I'm going to do that now.
Studio executives are convinced of one thing that guides their every cinematic decision: Star Power equals dollars. Now, we all know that this is patently untrue. Look at Catwoman or Batman and Robin or any Arnold Schwarzenegger film not directed by James Cameron. Just because you put a known quantity on the poster does not mean we the viewing public will turn up in droves to give you our money. However, year after year we are served up the same actors (of varying degrees of skill or charm) in a spate of unwatchable films. Will Farrell is one such actor.
I am a Will Ferrell fan. Let's just get that out of the way. He was the one bright spot of Old School and often the only truly funny character on SNL during his tenure there. Imagine the Spartan Cheerleaders with any other male performer from those years. And that bit was just barely funny. The point is: He's got talent and he's willing to do just about anything to entertain. Certainly such a man should be high on any filmmaker's list of leading comedic men. And as such he appears time and again as largely the same character in a host of mediocre comedies that waste both his natural charisma and our time.
In Talladega Nights Ferrell portrays Ricky Bobby an idiot redneck NASCAR driver who wins despite all logic. His secret skill to winning so many NASCAR races? Drive Fast. Yep, all these years the other NASCAR drivers have been ignoring those upper gears that allow for great speed. But not Ricky Bobby. He looked down at the diagram on the gear shift and determined that there were other selections beyond 1st and 2nd. Genius! I know, I know, it's a stupid comedy. But couldn't they at least have come up with a better conceit as to how he wins so many races without having a brain in his head? Guess not.
The foil for Ricky Bobby is none other than Borat. Sacha Baren Cohen plays a gay, French, formula one racer who has come to destroy Ricky Bobby. Oh noes! How does this upstart Frenchy intend to win against such a racing virtuoso as Ricky Bobby? He's gonna drive even faster. Oh yeah, he's going all the way to 5th gear while Ricky languishes in 4th. The Fool!
Rounding out the cast for this humorous tour de force is Ricky's wife, whose name escapes me (such is her contribution to the movie), his two sons Walker and Texas Ranger (actually a funny joke) and Ricky's best friend, that guy from Boogie Nights that isn't Marky Mark. With such a stellar cast how could one go wrong? Let me explain. The wife is a moron like Ricky and that's fine. The charm of these movies is there wacky characters who defy all reason because reason is stupid and should be destroyed...as we all know. Unfortunately they cast an attractive, but not spectacular looking, actress in the role of Mrs. Bobby. A running gag throughout the film references her amazing breasts but even a cursory inspection of the goods reveals small, pert breasts to be sure, but not awe-inspiring. How much would it have cost to get an actress with a huge rack? Hell, even if they like the actress they had, why not use some of the Jar Jar Binks technology for a good purpose and increase her bust to epic proportions? I'm a stickler for such things. By "things" I mean "boobies" and by "stickler" I mean "I like to look at boobies".
Ricky's best friend and fellow racer is dumber than Ricky. He too uses the secret upper gears to gain better standing in the races, but he never wins. Why he doesn't just drive on past the lead car and become a winner himself is never explained. He just can't seem to do that and we accept it.
The two boys, Walker and Texas Ranger, are foul mouthed heathens. They actually made me laugh several times. Good for them.
Also, Ricky's father appears several times as part of a subplot involving Ricky driving fast because his daddy told him to...or something. There's a live cougar involved. Anyway, Gary Cole is in the movie and I like to see him working.
So, why does this movie fail so powerfully on every level? People went to see it in the theater. It is considered a financial success. Doesn't that prove that people are exactly as dumb as the studio execs think they are? To a degree they are right. But that doesn't make this movie funnier. It doesn't justify the seven dollars you paid to see it or the two hours it took to tell a weak story. And that brings me to my gripe with the screenwriters.
These guys toil in obscurity. They write scripts that no one will ever read. Scripts that get read but not produced and occasionally they get to write a script that will get produced but the studio gets final say on just how funny it can be. You see, it's not that the screenwriters can't write funny, it's that they are told to rewrite so many times that they lose sight of just what funny is. The result is a bloated script full of every gimmick, schtick, or half-baked joke they can dream up. It's the scattershot version of writing. Just give them everything and hope something sticks.
What the screenwriters don't seem to know is that the studio bosses don't really care that much about a NASCAR comedy. They only really want to put their mark on the film by pissing on the script a few times just to let everybody know they are still in charge. Once finished with their excretory actions, they move on to pee on other scripts. That leaves a urine soaked screenplay that is far too long. Ricky Bobby only really has to race a little bit, be wacky, beat the Frenchman and drink a Bud. Maybe he could push a little brown person down the stairs or something.
There were several times, early in the film, when I laughed out loud. Oh that nutty Ricky Bobby with his two first names. He's a hoot with his ignorant hillbillydom. This is, after all, a Judd Apatow produced film and that is almost always a good thing. But before long both my wife and I were checking the clock and making trips to the bathroom without pausing the film. Because the storyline follows no descernable arc there is nothing to keep up with. The characters don't change and neither do the jokes. Finally you are reduced to watching non-descript idiots wander around in front of the camera. Sure, there are pretty colors, but that only gets you so far with a viewer such as myself. What made the other well-known Apatow comedies so good was an investment in the characters. Knocked Up, Superbad, 40 Year-old Virgin all had good storytelling on top of silliness that draws a viewer in and makes you care in some small way about the idiots. If Ricky Bobby had died in a horrible flaming crash at the one hour mark of this film with no explanation as to what happened next, I would have been much happier with the product. The point is, too many gags strung together in the guise of a plot.
There we have it. A perfect example of a movie studio with no idea how to make a movie and screenwriters who don't know when to stop making a movie. The Ballad of Ricky Bobby is in no way alone in this strange vortex of suckitude. Semi-pro, Blades of Glory, anything starring Jimmy Fallon...all of these are terrible and pointless. "Wave your arms and scream like a banshee" isn't direction enough to make a performace worth watching. Movies can be insane, I like insane, they just need to come to a point and then shut up. I'm going to do that now.
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