10 Reasons the Watchmen Movie Will Suck

Sorry for the melo­dra­matic title, but be hon­est, would you have clicked through to this arti­cle had I used a more mea­sured head­line like “10 Well-Reasoned Argu­ments to be Mildly Appre­hen­sive the Watch­men Movie May Not Meet Expectations”?

Con­sider your­self a true admirer of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbon’s graphic novel Watch­men (1986)? Read on for 10 rea­sons to be very, very afraid. Please note that I haven’t yet seen the movie, and the below rant is all com­ing from the per­spec­tive of some­one that cares about the book. Also be fore­warned that I can’t be both­ered to avoid spoilers.

1. The project has been cursed for years.

Numer­ous direc­tors have come before Zack Sny­der, and all have tried and failed. The rogues’ gallery includes no less than Terry Gilliam, Dar­ren Aronof­sky, and Paul Green­grass, and those are just the ones we know about. It’s too soon in Snyder’s career to issue a ver­dict on him, but it’s fair to say that these three direc­tors are all a fair sight more sea­soned and acclaimed than he. It’s likely that all three (not to men­tion their pro­duc­ers and screen­writ­ers) gave up on Watch­men for very good rea­sons. Gilliam, in par­tic­u­lar, famously had the good sense to agree with Moore that his book may actu­ally be truly unfilmable. And all this is not even to men­tion Warner Bros.’ dra­matic feud with 20th Cen­tury Fox over the rights to the project itself, even­tu­ally end­ing in Jan­u­ary 2009 with the two rivals begrudg­ingly agree­ing to share the prof­its (while not men­tion­ing that, I also won’t men­tion its fruit­less fling with Para­mount). Read on for still more ani­mos­ity and bad blood swirling about the long-gestating project…

Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach in the movie WatchmenHave no fear! Right-wing, sex­u­ally dam­aged, socio­pathic nutjob Rorschach is on the case

2. It doesn’t have Alan Moore’s blessings.

Worse, it doesn’t have his apa­thy either. Moore didn’t seem too per­turbed by the From Hell (The Holmes Broth­ers, 2001) and League of Extra­or­di­nary Gen­tle­men (Stephen Nor­ring­ton, 2003) movies. He didn’t col­lab­o­rate on them, nor did he care to even see them. Basi­cally, he shrugged, and trusted his books would live on in their own rights. But the results in every case so far have been dis­as­trous: ter­ri­ble films that retained lit­tle of what made the books mat­ter. In ret­ro­spect, it seems Moore showed extra­or­di­nary patience with the first two films that man­gled his books, and that he now have no mercy for those mess­ing with V for Vendetta and Watch­men makes per­fect sense. Addi­tional legal and eth­i­cal skir­mishes with DC Comics and Warner Bros. over The Wachowski Broth­ers’ and James McTeigue’s V for Vendetta (2006) led to Moore tak­ing his name off any comics work to which he does not con­trol the copy­right (essen­tially every­thing he did for DC). In the cases of the V for Ven­datta and Watch­men films, he has put his money where his mouth is and offi­cially deferred all of his roy­al­ties to his col­lab­o­ra­tors David Lloyd and Dave Gib­bons. You have to admire the integrity of any­one will­ing to leave that much money on the table. One ray of hope for those that appre­ci­ate the book, how­ever, is that Gib­bons has been actively col­lab­o­rat­ing on the Watch­men pro­duc­tion. Hope­fully his con­tri­bu­tions have helped to keep the film­mak­ers on target.

3. At least one char­ac­ter has been hor­ren­dously miscast.

One of the curses of hav­ing read a book enough times to inter­nal­ize every detail is to also have very clear men­tal images of the char­ac­ters. The Watch­men pro­duc­ers were prob­a­bly right to avoid cast­ing any espe­cially well-known faces. Based on what I’ve seen so far, sev­eral of their choices do feel right to me, espe­cially Patrick Wil­son as Daniel Dreiberg (Nite Owl) Jackie Earle Haley as Wal­ter Kovacs (Rorschach), and Matt Frewer as Moloch. The 30-year-old Malin Aker­man is cer­tainly a very attrac­tive sight onscreen, but her char­ac­ter Lau­rie Jus­peczyk (Silk Spec­tre) is sup­posed to be almost 40 in the novel’s present. I’m giv­ing her the ben­e­fit of the doubt for now, but the real prob­lem is Matthew Goode as Adrian Veidt (Ozy­man­dias). Goode is, sim­ply, totally wrong. Veidt should be ridicu­lously hand­some, like George Clooney, but utterly dis­pas­sion­ate and ice-cold, like Keanu Reeves. He should radi­ate intel­li­gence and self-confidence, like Kevin Spacey, and be incred­i­bly fit, like Michael Phelps. But Goode here seems shrimpy, ugly, and weaselly. His mush­mouth dia­logue in pro­mo­tional clips has him affect­ing some kind of botched accent or speech defect. If I were the Watch­men cast­ing agent, I’d Aaron Eckhart’s agent a call.

This scene between Lau­rie and her mom Sally Jupiter (Carla Gug­ino), the orig­i­nal Silk Spec­tre, drops a big hint as to how to mea­sure Laurie’s age (spoiler alert!):

A scene between Veidt and Dan, dur­ing which Goode’s per­for­mance stuns me in its total, absolute wrong­ness for the character:

4. Sny­der has report­edly tarted up the action.

Early reports are that Sny­der has amped up the sex, vio­lence, and action. Read­ers of the book will recall that Silk Spec­tre and Nite Owl come out of retire­ment by effect­ing an aer­ial res­cue from a burn­ing ten­e­ment build­ing. As io9.com rightly notes, Snyder’s ver­sion of the scene sets entirely the wrong tone. The book shows Dan and Lau­rie as old pros that can basi­cally sleep­walk through such a mis­sion, and yet the movie has them out­run­ning fire­balls in slow motion (Snyder’s direc­toral call­ing card). Other early reports are that a rape scene, already hor­rific and shock­ing in the book, has actu­ally been made more tit­il­lat­ing and explicit for the film. Jef­frey Dean Mor­gan (The Come­dian) told MTV News that the scene is “really vio­lent” and the movie is “rated ‘R’ for a reason.”

Thrill as Silk Spec­tre and Nite Owl escape slow-motion fireballs:

5. Snyder’s adap­ta­tion may be too worshipful.

In DeZ Vylenz’ doc­u­men­tary The Mind­scape of Alan Moore, Moore notes the super­fi­cial resem­blance between comics and movie sto­ry­boards. He believes that an under­stand­ing of the mechan­ics of cin­ema can inform comics writ­ing (and vice versa), but if comics writ­ers wor­ship movies too much, their comics will be reduced to “movies that don’t move.” It also works the other way: Sny­der has already proven his skill to lit­er­ally recre­ate comics pan­els into cin­ema with his lurid adap­ta­tion of Frank Miller’s bonkers graphic novel 300 in 2007. Worse, Warner Bros. has pro­duced an atro­cious “motion comics” ver­sion of the orig­i­nal Watch­men graphic novel (avail­able now on iTunes and soon on DVD), com­prised of motion-graphics ani­mated ver­sions of Dave Gib­bons’ art­work, read aloud by a sin­gle voice actor. As Scott McCloud spent an entire book demon­strat­ing (Under­stand­ing Comics, 1993), the way that comics “work” is much more than that: the inter­play of sequen­tial images and (option­ally) words. If Snyder’s movie is sim­i­lar to 300 or the Watch­men Motion Comics, then it might as well just be called Watch­men for Illit­er­ates. We don’t need a mov­ing, talk­ing ver­sion of the book; we can always read the book.

BoingBoing’s Xeni Jardin inter­views Sny­der and spe­cial effects cre­ator John Des Jardins about their efforts to make an exact­ingly faith­ful adap­ta­tion of the source material:

6. Para­dox­i­cally to the above point, the changes that Sny­der does make may be the wrong ones.

Any­one who’s so much as flipped through the book will real­ize that its com­plex­ity is irre­ducible. I per­son­ally can’t imag­ine what must be sac­ri­ficed to squeeze the essen­tial nar­ra­tive down to a 2 1/2 hour movie, so thank­fully Enter­tain­ment Weekly has com­piled this list. Sny­der has recently admit­ted to cut­ting what I feel to be one of the most heart­break­ing and sem­i­nal sequences in the entire story: the sense­less mur­der of Hol­lis Mason (the Golden Age Nite Owl). Sny­der also hints he has changed the book’s cat­a­clysmic cli­max. I don’t mind los­ing the spe­cific details if screen­writ­ers David Hayter and Alex Tse have devised some­thing suit­able to replace it.

7. One word: “Watchmen”

Sev­eral trail­ers and TV spots released to date include both Rorschach and The Come­dian speak­ing the word “Watch­men.” To any­one that’s read the book, this is an egre­gious sin (almost as bad as say­ing “The Watch­men”). As such, the trail­ers make it seem as if “Watch­men” is the name of some kind of super­group like the Fan­tas­tic Four or The X-Men. True, in the book’s back­story, there was a group of heroes called The Min­ute­men in the 1940s (Moore’s equiv­a­lent to comic’s so-called Golden Age). A sec­ond gen­er­a­tion of heroes gather in the 1970s (includ­ing many of the main char­ac­ters of the book) to dis­cuss forg­ing a new group called The Crime­busters, but they imme­di­ately break up. At no point in the book is the word “Watch­men” ever spo­ken, by any­one. Its only appear­ance in the book is the occa­sional graf­fiti “Who Watches the Watch­men?” in the back­ground of some New York City street scenes. Accord­ing to the all-knowing Wikipedia, the Latin phrase “Quis cus­todiet ipsos cus­todes?” comes from the Roman poet Juve­nal, asked by Plato in the socratic dia­log Repub­lic (380BC-ish). In the con­text of Watch­men, the mean­ing is obvi­ous: the pub­lic is ask­ing of their self-appointed pro­tec­tors, who’s pro­tect­ing us from you? But who’s pro­tect­ing movie­go­ers from film­mak­ers that are dumb­ing down this story?

Here’s a TV spot with both Rorschach and The Come­dian speak­ing the word “Watchmen”:

Here’s the full scene dur­ing which the Come­dian seems to refer to the 1970s group as “Watchmen”:

8. These char­ac­ters are def­i­nitely not “cool.”

Nearly every char­ac­ter in the book is psy­cho­log­i­cally scarred, some deeply so (with the pos­si­ble excep­tion of Hol­lis Mason — the orig­i­nal Nite Owl — who comes across as the only one who turned to vig­i­lanteism out of a gen­uine need to help peo­ple). Rorschach is a right-wing sociopath (Watch­men hav­ing been writ­ten in the mid 1980s, think of a cos­tumed Bernard Getz or Charles Bron­son). The Come­dian is a fas­cist and a rapist. Ozy­man­dias is an ego­ma­niac of the most dan­ger­ous sort (think George W. Bush, except infi­nitely worse). Dr. Man­hat­tan is not even human, and unlike the some­what anal­o­gous Super­man, is devoid of emo­tion, empa­thy, or com­pas­sion. New York City was recently host to a Comic-Con con­ven­tion at which more than a few bor­der­line psy­chos left the sanc­tity of their moth­ers’ base­ments to walk around the city dressed up as the sex­u­ally dam­aged, vio­lent nutjob Rorschach. The imagery and clips released from the movie so far only seem to rein­force the per­cep­tion of these char­ac­ters as cool and badass.

9. The mer­chan­dise makes me cringe.

What creep would buy and dis­play a stat­uette of the rapist and fas­cist The Come­dian? Or if you want to rob a bank, you could do worse than don a Rorschach ski mask, about which io9.com has already remarked. Only an Ozy­man­dias action fig­ure [http://www.dccomics.com/dcdirect/?dcd=10047] makes sense in an ironic kind of way, for the char­ac­ter heav­ily mar­keted his super­hero per­sona for per­sonal profit. As for why these tie-in items make me feel queasy, please refer to No. 8 above.

Adrian Veidt Ozymandias action figure from the movie WatchmenOne of the most ironic aspects of the whole Watch­men movie hoopla is now that you can actu­ally own a real Ozy­man­dias action figure

10. And finally, Hol­ly­wood is tak­ing away one of the last remain­ing comic book masterworks.

Warner Bros. Pic­ture Group pres­i­dent Jeff Robi­nov pro­claimed to Enter­tain­ment Weekly his loy­alty to the source mate­r­ial: “The movie is impact­ful, tough, and true to the book that we all loved, and I’m very proud of it.” I’ll try to set aside my imme­di­ate gag reflex at the use of “impact” as an adjec­tive, and hope that he’s right. Hol­ly­wood has already bru­tal­ized Moore’s From Hell, V for Vendetta, and League of Extra­or­di­nary Gen­tle­men. The books were read by rel­a­tively small num­ber of peo­ple, but the movies were seen by mil­lions who who may never even know the source mate­r­ial exists, let alone read it. Watch­men, like all of Moore’s comics work, was cre­ated for comics. None of the pre­vi­ous adap­ta­tions of his work have sur­vived the adap­ta­tion process, and were mis­in­ter­preted and puréed into milquetoast.

Final Thoughts

Moore and Gibbon’s Watch­men is per­haps the sem­i­nal graphic novel to date. I’m not the first to say it, but Watch­men is the Cit­i­zen Kane of comic books. It’s a tow­er­ing, com­plex, and multi-faceted mas­ter­piece. It has the kind of scope, ambi­tion, and nar­ra­tive exper­i­men­ta­tion that makes it one of the few graphic nov­els that deserves to be called a novel. Time Mag­a­zine rec­og­nized as much by nam­ing it one of its All-Time 100 Nov­els in 2005. Just as it’s incon­ceiv­able that Cit­i­zen Kane be adapted into another medium (the­ater? poetry? inter­pre­tive dance? or for that mat­ter, comics?), so too do I shud­der to imag­ine Watch­men trans­lated into any other form. My biggest fear is that mil­lions of movie­go­ers will expe­ri­ence Watch­men in this incar­na­tion as a big-budget escapist spec­ta­cle, and never be aware of its spe­cial source material.

Most of Moore’s graphic nov­els are exactly that: nov­els. Watch­men, V for Vendetta, Lost Girls, and From Hell are all finite and self-contained. There are no sequels, pre­quels, or spin­offs. Watch­men is being heav­ily mar­keted as another in a long line of super­hero movies, fol­low­ing the mas­sive suc­cess of Iron Man, Bat­man (read The Dork Report review of The Dark Knight), and Spider-Man fran­chises. All of these are open-ended, ongo­ing episodic series that have lasted for decades. How many movie­go­ers will not under­stand that Watch­men is based on an actual novel? Will they antic­i­pate a sequel? Let’s pray that Warner Bros. isn’t plot­ting one, lest Moore really lose his temper.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan as The Comedian in the movie WatchmenThe Come­dian is no Cap­tain America

Only Art Spiegelman’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Maus is more well-regarded, if per­haps less widely read. Watch­men too might have earned such top-shelf gar­lands had it not been set firmly within the his­tor­i­cally juve­nile genre that utterly dom­i­nates West­ern comics to this day: men and women that dress up in tights and fight crime. Super­heroes. They’re for kids, right?

To any­one famil­iar with Moore’s oeu­vre, it’s clear he does gen­uinely love super­heroes despite his repeated attempts to rip them apart. With Watch­men and the even more piti­less Mir­a­cle­man (now trag­i­cally out of print, maybe for­ever), Moore tried to inject a degree of psy­cho­log­i­cal and polit­i­cal real­ism into comics. But gen­er­ally speak­ing, audi­ences (and pub­lish­ers) mostly latched onto the super­fi­cial ele­ments of vio­lence and sex, ush­er­ing in a few decades of super­hero comics that were grim and gritty but lacked depth and imag­i­na­tion. As the comics chased the aging gen­er­a­tion that grew up read­ing Watch­men and its prog­eny, it left kids behind. In 1999, Moore did try to atone for his inad­ver­tent rev­o­lu­tion with a line of comics that attempted to re-inject whimsy, clever sto­ry­telling, and inno­cence back into comics (espe­cially in the Tom Strong and Tomor­row Sto­ries series). But even so, today most acclaimed comics lie out­side the super­hero genre, includ­ing Neil Gaiman’s The Sand­man (fan­tasy, mostly) and Brian K. Vaughn’s Y: The Last Man (sci­ence fic­tion, mostly).

Jeffrey Dean Morgan as The Comedian in the movie WatchmenThe Come­dian is dead. Ground floor com­ing up. The jokes just keep coming.

Watch­men is one of my favorite books, and I’ve prob­a­bly read it at least 10 times over the years. So obvi­ously, my love for it feeds into my appre­hen­sion that it may be mis­han­dled. But there have been other much-loved books that I haven’t been espe­cially wor­ried about. Stu­art Gordon’s film based on William Wharton’s novel A Mid­night Clear is an excel­lent (and rare) exam­ple of an exceed­ingly faith­ful adap­ta­tion that works. Also, as much as I loved Cor­mac McCarthy’s novel The Road, I’m quite look­ing for­ward to direc­tor John Hillcoat’s film, as opposed to dread­ing how he might screw it up. Although it should be noted Hill­coat has the excel­lent The Propo­si­tion (2005) on his résumé to com­mend him, while Sny­der only has Dawn of the Dead and 300.

Some prose works have arguably been improved as movies, or at least trans­lated into great works in their own rights. To name a few exam­ples mostly in Watchmen’s arena of science-fiction: Alfonso Cuarón’s Chil­dren of Men (read The Dork Report review) is more grip­ping and vis­ceral than P.D. James’ novel. Rid­ley Scott’s Blade Run­ner is some­thing else entirely than Philip K. Dick’s novella Do Androids Dream of Elec­tric Sheep. And at the risk of incur­ring the wrath of sword-and-sorcery geeks every­where, I’m pre­pared to argue that Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings films improve enor­mously upon J.R.R. Tolkien’s insuf­fer­ably tedious books. Oh yeah, I said it. Bring it on.

So why am I so appre­hen­sive about Watch­men in par­tic­u­lar? Because it has been his­tor­i­cally mis­un­der­stood and mis­in­ter­preted for 20 years and I see no sign that Sny­der is see­ing any deeper than its sur­face. If Moore’s Watch­men tried but failed to per­ma­nently revi­tal­ize the super­hero genre by lay­ing bare its inter­nal luna­cies, what is Snyder’s movie try­ing to accom­plish, and will it too fail?


Offi­cial movie site: watchmenmovie.warnerbros.com

Must read: Why I will not be see­ing Watch­men by Kevin Church

Must read: Spoiler Alert: WATCHMEN is Fuck­ing Awe­some by über-geek (that’s a com­pli­ment) Wil Wheaton

Must read: What Hap­pens if Watch­men Flops? by Graeme McMillan


Buy any of these fine prod­ucts from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report:

 

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle Part 5: Diary of the Dead

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle

Wel­come to The George A. Romero Zom­bie Cycle Film Fes­ti­val. Join The Dork Report in revis­it­ing all five canon­i­cal episodes in the orig­i­nal epic zom­bie saga:

Diary of the Dead movie poster

 

This is not an opin­ion you’re likely to find any­where else on the inter­net, but we here at The Dork Report are pre­pared to argue that Diary of the Dead is the best of the entire George A. Romero zom­bie cycle so far. It sports the best spe­cial effects, is the least repet­i­tive or trigger-happy, and is a wel­come return to the focused social satire of the first (Night) and sec­ond (Dawn) installments.

Curi­ously, Diary of the Dead is the first to break the con­ti­nu­ity of Romero’s ongo­ing story of soci­ety in zom­bie melt­down. The first four films fol­low a rough chronol­ogy: Night of the Liv­ing Dead depicts the ini­tial wave as seen by a small group caught in a coun­try farm­house. Dawn of the Dead takes place a few weeks later, show­ing the break­down of cities (and even the media). Day of the Dead fea­tured an iso­lated group sur­viv­ing in iso­la­tion as the world was long since over­run by the undead. Land of the Dead shows the ulti­mate gated com­mu­nity fall to an evolved zom­bie horde. But Diary of the Dead is a return to the early days of the out­break, a more fer­tile ground for sto­ry­telling: you never get tired of human char­ac­ters wit­ness­ing such hor­rors for the first time.

Diary of the DeadSav­ing the human race, one non­fic­tion doc­u­men­tary short sub­ject at a time

The rules are still the same: sim­ply, the dead don’t stay dead. The zom­bie epi­demic is not due to a plague or virus, which was the potent con­tri­bu­tion of Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later to the zom­bie genre. Arguably, Romero’s con­cept is more bleak. A virus might be mit­i­gated or even cured, but if any­body, any­body at all, that dies will revive as a unin­tel­li­gent car­niv­o­rous mon­ster that feels no pain and never tires, it can­not be stopped. If human­ity is to some­how regroup and sur­vive, it will for­ever have to burn or decap­i­tate any­one that ever dies.

Diary of the Dead opens on a group of Uni­ver­sity of Pitts­burgh film stu­dents mak­ing a tongue-in-cheeck mummy movie in the woods of Penn­syl­va­nia, under the guid­ance of alco­holic Pro­fes­sor Maxwell (Scott Went­worth). Many of these kids are priv­i­leged, but judg­ing from the events of Romero’s other zom­bie films, we know that the lux­u­ries of the rich are of lit­tle worth against the liv­ing dead. Obvi­ously none of these movie afi­ciona­dos have ever seen a zom­bie flick. One of them, Eliot (Joe Dini­col), wears Coke-bottle glasses in an appar­ent homage to Romero’s famous spec­ta­cles. Bud­ding direc­tor Jason Creed (Joshua Close) looks down his nose on the com­mer­cial hor­ror genre, and has the not-so-secret ambi­tion to become a doc­u­men­tary film­maker. But Jason gets his chance to do both, as he doc­u­ments their their flight from a real-life plague of zom­bies. Jason’s footage, later com­pleted by girl­friend Debra (Michelle Mor­gan) com­prises a film within a film: “The Death of Death.”

Diary of the DeadRomero’s scathing indict­ment of our bro­ken health care sys­tem, or just some more zom­bie gore?

In a world in which nearly every­one car­ries a cell­phone cam­era around in their pocket, “shoot me” can have a dif­fer­ent mean­ing than you usu­ally hear in zom­bie movies. With a batch of young film­mak­ers doc­u­ment­ing a real-life tale of hor­ror using new portable video tech­nol­ogy, Diary of the Dead super­fi­cially resem­bles Clover­field (read The Dork Report review). One of Cloverfield’s most telling moments showed a group of New York­ers instinc­tively react­ing to the hor­ri­ble sight of a chunk of the Statue of Lib­erty hurtling into the mid­dle of a street by whip­ping out their cell phone cam­eras and tak­ing pic­tures to trans­mit to their friends. But Diary of the Dead’s true inspi­ra­tion is actu­ally a bit older; it rips off the basic plot of The Blair Witch Project, in which a batch of stu­dent film­mak­ers set off to shoot a hor­ror film in the woods and acci­den­tally stum­ble onto the real thing. Clover­field became increas­ingly implau­si­ble as the flee­ing teenagers cling to their cam­eras through­out their tra­vails. In con­trast, Diary of the Dead sur­pris­ingly sports more believ­able psy­chol­ogy than Clover­field, con­stantly ques­tion­ing its char­ac­ters’ com­pul­sion to doc­u­ment every­thing. Indeed, it’s one of the biggest themes of the movie.

Diary’s mix of themes also includes the return of the media as a promi­nent pres­ence for the first time since Night and Dawn. In what I felt was one the film’s only dra­matic mis­steps, the char­ac­ters first learn of the zom­bie break­out via radio (really? radio? in an age of instant text mes­sag­ing?), and are con­vinced of the incred­i­ble news reports a lit­tle too quickly. But per­haps their imme­di­ate accep­tance of what the voices of author­ity tell them is one of Romero’s points.

Two char­ac­ters in Dawn of the Dead were mem­bers of the tra­di­tional media of broad­cast news. But in this case, some­thing only pos­si­ble in the 21st cen­tury inter­net age, the Diary of the Dead kids are able to become part of the medium itself. Jason starts out as a frus­trated doc­u­men­tar­ian mak­ing a silly com­mer­cial mummy film, but given the chance he chooses to doc­u­ment. As cit­i­zen jour­nal­ists, they edit their footage on lap­tops and post to YouTube and MySpace. They also down­load other clips from around the world, pro­vid­ing the film with what are basi­cally a series of short vignettes. They watch as U.S. SWAT clean out zom­bies from an apart­ment com­plex, and as coun­ter­parts on the other side of the globe doc­u­ment an over­run Japan. One of the spook­i­est clips is a brief shot from the point of view of a truck dri­ving under a bridge from which some­one has hung them­selves. After the truck cab jos­tles the corpse, it starts to move.

Three radio mono­logues were voiced by hor­ror genre lumi­nar­ies Guillermo Del Toro (whose ghost story Devil’s Back­bone shares some ele­ments of the zom­bie genre), Simon Pegg (who paid homage to the genre as com­edy with Shawn of the Dead), and Stephen King (bril­liant as a heart­land evan­gel­i­cal preacher: “Get down on your &$#@ing knees!”). There’s also a funny bit fea­tur­ing a badass Amish guy, who’s deaf but handy with a scythe and dynamite.

The end­ing to this very short movie (a lit­tle over 90 min­utes) is a bit abrupt. But given that it is nar­rated by Debra, it is pos­si­ble she has sur­vived beyond what we’ve seen, long enough to release “The Death of Death” in some form, per­haps after humans have reclaimed the planet. One might imag­ine Diary’s premise would lend itself to a lower bud­get than the grandiose Land of the Dead, which starred actual stars like Den­nis Hop­per and John Leguizom­bie — sorry — John Leguizamo. But Diary sports a big­ger cast, more loca­tions, and even more accom­plished CG, so it can hardly have been cheaper to make.


Offi­cial movie MySpace page: www.myspace.com/diaryofthedead

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle Part 4: Land of the Dead

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle

Wel­come to The George A. Romero Zom­bie Cycle Film Fes­ti­val. Join The Dork Report in revis­it­ing all five canon­i­cal episodes in the orig­i­nal epic zom­bie saga:

Land of the Dead movie poster

 

George A. Romero’s spo­radic zom­bie flicks are some­times decades apart in pro­duc­tion, but nev­er­the­less form a chrono­log­i­cal sequence telling the story of the down­fall of soci­ety from every angle. Night of the Liv­ing Dead (1968) is set in the early days, with a few ran­dom civil­ians trapped in a farm­house. Dawn of the Dead (1979) zooms out a lit­tle to see what’s going on in cities and sub­ur­bia, and Day of the Dead (1985) exam­ines a final remain­ing pocket of sur­vivors months into the plague. Land of the Dead opens some time after the zom­bie epi­demic has swept the world, and the sur­viv­ing dregs of human­ity have retreated behind the for­ti­fied walls of the ulti­mate gated com­mu­nity, a city dubbed Fiddler’s Green. Romero has used each of his zom­bie films to satir­i­cally artic­u­late some social com­men­tary, and here his tar­gets seem to be big busi­ness and class war­fare. Another pos­si­ble alle­gor­i­cal tar­get is the Israel / Pales­tine con­flict. Have humans walled the zom­bies out, or walled them­selves in?

A man named Kauf­man (Den­nis Hop­per) has set him­self up as mayor/president/king of Fiddler’s Green. Kauf­man is very much a busi­ness­man along the lines of Don­ald Trump or Michael Bloomberg, so here Romero seems to equate big busi­ness with total­i­tar­i­an­ism. Kaufman’s machi­na­tions ensure that his sup­posed safe haven is actu­ally a highly tiered class soci­ety. The rich live in high-rise com­fort while the under­classes starve in skeezy street-level slums. We know soci­ety is truly depraved when caged go-go dancers are the only form of entertainment.

Eugene Clark in George A. Romero's Land of the Deadwet zom­bies smell like wet, uh, zombies

In the world out­side, the zom­bies have long since eaten all humans within reach, and have noth­ing left to do but stand around. Despite the big bud­get, there only seem to be about a dozen of them. Some have returned to old rou­tines: work­ing gas sta­tions, push­ing shop­ping carts, and bang­ing tam­bourines. Dawn of the Dead showed zom­bies instinc­tu­ally drawn to the shop­ping mall (a new Amer­i­can inno­va­tion at the time) like pil­grims to Mecca. But Land of the Dead Goes fur­ther and sug­gests they have even greater pow­ers of logic, and can feel actual emo­tions such as vic­tim­iza­tion. Their leader Big Daddy (Eugene Clark) is soul­ful and sym­pa­thetic like Bub the zom­bie from Day of the Dead.

Kauf­man sends min­ions Riley (Nathan Fil­lon) and Cholo (John Leguizamo) out into the infested waste­lands, in car­a­vans of heav­ily armored vehi­cles. They dis­tract the “stench” (the deroga­tory term of choice for the undead) with fire­works as they loot for food and valu­ables to cart back to stock Kaufman’s larders in Fiddler’s Green. Riley and Cholo are old friends since fallen out, and their rela­tion­ship pro­vides the one gen­uinely funny bit of dia­logue: happy-go-lucky Cholo tells the per­pet­u­ally dour Riley: “Didn’t I tell you not to bang chicks with worse prob­lems than you?” That’s not bad advice, actually.

The intel­li­gent zom­bies, appar­ently feel­ing dis­en­fran­chised, orga­nize and mount an attack on the city. Any­way, Riley and Cholo finally become dis­il­lu­sioned about Kaufman’s utopia. Together with Slack (Asia Argento, daugh­ter of Dario Argento, who col­lab­o­rated with Romero on Dawn of the Dead), they try to escape for the imag­ined safe haven of Canada (as if they think they are merely dodg­ing the draft and not the twin threats of plague and humanity’s own venal over­lords). In true Romero fash­ion, the vil­lain­ous Kauf­man also hap­pens to be a racist, shout­ing epi­thets at the zomb­i­fied Cholo (John Leguizom­bie?) as he comes to kill him. If there ever were a point in human his­tory when race will have truly become irrel­e­vant, this ought to be it.

Dennis Hopper in George A. Romeros' Land of the DeadDen­nis Hop­per as the mayor from hell, or is that the mayor OF hell?

I don’t think Romero and his zom­bie films would be remem­bered with­out the racially charged end­ing of Night of the Liv­ing Dead and the pointed satire of con­sumerism found in Dawn of the Dead. But if he had started out with some­thing as unfo­cused as Land of the Dead, he prob­a­bly wouldn’t have been. Romero admits to Par­al­lax view he didn’t fully work out the anal­ogy: “I have to tell you that even when we started to shoot, I was wor­ried that this isn’t quite clear. Who are the ter­ror­ists, is it Cholo and his gang or the zom­bies? And it gave me a lit­tle pause, but we had to start shoot­ing because we had the money. I’m being per­fectly hon­est, I have to sit down and re-analyze it and fig­ure it out. Some­times you just run on instinct.” Even the round­table of hor­ror afi­ciona­dos on InternalBleeding.net agree that the movie is “not scary, but really gross.”

Land of the Dead obvi­ously has the biggest bud­get of all of Romero’s zom­bie cycle so far, and remains the only one with well-known stars. But it is only super­fi­cially “bet­ter” than its pre­de­ces­sors, fea­tur­ing big­ger names and more tech­no­log­i­cal pol­ish. As is the case with many a Hol­ly­wood pro­duc­tion, raised finan­cial stakes bring a low­er­ing of stan­dards and dimin­ish­ing returns: more money in, more shit out. A “some time ago…” pro­logue mon­tage illus­trates for the slower mem­bers of the audi­ence what zom­bies are all about. Per­haps the movie stu­dio exec­u­tives were pitch­ing the film to audi­ences beyond the usual hor­ror genre ghetto already versed with the zom­bie genre.


Offi­cial movie site: www.landofthedeadmovie.net

Homepageofthedead.com’s exten­sive archive of Land of the Dead info

Must read: The Light That Failed: George Romero’s Dead Rock On by Kath­leen Mur­phy; and George Romero Sur­veys the Dead by Sean Axmaker, both on Par­al­lax View

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle Part 3: Day of the Dead

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle

Wel­come to The George A. Romero Zom­bie Cycle Film Fes­ti­val. Join The Dork Report in revis­it­ing all five canon­i­cal episodes in the orig­i­nal epic zom­bie saga:

Day of the Dead movie poster

 

Day of the Dead (1985) is the third episode in George A. Romero’s con­tin­u­ing tale of civilization’s col­lapse in the event of a global zom­bie epi­demic. This and the big-budget Land of the Dead (2005) are tied for the worst entries in the series. What makes the first two (Night and Dawn) of merit is their sur­pris­ingly acute social satire, but here Romero loses his crit­i­cal focus in favor of gore and gen­eral unpleas­antry with lit­tle redeem­ing value.

After the ini­tial wave of undead in Night of the Liv­ing Dead and the col­lapse of cities and sub­ur­bia in Dawn of the Dead, Romero now jumps still for­ward in time. Sev­eral months into the zom­bie plague, a dozen humans hud­dle iso­lated in an under­ground bunker. Their fortress is suf­fi­cient to pro­tect them from the bar­bar­ians out­side the gates, but they have lost radio con­tact with the out­side world. They make occa­sional sor­ties to nearby cities via heli­copter, but encounter noth­ing but more hordes of zom­bies. For all they know, they are the last humans on the planet.

Lori Cardille in Day of the DeadWhen there’s no more room in hell, zom­bies will break through the sty­ro­foam walls

The dis­parate batch of sur­vivors in Night of the Liv­ing dead was essen­tially a cross-section of civ­i­liza­tion, but Romero nar­rows his focus here onto the mil­i­tary and sci­en­tific worlds. The humans trapped under­ground include three sci­en­tists, two civil­ians, and seven sol­diers. All of them are slowly los­ing their minds save for level-headed sci­en­tist Dr. Sarah Bow­man (Lori Cardille), valiantly research­ing a cure. As is now cus­tom­ary in Romero’s zom­bie flicks, Sarah is an atyp­i­cal pro­tag­o­nist for a hor­ror movie. The most capa­ble and sane char­ac­ter in Night of the Liv­ing Dead was a black man (Duane Jones), a huge deal for movies of any genre in 1968, and still rare now. Sarah is a woman, another social group his­tor­i­cally sub­ju­gated by soci­ety, not to men­tion typ­i­cally reduced to scream­ing eye candy in hor­ror movies.

The nerve-wracking 28 Days Later (2002), direc­tor Danny Boyle’s con­tri­bu­tion to the zom­bie genre, bor­rowed this sce­nario of an iso­lated batch of male sol­diers act­ing with­out com­mand, sur­rounded on all sides by hos­tile forces, and locked in a fortress with only one woman. Not sur­pris­ingly, things get ugly. To a one, the sol­diers are despi­ca­bly racist and illog­i­cal. But leader Cap­tain Rhodes (Joe Pilato) is actu­ally cor­rect about one key fact of their sit­u­a­tion: the head sci­en­tist they have been ordered to defer to is indeed totally mad. Dr. Matthew “Franken­stein” Logan (Richard Lib­erty) is more inter­ested in domes­ti­cat­ing zom­bies into slaves than he is in either cur­ing (as Sarah is try­ing to do) or erad­i­cat­ing them (as, nat­u­rally, the sol­diers would have it). His star lab rat is a cap­tive zom­bie dubbed Bub (Sher­man Howard). The chained and tor­tured Bob is sur­pris­ingly sym­pa­thetic, pos­si­bly even moreso than hero­ine Sarah. He’s also the first instance in Romero’s movies of an intel­li­gent, self-aware breed of zom­bie we won’t see again until twenty years later in Land of the Dead. But nei­ther film makes much of the con­cept of zom­bies as a new life form, as opposed to the clas­sic remorse­less adver­sary typ­i­cal for the genre.

Sherman Howard in Day of the DeadBub Zom­bie wants his MTV

As dis­cussed in The Dork Report’s review of Night of the Liv­ing Dead, one key aspect of the zom­bie genre that has fueled its con­tin­u­ing appeal over the years is that a plague is a great lev­eler. Every­one is vul­ner­a­ble to dis­ease. Every­one is equal after death (or is that undeath?), be they male or female, rich or poor, of any race. And for the sur­vivors, once soci­ety breaks down (and it always does when the undead walk the streets), all the money and crea­ture com­forts in the world become irrelevant.


Must read: Home­page of the Dead’s com­plete Day of the Dead archives, includ­ing the orig­i­nal script

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle Part 2: Dawn of the Dead

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle

Wel­come to The George A. Romero Zom­bie Cycle Film Fes­ti­val. Join The Dork Report in revis­it­ing all five canon­i­cal episodes in the orig­i­nal epic zom­bie saga:

Dawn of the Dead movie poster

 

Zom­bie god­fa­ther George A. Romero waited more than a decade to cre­ate Dawn of the Dead, the first sequel in his zom­bie cycle that would even­tu­ally num­ber five (soon to be six) install­ments. Night of the Liv­ing Dead was mar­keted under the tagline “They won’t stay dead,” which beau­ti­fully told audi­ences all they needed to know. Still, the mar­ket­ing teams behind Dawn of the Dead were able to find room for improve­ment and crafted the even more mem­o­rable “When there’s no room in hell, the dead will walk the earth.” Gone is the clas­sic oxy­moron “Liv­ing Dead.” Now and for the rest of Romero’s zom­bie movies, the foes are known sim­ply as “The Dead.”

Dawn of the Dead doesn’t fea­ture any char­ac­ters from the orig­i­nal film (unsur­pris­ing, as none of them made it through alive), but there’s no rea­son why it can’t be seen as tak­ing place about three weeks after the onset of the same plague wit­nessed by an iso­lated bunch of peo­ple in the Penn­syl­va­nia coun­try­side in the orig­i­nal film. This time around, we open in Cen­ter City Philadel­phia, as a dif­fer­ent batch of sur­vivors nobly keep a tele­vi­sion sta­tion oper­a­tional as soci­ety slowly col­lapses about them. Con­di­tions even­tu­ally break down in the stu­dio as well, and two of them self­ishly escape to seek safe ground via heli­copter. As they lift off, note the best image of all Romero’s zom­bie films: in the back­ground, lights eerily switch off floor-by-floor in a sky­scraper. In a rare case of art­ful restraint on Romero’s part, his cam­era lingers on the scene just long enough for it to register.

Dawn of the Deadbring­ing new mean­ing to the phrase “shop ’till you drop”

The team of sur­vivors includes two con­trast­ing pairs. Pilot Steve (David Emge) is the weak link in the group, while sta­tion man­ager Gaylen (Francine Parker) is the heart and brains. Two very dif­fer­ent SWAT com­man­dos throw their lot in with these civil­ians: the diminu­tive but ath­letic and enthu­si­as­tic Roger (Scott H. Reiniger), and the tall, quiet, and seri­ous Peter (Ken Foree). But together, the two sol­diers are more than the sum of their parts and man­i­fest lead­er­ship qual­i­ties. Echo­ing the social sub­text of the orig­i­nal film, race becomes irrel­e­vant (Peter is black and Roger is white) and the two become fast friends.

David Emge, Francine Parker, and Ken Foree in Dawn of the DeadGaylen, Steve, and Peter in their con­sumerist paradise

The four set down upon the roof of a sub­ur­ban shop­ping mall, a rel­a­tively new Amer­i­can inven­tion in 1979. They purge it of lin­ger­ing zom­bies and turn it into what is equal parts fortress and par­adise. It is here where one real­izes that Dawn of the Dead is prob­a­bly the most openly satir­i­cal of all Romero’s zom­bie movies. It’s impos­si­ble to miss the cri­tique of our mate­ri­al­ist con­sumer soci­ety, as these sur­vivors glee­fully take what­ever they want off the racks, for free. Even the stoic com­man­dos are thrilled by the oppor­tu­nity to go on an unlim­ited shop­ping spree. They live off fine wine and canned caviar as the bar­bar­ians are lit­er­ally at the gate. You know it’s the end of the world when shop­ping mall muzak is the sound­track for our heroes’ sys­tem­atic mass zom­bie slaugh­ter and corpse col­lec­tion. Infa­mous Ital­ian hor­ror direc­tor Dario Argento com­posed the sound­track as well as served as script consultant.

Scott H. Reiniger in Dawn of the DeadRoger is not a morn­ing per­son, it seems

Unfor­tu­nately, Dawn of the Dead fiz­zles with a weak end­ing, espe­cially com­pared to the piti­less con­clu­sion of Night of the Liv­ing Dead. Inter­nal strife and the zom­bie hordes assem­bling out­side are not their only prob­lems. A rag­tag car­a­van of road­war­rior sur­vivors arrive and dis­rupt the stale­mate. But the cen­tral con­sumerist satire still res­onates enough for the movie to have been effec­tively remade in 2004 by direc­tor Zack Sny­der, with­out Romero’s involvement.


Fan site: www.dawnofthedead.net

Must read: Inter­nal Bleed­ing Zom­bie Week ’08

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle Part 1: Night of the Living Dead

The George A. Romero Zombie Cycle

Wel­come to The George A. Romero Zom­bie Cycle Film Fes­ti­val. Join The Dork Report in revis­it­ing all five canon­i­cal episodes in the orig­i­nal epic zom­bie saga:

Night of the Living Dead movie poster

 

I haven’t had the plea­sure of see­ing what is now rec­og­nized as the first zom­bie movie ever made: White Zom­bie (1932), star­ring none other than Bela Lugosi. But arguably, George A. Romero’s Night of the Liv­ing Dead (1968) is the actual zom­bie urtext. It pre­ceded the first of its four offi­cial sequels by almost a decade, but laid down the defin­i­tive tem­plate for the great flood of deriv­a­tives, remakes, homages, and ripoffs to come. Night of the Liv­ing Dead is in the pub­lic domain, and can be legally down­loaded for free from Archive.org.

If there is any doubt as to the endurance of the genre, check out Wikipedia’s com­pi­la­tion of over 300 zombie-themed fea­ture films. Zom­bies thrive online in the open-ended zom­bie nar­ra­tive Zom­bieAt­tack slowly unfold­ing on Twit­ter, and in online shrines to the undead like AllThingsZombie.com. Max Brooks has cor­nered the lit­er­ary zom­bie field with his books The Zom­bie Sur­vival Guide (2003) and World War Z (2006) (the first a dis­pos­able tri­fle, but the sec­ond a grip­ping tour de force). Zom­bies have invaded the Mar­vel Uni­verse comics, ironic t-shirts, and hacked road­work signs in Austin.

Night of the Living DeadBraaaaaaaaaaaaaains!

One may won­der about the men­tal health of such obses­sive zom­bie fans, but now that The Dork Report is host­ing a Romero Zom­bie Cycle film Fes­ti­val, I must now count myself among them. Also, the word “zom­bie” is just kind of fun to say. Zom­bie, zom­bie, zom­bie. Per­haps sens­ing the recent spike in the zom­bie zeit­geist, Romero him­self has picked up the pace of his zom­bie cycle, adding fresh new entries in 2005 and 2007, with yet another planned for the near future.

What exactly is the appeal? The basic zom­bie con­ceit is uncom­pli­cated. Indeed, the Night of the Liv­ing Dead mar­ket­ing tagline “They won’t stay dead!” pretty much says it all. Sim­ply, any and all dead peo­ple (no mat­ter what the man­ner of their expi­ra­tion) will inevitably come back to life as unthink­ing, unfeel­ing, car­niv­o­rous mon­sters. There’s some­thing pure to Romero’s orig­i­nal con­cept, with­out the com­plex­i­ties added by later zom­bie sto­ries. Hor­ror and sci­ence fic­tion blog io9 posits that war and social upheaval cor­re­late with spikes in zom­bie movie pro­duc­tion. Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later (2002), for­ever retooled the zom­bie con­cept for a world obsessed with con­ta­gious dis­eases (SARS, AIDS), and the essen­tially ani­mal­is­tic bad­ness of human nature (tor­ture, ter­ror­ism). Boyle’s zom­bies don’t want to eat; they are just plain mad.

Night of the Living DeadThis is how you do The Mon­ster Mash

Romero’s zom­bies have some rudi­men­tary intel­li­gence and are able to open doors, employ sim­ple tools like blud­geons, and are afraid of fire. But they have no rem­nants of their for­mer mem­o­ries or per­son­al­i­ties, and exist only to sup upon the liv­ing. Com­mon to nearly every zom­bie tale is that an epi­demic effects a break­down of soci­etal order, be it on a micro (such as the clas­sic hor­ror movie sce­nario of a few sur­vivors locked in a farm­house in Night of the Liv­ing Dead) or macro scale (wit­ness the total col­lapse of civ­i­liza­tion in Brooks’ novel World War Z). There’s a basic pes­simism inher­ent in the genre; every­thing we regard as human is frag­ile. Faced with zom­bie hordes, the liv­ing turn on each other, cut and run, or totally shut down.

Romero & John A. Russo’s Night of the Liv­ing Dead screen­play includes some pseudo-scientific tech­nob­a­b­ble con­cern­ing a return­ing space probe con­t­a­m­i­nated with radi­a­tion from Venus, but for all intents and pur­poses the ori­gin of the phe­nom­e­non is irrel­e­vant to the story. Later zom­bie films would intro­duce the con­cept of a blood-transmitted virus, but it is irrel­e­vant here whether or not any vic­tim is con­t­a­m­i­nated by a germs or extrater­res­trial radi­a­tion. Merely dying is all it takes to become a mon­ster. In a way, Romero’s orig­i­nal con­cep­tion of the zom­bie, absent of any plague metaphor, is the bleak­est of all vari­ants. Human soci­ety will be for­ever changed in a world in which even those that die nat­u­rally will have to be decap­i­tated before they revive as beastly ghouls.

Duane Jones in Night of the Living DeadBen (Duane Jones) greets the undead hordes

Like all of Romero’s zom­bie flicks, Night of the Liv­ing Dead is set in the Pitts­burgh, PA area (except Day of the Dead, which is the odd one out for many rea­sons to be dis­cussed in the forth­com­ing Dork Report review). The open­ing sequence is set in grave­yard lit­tered with Amer­i­can flags, per­haps meant as a silent allu­sion to the vast num­bers of fresh corpses being sent back from the Viet­nam War. A ran­dom assort­ment of sur­vivors bar­ri­cade them­selves in a farm­house. Romero tells Parallax-view.org that the cast and crew actu­ally lived in that farm­house while film­ing: “We had no bread. We were lit­er­ally sleep­ing out of that farm­house, chop­ping ice out of the tank behind the toi­let bowl in order to wash our faces, and we were tak­ing baths out in the creek.”

In the best hor­ror movie tra­di­tion, we have a cross-section of soci­ety with rep­re­sen­ta­tives of every gen­der, age, class, and race: a trau­ma­tized woman, a young cou­ple, a clas­sic nuclear fam­ily, and a lone black man. For all intents and pur­poses, their var­i­ous social stand­ings are erased as they all must unite to defend them­selves against a com­mon foe. Ben (Duane Jones) proves him­self the most intel­li­gent, sane, and capa­ble of the bunch. But the humans can barely agree on any­thing, and expend most of their energy on infight­ing. One sus­pects that they wouldn’t be able to get along even with­out the zom­bie hordes assem­bling outside.

Night of the Liv­ing Dead is noto­ri­ous for remain­ing unrated by the MPAA, proudly show­cas­ing a con­sid­er­able amount of gore (and even a lit­tle nude zom­bie der­rière) unprece­dented in 1968. But I think it’s fair to say that the true rea­son the movie is remem­bered as more than a cheapie hor­ror flick is its African Amer­i­can pro­tag­o­nist. Of supe­rior intel­li­gence and matu­rity than every­one else, he alone (spoiler alert!) sur­vives while the rest of the gang self-destructs. But unbe­knownst to him, author­i­ties have mobi­lized to sweep the coun­try­side in order to exe­cute any and all sham­bling zom­bies. It’s impos­si­ble to ignore this group’s resem­blance to a lynch mob of the white male estab­lish­ment, bear­ing scythes and hunt­ing rifles. Given this sce­nario, one might pre­dict the pow­er­ful, racially charged end­ing. In an inter­est­ing styl­is­tic choice, the final sequence is told as a pho­tomon­tage, a series of still images show­ing us the tragic after­math of what hap­pens when the sup­pos­edly civ­i­lized “liv­ing” are given free reign to indulge in their bloodlust.


Free down­load: Archive.org

Must read: Inter­nal Bleed­ing Zom­bie Week ’08

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Encounters at the End of the World

Encounters at the End of the World movie poster

 

In 2007, the National Sci­ence Foun­da­tion invited leg­endary film­maker and doc­u­men­tar­ian Werner Her­zog to make a film about Antarc­tica. With only seven weeks to plan and shoot, and with an aus­tere crew of exactly two (Her­zog him­self and cin­e­matog­ra­pher Peter Zeitlinger), he pro­duced the stun­ningly beau­ti­ful film Encoun­ters at the End of the World.

Right away, Her­zog declares he is not a “tree-hugger” or “whale-hugger.” Instead, he won­ders why civ­i­liza­tion is more con­cerned about endan­gered species than it is about its own dis­ap­pear­ing lan­guages and cul­tures. He made it clear to his spon­sors that he had no inter­est in mak­ing “another pen­guin movie,” of course a back­handed ref­er­ence to the smash hit doc­u­men­tary March of the Pen­guins. For a brief period around 2005, it seemed every­one was obsessed with the pecu­liar life­cy­cle of pen­guins, find­ing in them metaphors for every­thing from the sanc­tity of mar­riage to evi­dence of homo­sex­u­al­ity in nature. But it turns out even Her­zog couldn’t resist the pathos inher­ent in the pen­guin lifestyle. He became fas­ci­nated by the reg­u­lar occur­rence of indi­vid­ual pen­guins becom­ing dis­ori­ented, and deter­minedly march­ing off alone to cer­tain star­va­tion and death. His cam­era catches one hap­pily scoot­ing off towards the moun­tains, away from the rel­a­tive safety of the ocean and his comrades.

Encounters at the End of the World Henry KaiserSome of the oth­er­worldly under­wa­ter footage by Henry Kaiser the inspired Her­zog to inves­ti­gate Antarctica

But Her­zog is mostly inter­ested more in the humans that migrate to Anar­c­tica. As is his cus­tom, he nar­rates the film him­self and openly won­ders whom he will find there. Some of the unusual char­ac­ters he encoun­ters are a philoso­pher oper­at­ing a fork­lift, a human­i­tar­ian dri­ving a bus (the continent’s sin­gle largest vehi­cle), a lin­guist tend­ing plants on a con­ti­nent with no lan­guages, and a jour­ney­man plumber descended from Aztec roy­alty. Most Herzog-ian of all is an East­ern Euro­pean man unable to speak of his trau­matic escape from “behind the iron cur­tain.” He keeps a large back­pack full of sur­vival gear, every­thing he would need should he have to leave at any moment. He puts it as being “in search of adven­ture,” but it seems he has left many places before he came to this one, so he is most likely doing more escap­ing than adven­tur­ing. He is not unlike Dieter Den­gler, the sub­ject of Herzog’s Lit­tle Dieter Needs to Fly (1997), who keeps a cache of food­stuffs in his home long after escap­ing a Laot­ian prison camp in 1966.

Werner Herzog & Peter Zeitlinger in Encounters at the End of the WorldWerner Her­zog & Peter Zeitlinger

Antarc­tica rep­re­sents “the end of adven­ture.” There are no more “white spaces on the map.” But most of the peo­ple Her­zog finds there are sci­en­tists, mak­ing it clear that there are many dis­cov­er­ies left to be made. Of inter­est to Her­zog is not only the research itself, but why it is being con­ducted in one of the most inhos­pitable places on earth. Zool­o­gists study nat­u­rally tame seals, espe­cially enjoy­ing their truly bizarre under­wa­ter com­mu­ni­ca­tion that one likens to Pink Floyd. Geol­o­gists flock to Mount Ere­bus, one of the the earth’s only three sta­ble open vol­canos, whose “lava lake” is essen­tially the Earth’s exposed man­tle. The world’s only two other open vol­ca­noes are both located in polit­i­cally unsta­ble coun­tries, it being prefer­able for sci­en­tists to risk being pelted by explod­ing bombs of molten rock in sub­zero tem­per­a­tures than to be shot by bul­lets in hot­ter climes. In a sep­a­rate exper­i­ment, The Uni­ver­sity of Hawaii is attempt­ing to detect neu­tri­nos. These sub­atomic par­ti­cles are omnipresent in abun­dance, but are almost impos­si­ble to observe directly. The rea­son to come to Antarc­tica is to escape the dis­tort­ing back­ground radi­a­tion of civ­i­liza­tion, a metaphor if I’ve ever heard one.

Her­zog ded­i­cated Encoun­ters at the End of the World to critic and long­time advo­cate Roger Ebert. It was nom­i­nated for an Acad­emy Award for Best Doc­u­men­tary, his only nom­i­na­tion to date. How the Acad­emy could over­look the sub­lime and haunt­ing Griz­zly Man (2005) is beyond belief.


Offi­cial movie site: encountersfilm.com

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Coraline

Coraline movie poster

 

I saw Cora­line on its open­ing day in my favorite movie the­ater, the best pos­si­ble venue to see any remotely visu­ally ambi­tious movie: the Clearview Ziegfeld in New York City. Fit­tingly, my tick­ets were mis­printed “Car­o­line,” a mis­nomer that is a recur­ring plot point.

Cora­line was writ­ten and directed by stop-motion ani­ma­tion genius Henry Selick, whose patient and pre­cise hands also cre­ated the utterly mad plea­sure The Night­mare Before Christ­mas (often erro­neously cred­ited to Tim Bur­ton, who pro­duced). As if Cora­line needed any finer pedi­gree, it was based on the fine novella by Neil Gaiman. Gaiman is a long­time Dork Report favorite, at least since my buy­ing the very first issue of The Sand­man new off the rack in 1989 (read my account of hav­ing books signed by Gaiman and Ray Brad­bury). Cora­line and his later The Grave­yard Book are both osten­si­bly aimed at “young adults,” which I guess means whomever is old enough to under­stand most of the words. Such a cat­e­go­riza­tion is more about mar­ket­ing and the con­ve­nience of know­ing where to shelve titles in book­stores and libraries, any­way. As is also the case with his chil­drens’ books The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Gold­fish and The Wolves in the Walls (both illus­trated by fre­quent col­lab­o­ra­tor Dave McK­ean), they’re all basi­cally for any­one that likes to read.

Dakota Fanning in CoralineCora­line tra­verses the por­tal into John Malkovich’s brain

Gaiman, once famous for pos­si­bly hav­ing the record for most unpro­duced projects in Hol­ly­wood, has been tear­ing up the movie biz of late. Just to name a few high­lights, he wrote the script for McKean’s sump­tu­ous film Mir­ror­mask (read The Dork Report review), had his fan­tasy novel Star­dust (orig­i­nally illus­trated by Charles Vess) adapted into a film by Matthew Vaughn, and co-wrote the bril­liant script for Robert Zemekis’ Beowulf with Roger Avery. As is his cus­tom now for all his pend­ing projects, Gaiman has been blog­ging and Tweet­ing about the Cora­line adap­ta­tion all along, a process rudely inter­rupted by his win­ning the New­bury Medal for The Grave­yard Book. His man­tle is now offi­cially groan­ing under the weight of all his tro­phies, medals, Very Impor­tant Prizes, and suchlike.

Gaiman was not directly involved with the mak­ing of Cora­line (beyond being on good terms with the film­mak­ers and mak­ing the occa­sional con­sul­ta­tion), but was pleased the fin­ished prod­uct and espe­cially with how well it was mar­keted by Weiden+Kennedy. Fre­quent read­ers of his blog will be famil­iar with how he blames Stardust’s rel­a­tively dis­ap­point­ing box office (in the US, any­way) with a mar­ket­ing cam­paign that mis­rep­re­sented what the film was actu­ally like (the pre­cise anal­ogy he used went some­thing like “more Princess Bride, less Ella Enchanted”). But I feel that this kind of height­ened level of com­mu­ni­ca­tion between artist and audi­ence made pos­si­ble by the inter­net might some­times be too much infor­ma­tion. Close to the release of Star­dust, I recall Gaiman urg­ing read­ers to see the film on open­ing week­end or even open­ing day if at all pos­si­ble, the nar­row win­dow that in today’s movie indus­try deter­mines the per­cep­tion of suc­cess or fail­ure. This time around, he made a point of men­tion­ing that Coraline’s pro­duc­tion com­pany Laika had basi­cally bet the entire farm on the film. I have been work­ing for movie com­pa­nies for years and am famil­iar with per­pet­ual job inse­cu­rity. I was happy to go see the film right away any­way, but I would have rather not wor­ried about whether or not I was pro­tect­ing someone’s job. Thank­fully, Cora­line appears to have per­formed above expec­ta­tions on its open­ing week­end, and all is well.

John Hodgman in CoralineThe Other Father gives us our 3D money’s worth

Apolo­gies for the ram­bling pre­am­ble. On to the movie: Cora­line (voiced by Dakota Fan­ning) and her fam­ily move into the ground-floor apart­ment of a crum­bling rural house. Her par­ents are busy gar­den­ing writ­ers with­out the time to actu­ally gar­den, let alone to pay much atten­tion to their only child. Coraline’s biggest prob­lem is that she’s unhappy at being so often left alone. I sus­pect that most over­pro­tected kids whose par­ents take them to see this movie will have trou­ble iden­ti­fy­ing with a kid who has too much freedom.

The res­i­dents of the neigh­bor­ing apart­ments are at least as eccen­tric as those of The Sandman’s The Doll’s House. Russ­ian acro­bat Mr. Bobin­sky (Ian McShane), may or may not be train­ing roden­tia to take part in a Mouse Cir­cus. Cora­line gets off on the wrong foot with unloved odd­ball Wybie (Robert Baily, Jr.), who takes his name from “Why be born.” British com­edy duo Dawn French and Jen­nifer Saun­ders appear as Misses Spink & Forcible (two Gaiman-esque names if there ever were any), a pair of well-aged actresses liv­ing in the basement.

Cora­line dis­cov­ers a long-forgotten door­way hid­den behind fur­ni­ture and lay­ers of wall­pa­per. Not unlike the very sim­i­larly diminu­tive door in Being John Malkovich, it is a gate­way to another world. Whereas the por­tal to Malkovich’s brain resem­bled the gross inside of a diges­tive tract, this one is part cob­webby cave and part glow­ing fun­house tun­nel. On the other end of the door is another, bet­ter ver­sion of Coraline’s milieu. In the real world, no one gets Coraline’s name right, but in the Other World, every­one knows her. She is well fed, the gar­den is a lux­u­ri­ous Eden sculpted in her image, her bed is made, and her toys are new. But alas, her Other Mother (Teri Hatcher) has con­structed this entic­ing sim­u­lacrum just to ensnare her. Cora­line is about to aban­don the real world for this cod­dled exis­tence, when she is given the price: she must sew but­tons over her eyes. This is point in the film when adults squirm and kids squeal with delight. Creepy, creepy, creepy!

Teri Hatcher and Dakota Fanning in CoralineThe Other Mother serves Other Omelettes for breakfast

Roughly the first three-quarters of the film is genius-level set­ting of tone, char­ac­ter, and atmos­phere. It fal­ters only when a rigid plot struc­ture appears out of nowhere and forces the nar­ra­tive onto fixed rails. Cat (Keith David), the only other crea­ture that can travel between worlds, tells Cora­line that the Other Mother likes games. This key char­ac­ter­is­tic would have been bet­ter shown than told, for Cora­line is able to turn the tables by sim­ply chal­leng­ing her to a game. The Other Mother imme­di­ately acqui­esces, and is appar­ently unable to resist a game in the same way that the mytho­log­i­cal Sphinx can’t resist a rid­dle (a plot point that also fig­ures in Mir­ror­mask). Coraline’s chal­lenge is equal parts game and bet: if she can find the five souls The Other Mother has trapped before her (her par­ents and three other chil­dren), she must release them all. Find­ing three hid­den objects hid­den in dif­fer­ent vir­tual worlds is a clas­sic video game sce­nario. Cora­line has no short­age of other MacGuffins to lose and recover, includ­ing a key and an Eye Stone (a mag­i­cal jewel for­tu­itously pro­vided by the actresses). Indeed, a tie-in videogame exists, which no doubt doesn’t have to stretch the story to struc­ture its own narrative.

Also dis­ap­point­ing are the three chil­dren the Other Mother has already cap­tured. Their trio of cutesy voices that com­pli­ment and encour­age Cora­line are the most con­ven­tional aspect of the film, not in keep­ing with the rest of the film’s enjoy­ably macabre tone. But actu­ally, maybe this all makes sense… the kids are def­i­nitely not as bright and spunky as her, for she alone has the brains to escape and defeat the creature.

Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders in CoralineThe com­edy stylings (and alarm­ingly large bosoms) of French & Saunders

Stop-motion ani­ma­tion is one of the old­est film­mak­ing tech­niques, but Laika (based in Port­land, Ore­gon) and Aard­man Ani­ma­tion (mak­ers of Wallce & Gromit and Chicken Run) are still mak­ing films more daz­zling than the most advanced CG. The rea­son is quite sim­ple: you’re look­ing at mov­ing pho­tographs of phys­i­cal objects crafted by human hands. Like Beowulf, Cora­line is being shown in many the­aters in 3D. If pos­si­ble, the tech­nol­ogy seems to have improved even since U23D (read The Dork Report review), let alone since the 1950s. But as ani­mated movies such as The Incred­i­bles (read The Dork Report review) and WALL-E (read The Dork Report review) have proved, all the tech­nol­ogy in the world must play sec­ond fid­dle to a good story.

Gaiman has been say­ing in inter­views lately that his books for kids are creepier than his nov­els for adults (includ­ing Amer­i­can Gods and Anansi Boys). In keep­ing, Cora­line the film is won­der­fully deranged, weird, and twisted. By far the eeri­est sequence is the open­ing cred­its, fea­tur­ing the hands of a crea­ture we later learn is the Other Mother, rit­u­ally dis­em­bow­el­ing a pup­pet and recon­fig­ur­ing into a sim­u­lacra of Cora­line. Watch­dog site Kids-In-Mind nearly goes into melt­down count­ing the dis­crete instances of vio­lence and dis­turb­ing imagery, and expect to read a great many reviews cau­tion­ing par­ents to keep sen­si­tive kids away. But I sus­pect most kids will love this film, and will prob­a­bly be bet­ter off for hav­ing their imag­i­na­tions poked and prod­ded in ways that safer pap wouldn’t. One of the rea­sons I love movies is to expe­ri­ence the mad visual imag­i­na­tions of direc­tors like Selick (and Bur­ton, McK­ean, Terry Gilliam, Michel Gondry, Tarsem, etc.), and it’s a good thing “kids’” movies like Cora­line are here to warp young­sters minds early.


Offi­cial movie site: www.coraline.com

Redbelt

Redbelt movie poster

 

Red­belt is writer/director David Mamet’s ode to jiu-jitsu, of which he him­self is report­edly a pur­ple belt. Mike Terry (Chi­we­tel Ejio­for) is a strug­gling black belt jiu-jitsu instruc­tor, one of the few remain­ing prac­ti­tion­ers of mar­tial art in its authen­tic Japan­ese ori­gins. The pro­fes­sional com­bat sport asso­ci­a­tion MMA (Mixed Mar­tial Arts) has tainted the mar­tial art with com­mer­cial­ism and spec­ta­cle akin to pro­fes­sional wrestling. In con­trast, Terry is a noble war­rior with an absolute code of honor, like Robert Scott (Val Kilmer) in Mamet’s Spar­tan (2004). Terry is a for­mer spe­cial forces sol­dier, with a past in one or both Gulf Wars he does not wish to dis­cuss. One of his favorite apho­risms becomes some­thing that he real­izes he must live up to him­self: “There is no sit­u­a­tion from which you can­not escape.” He’s a fear­some fighter, able to win a bar fight with­out throw­ing a sin­gle punch. But another of his apho­risms, “com­pe­ti­tion is weak­en­ing,” reflects his choice to teach self-confidence and reliance, not aggres­sive combat.

Chiwetel Ejiofor in Redbelt“Com­pe­ti­tion is weakening”

Like many of Mamet’s films, Red­belt fea­tures many of his reg­u­lar sta­ble of actors: Rebecca Pigeon (Mamet’s wife, who also per­formed the music), Ricky Jay, David Paymer, Joe Man­tegna, and a cameo from Ed O’Neil. Any­one famil­iar with Mamet’s films would know to sus­pect a char­ac­ter played by any one of these actors is up to some mis­chief, espe­cially if the lat­ter two are seen to be in any kind of col­lu­sion. Sig­nif­i­cantly for a playwright/writer/director known for his char­ac­ter­is­ti­cally dense dia­log, the last long sequence is mostly wordless.

Mamet states Red­belt is firmly in the fight film genre, sin­gling out the two recent exam­ples of Mil­lion Dol­lar Baby and Cin­derella Man. Like the superb Spar­tan, it’s also some­thing of a samu­rai movie. Just don’t call it a mar­tial arts or action flick. It also includes healthy doses of two other Mamet obses­sions: the long con and the cor­rup­tion inher­ent in busi­ness. The most obvi­ous advan­tage of the long con in sto­ry­telling terms is that it auto­mat­i­cally pro­vides a struc­ture for a fiendishly com­plex plot, as it did for both House of Games (1987) and The Span­ish Pris­oner (1997).

Emily Mortimer and Chiwetel Ejiofor in Redbelt“There is no sit­u­a­tion from which you can­not escape”

Mamet’s recur­ring theme of insti­tu­tional cor­rup­tion in the busi­ness world is prob­a­bly best expressed in Glen­garry Glen Ross (read The Dork Report review). But in his book Bambi Vs. Godzilla (2007) and movie State & Main (2000), Mamet reveals the one par­tic­u­lar busi­ness that fas­ci­nates him the most: Hol­ly­wood. As he states in the elec­tronic press kit included in the Red­belt DVD, moviemak­ing is a busi­ness like any other, but the par­tic­u­lars of its moral bank­ruptcy fas­ci­nate him. Terry is seduced by Hol­ly­wood as embod­ied by aging action star Chet Frank (Tim Allen). Frank first finds lever­age in the fact that Terry is broke, but also rec­og­nizes that he is is secretly pride­ful, and seeks approval and recog­ni­tion for the bur­den of honor he has been car­ry­ing for so long. These flaws make him manip­u­lat­able. Frank ini­tially seems to pro­vide the solu­tions to his prob­lems, but turns out to be the pre­cise inverse of his name: all empty promises, façades, scams, and pretense.

The two cor­rupt worlds of Red­belt are both hun­gry for meat: pro­fes­sional sports need fight­ers to run through the grinder, and the movie busi­ness eats up ideas as raw mate­r­ial for its prod­uct. They find both in Mike, and nei­ther wants to pay for what they try to take from him.


Offi­cial movie site: www.sonyclassics.com/redbelt

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Solaris (2002)

Solaris 2002 movie poster

 

As a huge title card reads imme­di­ately at the end of the film, Solaris was “writ­ten for the screen and directed by Steven Soder­bergh.” This Dork Reporter is a huge admirer, but that seemed a bit ego­tis­ti­cal even to me. Per­haps an over­en­thu­si­as­tic end-credits designer is to blame? Or maybe the stu­dio wanted to cap­ture some more of that lucra­tive Ocean’s Eleven magic by play­ing up the Soderbergh/Clooney brand?

But writ­ing and direct­ing cred­its, how­ever many feet tall, barely begin to describe Soderbergh’s role. For this and many of his other films, he serves as his own Direc­tor of Pho­tog­ra­phy (and even phys­i­cal cam­era oper­a­tor) under the pseu­do­nym Peter Andrews and also as edi­tor under the name Mary Ann Bernard. So, obvi­ously, Soder­bergh is one of the few main­stream film­mak­ers with the lux­ury of near-total con­trol over his films. Like Kubrick, he pro­duces, writes, directs, oper­ates the cam­era, and edits. But while Kubrick was a con­trol freak (in the best sense), the mod­est Soder­bergh is lauded as being more col­lab­o­ra­tive and espe­cially as a sen­si­tive direc­tor of actors.

George Clooney in SolarisPag­ing Dr. Ross, to the O.R., stat!

The DVD edi­tion includes an excel­lent com­men­tary track of Soder­bergh in con­ver­sa­tion with co-producer James Cameron, the orig­i­nal direc­tor attached to the project. Soder­bergh asks Cameron what he thought of how he approached the mate­r­ial. Cameron points out that Soder­bergh took a more “inter­nal” approach than he would have, and both agree in good humor that Cameron would have included more car chases. More than Soderbergh’s grand total of zero, anyway.

Depend­ing on how you count, Soder­bergh has only directed two remakes: Ocean’s Eleven and Solaris (The Limey was a kind of homage or mash-up remix of the Eng­lish crime clas­sics Point Blank and Get Carter). The source mate­r­ial of the Pol­ish novel Solaris by Stanis­law Lem has proven a rich mine for cin­ema. Russ­ian film­maker Andrei Tarkovsky directed the orig­i­nal adap­ta­tion in 1972 (read The Dork Report review) as the Eurasian answer to 2001: A Space Odyssey (read The Dork Report review). The basic con­cept also drove films as diverse as Paul W.S. Anderson’s Event Hori­zon (which is hor­ri­ble but has uncom­monly spec­tac­u­lar spe­cial effects and art direc­tion) and Danny Boyle’s Sun­shine. Soderbergh’s ver­sion of Solaris is cred­ited as being based more on the orig­i­nal novel the 1972 film, with barely a men­tion of Tarkovsky even in the DVD com­men­tary track. In his essay for the 2002 Cri­te­rion Col­lec­tion edi­tion of the orig­i­nal Solaris, Phillip Lopate states that Lem was unhappy with Tarkovsky’s inter­pre­ta­tion, and was look­ing for­ward to what he expected to be a more faith­ful trans­la­tion by Soderbergh.

Natascha McElhone in SolarisNatascha McEl­hone doesn’t like the looks of this tan­ning booth

Solaris is set at an unspec­i­fied point in the future, dis­tant enough for human­ity to have per­fected the tech­nol­ogy to leave the solar sys­tem. Kelvin (George Clooney) is a shrink who is him­self deeply emo­tion­ally dam­aged. Indeed, the theme of both this and the orig­i­nal film could be summed up as “physi­cian heal thy­self.” We first see him host­ing a group ther­apy ses­sion for sur­vivors of an unspec­i­fied tragedy. Since the movie was released in 2002, it’s pos­si­ble this was intended as an anal­ogy to a 9/11-like event. But judg­ing by how every scene set on Earth is drenched in dark­ness and per­sis­tent rain, per­haps there was some kind of eco­log­i­cal catastrophe.

Sin­gle and with no fam­ily, Kelvin is an ideal can­di­date for a solo trip to inves­ti­gate mys­te­ri­ous goings-on in a space sta­tion orbit­ing the dis­tant gas giant Solaris (pay atten­tion for the brief cameo by John Cho as a gov­ern­men­tal emis­sary). Unlike Tarkovski’s extremely leisurely pace, this ver­sion wastes no time; Kelvin’s boots are on the space sta­tion less than 10 min­utes into the film. This is the point where any read­ers wary of spoil­ers ought to stop reading.

Kelvin encoun­ters Snow (Jeremy Davies, supremely well-cast), a man under­stand­ably gone stir-crazy from being cooped up on a haunted space sta­tion. But it becomes clear that he him­self may be one of the forces doing the haunt­ing. Evi­dently, the planet Solaris some­how draws upon the strongest emo­tional res­o­nances in vis­i­tors’ brains and man­i­fests them as liv­ing beings. These incar­na­tions are most decid­edly not a bless­ing for any­one. For Clooney, it’s an echo of his dead wife Rheya (Natascha McEl­hone); for the cap­tain Gibar­ian (Ulrich Tukur), it’s a copy of the son he left behind on earth; for Snow, it’s… another ver­sion of him­self. The “Snow” that Clooney meets is, in effect, his own ghost; he killed his own cre­ator within sec­onds of his birth. The faux Snow’s weird behav­ior is not that of a man gone mad but of a not totally fully-formed human bluff­ing his way through unfa­mil­iar human inter­ac­tion. One has to won­der what kind of man is so alone or self-obsessed that the most impor­tant per­son encoded in his emo­tional mem­o­ries is himself.

Natascha McElhone and George Clooney in SolarisThe Solaris crew rehearses its big tech­nob­a­b­ble scene

Kelvin and Rheya orig­i­nally bonded over the Dylan Thomas verse “and death shall have no domin­ion,” but the emo­tion­ally frag­ile woman com­mit­ted sui­cide after he left her. Tor­tured by the renewed pres­ence of her in his life, and the per­plex­ing puz­zle of Snow’s dop­pel­gänger, he begins to ques­tion his own exis­tence: is he some­one else’s ghost? But he doesn’t take the ques­tion to the next log­i­cal step: is there any­one in the world with enough emo­tional invest­ment in him to cause him to haunt them?

Solaris is both Soder­bergh and Clooney’s first and only sci­ence fic­tion. It was mar­keted with a mis­lead­ing poster sug­gest­ing a romance while obscur­ing any hint of sci­ence fic­tion. It is admit­tedly kind of funny to see Clooney in a space­suit, espe­cially when he was rel­a­tively early in his career as a movie actor (after years in tele­vi­sion sit­coms and dra­mas). One can’t imag­ine Clooney’s Hol­ly­wood ances­tor Cary Grant appear­ing in a space opera. But Solaris tries to have it both ways: to be some­how above sci­ence fic­tion but still be over­loaded with enough pseudo-scientific tech­nob­a­b­ble to fill sev­eral Star Trek epics. The sen­si­tive, emo­tional tone of the film is shat­tered as soon as sci­en­tist Gor­don (Viola Davis) starts lec­tur­ing the audi­ence about pro­ton beams break­ing up fields of Higgs Par­ti­cles (or some­thing along those lines). Such tech­nob­a­b­ble cheap­ens the premise. Indeed, the talky screen­play makes every­thing too explicit and con­crete, espe­cially com­pared to 2001: A Space Odyssey, which says so much more with so many fewer words.


Offi­cial movie site: www.solaristhemovie.com

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.