Movie Review:
Peter Pan
PG / 1 hr., 54 min. / 2003
J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan is the classic tale of Wendy Darling (Rachel Hurd-Wood) and her brothers John (Harry Newell) and Michael (Freddie Popplewell), who share a room and bedtime stories. Wendy is at a delicate age: She is a child on the verge of adulthood, and she is about to be forced to make the change by her father (Jason Isaacs). But she is offered an escape from this fate by Peter Pan (Jeremy Sumpter), a lively young sprite who invites her back to Neverland, a magical place where no one ever grows up.
But Neverland is not a perfect paradise: It is also home to Peter’s nemesis, Captain James Hook (Jason Isaacs again), who bears a hook instead of a hand, which he lost in a fight with Peter. The hand and a clock were swallowed by a crocodile that has stalked Hook ever since, hoping for dessert. And Hook has stalked Pan ever since, hoping for revenge.
Raise your hand if you did not know any of that. Everyone with a hand raised needs to report to Childhood Classics 101.
I grew up on the Disney animated version of Peter Pan, which delivers a fine presentation of a fantasy adventure for the whole family, despite the derogatory comparison it is receiving in the wake of this new adaptation. I am also familiar with the stage script, having played Mr. Darling in college. What is interesting about most of the adaptations of the story is that our focus is on a simple children’s adventure – possibly even a dream – that comes across as a piece of literary fluff. Then I saw what P.J. Hogan (My Best Friend’s Wedding) had drawn out of it, and I was completely floored.
Having recently perused Barrie’s novelization of his play, I am a little surprised at the number of critics who praise this new film for “staying so close to the book.” In terms of a scene-by-scene comparison, the Disney version is far more accurate than what Hogan and writer Michael Goldenberg (Contact) have come up with. This new film tosses out whole chapters, adds entirely new scenes and characters, and otherwise tampers on a wholesale level with the structure of the tale. Hogan has done away with clapping as the cure for dying fairies, and Peter never crows. The film also jettisons the traditional ending (“I’m old now, ever so much more than twenty”) in favor of an ending that is slightly smarmy, but which provides a shorter denouement if not necessarily a better one. I am willing to overlook these changes because of what the film does right. What this version absolutely nails, without compromise and with an excellence that blows away its predecessors, is the real message of the book.
Humor me while I theorize on this subject: In this new screenplay, Peter is more than a rogue; he is, as the book suggests, Childhood personified. Wendy is no longer merely escaping the world of adults; she is flying off hand in hand with her very youth and immaturity, which she initially believes she wants to maintain forever. And Childhood must eventually face its fear: Adulthood, personified in Captain Hook.
Contrary to my impressions of earlier “Pan” adaptations, this film does not say that growing up is bad; in fact, maturity is to be commended. It is not Adulthood itself that Wendy is fighting on the pirate ship, but her irrational beliefs about growing up; and that is an important distinction, even if she doesn’t notice at the time. Indeed, Wendy must grow up, for to remain a child forever is the height of selfishness. At the beginning of the film, Mrs. Darling (Olivia Williams) points out that “there is the bravery of thinking of others before oneself,” and by the end, Wendy realizes this and comes home to fill her rightful place in the world, both now as a young girl and later as a grown-up. At the end of the story, Childhood finds it has no permanent home in the Darling household, and returns to Neverland until Wendy’s children come along. Such is the message that I believe has been there all along, but which previous films presented so muted as to be lost entirely on the typical audience, including myself.
The film is stellar in more ways than one. First, we finally have an actual male playing Peter! I have never been able to fully accept Pans played by females – I am constantly distracted and unable to abandon myself wholly to the story. Jeremy Sumpter, who debuted in Bill Paxton’s Frailty, is a wonderful blend of impish prankster, show-off, and heart-breaking rogue. He has a great face for the role, and pulls some wonderful expressions – watch his face when he agrees, without saying a word, to let John and Michael come along to Neverland. A line or two felt stilted or under-enthused, and his lack of a solid English accent in the midst of the other characters is a deterrent; but overall, I think he’s an excellent choice. I hope someone also casts him as Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream before he gets much older.
Jason Isaacs continues the tradition of having the same actor portray Mr. Darling and Captain Hook, thus enhancing Wendy’s fearful association of Adulthood with her vision of her angry father. Isaacs has played nothing but malice since I first saw him (The Patriot, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets), but here he is far more timid than even in Barrie’s play, where Mr. Darling was all bluster to hide his shortcomings. Isaacs lets us see a reserved Mr. Darling grow more blustery as he is pressured into being “powerful” by Aunt Millicent (Lynn Redgrave).
Other noteworthy performances include Rachel Hurd-Wood’s debut. She is positively charming, with a lovely smile and giddy girlie energy throughout the film. Ludivine Sagnier is a deliciously wicked Tinkerbell, with some of the best laughs in the whole movie. Equally excellent are Harry Newell and Freddie Popplewell and Carsen Gray and the lovable Richard Briers (Much Ado About Nothing, Love’s Labour’s Lost) and, well, everyone else in the film. Casting was a strong point in an already strong production.
This is a film I regret having missed in the theater. The art departments have so pumped up the visuals that I wanted to sit as close as possible to my TV screen. The film opens with a gorgeous blue night sky, swoops through tufts of pink clouds over a storybook London, to the Darling home. Neverland is green and red and blue and ice-cold and summer-warm and bright and dark and every other imaginative extreme. Add to this that the colors change with Peter’s mood, from a fierce red during his sword fight to a chilling blue when Hook shatters his joy to a shocking pink when Wendy kisses him. And yes, Peter’s reaction is very much what happens when a young man is first kissed. I know from experience.
Speaking of kisses, a plethora of published critics have commented on the “sexual tension” in the film, but I must say I have no idea what they are talking about. There is a difference between longing for something (like permanent childhood) and getting turned on. I see nothing to indicate Peter and Wendy are erotically aroused, and parents who avoided the film because they heard of its sexual overtones from critics should rest assured that there is nothing to be wary of here.
The production department based many of their designs on the way a child would imagine things. Who among us has not seen a junior high student’s model of the universe, with brightly colored planets all within inches of each other? As Peter leaves Earth’s atmosphere, we are treated to just such a universe, as the children go careening past dozens of flourescent heavenly bodies.
Cinematographer Donald McAlpine and the effects team have provided us with some gorgeous images. I love the sequence in which Michael leaps off his bed attempting to fly. In one single shot, we see Michael spinning out of control, and Peter Pan above him sprinkling fairy dust on him. It’s beautifully composed and is as magical as the story itself. I also enjoy the image of Peter flying through what appears to be the night sky, until he puts out a hand and runs it through an ocean of water and we realize we are looking down upon him, not up at him. These are just two of the many visual high points.
Special effects are strong and excessively creative. I particularly enjoyed the early scenes involving Peter’s shadow. It has an entire personality all its own, sometimes swatting at Peter, sometimes cowering behind him. Once you’ve seen the whole film, watch the nursery sequences again and focus on just the shadow. Your viewing experience will be enriched.
Complementing all of it is James Newton Howard’s gorgeous orchestral score. I disagree with the addition of a pop rhythm to certain cues – I feel it wrenches us out of Edwardian London gracelessly – but the overall impression is of a fun and fantastical musical adventure.
I could go on, but you should probably just see the film for yourself at this point and revel in one of the best fantasy-adventures of its decade. It is visually lavish, emotionally stirring, and intellectually assertive, in addition to being a whole lot of gee-whiz swashbuckling high-flying fun. It is never lazy about its creativity, but fills the whole screen with life and joy from start to finish. It may be true that all children grow up (except one), but this is two hours of your life where you can slow the process considerably.
My Score: 9
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Whisper, Whisk, Flit and Tick
Book Review:
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Ray Bradbury / Bantam / 1962
The back cover of my soft-cover Bantam edition of Something Wicked This Way Comes has a better introduction than anything I could come up with, I’m sure: “What if someone discovers your secret dream, that one great wish you would give anything for? And what if that person suddenly makes your dream come true – before you learn the price you have to pay?”
If you’ve never read Ray Bradbury’s classic piece of good old-fashioned horror and nightmares, you might want to stop reading this review even now and go find a copy at your bookstore. Letting the dark fantasy unfold with each page is the way it was meant to be experienced. If, however, you’re fine with hearing something about it first, read on.
It is the story of Will Holloway and his friend Jim Nightshade, two youngsters growing up in that classic era of Americana, the Midwest of the early 1900's. Both have dreams, but fatherless Jim in particular yearns to be older, a grown-up. And there is Will’s father, already in his middle-age years when he married, now considering himself old, too old to be a good father to Will.
Into the heartaches of these three and their fellow townspeople comes a carnival. Ordinary enough to look at, the carnival soon begins to make a frightening impression on people like Miss Foley, who so wishes to be young and beautiful again; or on Tom Fury, the lightning-rod salesman, forever racing ahead of storms to sell metal pieces of fire insurance. Carnival staples like the mirror maze and “The Woman Frozen in Ice!” first seduce then terrify those in town who have lives buried in regrets. The carnival and its owners, Mr. Dark and Mr. Cooger, seem to thrive on the anguish of others. As Will and Jim learn more about the carnival’s dark secrets, they find themselves running for their lives from a menagerie of side-show freaks who want to quiet the boys up.
Ray Bradbury is hit-and-miss for me, but Something Wicked This Way Comes is definitely one of my favorite books. The author creates an unforgettable tale, along the lines of something Stephen King might produce; but in my opinion more subtle, and certainly much less reliant on language, gore, and sexuality than King. As with other of his works like Dandelion Wine that play off his childhood memories, Bradbury takes us back to a small town where everyone knows the barber and the cigar store owner, where there is only one employee at the library because two wouldn’t have enough to do. Though the year is never stated, the atmosphere created is enough to let us know we are not reading about our contemporaries, at least not as far as the literal setting is concerned.
Bradbury has an interesting way with words. His choice of vocabulary is not one any other writer would think of, and yet his choices become so vivid and lend so much atmosphere. He talks of the library being “bricked with books”, or of arcs of electricity as “electric blue eels.” He runs sentences together not out of ignorance for the rules of English, but because when those sentences are then read, the pulse and tempo of the character’s very thoughts are amplified. Many of the characters do not speak as real people would, but they speak as real people might think in tense, pressurized times of life. As with much of Bradbury, especially his short stories, the point is the beauty, flow, and atmosphere of the words, not their denotative functions.
Bradbury’s theme is an interesting one, exploring those things in life that cause us internal pain, whether sharp or dull. The device of an infernal carnival allows him to look at how man spends his days wishing, regretting, envying – and then looks at what might happen if those wishes could be answered, if regrets could somehow be corrected. Even if Mr. Dark did not exact a hideous fee for making young boys’ dreams come true, the natural consequences of craving an alternate reality would, in Bradbury’s reasoning, be enough to drive a person mad.
I’m not going to delve any deeper, because this is one of those books that is best when it is simply absorbed page by page. A review of it could never really do it justice, neither before nor after reading it. Let it suffice to say that I highly recommend it. At 215 pages, it is not a laborious trek through an epic adventure, but good for finishing over the course of a handful of bedtimes. And at night in bed is definitely the best time to read it and experience its chills.
Worth The Read?: Absolutely
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Ray Bradbury / Bantam / 1962
The back cover of my soft-cover Bantam edition of Something Wicked This Way Comes has a better introduction than anything I could come up with, I’m sure: “What if someone discovers your secret dream, that one great wish you would give anything for? And what if that person suddenly makes your dream come true – before you learn the price you have to pay?”
If you’ve never read Ray Bradbury’s classic piece of good old-fashioned horror and nightmares, you might want to stop reading this review even now and go find a copy at your bookstore. Letting the dark fantasy unfold with each page is the way it was meant to be experienced. If, however, you’re fine with hearing something about it first, read on.
It is the story of Will Holloway and his friend Jim Nightshade, two youngsters growing up in that classic era of Americana, the Midwest of the early 1900's. Both have dreams, but fatherless Jim in particular yearns to be older, a grown-up. And there is Will’s father, already in his middle-age years when he married, now considering himself old, too old to be a good father to Will.
Into the heartaches of these three and their fellow townspeople comes a carnival. Ordinary enough to look at, the carnival soon begins to make a frightening impression on people like Miss Foley, who so wishes to be young and beautiful again; or on Tom Fury, the lightning-rod salesman, forever racing ahead of storms to sell metal pieces of fire insurance. Carnival staples like the mirror maze and “The Woman Frozen in Ice!” first seduce then terrify those in town who have lives buried in regrets. The carnival and its owners, Mr. Dark and Mr. Cooger, seem to thrive on the anguish of others. As Will and Jim learn more about the carnival’s dark secrets, they find themselves running for their lives from a menagerie of side-show freaks who want to quiet the boys up.
Ray Bradbury is hit-and-miss for me, but Something Wicked This Way Comes is definitely one of my favorite books. The author creates an unforgettable tale, along the lines of something Stephen King might produce; but in my opinion more subtle, and certainly much less reliant on language, gore, and sexuality than King. As with other of his works like Dandelion Wine that play off his childhood memories, Bradbury takes us back to a small town where everyone knows the barber and the cigar store owner, where there is only one employee at the library because two wouldn’t have enough to do. Though the year is never stated, the atmosphere created is enough to let us know we are not reading about our contemporaries, at least not as far as the literal setting is concerned.
Bradbury has an interesting way with words. His choice of vocabulary is not one any other writer would think of, and yet his choices become so vivid and lend so much atmosphere. He talks of the library being “bricked with books”, or of arcs of electricity as “electric blue eels.” He runs sentences together not out of ignorance for the rules of English, but because when those sentences are then read, the pulse and tempo of the character’s very thoughts are amplified. Many of the characters do not speak as real people would, but they speak as real people might think in tense, pressurized times of life. As with much of Bradbury, especially his short stories, the point is the beauty, flow, and atmosphere of the words, not their denotative functions.
Bradbury’s theme is an interesting one, exploring those things in life that cause us internal pain, whether sharp or dull. The device of an infernal carnival allows him to look at how man spends his days wishing, regretting, envying – and then looks at what might happen if those wishes could be answered, if regrets could somehow be corrected. Even if Mr. Dark did not exact a hideous fee for making young boys’ dreams come true, the natural consequences of craving an alternate reality would, in Bradbury’s reasoning, be enough to drive a person mad.
I’m not going to delve any deeper, because this is one of those books that is best when it is simply absorbed page by page. A review of it could never really do it justice, neither before nor after reading it. Let it suffice to say that I highly recommend it. At 215 pages, it is not a laborious trek through an epic adventure, but good for finishing over the course of a handful of bedtimes. And at night in bed is definitely the best time to read it and experience its chills.
Worth The Read?: Absolutely
Saturday, February 13, 2010
We're Gonna Need a Bigger Leash
Movie Review:
The Wolfman
R / 1 hr., 42 min. / 2010
The past two decades have seen Hollywood resuscitate Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Mummy, so, given how Hollywood’s sense of originality has been flailing in its final death throes for most of the past decade, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone latched on to The Wolfman.
When Ben Talbot dies a brutal death at the hands (or claws) of a vicious but unknown killer, his widow Gwen (Emily Blunt) writes to Ben’s estranged brother Lawrence (Benicio Del Toro), pleading for him to return to the Talbot family manor. The family patriarch Sir John (Anthony Hopkins) welcomes Lawrence as best a bereaved father can, and Lawrence pledges to delay his return to his adopted home of America until Ben’s death is solved.
Lawrence’s amateur investigation leads him to a gypsy camp outside the local village, where one fortune-telling gypsy (Geraldine Chaplin) may or may not know how Ben died. But before anyone can fully answer Lawrence’s questions, something begins attacking the gypsy camp. Seen only fleetingly as it races through shadows, the thing is obviously large, strong, and brutal. It doesn’t seem to be hungry so much as it just likes sinking large claws and teeth through any part of a gypsy or vigilante that might happen to make a nice, gooey, slurping sound for 21st-century audiences.
In the course of saving the life of a gypsy boy, Lawrence gets assaulted and bitten by the beast. This brings ominous words of woe from the gypsies, who for completely unknown reasons switch from English to their native tongue and back again in mid-conversation. The ominous words of woe suggest that Lawrence is now cursed, but in what way no one will say – in either language.
The curse, of course, is that he is now a werewolf, doomed to become a big hairy animal consumed with bloodlust whenever the moon is full. Lest you think I’m spoiling anything for the younger generation who did not see the original film and who have been so busy falling in love with sparkling vampires that the concept of werewolves just might be new to them, the film spoils itself in the opening shot. There really is no unfolding suspenseful mystery here, save our finding out who the werewolf is that bites Lawrence in the first place. And frankly, given Hollywood’s slavish adherence to the rules of screenplay writing, the average film-goer should be able to answer that mystery about twenty minutes into the film. Maybe thirty. And the scene in which this is “shockingly revealed” is yet another one of those moments where, because the plot would be too convoluted for Our Hero to figure it out in a two-hour movie, the guilty party simply spills his or her guts (no pun intended).
I guess I segued right from an unfinished plot summary into a critique of the script itself. No matter; the plot is straight from the cookie cutters in Hollywood’s pantry. There’s a man who becomes a monster, there’s a single woman who falls in love with the man, both are played by reasonably charismatic stars. So what part of this plot do you still need summarized? The only creativity that writers Andrew Kevin Walker and David Self add is to sling bloody body parts around and spill intestines on the ground. Even this is not new territory for Walker, who wrote half a dozen severed heads into his adaptation of Sleepy Hollow.
Their script is not only pure formula, it is also a bit murky regarding how you kill a werewolf. Anyone? Anyone? Silver bullets, right? Maybe. Someone in the first half hour muttered something about how werewolves can only be set free by true love; I forget the precise wording but Walt Disney would have liked the line. And based on events in this movie, I would say that if you find yourself facing a werewolf and you did not happen to bring your silver bullets along, it still might not be hopeless. Get creative – your intestines and other gooey, slurpy parts of your body will thank you.
In the midst of all this, there are a few positive surprises to be had. The first is that Joe Johnston, the All-American director of such All-American adventures as The Rocketeer and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, does have a decent handle on creating a moody, Gothic work of British horror. Working with production designer Rick Heinrichs and cinematographer Shelly Johnson, Johnston crafts a film with a quality look instead of settling for anything cheap. He gives the script a far better delivery than it deserves.
I was particularly captivated and impressed by a scene where Inspector Abberline (Hugo Weaving) chases the Wolfman through London. Johnston gives it a nice look, a nice pace, and does not overdo the action or the length of the chase. The scenes in the asylum torture chamber and lecture hall are also well told, with Antony Sher (Erik the Viking) as the head doctor keeping my attention throughout.
My only disagreement with Johnston’s artistic contribution is regarding his time-lapse technique. With a monster like a werewolf, the only truly interesting parts of the story, the parts horror fans paid to see, take place one night per month. To get us there, Johnston inserts shots of the moon whizzing through the sky, waxing and waning at record speed. Not only is the first use of this technique so sudden it is jarring, but he does it too often and it becomes an annoyance that pulls us out of the story instead of letting us be fully absorbed.
Another positive surprise is how well Benicio Del Toro (Traffic) fits his role. My experience with Del Toro films is limited, but before the film began I was wondering what nut thought putting him in this film was a good idea. Whoever it was, they were right. Maybe not the world’s most brilliant casting decision, but Del Toro pulls off an American accent and an appropriate look for the film respectably well.
Anthony Hopkins (Red Dragon) basically sleepwalks through his role. I don’t mean it’s a bad performance; I just mean how hard can it be for Hopkins to play an English country gentleman? The voice, the face, and the bearing are something he has on a daily basis. Just add dialogue. Emily Blunt (The Young Victoria) and Hugo Weaving (The Matrix) round out the main roles, with Weaving looking particularly convincing as an English investigator. Not everyone looks good in period costumes; Weaving does. Blunt doesn’t seem to add anything any other attractive young actress could not have added – but then neither does the script ask much of her.
This is not really the kind of film that catches my interest before its arrival. Had it not been for one name in the credits I would not have spent the time or money to watch it. But I went because Danny Elfman wrote the music. On that point I was satisfied if not impressed. Elfman’s score sounds very reminiscent of the tragic and romantic music in older Hollywood films; it is more of a traditional, classic tone and less of either his signature or experimental styles. As such, it does its job for the film, but it doesn’t have me frantically adding the soundtrack to my wish list for next Christmas.
Well, so there you have it. The script alone deserves a failing grade, but I’ll give points to Johnston, whose storytelling skills and visual style did keep me interested throughout. It’s a one-timer for anyone into monsters and classic horror stories. And twenty years from now some executive producer will latch on to the idea again, and the cycle will continue – kind of like the predictable way there’s the same old full moon every month.
My Score: 6
The Wolfman
R / 1 hr., 42 min. / 2010
The past two decades have seen Hollywood resuscitate Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Mummy, so, given how Hollywood’s sense of originality has been flailing in its final death throes for most of the past decade, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone latched on to The Wolfman.
When Ben Talbot dies a brutal death at the hands (or claws) of a vicious but unknown killer, his widow Gwen (Emily Blunt) writes to Ben’s estranged brother Lawrence (Benicio Del Toro), pleading for him to return to the Talbot family manor. The family patriarch Sir John (Anthony Hopkins) welcomes Lawrence as best a bereaved father can, and Lawrence pledges to delay his return to his adopted home of America until Ben’s death is solved.
Lawrence’s amateur investigation leads him to a gypsy camp outside the local village, where one fortune-telling gypsy (Geraldine Chaplin) may or may not know how Ben died. But before anyone can fully answer Lawrence’s questions, something begins attacking the gypsy camp. Seen only fleetingly as it races through shadows, the thing is obviously large, strong, and brutal. It doesn’t seem to be hungry so much as it just likes sinking large claws and teeth through any part of a gypsy or vigilante that might happen to make a nice, gooey, slurping sound for 21st-century audiences.
In the course of saving the life of a gypsy boy, Lawrence gets assaulted and bitten by the beast. This brings ominous words of woe from the gypsies, who for completely unknown reasons switch from English to their native tongue and back again in mid-conversation. The ominous words of woe suggest that Lawrence is now cursed, but in what way no one will say – in either language.
The curse, of course, is that he is now a werewolf, doomed to become a big hairy animal consumed with bloodlust whenever the moon is full. Lest you think I’m spoiling anything for the younger generation who did not see the original film and who have been so busy falling in love with sparkling vampires that the concept of werewolves just might be new to them, the film spoils itself in the opening shot. There really is no unfolding suspenseful mystery here, save our finding out who the werewolf is that bites Lawrence in the first place. And frankly, given Hollywood’s slavish adherence to the rules of screenplay writing, the average film-goer should be able to answer that mystery about twenty minutes into the film. Maybe thirty. And the scene in which this is “shockingly revealed” is yet another one of those moments where, because the plot would be too convoluted for Our Hero to figure it out in a two-hour movie, the guilty party simply spills his or her guts (no pun intended).
I guess I segued right from an unfinished plot summary into a critique of the script itself. No matter; the plot is straight from the cookie cutters in Hollywood’s pantry. There’s a man who becomes a monster, there’s a single woman who falls in love with the man, both are played by reasonably charismatic stars. So what part of this plot do you still need summarized? The only creativity that writers Andrew Kevin Walker and David Self add is to sling bloody body parts around and spill intestines on the ground. Even this is not new territory for Walker, who wrote half a dozen severed heads into his adaptation of Sleepy Hollow.
Their script is not only pure formula, it is also a bit murky regarding how you kill a werewolf. Anyone? Anyone? Silver bullets, right? Maybe. Someone in the first half hour muttered something about how werewolves can only be set free by true love; I forget the precise wording but Walt Disney would have liked the line. And based on events in this movie, I would say that if you find yourself facing a werewolf and you did not happen to bring your silver bullets along, it still might not be hopeless. Get creative – your intestines and other gooey, slurpy parts of your body will thank you.
In the midst of all this, there are a few positive surprises to be had. The first is that Joe Johnston, the All-American director of such All-American adventures as The Rocketeer and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, does have a decent handle on creating a moody, Gothic work of British horror. Working with production designer Rick Heinrichs and cinematographer Shelly Johnson, Johnston crafts a film with a quality look instead of settling for anything cheap. He gives the script a far better delivery than it deserves.
I was particularly captivated and impressed by a scene where Inspector Abberline (Hugo Weaving) chases the Wolfman through London. Johnston gives it a nice look, a nice pace, and does not overdo the action or the length of the chase. The scenes in the asylum torture chamber and lecture hall are also well told, with Antony Sher (Erik the Viking) as the head doctor keeping my attention throughout.
My only disagreement with Johnston’s artistic contribution is regarding his time-lapse technique. With a monster like a werewolf, the only truly interesting parts of the story, the parts horror fans paid to see, take place one night per month. To get us there, Johnston inserts shots of the moon whizzing through the sky, waxing and waning at record speed. Not only is the first use of this technique so sudden it is jarring, but he does it too often and it becomes an annoyance that pulls us out of the story instead of letting us be fully absorbed.
Another positive surprise is how well Benicio Del Toro (Traffic) fits his role. My experience with Del Toro films is limited, but before the film began I was wondering what nut thought putting him in this film was a good idea. Whoever it was, they were right. Maybe not the world’s most brilliant casting decision, but Del Toro pulls off an American accent and an appropriate look for the film respectably well.
Anthony Hopkins (Red Dragon) basically sleepwalks through his role. I don’t mean it’s a bad performance; I just mean how hard can it be for Hopkins to play an English country gentleman? The voice, the face, and the bearing are something he has on a daily basis. Just add dialogue. Emily Blunt (The Young Victoria) and Hugo Weaving (The Matrix) round out the main roles, with Weaving looking particularly convincing as an English investigator. Not everyone looks good in period costumes; Weaving does. Blunt doesn’t seem to add anything any other attractive young actress could not have added – but then neither does the script ask much of her.
This is not really the kind of film that catches my interest before its arrival. Had it not been for one name in the credits I would not have spent the time or money to watch it. But I went because Danny Elfman wrote the music. On that point I was satisfied if not impressed. Elfman’s score sounds very reminiscent of the tragic and romantic music in older Hollywood films; it is more of a traditional, classic tone and less of either his signature or experimental styles. As such, it does its job for the film, but it doesn’t have me frantically adding the soundtrack to my wish list for next Christmas.
Well, so there you have it. The script alone deserves a failing grade, but I’ll give points to Johnston, whose storytelling skills and visual style did keep me interested throughout. It’s a one-timer for anyone into monsters and classic horror stories. And twenty years from now some executive producer will latch on to the idea again, and the cycle will continue – kind of like the predictable way there’s the same old full moon every month.
My Score: 6
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Elwood's Bad Dream
Movie Review:
Donnie Darko
R / 1 hr., 54 min. / 2001
Donnie Darko is one of those movies that is fascinating to watch until about the last ten minutes. Then it becomes incomprehensible. In this, it is not unlike Mulholland Dr., which I rented on the same weekend to kill some time while my wife was recovering from the medical procedures used to deliver our first child. Although Donnie Darko was much more coherent than Mulholland Dr., overall I think I wasted my weekend. I would venture to say my wife had more fun sitting in her hospital bed for hours staring at our boy asleep in her arms.
Donnie (Jake Gyllenhaal) appears to be a normal teenager attending some kind of prep or parochial school. He has a respectable home, with reasonable parents (Holmes Osborne and Mary McDonnell), even if he doesn’t always get along with his sister (Maggie Gyllenhaal, Jake’s real sister).
But something is clearly wrong with Donnie. He is morose, withdrawn. And he has recurring visions of a grotesque grey figure named Frank that visits him at night and gives him instructions for committing random acts of violence. Who or what Frank is is uncertain, but “he” wears a rabbit costume that is – well, to say it is merely unsettling is like saying Satan is merely bad. It is a rabbit to be found only in nightmares – sort of a deranged Harvey.
Donnie owes it to Frank to follow his violent instructions since Frank saves his life early in the film by telling him to leave his house. Shortly after Donnie steps off his property, an airplane engine crashes through the Darko house roof straight through Donnie’s bedroom – which leads to Frank’s other talent: Foretelling the future. He has predicted the end of the world on the day before Halloween, and all of the violent assignments Frank gives to Donnie are part of – well, I’m not quite sure; either Donnie is helping bring Frank’s dire prediction to a successful fulfillment, or helping Frank stave off the world’s undesirable doom. I was a little foggy on that point.
Donnie is in a fog as well, apparently. He spends a great deal of time in the movie looking into the concept of time travel, for reasons I appear to have missed. Perhaps he wants to know how Frank knows so much. Donnie even experiences limited prophetic abilities himself, able to foresee a few seconds into the future. How this is portrayed is interesting and a bit unsettling in its visuals.
Despite a certain sense of meandering that I was afraid would sabotage my interest, things do seem to head somewhere. Donnie learns about the hypothesis of time travel through wormholes (a word so popular in science fiction these days that I wish Stephen Hawking had never coined it), and discovers that the crazy old lady on the mountain road is the one who wrote the book on the subject. Frank himself, or at least his name, begins turning up in unlikely places, causing Donnie to be on edge constantly. And all of Donnie’s assignments from Frank result, strangely, in good being accomplished, despite the fact that Donnie may be committing flagrant crimes.
But then, we are never really sure that Donnie is actually committing the crimes. Is he dreaming? Is Frank simply telling him that someone is doing these things as a way of proving his prophetic abilities? It’s creatively vague, and I’m not going to tell.
Then there is a sudden tragedy that I cannot reveal, but which seems to have been caused by Frank himself. And it is at this point, the last ten minutes of the film, that the plot swerves into the realm of the unexplainable. It’s not that Donnie Darko is a bad movie; it’s just that the ending renders everything we’ve seen befuddling.
What happens works within the rules the film’s unity has set up, but it fails to explain everything that has gone before and, more frustratingly, it does not explain why any of it happened. Frank has been guiding Donnie – but to what conclusion? What would have happened if Frank had not given Donnie these assignments? Or if Donnie had refused to go along? I can deal with the inconsistencies and impossibilities of time travel theory as long as they are presented in an engaging way (and the film succeeds here), but I have a hard time with a film that fails to answer its own “So What?” If I do not understand or care about the main character’s final fate or condition, or do not at least learn something from what he’s gone through, why did I watch?
Amazingly, the director’s own commentary on the DVD does not help answer the question. Richard Kelly explains the whole movie, and at the same time fails to actually explain it. Though I have not seen the later Director’s Cut, Roger Ebert testifies that it is largely as bewildering as the original.
This problem of resolution should never happen, even in the worst movies; but it is particularly painful here, where the movie is successfully absorbing. This is Richard Kelly’s third writing and directing endeavor, and he does a good job, especially considering he’s a year younger than me and is doing the very thing I want to do: Directing films. Kelly knows what he’s doing as a director, but this script reveals he needs to step outside for a minute and try to read it as an unsuspecting audience member.
Jake Gyllenhaal (October Sky) is an excellent choice as Donnie. He looks and behaves like he is either constantly on drugs, or just really depressed by the inanities of the world, both of which are true for Donnie. And when Frank puts him up to his assignments, Gyllenhaal has a wonderful sardonic smile that suggests mischievous machinations. Gyllenhaal’s ability to be an Every-Teen makes it clear why Sam Raimi was considering him to replace an injured Toby Maguire in the Spider-Man franchise.
The supporting cast fill out their undemanding roles well. Most notable is Patrick Swayze (Dirty Dancing) as a disgustingly glossy self-esteem guru whose curriculum for health classes boils all of life’s decisions down to “Love or Fear.” Donnie correctly challenges him on this during an open-mic seminar; and although one cannot root completely for Donnie’s life attitudes, here was a moment I was on his side. Swayze’s excellent portrayal has so much sugar on it that diabetics will be rushing for their medication.
For fun, keep an eye out for scattered cameos from both seasoned performers like Katharine Ross (The Stepford Wives) and Drew Barrymore (Ever After), and actors like Seth Rogen (Knocked Up) whose career had yet to begin at the time.
Ultimately, everyone involved does his job well. The film is competently constructed, ably performed, and intriguingly presented. It tells its story well, and will no doubt commend Kelly to producers in the future. So it really is a shame that we end up with no clue why we sat and watched it.
My Score: 7
Donnie Darko
R / 1 hr., 54 min. / 2001
Donnie Darko is one of those movies that is fascinating to watch until about the last ten minutes. Then it becomes incomprehensible. In this, it is not unlike Mulholland Dr., which I rented on the same weekend to kill some time while my wife was recovering from the medical procedures used to deliver our first child. Although Donnie Darko was much more coherent than Mulholland Dr., overall I think I wasted my weekend. I would venture to say my wife had more fun sitting in her hospital bed for hours staring at our boy asleep in her arms.
Donnie (Jake Gyllenhaal) appears to be a normal teenager attending some kind of prep or parochial school. He has a respectable home, with reasonable parents (Holmes Osborne and Mary McDonnell), even if he doesn’t always get along with his sister (Maggie Gyllenhaal, Jake’s real sister).
But something is clearly wrong with Donnie. He is morose, withdrawn. And he has recurring visions of a grotesque grey figure named Frank that visits him at night and gives him instructions for committing random acts of violence. Who or what Frank is is uncertain, but “he” wears a rabbit costume that is – well, to say it is merely unsettling is like saying Satan is merely bad. It is a rabbit to be found only in nightmares – sort of a deranged Harvey.
Donnie owes it to Frank to follow his violent instructions since Frank saves his life early in the film by telling him to leave his house. Shortly after Donnie steps off his property, an airplane engine crashes through the Darko house roof straight through Donnie’s bedroom – which leads to Frank’s other talent: Foretelling the future. He has predicted the end of the world on the day before Halloween, and all of the violent assignments Frank gives to Donnie are part of – well, I’m not quite sure; either Donnie is helping bring Frank’s dire prediction to a successful fulfillment, or helping Frank stave off the world’s undesirable doom. I was a little foggy on that point.
Donnie is in a fog as well, apparently. He spends a great deal of time in the movie looking into the concept of time travel, for reasons I appear to have missed. Perhaps he wants to know how Frank knows so much. Donnie even experiences limited prophetic abilities himself, able to foresee a few seconds into the future. How this is portrayed is interesting and a bit unsettling in its visuals.
Despite a certain sense of meandering that I was afraid would sabotage my interest, things do seem to head somewhere. Donnie learns about the hypothesis of time travel through wormholes (a word so popular in science fiction these days that I wish Stephen Hawking had never coined it), and discovers that the crazy old lady on the mountain road is the one who wrote the book on the subject. Frank himself, or at least his name, begins turning up in unlikely places, causing Donnie to be on edge constantly. And all of Donnie’s assignments from Frank result, strangely, in good being accomplished, despite the fact that Donnie may be committing flagrant crimes.
But then, we are never really sure that Donnie is actually committing the crimes. Is he dreaming? Is Frank simply telling him that someone is doing these things as a way of proving his prophetic abilities? It’s creatively vague, and I’m not going to tell.
Then there is a sudden tragedy that I cannot reveal, but which seems to have been caused by Frank himself. And it is at this point, the last ten minutes of the film, that the plot swerves into the realm of the unexplainable. It’s not that Donnie Darko is a bad movie; it’s just that the ending renders everything we’ve seen befuddling.
What happens works within the rules the film’s unity has set up, but it fails to explain everything that has gone before and, more frustratingly, it does not explain why any of it happened. Frank has been guiding Donnie – but to what conclusion? What would have happened if Frank had not given Donnie these assignments? Or if Donnie had refused to go along? I can deal with the inconsistencies and impossibilities of time travel theory as long as they are presented in an engaging way (and the film succeeds here), but I have a hard time with a film that fails to answer its own “So What?” If I do not understand or care about the main character’s final fate or condition, or do not at least learn something from what he’s gone through, why did I watch?
Amazingly, the director’s own commentary on the DVD does not help answer the question. Richard Kelly explains the whole movie, and at the same time fails to actually explain it. Though I have not seen the later Director’s Cut, Roger Ebert testifies that it is largely as bewildering as the original.
This problem of resolution should never happen, even in the worst movies; but it is particularly painful here, where the movie is successfully absorbing. This is Richard Kelly’s third writing and directing endeavor, and he does a good job, especially considering he’s a year younger than me and is doing the very thing I want to do: Directing films. Kelly knows what he’s doing as a director, but this script reveals he needs to step outside for a minute and try to read it as an unsuspecting audience member.
Jake Gyllenhaal (October Sky) is an excellent choice as Donnie. He looks and behaves like he is either constantly on drugs, or just really depressed by the inanities of the world, both of which are true for Donnie. And when Frank puts him up to his assignments, Gyllenhaal has a wonderful sardonic smile that suggests mischievous machinations. Gyllenhaal’s ability to be an Every-Teen makes it clear why Sam Raimi was considering him to replace an injured Toby Maguire in the Spider-Man franchise.
The supporting cast fill out their undemanding roles well. Most notable is Patrick Swayze (Dirty Dancing) as a disgustingly glossy self-esteem guru whose curriculum for health classes boils all of life’s decisions down to “Love or Fear.” Donnie correctly challenges him on this during an open-mic seminar; and although one cannot root completely for Donnie’s life attitudes, here was a moment I was on his side. Swayze’s excellent portrayal has so much sugar on it that diabetics will be rushing for their medication.
For fun, keep an eye out for scattered cameos from both seasoned performers like Katharine Ross (The Stepford Wives) and Drew Barrymore (Ever After), and actors like Seth Rogen (Knocked Up) whose career had yet to begin at the time.
Ultimately, everyone involved does his job well. The film is competently constructed, ably performed, and intriguingly presented. It tells its story well, and will no doubt commend Kelly to producers in the future. So it really is a shame that we end up with no clue why we sat and watched it.
My Score: 7
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