Mutant Mayhem: X-Men

X-Men movie poster

 

On a whim, this Dork Reporter decided to rewatch X-Men and found it sur­pris­ingly good, even bet­ter than I remem­bered from my first view­ing almost 10 years ago. I used to be a comics fan, and read most of Chris Clare­mont and John Romita Jr.‘s lengthy run on The Uncanny X-Men series in the mid-80s. Even though I had long since stopped read­ing comics reg­u­larly by the time the movie was announced in 2000, I recall being con­vinced there was no way a live-action X-Men movie could not be a ridicu­lous folly. But I went to see it partly out of mor­bid curios­ity and partly out of a sense of duty as an ex-fan (see what I did there?). As it turned out, writer David Hayter and direc­tor Bryan Singer’s expert adap­ta­tion of the Mar­vel Comics source mate­r­ial turned out more fun, clever, and excit­ing than it had any right to be. Most wel­come of all, it is fre­quently laugh-out-loud funny (in a good way), a key ingre­di­ent unfor­tu­nately lack­ing in the mostly humor­less (but still pretty good) sequel X2: X-Men United (2003).

Hayter and Singer man­aged to dig up every ounce of sub­text baked into the X-Men mythos by orig­i­nal writer Stan Lee and artist Jack Kirby. At its heart, the X-Men series was essen­tially a nev­erend­ing sci-fi soap opera with a noble moral of pro­gres­sive social aware­ness. The weirdo super­heroes that make up The X-Men are “mutants,” born of human par­ents but with super­hu­man pow­ers typ­i­cally man­i­fest­ing dur­ing ado­les­cence. Prior to Lee and Kirby’s inno­va­tion, comics’ super­hero tem­plates were either extrater­res­tri­als like Super­man or ordi­nary humans with arti­fi­cially gained super­pow­ers like Spider-Man (mere mor­tals Bat­man and Iron Man don’t count, no mat­ter how inor­di­nately dri­ven to fight injus­tice). Unlike the phys­i­cal ideal Super­man, most of Lee and Kirby’s mutants did not view their pow­ers as gifts, and some were out­right monsters.

Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen in X-MenThe Royal Shake­speare Com­pany mutants face off

The X-Men for­mula also incor­po­rates deeper themes of racism, xeno­pho­bia, and even evo­lu­tion. Indeed, the entire premise is built upon the the­ory of evo­lu­tion: as mul­ti­ple species of humans walked the earth simul­ta­ne­ously hun­dreds of thou­sands of years ago, so too do humans now find them­selves shar­ing the earth with arguably the next branch of homo sapi­ens’ evo­lu­tion: known in the comics as “homo supe­rior.” Car­ried through to the next log­i­cal con­clu­sion, this mutant minor­ity is feared and demo­nized as freaks by the humans that vastly out­num­ber them.

The X-Men’s sym­pa­thetic antag­o­nist Erik Lehn­sh­err (Ian McK­ellen) is a sur­vivor of a Ger­man con­cen­tra­tion camp. The hor­rors he expe­ri­enced at the hands of those that hated his race (but didn’t yet real­ize he was actu­ally a dif­fer­ent species) in 1944 Poland inform his actions as the supervil­lain Mag­neto. As he lis­tens to con­tem­po­rary Amer­i­can politi­cians argue over how to con­tain and sup­press the increas­ing mutant pop­u­la­tion, he dis­gust­edly states “I’ve heard these argu­ments before.” His for­mer friend (and fel­low mutant) Charles Xavier (Patrick Stew­art) hopes to find a way to live in peace, and coun­ters “That was a long time ago. Mankind has evolved since then.” But Mag­neto is unyield­ing. “Yes. Into us.”

Hugh Jackman in X-MenTalk to the claws

The cru­cial fac­tor that had me sim­ply assume the movie would be ter­ri­ble was cast­ing. It’s not hard to imag­ine a young actor able embody Spider-Man’s secret iden­tity Peter Parker as a put-upon geek har­bor­ing tremen­dous reserves of guilt and right­eous­ness. But how do you cast Wolver­ine, a diminu­tive, half-animal Cana­dian super­sol­dier with ridicu­lous hair? Easy! You hire the tall, absurdly hand­some Aus­tralian studly song-and-dance man Hugh Jack­man. Against all odds, he totally nailed the fan-favorite char­ac­ter. The moment in the film when this for­mer X-Men comics fan decided that Jack­man suc­ceeded is a sequence in which he steals an X-motorcycle and dis­cov­ers a handy tur­bo­boost but­ton. The entire audi­ence at the New York Ziegfeld the­ater laughed heartily along with his undis­guised glee at its total awe­some­ness. This doubter was com­pletely sold.

Another cast­ing coup was the double-dose of Royal Shake­speare Com­pany grav­i­tas pro­vided by McK­ellen and Stew­art (both with exten­sive expe­ri­ence in fan­tasy and sci-fi genre mate­r­ial, as Gan­dalf in Lord of the Rings and Cap­tain Picard in Star Trek: The Next Gen­er­a­tion, respec­tively). Bruce Davi­son (as the xeno­pho­bic Sen­a­tor Robert Kelly) also has a long his­tory in sci­ence fic­tion, hav­ing starred in Willard and the influ­en­tial clas­sic The Lathe of Heaven.

Famke Janssen in X-MenJust don’t call her Mar­vel Girl

James Mars­den later proved him­self to be enter­tain­ingly charis­matic in Enchanted, but here he’s a vic­tim to the humor­less char­ac­ter of Cyclops. As Wolver­ine cor­rectly psy­cho­an­a­lyzes him, he’s a dick. Sim­i­larly, Famke Janssen isn’t given a whole lot to work with as the no-fun-please Dr. Jean Grey (known in the comics as Mar­vel GIrl, later to die and rise again as Phoenix in Brett Ratner’s crap sequel X-Men 3: The Last Stand — read The Dork Report review). But together with Jack­man, the trio brings alive the Wolverine/Cyclops/Phoenix love tri­an­gle drawn from the comics, help­ing to make the movie accessible.

The one real weak spot in the cast is Halle Berry. Like Jen­nifer Lopez in Steven Soderbergh’s Out of Sight, she seems to have only one real act­ing per­for­mance under her belt (Monster’s Ball, of course). Here she turns in one of her most bland and tone­less per­for­mances yet. For extra amuse­ment, be sure to catch the deleted scenes on the DVD edi­tion in which she can be heard affect­ing a weak pseudo-African accent. It’s a shame, because Storm was a very strong char­ac­ter in the comics around the time I read them. Writer Chris Clare­mont obvi­ously had an affec­tion for her, even pro­mot­ing her to leader of the X-Men.

Hugh Jackman and Anna Paquin in X-MenFero­cious mutant super-soldier Wolver­ine can really relate to Rogue’s teenage angst

Aside from cast­ing, I imag­ine the second-biggest obsta­cle fac­ing the film­mak­ers was how to intro­duce the com­plex X-Men uni­verse to main­stream audi­ences while pre­serv­ing its integrity to appease long­time fans. Hayter and Singer came up with the excel­lent solu­tion of hav­ing us meet Pro­fes­sor X and his X-Men through the eyes of new­bies Wolver­ine and Rogue (Anna “That’s my mother’s piano!” Paquin). Both are very dif­fer­ent char­ac­ters that share key com­mon expe­ri­ences that allow them to bond in a big brother / lit­tle sis­ter rela­tion­ship: Wolver­ine is a loner amne­siac unaware there are oth­ers like him, and Rogue is a young run­away iso­lated by par­tic­u­larly extreme pow­ers that pre­vent her from expe­ri­enc­ing nor­mal human inter­ac­tion. Almost any­one can iden­tify with the painful com­ing of age that comes with her exag­ger­ated ado­les­cence. A star­tling moment of pathos occurs between them when she sees him wield the fear­some metal claws sheathed in his fore­arms: “When they come out, does it hurt?” “Every time.”

On an even more prac­ti­cal level, the film­mak­ers came up with an inge­nious solu­tion to the comics char­ac­ters’ silly cos­tumes by hav­ing the movie X-Men wear more pho­to­genic uni­forms. Cyclops’ joke about yel­low and orange span­dex is an easter egg for fans: Wolver­ine sports such an ensem­ble in the comics. Best of all, the req­ui­site action set pieces are jus­ti­fied by the char­ac­ters, not just the plot. For exam­ple, a big blow-out staged at a train sta­tion is the result of a heart­break­ing mis­un­der­stand­ing that causes Rogue to flee the longed-for safe haven she had only just discovered.

The fran­chise is now set to con­tinue with a tril­ogy of pre­quels includ­ing this summer’s X-Men Ori­gins: Wolver­ine, and rumored projects X-Men Ori­gins: First Class and X-Men Ori­gins: Mag­neto. But with the first of these wrack­ing up some notably awful reviews, it’s clear the first in the series will still stand as the best for some time.


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

Mogwai live at The Music Hall of Williamsburg, April 2009

 

The Scot­tish instru­men­tal rock out­fit Mog­wai earned their rep­u­ta­tion in part for sheer vol­ume, like My Bloody Valen­tine and The Who before them. Their music is also notable for explor­ing the kinds of extreme dynam­ics you usu­ally only hear in elec­tron­ica or pro­gres­sive rock, wholly unlike the fatigu­ing con­stant loud­ness of most pop, punk, and metal.

My teeth are still res­onat­ing. This was far and away the most vis­cer­ally phys­i­cal con­cert I’ve ever attended. In all seri­ous­ness, I believe it would be pos­si­ble for a deaf per­son to enjoy a Mog­wai show. I don’t mean to be offen­sive to the deaf com­mu­nity here; I felt the waves of sound as much as I could hear them.

This con­cert, part of a three-night stand at The Music Hall of Williams­burg, was filmed and might appear on a future DVD.

Mogwai live at The Music Hall of Williamsburg, April 2009Mog­wai fear nothing

Offi­cial band site: www.mogwai.co.uk

Buy Mogwai’s lat­est album The Hawk is Howl­ing from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Orifices in Place of Faces: The Flaming Lips: Christmas on Mars

Flaming Lips Christmas on Mars poster

 

The Flam­ing Lips are an odd band to have achieved main­stream suc­cess. After years of non­com­mer­cial psy­che­delic art-rock exper­i­men­ta­tion like the four-disc Zaireeka (1997), they broke through to mass appeal with The Soft Bul­letin (1999) and Yoshimi Bat­tles the Pink Robots (2002). The lat­ter fea­tures the finest exis­ten­tial love song to ever become the offi­cial rock song of Okla­homa:

Do you real­ize that every­one you know some­day will die
And instead of say­ing all of your good­byes, let them know
You real­ize that life goes fast
It’s hard to make the good things last
You real­ize the sun doesn’t go down
It’s just an illu­sion caused by the world spin­ning round
     – Do You Real­ize??

Wayne Coyne in Christmas on MarsThe Alien Super-Being gets great reception

The Lips also have more ambi­tion than most of their con­tem­po­raries when it comes to the audio­vi­sual aspects of a rock group’s respon­si­bil­i­ties. They were inspired by how some of their fore­bears did more than con­tract third par­ties to film them live in con­cert or to direct hagio­graphic doc­u­men­taries. The Bea­t­les (A Hard Day’s Night, Help!, Yel­low Sub­ma­rine), The Who (Tommy, Quadrophe­nia), and Pink Floyd (The Wall) all made fea­ture films that deserve to be con­sid­ered among their canon­i­cal audio-only discog­ra­phy. As Lips front­man Wayne Coyne told Pitch­fork:

we’d always talked about how the Flam­ing Lips should have a movie, like the Ramones have a movie, or the Bea­t­les. Not in a pre­ten­tious way, just like, “Yeah! We should have a movie!” We thought, “Well, why not? We’ll just sort of make one and see what happens.“

They began talk­ing up Christ­mas of Mars years ago, and the longer the delay, the greater the leg­end. It was rumored to be either an expen­sive folly on the scale of Axl Rose’s album Chi­nese Democ­racy (in pro­duc­tion for 14 years for a bud­get of $13 mil­lion) or an elab­o­rate meta joke. But in fact, the Lips did in all seri­ous­ness work on the project off and on for about seven years. They pro­duced the whole thing in their stomp­ing grounds of Okla­homa City, mostly around Coyne’s own home. For bet­ter or for worse, it’s entirely their vision, writ­ten and co-directed by Coyne, with Bradley Beesley (who directed sev­eral of the band’s music videos) and George Salisbury.

Surely Coyne & co. must have been famil­iar with the infa­mous b-movie Santa Claus Con­quers the Mar­tians (1964) (in the pub­lic domain and a free down­load). The spec­tac­u­larly awful movie was hilar­i­ously mas­sa­cred on both Mys­tery Sci­ence The­ater 3000 in 1991 and by Cin­e­matic Titanic in 2008. Like this igno­ble pre­de­ces­sor, Christ­mas on Mars is sad­dled with long sequences of bad dia­logue deliv­ered poorly by ama­teur actors. Even cameos by the Lips’ pals Fred Armisen and Adam Gold­berg are really awkward.

Partly inspired by the psy­che­delia of Stan­ley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (read The Dork Report review), Christ­mas on Mars actu­ally owes more to the blue-collar atmos­phere of Rid­ley Scott’s Alien. The humans in Christ­mas on Mars are ordi­nary peo­ple in an extra­or­di­nary locale, strug­gling to sur­vive. One year prior, human­ity has estab­lished a dilap­i­dated space sta­tion on Mars. Worse, the crew mem­bers are slowly going mad and suf­fer­ing hal­lu­ci­na­tions. As they con­clude, man is not meant to live in space. The sole pur­pose of the colony, other than con­stantly repair­ing its decay­ing infra­struc­ture, seems to be to sup­port a test-tube baby due on mid­night, Christ­mas Eve. The only woman on the sta­tion lives in a bub­ble, feed­ing the baby through a tube grafted into her belly.

Wayne Coyne and Steven Drozd in Christmas on MarsThe Lips dis­cretely invite you to enhance your view­ing expe­ri­ence in what­ever man­ner you choose

Major Syr­tis (Lips mem­ber Steven Drozd) has taken it upon him­self to orga­nize a Christ­mas Pageant to raise morale. He is in fact par­tially respon­si­ble for their cur­rent predica­ment, as he appar­ently sac­ri­ficed stor­age space to cart some Christ­mas accou­trements to Mars, a deci­sion that has near-fatal con­se­quences for the colony. The colony’s only source for hap­pi­ness is very nearly ruined when his cho­sen Santa com­mits sui­cide. The Alien Super-Being (Coyne) lands nearby in a spher­i­cal space­craft, which con­ve­niently shrinks to a size suit­able to be swal­lowed until he needs it again. Even though Coyne wrote the script, and is quite a talker if the DVD’s bonus inter­views are to be judged, the role he assigned him­self has no dia­logue. He fills Santa’s shoes and repairs both Syrtis’s busted snow machine and the colony itself. He saves Christ­mas and allows the baby to be born.

Far more inter­est­ing are the beau­ti­ful opti­cal spe­cial effects (at least, I assume they’re opti­cal — if they actu­ally are dig­i­tal, they’re uncom­monly beau­ti­ful). Some of the abstract psy­che­delia was so freaky I feared it might burn out my aging tele­vi­sion. Most curi­ous is the strange pre­oc­cu­pa­tion with vagi­nal imagery. The Alien Super-Being passes in and out of his space­ship through a vagi­nal por­tal. Syr­tis hal­lu­ci­nates a vis­it­ing space­man with a pul­sat­ing vagina for a face, and later dreams of an entire march­ing band with sim­i­lar ori­fices in place of faces (say that ten times quickly).

A pre-movie sequence advises view­ers to have sex, smoke pot, or just do what­ever they like while watch­ing the movie. This bor­ing Dork Reporter dared to dis­obey these instruc­tions and sim­ply watched it alone at home, stone cold sober. Not to put too fine a point on it, I sus­pect Christ­mas on Mars is one of those things best expe­ri­enced in an altered state.


Offi­cial movie site: www.flaminglips.com/content/film

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

Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In)

Let the Right One In movie poster

 

Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) is unapolo­get­i­cally a vam­pire story. It fol­lows most of the rules of the genre but avoids the stan­dard trap­pings of spec­tac­u­lar blood­let­ting (like, say, Blade) and sim­plis­tic sex­ual metaphors (we’re look­ing at you, Twi­light). Direc­tor Tomas Alfred­son and screen­writer John Ajvide (adapt­ing his own novel) are star­tlingly frank not just in their depic­tions of the rit­u­al­is­tic vio­lence inher­ent in a vampire’s every­day toil, but also in the des­per­ate hungers and desires of all their human char­ac­ters as well.

Novel and film are both set in 1980s Swe­den, at a time when the famously inde­pen­dent, neu­tral nation was strug­gling through a Cold War eco­nomic reces­sion. 12-year-old Oskar (Kåre Hede­brant) is meek, frail, and so fair as to seem albino. He splits his time between a scold­ing mother and a lov­ing but dis­tant father with unex­plained secrets. The only time we see Oskar happy is when play­ing in the snow at his father’s rural home. An omi­nous guest arrives, mut­ing even con­ver­sa­tion (we never learn the man’s iden­tity, or the rea­son for his smoth­er­ing effect, but for story pur­poses it only mat­ters that Oskar can­not be happy even here). Oskar is con­stantly bul­lied by school thugs seem­ingly inspired by the sav­age tor­tur­ers from the movie Deliv­er­ance: their favorite taunt is to demand he squeal like a pig. The con­stant pres­sure dri­ves him mor­bidly inward, rapidly becom­ing a poten­tial dan­ger to him­self and oth­ers. He secretly col­lects grue­some news­pa­per clip­pings of local crimes, and sneaks out­side at night to play­act his vengeance with matches and a knife. It’s easy for a 21st Cen­tury viewer to imag­ine Oskar becom­ing a school shooter.

Lina Leandersson in Let the Right One InEli (Lina Lean­der­s­son) has been twelve for a long time

A mys­te­ri­ous cou­ple moves in next door in the dead of night: Eli (Lina Lean­der­s­son), a girl appear­ing about his age, and her adult com­pan­ion Håkan (Per Rag­nar). Eli inter­rupts one of Oskar’s soli­tary night­time revenge fan­tasies, and they strike up a sort of friend­ship. As the habit­u­ally aloof Eli warms to his com­pany, she advises him to fight back against his oppres­sors. When he gets a chance to do so, Hedebrant’s star­tling per­for­mance dur­ing his tri­umph con­veys a dis­turb­ing impres­sion of a too-young boy expe­ri­enc­ing a kind of ecstasy. Com­pare and con­trast his obvi­ous plea­sure with the wholly dis­pas­sion­ate mur­ders com­mit­ted by Eli and Håkan. One won­ders how Alfred­son directed the young actor towards such a per­for­mance, and how much Hede­brant knew about the sub­text of how the scene would play on the screen. As becomes clear, Eli may not have had the boy’s best inter­ests at heart; was she urg­ing him to stand up for him­self, or set­ting him up for a big­ger fall later? Either way, she suc­ceeds in bind­ing him more closely to her.

Although Oskar is pubes­cent, his infat­u­a­tion with her does not seem to be espe­cially sex­ual. His hungers are more for com­pan­ion­ship and under­stand­ing. Eli says she is “not a girl,” and asks Oskar if he would still like her were she not. With lit­tle hes­i­ta­tion, he answers yes. He catches a glimpse of her naked torso, see­ing what seems to be a cas­tra­tion mark. But Eli is far more than just not a girl. Sub­tle spe­cial effects give us fleet­ing images of her with eerily enlarged eyes and as an older woman. She is per­ma­nently frozen in a state of child­hood, but it seems she hasn’t matured intel­lec­tu­ally and emo­tion­ally as her body remains in sta­sis (unlike the young char­ac­ter Clau­dia in Anne Rice’s Inter­view With the Vam­pire). As she tells him “I’ve been twelve for a long time.”

Let the Right One InVam­pires are hot stuff in bed

Although it doesn’t resem­ble more typ­i­cal vam­pire tales, Let the Right One In does fol­low most of the mythos: vam­pires have to be invited in (hence the name; to enter unin­vited will cause a painful, bloody death — a fate Eli demon­strates to Oskar to prove her affec­tion for him); any vic­tim bit­ten but not killed will become a vam­pire (Eli is shown to break a victim’s spine after feed­ing — a belated form of mercy com­ing from a vam­pire, I sup­pose); house­cats are com­pelled to attack vam­pires (as seen in not one of the most con­vinc­ing spe­cial effects sequences), and sun­light causes them to spon­ta­neously com­bust (as seen in one very con­vinc­ing sequence).

Eli shares with Oskar her motto “To flee is life. To linger, death.” Like her encour­age­ment to fight back against bul­lies, here is the key to under­stand­ing the mys­tery of her devoted human com­pan­ion Håkan. Eli has out­sourced her phys­i­cal needs to her self­lessly devoted ser­vant, essen­tially mak­ing him into a ser­ial killer on her behalf. What moti­vates him to com­ply? Was he once a boy, like Oscar, that fell in love with her? What­ever their bond, she ensures that Oskar is next in line to become her new provider.

After writ­ing the above, I read The A.V. Club’s excel­lent Book Vs. Film: Let the Right One In by Tasha Robin­son (part of a series also includ­ing Watch­men). In short, yes, a great deal needed to be omit­ted from the novel to shape the story into a fea­ture film. But Robin­son approves; rather than leav­ing too much out, the movie fruit­fully chooses a very dif­fer­ent, more inter­nal ver­sion of the story. Some tid­bits gleaned from the arti­cle that may be of inter­est to any­one else that hasn’t read the book:

  • The book is a more graphic, con­ven­tional hor­ror story.
  • Oskar’s father’s friend is a less sin­is­ter char­ac­ter in the book. Sim­ply, he’s a drink­ing buddy, and Oskar’s oth­er­wise decent father is appar­ently a mean drunk.
  • The title is derived from a Mor­ris­sey song quoted in the book: “Let the right one in / let the old dreams die / let the wrong ones go / They can­not do what you want them to do”
  • The Oskar of the novel is over­weight, inspir­ing the bul­lies’ “piggy” taunts.
  • The Håkan of the book is a pedophile. Eli encoun­tered him as an adult, and she trades some sex­ual favors for his ser­vices. Skim­ming the com­ments left below Robinson’s arti­cle, I see most other view­ers inter­preted the movie the same way I did.

Offi­cial movie site: www.lettherightoneinmovie.com

Must read: Let the Wrong Sub­ti­tles in to Let the Right One In. Icons of Fright finds the Eng­lish trans­la­tion lacking.

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

Happy-Go-Lucky

Happy-Go-Lucky movie poster

 

Poppy (Sally Hawkins) is a crea­ture rarely encoun­tered in movies and even less in real life: some­one gen­uinely happy. She’s not both­ered by oth­ers’ life goals; at 30, she doesn’t have a baby or a boyfriend, own a house, or know how to drive. Relent­lessly chip­per, upbeat, and out­go­ing, she’s best friends with her room­mate (a true rar­ity!) and has already found the career pos­si­bly most suited for her (she’s a gifted, com­pas­sion­ate pri­mary school teacher). Her one van­ity seems to be that she’s proud of her legs.

In con­ver­sa­tion, Poppy always finds a way to agree with almost any­thing any­one says. We first meet her chat­ter­ing away at a sullen book­store clerk. Hav­ing seen Hawkins inter­viewed around the time of her Oscar nom­i­na­tion, it’s all the more appar­ent she’s affect­ing a Cather­ine Tate impres­sion for the movie. Like Tate, Poppy just barely skirts the edge of being annoy­ing to the audi­ence as well, which con­sid­er­ing the reac­tions Poppy pro­vokes from cer­tain other char­ac­ters later in the film, prob­a­bly says more about me than it does her. Poppy’s other major strat­egy in life is to find a new oppor­tu­nity in every set­back. A back injury sends her gig­gling all the way onto an excit­ing adven­ture to a chi­ro­prac­tor. Hav­ing her bicy­cle stolen pro­vides another open­ing for a new expe­ri­ence: dri­ving lessons.

happy_go_lucky_2.jpgYou’re dri­ving me mad! See what I did there? No? Too easy?

Unfor­tu­nately for them both, her new tutor is the unsta­ble, fero­ciously angry Scott (Eddie Marsan). Just a few of Scott’s many neu­roses include racism, homo­pho­bia, reli­gious fer­vor, and con­spir­acy the­o­ries. His most para­noid rant (regard­ing the Wash­ing­ton Mon­u­ment sup­pos­edly being 666 feet tall — appar­ently a rumor stem­ming from the mis­re­ported height of its foun­da­tion) echoes those of the sim­i­larly dam­aged Johnny (David Thewlis) from Mike Leigh’s excel­lent Naked (1993). Is Marsan the most ver­sa­tile actor ever? He’s played every­thing from a sweet-natured man almost par­a­lyzed by shy­ness in Leigh’s Vera Drake, to a tough preacher in 21 Grams, to a ruth­less crim­i­nal who keeps los­ing extrem­i­ties in Han­cock. Yes, Hancock.

Most nar­ra­tives are usu­ally struc­tured around a protagonist’s prob­lem. How do you tell a story about some­one that has no prob­lems? Happy-Go-Lucky defied my expec­ta­tions that the story would go one of three ways:

  1. Poppy’s happy-go-lucky atti­tude is a defense mech­a­nism mask­ing an inner sad­ness. Events con­spire that force her to con­front and defeat her inner demons. Every­one cries, then laughs. Happy end­ing. Pic­ture a young Julia Roberts.
  2. Poppy con­fronts a huge tragedy that nearly breaks her spirit. She over­comes the obsta­cle. Every­one cries, then laughs. Happy end­ing. Pic­ture Roberto Benigni’s Life is Beautiful.
  3. Poppy meets some­one deeply sad and unhappy, her polar oppo­site. She fixes this bro­ken per­son with the power of her indomitable spirit. Every­one cries, then laughs. Happy end­ing. Pic­ture Robin Williams help­ing Jeff Bridges heal in Fisher King (although it may seem like I’m mock­ing it here, Terry Gilliam and Richard LaGravenese’s Fisher King is actu­ally one of my favorite movies).

happy_go_lucky_1.jpglat­i­tude, lon­gi­tude, pos­i­tive attitude

While Poppy’s hap­pi­ness is totally gen­uine, she is not deranged. She does not deny that prob­lems and sad­ness exist in the world and in other people’s lives. Nor does she believe that any­one else can sim­ply shrug off their set­backs, depres­sion, or inner demons. The above sce­nario to which Happy-Go-Lucky comes clos­est is the third. Scott and one of Poppy’s sis­ters are as sad and messed up as she is happy. She tries to help, but rec­og­nizes she is unable to fix them. The truly sad real­iza­tion for the audi­ence at the end is that we see that Poppy knows she must keep her dis­tance from her sis­ter and stop try­ing to befriend Scott. Her mere pres­ence in their lives dri­ves them crazy.


Offi­cial movie site: happygoluckythemovie.com

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

Australia

australia.jpg

 

Strictly speak­ing, Baz Luhrmann has made only one musi­cal, the Dork Report guilty plea­sure Moulin Rouge (2001). But, last seen direct­ing Puccini’s opera La Bohème on Broad­way, he can’t seem to resist the genre. Strictly Ball­room (1992), Romeo + Juliet (1996), and now Aus­tralia all incor­po­rate key ele­ments of the musi­cal: exag­ger­ated emot­ing, spec­ta­cle, and espe­cially, songs. Aus­tralia directly quotes whole num­bers from The Wiz­ard of Oz, but is actu­ally bet­ter described not as Luhrmann’s Oz but as his Gone With the Wind. Which is to say, its an over­long cos­tume drama faintly con­de­scend­ing towards its non-white char­ac­ters and pre­oc­cu­pied with the epic spec­ta­cle of cities burn­ing dur­ing wartime.

Australia’s biggest flaw is struc­tural, being essen­tially two dis­crete movies fea­tur­ing the same char­ac­ters. Imag­ine a dou­ble fea­ture of a movie and its sequel, smashed together into one. The first half con­cerns the Aus­tralian mar­ket for cat­tle needed to sup­port the Allies’ war effort. Eng­lish­woman Lady Ash­ley (Nicole Kid­man — a native Aussie who even here has to affect a false accent) owns a small ranch in the out­back, and believes her absent hus­band is cheat­ing on her. She trav­els down under to sell the land in order to pay down debt, but also to rid her hus­band of what she imag­ines to be his adul­ter­ous refuge. There, she learns he has been mur­dered by the monop­o­liz­ing “King” Carney’s (Bryan Brown) hench­man Neil Fletcher (David Wen­ham, Faramir in Lord of the Rings).

Nicole Kidman in AustraliaBlast it! This war is a spot of bother.

She meets the hunky Drover (Hugh Jack­man), a man whose name is his job, whose job is his name, and the sort of fic­tional Aus­tralian that actu­ally says “Crikey” (q.v. Croc­o­dile Dundee). Audi­ence mem­bers inter­ested in the beef­cake fac­tor will be delighted to see Jack­man has built up his body to a size even big­ger than for the Cana­dian mutant super­hero Wolver­ine in three (soon to be four) X-Men films (although the neck-to-head ratio threat­ens to tip over into freak­ish ter­ri­tory). Lady Ash­ley also befriends the film’s nar­ra­tor, the young “half-caste” boy Nul­lah (Bran­don Wal­ters, so extra­or­di­nar­ily androg­y­nous that I had to keep remind­ing myself he was not a girl). Nul­lah spent most of the movie thor­oughly annoy­ing the hell out of me as he shouts out the name “Drover! Yay Drover! Drover, Drover, Drover, yay!” over and over and over again. Ugh.

Nullah’s grand­fa­ther, a mys­ti­cal Abo­rig­i­nal known as King George (David Gulpilil), has been framed for Lord Ashley’s mur­der. He watches over Nul­lah from afar, and encour­ages him to become a sto­ry­teller. The fact that we are being told this story by a lit­tle boy to some degree explains and excuses the cast’s hammy mug­ging (most espe­cially by Kid­man, of whom I am swiftly tir­ing, although I was never really a hater) and how, on the whole, every­one seems to take death pretty well. After los­ing Lady Ashley’s hus­band and Nullah’s mother, our gang of heroes is only really upset by the death of Kipling Flynn (Jack Thomp­son), an alco­holic col­lab­o­rat­ing with Car­ney. They are moved per­haps because he is given a chance to redeem him­self right in front of them (as opposed to, say, an inno­cent per­son dying offscreen).

Hugh Jackman in AustraliaCrikey! Get along, lit­tle wallabies!

Lady Ashely finds she can make more money by tend­ing the ranch and sell­ing its cat­tle. Not to men­tion to effect a tri­fold moral vic­tory: aveng­ing her husband’s mur­der, beat­ing the local monop­oly, and right­ing a whole host of injus­tices made against the lit­tle boy. Nullah’s white father sex­u­ally exploited and mur­dered his mother, and if that weren’t trou­ble enough, the state wishes to abduct her and “breed the black out of her.” Such was offi­cial Aus­tralian pol­icy until the 1970s; for a much bet­ter film along these themes see Phillip Noyce’s hugely affect­ing Rab­bit Proof Fence (2002).

All this fuss and to-do is largely resolved and winds down about 1 hour and forty min­utes in, the length of a typ­i­cal movie. But Aus­tralia is no typ­i­cal movie, and has about another hour and half to go. The happy sur­ro­gate fam­ily liv­ing together on the ranch must work itself all the way back up into an all-new con­flict: the return of the vil­lain­ous Fletcher for his revenge. The tur­moil of World War II is reduced to an arbi­trary incon­ve­nience to the char­ac­ters as they fight to restore their new makeshift family.

The movie is full of not-always-convincing computer-generated spec­ta­cle like cat­tle stam­pedes and Japan­ese kamikaze attacks. But one fleet­ing lit­tle shot caught my eye and reminded me why I like Luhrmann so much. Watch for a brief moment as a vel­vet cur­tain drops, and Luhrmann invis­i­bly cuts to the reverse angle. Classy and cool.


Offi­cial movie site: www.AustraliaMovie.com

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

The Visitor

The Visitor movie poster

 

The Vis­i­tor is the excel­lent sopho­more effort from Thomas McCarthy, writer/director of The Sta­tion Agent (2003). The dis­gust­ingly tal­ented McCarthy is also an accom­plished actor, most recently appear­ing as a cor­po­rate espi­onage agent in Tony Gilroy’s Duplic­ity and as a pla­gia­riz­ing jour­nal­ist in The Wire.

Wal­ter Vale (Richard Jenk­ins) is a polit­i­cal sci­ence pro­fes­sor at Con­necti­cut Col­lege. The recent wid­ower has regressed into a will­fully lonely state, hav­ing lost his social graces and merely coast­ing in his respon­si­bil­i­ties. In one small way at least, he does seem to be try­ing to grow a lit­tle as the movie begins. He runs through a num­ber of piano instruc­tors, futilely attempt­ing to pick up the instru­ment at an age he is coun­seled to not even try. We later learn that this effort is fac­ing back­wards and grasp­ing at the past; his late wife was a con­cert pianist.

Richard Jenkins and Haaz Sleiman in The Visitor

Wal­ter reluc­tantly trav­els to New York City to present a paper he nom­i­nally cowrote. He finds that his neglected vacant city apart­ment has been ille­gally sub­let by a man named Ivan (which comes across like a clue dropped for a future con­flict — who is this Ivan with a key to his place, and will he return? But the plot point is never picked back up). His unex­pected ten­ants are a young cou­ple barely mak­ing a liv­ing in New York City as artists: Tarek (Haaz Sleiman), a Syr­ian djembe player, and Zainab (Danai Jeke­sai Gurira), a Sene­galese jew­elry designer. The con­sci­en­tious Wal­ter balks at throw­ing them out and instead befriends them. Tarek begins to teach him to play the djembe, which he takes to more imme­di­ately than he ever did the piano.

My one com­plaint is that the char­ac­ter of Tarek is too sketchily drawn. He’s an implau­si­bly good and nice guy, with­out a hint of any­thing even remotely dark. Where are this very gre­gar­i­ous man’s other friends? Even the icy Zainab seems to have pals at the out­doors mar­ket where she sells her hand­made jewelry.

Richard Jenkins and Hiam Abbass in The Visitor

The trio’s brief period of hap­pi­ness is bro­ken when Tarek is detained over a mis­un­der­stand­ing that inci­den­tally reveals he and Zainab have both over­stayed their visas. As Wal­ter tries to aid his new friends, he finds him­self plunged into the black hole of ille­gal immi­gra­tion and Home­land Secu­rity. Tarek’s over­pro­tec­tive mother Mouma (Hiam Abbass) arrives, and Wal­ter becomes her ambas­sador as they shut­tle back and forth to a deten­tion cen­ter in Queens (a bor­ough the movie por­trays rather unflat­ter­ingly). If find­ing new friends and an invig­o­rat­ing cre­ative out­let had not already plunged Wal­ter back into life, a bud­ding romance with Mouma com­pletes his new slate.

The Vis­i­tor and The Sta­tion Agent both man­age to just barely skate the razor edge of sen­ti­men­tal cheese. Keep­ing the story of Walter’s emo­tional reha­bil­i­ta­tion from being too corny is the worry that Wal­ter is maybe a bit too des­per­ate to ingra­ti­ate him­self. Mouna under­stand­ably does a dou­ble­take when she learns how much he is sac­ri­fic­ing to help Tarek, even though they have all known him for only a few days. Indeed, the per­pet­u­ally ner­vous Zainab sus­pected his inten­tions from the very begin­ning — his aid would seem to be too good to be true were he not a man with a des­per­ate hole in his life. Zainab’s dis­trust is the defen­sive stance of some­one who knows she could be kicked out of her new home at any moment — xeno­pho­bia dressed up as com­bat­ing ter­ror­ism. It’s all the more affect­ing when she finally melts and opens up to Wal­ter and Mouna.

Any one of these char­ac­ters could be the tit­u­lar Vis­i­tor: Tarek, Zainab, and Mouna are, in the eyes of the Depart­ment of Home­land Secu­rity, at worst poten­tial ter­ror­ists and at best tem­po­rary labor, no mat­ter what they may have to offer. Wal­ter has homes in Con­necti­cut and New York but doesn’t really live in either one.


Offi­cial movie site: www.thevisitorfilm.com

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

Brideshead Revisited

Brideshead Revisited movie poster

 

Direc­tor Julian Jarrold’s lav­ish period piece Brideshead Revis­ited trots the globe like a gen­teel James Bond adven­ture, vis­it­ing Lon­don, Venice, and Morocco, but espe­cially the opu­lent Cas­tle Howard. From the per­spec­tive of an igno­ra­mus that hasn’t read Eve­lyn Waugh’s 1945 novel, this com­pressed ver­sion of what I imag­ine to be a grander prose nar­ra­tive doesn’t much fit the tra­di­tional struc­ture of a feature-length movie. For instance, a major char­ac­ter dis­ap­pears halfway through, and the inter­nal con­tra­dic­tion of another’s stunted emo­tional life ver­sus his grasp­ing desires is not a very cin­e­matic subject.

Charles Ryder (Matthew Goode) is a vora­ciously ambi­tious only child of a bit­ter, sar­cas­tic, wid­owed father. He leaves his emo­tion­ally sti­fling home behind to study his­tory at Oxford. His true aspi­ra­tions are to be a painter, even though the chilly athe­ist does not seem to posses the rich emo­tional life of an artist. His middle-class Lon­don fash­ions divide him from his new upper-class peers, but from his first arrival on cam­pus, he feels imme­di­ately drawn to the “sodomites.” As we learn more about Charles, we see that he does not so much share their sex­u­al­ity as he is fas­ci­nated by their out­wardly dra­matic, emo­tion­ally hon­est natures, and con­sid­er­able wealth — none of which he posesses. Curi­ously, Goode’s most recent screen appear­ance is as the sim­i­larly emo­tion­less and sex­u­ally ambigu­ous Ozy­man­dias in Watch­men (read The Dork Report review).

Julia Flyte, Emma Thompson, and Matthew Goode in Brideshead RevisitedMy loves, my hates, down even to my deep­est desires;I can no longer say whether these emo­tions are my own, or stolen from those oth­ers we des­per­ately wish to be

One among Charles’ new friends is equally hun­gry to attach him­self to him in return. The alco­holic, infan­tile Sebas­t­ian (Ben Whishaw) has more love for his teddy bear and house­keeper than for his extremely Roman Catholic mother Lady March­main (Emma Thomp­son, whose role is not much more than a cameo, despite being fea­tured front and cen­ter in the poster). Charles is awestruck by the wealth and opu­lence of Sebastian’s vast fam­ily estate Brideshead. As they pass through the chapel, the staunchly athe­ist Charles mim­ics his host and gen­u­flects. Sebas­t­ian upbraids him, for not only is he from another social class alto­gether, worse, he is not Catholic. Charles first exposes the essen­tial nature of his char­ac­ter when he replies that he was “just try­ing to fit in.”

But just as Charles’ cold home was defined by an unlov­ing patri­arch, Brideshead is blan­keted by Lady Marchmain’s oppres­sive miasma of Catholic guilt. Lord March­main (Michael Gam­bon) escaped by decamp­ing to Venice, where Catholics are a bit more lib­eral: they live their lives as they wish, and sim­ply con­fess their sins away when nec­es­sary. At first, it seems only Lord Marchmain’s mis­tress Cara (Greta Scac­chi) under­stands the sit­u­a­tion: this homo­sex­ual dal­liance is just a phase for Charles, but Sebas­t­ian is truly in love with him. We later learn that Lady March­main, whom one might assume would be blink­ered by her pious faith, is fully aware of her son’s pain. She also gives an even more astute analy­sis of what dri­ves Charles to attach him­self to the fam­ily: “You’re so des­per­ate to be liked, Charles.”

Julia Flyte, Ben Whishaw, and Matthew Goode in Brideshead RevisitedDrink­ing is not a hobby, Sebastian.

Charles is able to psy­cho­an­a­lyze him­self in the end: “did I want too much?” All his actions are dri­ven by desire: for the affec­tions of the Oxford gay clique, to reside in Brideshead, to marry Sebastian’s sis­ter Julia (Hay­ley Atwell), and to be praised by high soci­ety as a painter. But Charles is icily detached, with a notable lack of emo­tion and empa­thy. He calmly divorces his wife off­screen, in order to marry Julia and become lord of Brideshead. But as her fam­ily gives the sacra­ment of last rites to Lord March­main against his wishes, she per­ceives a mir­a­cle as he relents and reac­cepts his faith in his final moments. Her own faith is rekin­dled and she rejects Charles. In the end, his actions have ensured the final gen­er­a­tion of the fam­ily, and leave the desirous manse to no one.


Offi­cial movie site: www.bridesheadrevisited-themovie.com

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