Dennis Hopper’s Colors

Colors movie poster

 

Den­nis Hopper’s Col­ors may be a buddy cop flick on the sur­face, but it’s hardly typ­i­cal high-concept Hol­ly­wood mate­r­ial. It does have a token over­ar­ch­ing plot (involv­ing a mis­matched pair of cops trac­ing the per­pe­tra­tors of a drive-by shoot­ing), but it’s merely a loose thread to hold the movie together. If nei­ther a char­ac­ter study nor a plot-driven thriller, Col­ors is a por­trait of an issue, a set­ting, a problem.

A pro­to­type for the HBO series The Wire, Col­ors is actu­ally a por­trait of the dete­ri­o­rated, hope­less sit­u­a­tion in a failed Amer­i­can city lost to gangs and the drug trade. But unlike The Wire, which deeply explores the eco­nom­ics of how and why gangs func­tion as orga­ni­za­tions, Col­ors doesn’t offer much detail on how they oper­ate and what they do. How­ever sen­si­tive and bal­anced Col­ors may be, it still takes the point of view of pre­dom­i­nantly white law enforce­ment. As such, it’s easy to see why film­mak­ers shortly turned to films like Men­ace II Soci­ety (read The Dork Report review) and Boyz N the Hood (read The Dork Report review), which would look at some of the same issues from the other side of the milieu.

Sean Penn in ColorsSean Penn in Col­ors: “You don’t wanna get laid, man. It leads to kiss­ing and pretty soon you gotta talk to ‘em.”

The inter­est­ing title most obvi­ously refers to the term for a nation’s flag(tying in with the themes of war and the insti­tu­tion that wage it) or the sig­na­ture col­ors of three major war­ring L.A. gangs: the Bloods (red), Crips (blue), and a Latino gang (white). The real col­ors that divide these groups are, of course, race. The one sign of equal­ity in late 80s L.A. is that nearly every­one calls each other Holmes.

The nar­ra­tive is loosely hung on sev­eral cliches, most notably the trope of vet­eran cop sad­dled with rookie part­ner. Offi­cer Hodges (Duvall) is bit­ter at being drafted into the L.A.P.D. C.R.A.S.H. anti-gang pro­gram, after a life­time of ser­vice that ought to have qual­i­fied him for sen­si­ble hours, a safe desk job, and more time with his fam­ily. Offi­cer McGavin (Penn) is an aggres­sive, preen­ing dandy, eager to attack the gang prob­lem with the blunt tool of incarceration.

Robert Duvall in ColorsRobert Duvall in Col­ors: “you got a prob­lem with the whole fuckin’ world, and I’m in it.”

But it’s not long after the movie sets up these cliches that it begins to knock them down. The osten­si­bly wiz­ened Hodges makes a crit­i­cal mis­take, set­ting free a young gang­banger on the assump­tion that a brush with the law would scare him straight, while simul­ta­ne­ously intend­ing it to be a les­son to the head­strong book ‘em-type McGavin. The punk turns out to have been a major player in the shoot­ing. Another cliché short-circuited: McGavin romances a local girl from the bar­rio (Maria Con­chita Alonso), but she turns out to be far from the madonna he imag­ined. Not only that, she rejects him anyway.

Col­ors ends on a very down beat, not just the death of a sig­nif­i­cant char­ac­ter, but what comes after. McGavin is forced into the posi­tion of impart­ing wis­dom before he’s earned much him­self. The film ends with a long shot held on his face (echoed much later in the final shot of mind Michael Clay­ton — read The Dork Report review) as he most likely pon­ders his ineffectiveness.

Of note are early appear­ances by Don Chea­dle and Damon Wayans, the lat­ter fea­tur­ing in a stand-out sur­real sequence in which his char­ac­ter T-Bone is out of his mind on drugs. Her­bie Hancock’s score has not dated well, nor has the vin­tage rap sound­track, includ­ing the angry theme song by Ice-T. The open­ing cred­its are set to “One Time One Night” by the local L.A. band Los Lobos.


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

Battlestar Galactica: The Plan

Battlestar Galactica The Plan poster

 

Put sim­ply, Bat­tlestar Galac­tica: The Plan is a clip show done right, in dis­guise as an orig­i­nal movie for tele­vi­sion. What­ever else its intended pur­pose, it must also do double-duty as a kind of coda, appen­dix, or post­script to the cel­e­brated tele­vi­sion series (2004–2009). But is it one final cash-in, before the sets are struck and the cast scat­ters to the winds, or a noble attempt to address neglected aspects of the com­plex mythos that many fans felt weren’t justly served by the con­tro­ver­sial final episode? Which, for the record, I loved for its audac­ity, while still sym­pa­thiz­ing with the con­tin­gent of fans that felt it strained plau­si­bil­ity and raised more ques­tions than it answered.

The Plan incor­po­rates footage from across all four sea­sons, seam­lessly melded with new mate­r­ial writ­ten by Jane Espen­son, who wrote for the show dur­ing its fourth sea­son, and directed by Edward James Olmos, who starred in the series as Com­man­der Bill Adama and helmed sev­eral indi­vid­ual episodes. The DVD bonus fea­tures, while typ­i­cally hagio­graphic, rightly point out that Olmos obvi­ously had an inti­mate knowl­edge of the full story arc as well as a strong rela­tion­ship with the entire cast, so he was prob­a­bly the best choice to helm The Plan. Curi­ously, Exec­u­tive Pro­ducer Ronald D. Moore is missing-in-action from the cred­its and DVD bonus features.

Dean Stockwell in Battlestar Galactica: The PlanBrother Cavil (in hat) and Brother Cavil (not in hat) face their ends

In a nar­ra­tive con­ceit shared with the pre­vi­ous Bat­tlestar Galac­tica spe­cial movie Razor (2007), key por­tions of the show’s con­ti­nu­ity are retold from a dif­fer­ent per­spec­tive, in this case that of the Cylons, a frac­tious race of syn­thetic life­forms with a (shall we say) com­pli­cated rela­tion­ship with their human cre­ators. All but one of the actors por­tray­ing the twelve Cylon mod­els appear in new sequences here (Lucy Law­less being the sole hold­out), join­ing some of the orig­i­nal human char­ac­ters (miss­ing James Cal­lis, Mary McDon­nell, Katee Sack­hoff, Tah­moh Penikett, and Jamie Bam­ber). Oddly, Pres­i­dent Roslin (McDon­nell) is the only major char­ac­ter to not even appear in archival clips, being very con­spic­u­ous in her absence. Per­haps the actress objected to the script, or demanded too much money?

I per­son­ally don’t believe the series proper nec­es­sar­ily needed to tell more of the story than the writ­ers chose to before its final episode (which is off-limits any­way, tak­ing place chrono­log­i­cally after the events seen in The Plan). But if the goal of The Plan was to fill in some of the per­ceived gaps, it’s ulti­mately unsat­is­fy­ing for not address­ing some of the truly puz­zling mys­ter­ies, par­tic­u­larly the still-unseen thir­teenth Cylon called Daniel and the true nature of Starbuck’s (Sack­hoff) death, res­ur­rec­tion, and sub­se­quent visions. What new plot infor­ma­tion and char­ac­ter insights we do get are nice, but inessen­tial. We see more of the Cylon sur­prise attack, with the human colonies destroyed one by one, but how does this expand the story beyond indulging in some CGI apoc­a­lypse porn? But to The Plan’s credit, some of the most tan­ta­liz­ing mys­ter­ies are prob­a­bly best left up to our imag­i­na­tions. Not with­out rea­son, fans spent the final sea­son won­der­ing how Star­buck could be any­thing but a Cylon, only to find she was some­thing else entirely. I would argue the writ­ers chose to not drag the mys­tery down into mun­dan­ity, like the fatal mis­take George Lucas made by pro­vid­ing a pseudo-scientific def­i­n­i­tion of The Force in Star Wars Episode I: The Phan­tom Menace.

Grace Park in Battlestar Galactica: The PlanBoomer, true to her name, is a tick­ing time bomb

So what is the epony­mous Plan? As we saw in the first moments of the orig­i­nal series, the religiously-motivated Cylon race attempts to totally anni­hi­late human­ity in one fell swoop. A small fleet of human strag­glers escapes, with a small num­ber of Cylons unwill­ingly trapped among them (surely a frus­trat­ing sit­u­a­tion for crea­tures who expected to per­ish in the cat­a­clysm and be reborn in a heaven free of humans). The major rev­e­la­tion of The Plan is that much of the vio­lent con­flict we saw in the orig­i­nal series was actu­ally a des­per­ately impro­vised plan by this rag­tag cell of partly-unwilling sol­diers. Meet the new plan, same as the old plan: geno­cide. So we now under­stand these few Cylons to be a strug­gling ter­ror­ist cell.

The cen­tral char­ac­ters that drive the action are a pair of Ones/Cavils (Dean Stock­well), whose pend­ing exe­cu­tion pro­vides a fram­ing device to the entire movie. Also sig­nif­i­cantly expanded are Anders (Michael Trucco) and two very dif­fer­ent ver­sions of Four/Simon (Rick Wor­thy). We learn a lit­tle more about the hap­less Five/Aaron (Matthew Ben­nett), the expla­na­tion for his rel­a­tive insignif­i­cance in the show being that he is sim­ply a lit­tle dim, often serv­ing as an inept pawn of Cavil. We learn how the Eight that lived as Boomer actu­ally func­tioned (she was a sleeper agent who gen­uinely believed she was human, but was brought in and out of this illu­sion by Cavil — with her human side even­tu­ally win­ning over). We meet an addi­tional Six (Tri­cia Helfer) who worked under­cover as a pros­ti­tute, con­tribut­ing lit­tle to the story beyond more T&A. Speak­ing of, The Plan fea­tures a great deal of gra­tu­itous full-frontal male and female nudity, not moti­vated by plot or char­ac­ter, and seem­ingly only there for tit­il­la­tion and a faux sense of realism.

Tricia Helfer in Battlestar Galactica: The PlanEven the most diehard Bat­tlestar Galac­tica fan may have trou­ble remem­ber­ing which Six this is

Most of left-behind Cylons become con­t­a­m­i­nated, or at least influ­enced, by prox­im­ity with humans. Another Cavil is trapped on the post-apocalyptic Caprica with Anders, simul­ta­ne­ously rever­ing him as a father of the Cylon race while chal­leng­ing his empa­thetic lead­er­ship skills. How they all sur­vive radi­a­tion poi­son­ing isn’t explained. The Caprica-bound Cavil’s mind rapidly evolves to the point where he becomes worlds apart from his bit­ter, cruel twin in the fleet, who remains the sole Cylon purely ded­i­cated to the orig­i­nal plan.

Was the project mis­con­ceived? It is cer­tainly in keep­ing with the clas­si­cally bleak Bat­tlestar Galac­tica style and tone; a new char­ac­ter is a help­less lit­tle orphan kid, very out of keep­ing for a show that con­tin­u­ally rejects cute & cud­dly stereo­types, and I should have known that his fate would not be a good one. By design, The Plan is res­olutely intended for diehard Bat­tlestar Galac­tica fans with ency­clo­pe­dic knowl­edge of the show’s mythos. I con­sider myself a big fan, and have seen every episode, but there was much I hadn’t mem­o­rized, and about which I remain con­fused. For instance, I can’t recall if it was ever explained exactly why the so-called Final Five Cylons were implanted among human soci­ety to live as humans for sev­eral decades, and why only one incar­na­tion of Cavil knew of their exis­tence. It seems a mis­take to pro­duce a big-budget TV movie for a very nar­row audi­ence of super­fans that can remem­ber all this stuff, months after their favorite show stops air­ing. The Plan cer­tainly won’t attract vir­gin view­ers, as any­one inter­ested in the series would cer­tainly start with a DVD of the orig­i­nal 2004 minis­eries. I don’t even want to think about how The Plan must have seemed to any unfor­tu­nate view­ers who had never seen Bat­tlestar Galac­tica at all, let alone inter­nal­ized its mythos.

It’s hard to see how The Plan can be any­thing other than the true end of the series. Get­ting this much of the cast back together for one TV movie must have been a real feat, so doing it again in the future seems unlikely. The pre­quel series Caprica (read The Dork Report review of the pilot episode) is set far enough in Bat­tlestar Galactica’s past that much of the cast can­not log­i­cally guest star (although, upon reflec­tion, it might be pos­si­ble to see some of the Final Five, who might be liv­ing among humans at this point). So The Plan is most likely the end.


Offi­cial movie site: www.syfy.com/battlestar

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

Caprica

Caprica poster Alessandra Toressani

 

The recently con­cluded series Bat­tlestar Galac­tica (2003–2009) was crit­i­cally acclaimed and much beloved by a rel­a­tively small group of fans and crit­ics that appre­ci­ated the brainy show’s bleak, pes­simistic view of human­ity. It will cer­tainly live for­ever as a clas­sic achieve­ment in tele­vi­sion, but the com­mon con­sen­sus is that it failed to reach the wide audi­ence it could have. Exec­u­tive Pro­ducer Ron Moore told Vari­ety “‘We had view­ers say that if they were able to trick their wives or girl­friends into watch­ing Galac­tica, they loved it. But with the name Bat­tlestar Galac­tica scream­ing sci­ence fic­tion,’ he adds, ‘there was just such a high hur­dle to get female view­ers to even try it.’” So comes Caprica, a pre­quel osten­si­bly engi­neered from the begin­ning for greater appeal.

In an orig­i­nal move, its unrated (read: blood ‘n’ boo­bies) movie-length pilot episode pre­miered day-and-date on DVD and dig­i­tal down­load in May 1999, nearly a year before the series proper. It pre­serves some of the sig­na­ture ver­nac­u­lar of its par­ent series, includ­ing tech­nob­a­b­ble like “Cylon” (a mar­ket­ing term short for, we finally learn, Cyber­netic Life­form Node), the trip-on-the-tongue “gods damn it,” the infa­mous euphemism “frak,” and even racial epi­thets like “dirt eater.” The char­ac­ter of Bill Adama (Edward James Olmos in Bat­tlestar Galac­tica) appears as a young boy, and one sup­poses we might later even see some of the “final five” Cylons from the orig­i­nal series (Michael Hogan, Kate Ver­non, Michael Trucco, Rekha Sharma, and Aaron Dou­glas), who ought to have been run­ning around in some form at this point in BSG chronol­ogy. Some of the same core themes are still present, par­tic­u­larly reli­gious intol­er­ance and fam­i­lies cop­ing with cat­a­strophic dis­as­ter. Even the spe­cial effects are up to par with Galactica’s ground­break­ing space­ship bat­tles, although applied to spec­tac­u­larly con­vinc­ing dig­i­tal cityscapes.

Eric Stoltz and Esai Morales in Battlestar Galactica CapricaCaprica, like Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, holds that there are no Sur­geon Gen­eral warn­ings in space

But there are sig­nif­i­cantly wor­ri­some signs that indi­cate a fatal mis­cal­cu­la­tion on The SyFy Channel’s part (worse than their aston­ish­ingly stu­pid rechris­ten­ing from “Sci-Fi”): Caprica hinges on two men and three annoy­ing teens, rel­e­gat­ing its only two adult female char­ac­ters to the side­lines. It may very well be the case that many women were dis­cour­aged from giv­ing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica a chance, but it’s also true that the show fea­tured a bevy of sig­nif­i­cant, com­plex women: self-destructive fire­brand Star­buck (Katee Sack­hoff), pres­i­dent of all human­ity Laura Roslin (Mary McDon­nell), Dick Cheney-esque war crim­i­nal Cap­tain Cain (Michelle Forbes), and con­flicted Cylons Three (Lucy Law­less), Six (Tri­cia Helfer), and Eight (Grace Park). So far, at least, Caprica includes only two lead female roles, nei­ther of whom fig­ures strongly in the pilot episode: Amanda Gray­stone (Paula Mal­com­son, from Dead­wood) and Sis­ter Clarice Wil­low (Polly Walker, from Rome).

But maybe this gen­der inequal­ity makes a kind of sense. The real core dynamic between the two male leads makes for clas­sic sto­ry­telling. Indus­tri­al­ist Daniel Gray­stone (Eric Stoltz) invented a vir­tual real­ity play­ground called the Holoband, and has since turned to devel­op­ing weaponized robot­ics. Joseph Adama (Esai Morales) is a crooked lawyer tied to an off­world orga­nized crime syn­di­cate that put him through law school, and fur­ther con­trol him with threats. A ter­ror­ist bomb­ing claims their daugh­ters (and Adama’s wife), and the two men later bond over mutual grief, cof­fee, and cig­a­rettes (like Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, doc­tors and nutri­tion­ists many thou­sands of years in our past haven’t yet warned peo­ple about the dan­gers of caf­feine and nico­tine). The two men may be of dif­fer­ent plan­ets, races, and reli­gions, but become bound by com­plic­ity in an act of indus­trial espi­onage that leads to a mur­der of an elected offi­cial (cast and cos­tumed in thick glasses to resem­ble Dr. Tyrell (Joe Turkel) from Blade Runner).

If one of the two had been female, the viewer might nat­u­rally expect a roman­tic sub­plot. Caprica’s cre­ators may have avoided this kind of dis­trac­tion, but the down­side is that the pri­mary nar­ra­tive con­flict is between two men, and the only two adult female char­ac­ters are solely defined by their rela­tion­ships with the men and/or kids in their lives. Daniel and Amanda’s daugh­ter Zoe (Alessan­dra Tores­sani) is killed in a ter­ror­ist attack, but we never see the icy Amanda mourn as we do Daniel. Her char­ac­ter is sim­ply Daniel’s wife, noth­ing more. Sis­ter Wil­low, at least, is revealed by the end to be more than she seems. Here’s hop­ing we see Amanda and Sis­ter Wil­low sig­nif­i­cantly expanded in future episodes.

Another thing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica got right was to side­step alto­gether the trap of annoy­ing child char­ac­ters. It was an adult show, for intel­li­gent adults. Caprica obvi­ously also didn’t learn from a les­son from Jeri­cho (2006–2008), a gen­er­ally smart show whose weak­est char­ac­ters were a pair of whiney teens that were thank­fully writ­ten out. Out of Caprica’s trio of kids, two die but unfor­tu­nately come back to a kind of immor­tal­ity (if you only counted one, check out the deleted scenes avail­able on the DVD edition).

Eric Stoltz, Paula Malcomson, and Esai Morales in Battlestar Galactica CapricaWait, there was a woman in Caprica? Let’s hope poor Paula Mal­com­son actu­ally gets some scenes in the full series

The first 10 min­utes pack in a mas­sive down­load of impor­tant infor­ma­tion, espe­cially tricky for any view­ers not already versed in the fic­tional Galac­tica uni­verse. Cer­tain key points are reit­er­ated once things slow down later, but a new viewer tun­ing in cold might get the sense they were sup­posed to be versed in all this stuff already, instead of just get­ting teased with a bar­rage of info to be unpacked later. When a title card reads “58 years before The Fall,” Galac­tica fans will catch the ref­er­ence to the sneak attack by the Cylons that nearly erad­i­cates their human cre­ators, the incit­ing inci­dent that moti­vated the entire story arc of the par­ent series.

We then cut directly to the deca­dent V Club, imply­ing this civilization’s late-Rome-like deca­dence to be one of the direct causes of the com­ing Fall. A fully immer­sive vir­tual real­ity sim­u­la­tion not unlike The Matrix, the V Club is full of teens danc­ing to dated techno, ogling hot les­bians, mak­ing sim­u­lated human sac­ri­fice, and squar­ing off in a fight club knock­off. Its banal­ity betrays a fail­ure of imag­i­na­tion not just on the part of Caprica’s teens, but also on the film­mak­ers. A rebel­lious gen­er­a­tion co-opts a vir­tual world in which they can do absolutely any­thing they want, and all they can come up with is a sin­gle night­club that only spins techno from Earth’s 1990s? No gay boys want to make out in pub­lic too? Nobody wants to fly? Nobody wants to enhance their vir­tual appear­ance, say, to make them­selves younger, more beau­ti­ful, cov­ered in fur or made of diamond?

The tit­u­lar Caprica is the cap­i­tal of twelve plan­ets col­o­nized by human­ity. We only caught glimpses of its future before it is dec­i­mated in the first episode of Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, so there is plenty of unex­plored ter­ri­tory for a new pre­quel series to fill in. Its fash­ions resem­ble 1950s Amer­ica, per­haps meant to cap­i­tal­ize on the pop­u­lar­ity of the Show­time series Mad Men. We’re sup­posed to agree that this is a cor­rupt, deca­dent soci­ety on the cusp of col­lapse. But how, exactly? They’re play­ing god(s) by delv­ing into dan­ger­ous tech­no­log­i­cal areas like robotic weapons and arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence, or at least a means of record­ing a human individual’s con­scious­ness into a com­puter. They’ve designed vir­tual real­ity sys­tems capa­ble of sim­u­lat­ing any desire. The soci­ety is racist to the core; Tau­rans (from the sis­ter planet Tau­rus) are called “dirt eaters” and asso­ci­ated with orga­nized crime (although to be fair, the lat­ter actu­ally is true — they seem mod­eled on the immi­grant Sicil­ian mafia of 1920s Amer­ica). Like Michael Cor­leone in the God­fa­ther tril­ogy, Joseph is osten­si­bly an upstand­ing cit­i­zen forced to com­pro­mise with his her­itage. Unable to com­pletely extri­cate him­self from the mob, he tries to Capri­can­ize every­thing else is his life: chang­ing his sur­name to Adams and rais­ing his son as a Capri­can, all to the con­ster­na­tion of his mother.

Alessandra Toressani in Battlestar Galactica CapricaZoe, genius hacker, goes club­bing in The Matrix

This society’s most truly dan­ger­ous trait appears to be its ingrained reli­gious intol­er­ance. The pop­u­la­tion is almost uni­formly poly­the­is­tic, and intol­er­ant of the minor­ity monothe­ists. Under­ground mil­i­tants have formed the Sol­diers of the One, a cult that believes in a com­bi­na­tion of monothe­ism and anti-science. Their secret rep­re­sen­ta­tive Sis­ter Wil­low recruits teen stu­dents from her exclu­sive pri­vate school. Zeal­ous Ben (Avan Jogia), in turn, drafts Zoe and her friend Magda, and later stages the sui­cide bomb­ing that claims the Gray­stone and Adama fam­i­lies. Ben was pre­sum­ably being manip­u­lated by Sis­ter Wil­low (Polly Walker), who also had designs on Zoe’s bril­liant com­puter skills that didn’t nec­es­sar­ily hinge on her remain­ing alive.

The biggest addi­tion to the Bat­tlestar Galac­tica mythos is a deeper look into arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence. Like the Ter­mi­na­tor fran­chise, I appre­ci­ate Caprica’s empha­sis that devel­op­ing arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence is a sep­a­rate pur­suit than build­ing robots. Too many sci­ence fic­tion sto­ries seem to equate the two, includ­ing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica itself in its con­tro­ver­sial final episode (for the record, I loved its audac­ity). The Day the Earth Stood Still and For­bid­den Planet’s humanoid robots have minds of its own, but what about being robots makes them so, as opposed to immo­bile com­put­ers? Blade Runner’s repli­cants and A.I.‘s boy robots look human first, and it is never asked what exactly makes them sen­tient beings (unless the ques­tion is how we anthro­po­mor­phize things that out­wardly seem human). Arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence is almost always auto­mat­i­cally evil in movies such as Ter­mi­na­tor and 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is rarely inher­ently inno­cent, as in A.I.: Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence. Caprica fea­tures two dis­turb­ing scenes of a human con­scious­ness wak­ing up trapped in a crude robot body. That’s called over-egging your pud­ding. Also creepy: the advances made by Zoe lead directly to Daniel’s clumsy war­rior robots becom­ing the effec­tive killing machines chris­tened Cylons.

Speak­ing of, how could a lumi­nary in the cyber­net­ics busi­ness not real­ize his own daugh­ter was a genius-level hacker? Appar­ently work­ing on her own, Zoe comes up with a means of pre­serv­ing the 100 ter­abytes of human data stored in the human brain, and com­ple­ment it with 300 MB of dig­i­tal detri­tus that per­son has left behind on Caprica’s equiv­a­lents of Google and Face­book: med­ical records, playlists, email, searches, social net­work­ing, etc. Her break­through allows Gray­stone to res­ur­rect Adama’s late daugh­ter as well (although we don’t see how he obtained her 100 ter­abytes of brain mat­ter). The resul­tant dupli­cate quickly goes insane, so Zoe is some­how spe­cial, the only dig­i­tal human mind that doesn’t go mad.

Some awfully big events are revealed in the DVD edition’s deleted scenes: Adama learns early on that Zoe was involved in the bomb­ing, adding an extra dimen­sion to his inter­ac­tions with her father. Also, boy bomber Ben’s mind was also suc­cess­fully uploaded into the V Club by Sis­ter Wil­low, sug­gest­ing that Zoe might not be so unique after all, and that her sci­en­tific break­throughs may have been in part devel­oped by the Sol­diers of the One. Both of these strike me as great lay­ers of com­plex­ity that would have only added to the story.

Note: the above is a revised, expended, and cor­rected ver­sion of The Dork Report’s orig­i­nal review of the DVD edi­tion, pub­lished on May 17, 2009.


Offi­cial movie site: syfy.com/caprica

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

The Pod People Film Festival: The Faculty

The Pod People Film Festival

Wel­come to The Pod Peo­ple Film Fes­ti­val, The Dork Report’s third mini movie ret­ro­spec­tive. After catch­ing up with Rid­ley Scott and George A. Romero, we now take a look at four adap­ta­tions of Jack Finney’s novel The Body Snatch­ers, plus one unof­fi­cial homage / satire.

  1. Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers (1956)
  2. Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers (1978)
  3. Body Snatch­ers (1993)
  4. The Fac­ulty (1998)
  5. The Inva­sion (2007)

The Faculty movie poster

 

We inter­rupt this ret­ro­spec­tive look at the four offi­cial fea­ture film adap­ta­tions of Jack Finney’s novel The Body Snatch­ers with a kind of bonus track, a remake in all but name, Robert Rodríguez’s The Faculty.

It may be a touch campy, but hugely enter­tain­ing. All four offi­cial ver­sions are deadly seri­ous, so it’s refresh­ing for The Fac­ulty to play the con­cept for laughs. Rodríguez isn’t known for restraint, but most of the fun is likely attrib­ut­able to Kevin Williamson, the writer of Scream, one of the most influ­en­tial movies of the 1990s. Yes, I’m pre­pared to back that claim up: it was one of the first main­stream movies to be overtly Post­mod­ern, and not in a stuffy col­lege lit­er­a­ture sem­i­nar sense, but one that found low­brow thrills & chills from a high­brow intel­lec­tual per­spec­tive over the hor­ror genre. That is, Scream was both a know­ing satire of the hor­ror movie genre, in which its own char­ac­ters know­ingly com­mented upon the events that befell them with all the knowl­edge that comes from being movie geeks well-versed in hor­ror movie cliches, but was also simul­ta­ne­ously an actual func­tion­ing hor­ror movie itself. Other 1990s movies along those lines were Wild Things (one of the sex­i­est, twisti­est noirs ever made), Star­ship Troop­ers (a hilar­i­ously bleak vision of a fascis­tic world inher­ited by chil­dren), and even Shake­speare in Love’s play­ful plays-within-plays-within-a-movie (read The Dork Report review).

faculty_2.jpgThere’s be no more tears… in gym class

A pro­logue intro­duces us to the name­sake fac­ulty, from which the great (and sexy) Bebe Neuwirth checks out early, or at least seems to. The adult cast is won­der­ful over­all, even though some parts are lit­tle more than cameos. Robert Patrick brings all of his ruth­less Ter­mi­na­tor T-1000 stee­li­ness to Coach Willis (like Dr. David Kib­ner — Leonard Nimoy — in Philip Kaufman’s 1978 Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers, a vil­lain both before and after the inva­sion), the glam­orous Famke Janssen is an improb­a­bly mousy loner, Jon Stew­art as a sym­pa­thetic sci­ence teacher, and Salma Hayek is hilar­i­ous in her brief appear­ance as Nurse Rosa Harper. On the down­side, fat slob Harry Knowles of AintItCoolNews.com noto­ri­ety also haunts the fac­ulty room (this was 1998, after all).

We finally meet the kids in a mon­tage set to a cover ver­sion of Pink Floyd’s infa­mous anti­au­thor­i­tar­ian anthem Another Brick in the Wall Part II, with onscreen text resem­bling Ger­ald Scarfe’s scrawled let­ter­ing on the orig­i­nal The Wall album sleeve. They’re a next-generation Break­fast Club com­prised of every key high school demo­graphic: goth loner Stokely (Clea DuVall), hot ice queen Delilah (Jor­dana Brew­ster), meat­head ath­lete Stan (Shawn Hatosy), bad boy Zeke (Josh Hart­nett), meek nerd Casey (Eli­jah Wood), and sweetness-and-light South­ern belle Mary­beth (Laura Harris).

faculty_1.jpgThis meet­ing of The Break­fast Club II is called to order

Zeke is a slacker genius with an awful hair­cut that hasn’t dated well. He has delib­er­ately failed out in order to relive the glory of his senior year within the safe bub­ble of being Big Man on Cam­pus. He ped­dles a pow­dered nar­cotic (actu­ally mostly caf­feine), dri­ves a fast car, and makes the girls swoon. But under­neath it all is an intel­lect miss­ing an aim or pur­pose. Good for him, then, that an alien inva­sion gives him the oppor­tu­nity to step up.

Trou­bled goth girl Stokely dis­guises her­self as a les­bian to avoid human con­tact. One won­ders why, then, she’s not has­sled by the school’s other les­bians. Like cud­dly mis­fit Alli­son (Ally Sheedy) in The Break­fast Club (1985), Stokely even­tu­ally con­forms to straight-girl norms by dress­ing in pink and dat­ing the jock. DuVall is said to be gay or bisex­ual, so I won­der how she felt about play­ing such a cop-out char­ac­ter. But this oddly con­ser­v­a­tive moment aside, the char­ac­ter is the key to the Post­mod­ern, metafic­tional nature of the movie. Stokely is a sci­ence fic­tion fan that explic­itly ref­er­ences Jack Finney’s novel The Body Snatch­ers (but not any of the movies). In fact, she dis­par­ages the book, claim­ing it’s a poor ripoff of Robert A. Heinlein’s The Pup­pet Masters.

All Body Snatcher movies to date fea­tured sen­tient brus­sels sprouts that cre­ate evil dupli­cates of humans, destroyed the orig­i­nals, all with the aim of bring­ing a form of peace and har­mony: a uni­form soci­ety in lock­step syn­chronic­ity. But these pod aliens are more overtly evil. These aquatic par­a­sites that tem­porar­ily take over bod­ies are no emo­tion­less drones, but are actu­ally remark­ably lusty. They clearly rel­ish the sub­li­ma­tion of the stu­dents, and stage a foot­ball game like a Nazi Party rally.

All of which begs the ques­tion, if the aliens are like unleashed, unin­hib­ited ver­sions of our own ids, what’s the dif­fer­ence between them and, say, a high school kid hopped up on hor­mones? As one of them aptly puts it, “I’m not an alien, I’m just discontent.”


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

The Pod People Film Festival: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)

The Pod People Film Festival

Wel­come to The Pod Peo­ple Film Fes­ti­val, The Dork Report’s third mini movie ret­ro­spec­tive. After catch­ing up with Rid­ley Scott and George A. Romero, we now take a look at four adap­ta­tions of Jack Finney’s novel The Body Snatch­ers, plus one unof­fi­cial homage / satire.

  1. Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers (1956)
  2. Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers (1978)
  3. Body Snatch­ers (1993)
  4. The Fac­ulty (1998)
  5. The Inva­sion (2007)

Invasion of the Body Snatchers 1978 movie poster

 

Philip Kaufman’s re-imagining of Don Siegel’s 1956 clas­sic para­noid night­mare Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers imme­di­ately sig­nals its unique­ness with a strange and beau­ti­fully abstract open­ing sequence. Psy­che­delic spores float off the sur­face of an alien planet, tra­verse through outer space, and fall to Earth as gelati­nous rain. A glimpse of a news­pa­per head­line describes a simul­ta­ne­ous epi­demic of “spi­der web­bing,” an omi­nous por­tent of what turns out to be the des­ic­cated remains of the invaders’ victims.

Matthew Ben­nell (Don­ald Suther­land) is a piti­less health inspec­tor pin­ing after his excitable col­league Eliz­a­beth Driscoll (Brooke Adams). When her slob den­tist boyfriend sud­denly starts wear­ing suits and loses inter­est in tele­vised sports, she becomes con­vinced a lit­tle too quickly that he’s an impos­tor, and leaps from there to even grander notions of an alien con­spir­acy. But, being a lab worker at the Depart­ment of Health, and the type that keeps a green­house in her bed­room, per­haps she is after all emi­nently qual­i­fied to iden­tify malev­o­lent walk­ing and talk­ing plants bent on world domination.

Leonard Nimoy in Invasion of the Body SnatchersLeonard Nimoy would like to encour­age you to stop sleep­ing around. There will be no more tears.

The orig­i­nal film imag­ined a sub­ver­sive alien inva­sion of sub­ur­bia. In con­ser­v­a­tive small-town Amer­ica, or at least the fan­tasy thereof seen in movies, every­body knows every­body else’s busi­ness. This remake takes place in the lib­eral urban set­ting of San Fran­cisco, where rela­tion­ship net­works are frac­tured into neigh­bor­hoods, socioe­co­nomic classes, and cliques. As our cur­rent fears of avian and swine flus attest, infec­tions spread faster where humans con­gre­gate in tight spaces: schools, slums, pub­lic trans­porta­tion, etc. The aliens in the orig­i­nal plot­ted a slow takeover of American’s already homoge­nous heart­land, while their cousins here tar­get our pop­u­la­tion cen­ters for max­i­mum shock and awe. Still, some secrecy is required at first, and the crea­tures prove them­selves adept at subterfuge.

The great­est deceiver is self-help pop shrink Dr. David Kib­ner (Leonard Nimoy). It’s a cry­ing shame we haven’t got­ten to see Nimoy play more roles like this in his career — by which I mean any­thing other than Spock. Far from a San Fran free-love lib­eral, Dr. Kib­ner is actu­ally a con­ser­v­a­tive reac­tionary, decry­ing the ease with which mod­ern cou­ples mate and part. He believes mod­ern soci­ety as a whole is suf­fer­ing from a fear of respon­si­bil­ity and com­mit­ment. Sadly, out of every­one we meet, he was arguably already a pod per­son all along (we never find out for sure when he his body was snatched). The most inter­est­ing facet of the film for me is the irrel­e­vance of whether Kib­ner was a type of alien advance guard writ­ing books espous­ing pod phi­los­o­phy. I believe the point is that he rep­re­sents a human view­point already sym­pa­thetic to the invad­ing veg­gies: one that longs for a return to con­ser­v­a­tive val­ues and like behav­ior. But why is Kib­ner wear­ing an archery guard on one hand? That’s just a weird affectation.

Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body SnatchersOMG! Look out for the trolley!

Easter eggs include cameos by Don Siegel as a sin­is­ter taxi dri­ver and the original’s star Kevin McCarthy repris­ing his crazed rant “They’re here already! You’re next!” A young Jeff Gold­blum brings all his quirk to bear as neu­rotic poet Jack Bel­licec. His wife Nancy is played by Veron­ica Cartwright, repris­ing essen­tially the same shrieky, pan­icky per­for­mance she deliv­ered in Rid­ley Scott’s Alien.

The orig­i­nal film was a a thinly veiled metaphor for the McCarthy­ism of the period. In the late 1970s, the same story works just as well at the tail end of a dying sex­ual and cul­tural rev­o­lu­tion that began in the 1960s. After the dis­il­lu­sion­ment of Viet­nam and Water­gate, peo­ple may have sensed the com­ing con­ser­vatism and con­for­mity (in other words, Tom Wolfe’s mas­ters of the uni­verse and bon­fires of the van­i­ties) of the 1980s.

This Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers is largely a psy­cho­log­i­cal hor­ror film, but fea­tures at least one true gross-out sequence in which the alien growth process is explic­itly depicted. Matthew aborts his own bud­ding dupli­cate with a gar­den hoe (a wholly appro­pri­ate weapon for sen­tient veg­eta­bles). The orig­i­nal film avoided detail­ing the process, pos­si­bly to elude ques­tions that couldn’t be addressed with­out vio­lat­ing stan­dards of decency (What hap­pens to the orig­i­nal bod­ies? Why aren’t new­born pod peo­ple naked? Now we know — hey, look! Brooke Adams’ breasts!). Gore aside, the one truly unset­tling image is a glimpse of a body snatch­ing gone awry: a dog with a human face, an acci­den­tal hybrid being cre­ated when Matthew inter­rupts the process of an alien tak­ing over a hobo with a pet doggie.

But what Kaufman’s ver­sion is chiefly known for is its bleak, bleak end­ing, in total con­trast with the faint hint of hope that closes the orig­i­nal. The baton wouldn’t be picked up again for another 15 years, when Abel Fer­rara trans­posed the action to the obe­di­ent, con­formist, oppres­sive world of the mil­i­tary in the tersely titled Body Snatchers.


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

Sass and Kick Ass: James Bond: Casino Royale (2006)

Casino Royale movie poster

 

Para­dox­i­cally for one of the fresh­est James Bond films ever made, Mar­tin Campbell’s Casino Royale (2006) is actu­ally the third adap­ta­tion of the character’s debut in Ian Fleming’s 1953 novel. After a largely for­got­ten 1954 TV movie in which “Jimmy” Bond was awk­wardly Amer­i­can­ized, the same premise was par­o­died in a 1967 farce bear­ing the same name, a expen­sive all-star dis­as­ter fea­tur­ing good sports David Niven, Peter Sell­ers, Orson Welles, and Woody Allen. Mean­while, the par­al­lel and ongo­ing flood of proper Bond films aban­doned the tainted Casino Royale, leav­ing it never sat­is­fac­to­rily pre­sented on film. For most, Bond seemed born fully-formed as Sean Connery’s supremely suave secret agent in 1962’s Dr. No. But where did Her Majesty’s most ruth­less ser­vant come from?

By 2006, the James Bond fran­chise had endured 20 movies and five lead actors (and that’s just count­ing the canon­i­cal install­ments), tes­ta­ment enough that it has been no stranger to inno­va­tion. The most recent over­haul was Gold­en­eye (1995), which intro­duced Pierce Bros­nan along­side an incre­men­tally more pro­gres­sive atti­tude towards women. New-style “Bond Girls” like Michelle Yeoh were still dan­ger­ously sexy, but as adept with salty dia­logue, grap­pling hooks, and AK-47s as the title char­ac­ter him­self. Bond could no longer cheer­fully ignore his stuffy bureau­cratic boss M when played by the impe­ri­ous Judy Dench, and Miss Mon­eypenny (Saman­tha Bond) was no longer a frump long­ing for Bond from afar, but rather a sassy foil rock­ing the sexy sec­re­tary look. Sig­nif­i­cantly, the one thing that didn’t change much at all was Bond him­self. The many women in his life may have gained greater lee­way to sass and kick ass, but he him­self was still the same old sex­ist dinosaur. In ret­ro­spect, the Bros­nan films now look like just more of the same.

Daniel Craig in Casino RoyaleSay hello to my lit­tle friend

Proper Bond films enjoyed many high points over the years, but the fran­chise was very nearly ren­dered obso­lete by two very dif­fer­ent spy trilo­gies: Austin Pow­ers (whose satire was wholly redun­dant after the 1967 Casino Royale) and Jason Bourne. Start­ing in 2002, the lat­ter did Bond one bet­ter, per­ma­nently super­charg­ing the secret-agent genre with vis­ceral urgency, per­sis­tent action, mod­er­ately real­is­tic psy­chol­ogy, and most cru­cially, grant­ing the main char­ac­ter a capac­ity for love. Bourne (Matt Damon) was a man of con­science, wracked by crip­pling self-doubt and guilt. He may have been capa­ble of spec­tac­u­lar feats of killing, but resented the cir­cum­stances that forced him to use those skills in order to sur­vive, or more impor­tantly, to pro­tect or avenge his loved ones. He didn’t manip­u­late women for intel­li­gence and sex­ual grat­i­fi­ca­tion as Bond rou­tinely would, but rather formed an emo­tional attach­ment with one in par­tic­u­lar that would moti­vate his actions for an entire trilogy.

Once the def­i­n­i­tion of high-gloss action thrillers, Bond was now on the defen­sive. The time was right in 2006 for its most rad­i­cal reboot yet. The pro­duc­ers retired Bros­nan (The Man With the Golden Para­chute?) and under­went an exten­sive retool­ing of not just the series’ visual style but its core char­ac­ters and mythos. But how much can you tweak Bond until he’s no longer the spy we love?

The tra­di­tional pre-credit action sequence still exists, but Casino Royale dis­cards candy-coated Tech­ni­color for a grainy, styl­ized black-and-white noir style. Start­ing chrono­log­i­cally at the begin­ning, we see Bond exe­cute his first two kills, ful­fill­ing his final qual­i­fi­ca­tion for “double-oh” MI-6 sta­tus. Long­time Bond fans were also mol­li­fied by another grand tra­di­tion that imme­di­ate fol­lowed: a motion graph­ics title sequence fea­tur­ing a bevy of semi-nude female sil­hou­ettes. This par­tic­u­lar ani­ma­tion, with its stark red and black vec­tor graph­ics, may have pro­vided inspi­ra­tion for the open­ing titles of the 2007 tele­vi­sion series Mad Men. Unfor­tu­nately, Chris Cornell’s lame, tune­less song “You Know My Name” nearly ruins it.

Eva Green in Casino RoyaleYou noticed…

Fur­ther com­fort­ing con­ti­nu­ity with the pre­vi­ous instal­la­tions comes via ridicu­lous amounts of high-end prod­uct place­ment (cars, watches, sun­glasses, etc.) and a globe-trotting series of loca­tions (Uganda, Mada­gas­car, Bahamas, Miami, Mon­tene­gro, and Venice). Casino Royale also doesn’t fail to over-egg the pud­ding in terms of its vil­lain. Le Chiffre (Mads Mikkelsen) is scarred and asth­matic, with irri­tated tear ducts that seep blood. It was enough to sig­nify evil in the old days that the bad­die merely have metal teeth or a fluffy kitty cat.

But that’s where the con­ces­sions to Bond tra­di­tion end. To dis­cuss what’s new, let’s start with Bond him­self. No mat­ter how much testos­terone fan-favorite Sean Con­nery exuded, he could still be slightly effete, fuss­ing over van­i­ties and crea­ture com­forts like a well-prepared mar­tini. The Roger Moore era played up the tongue-in-cheek aspect of the series, but gor­geous women falling into bed with the frankly rather old, limp Moore was implau­si­ble at best. The suave Bros­nan was born to play the clas­sic ver­sion of Bond, but he wasn’t get­ting any younger as his films became as overblown and science-fictiony as the worst excesses of the Moore period. (I haven’t seen any of the Tim­o­thy Dal­ton or George Lazenby films, so I can’t com­ment on them.) Daniel Craig may not be the most macho Bond (Con­nery remains fandom’s favorite, for good rea­son), but he is clearly the most brutish and mas­cu­line. Younger, furi­ous, and buff, he’s a giant slab of man. In a hilar­i­ously clever inver­sion of tra­di­tion, Bond now bares more flesh than any of his female com­pan­ions, espe­cially in an instantly iconic shot of him strid­ing out of the ocean just barely wear­ing a scanty swim­suit. This Bond is almost absurdly phys­i­cally fit, a park­our expert, and gets painfully bruised and scarred in fights. The days of Bond walk­ing away from fisticuffs and fire­balls with nary a hair or bowtie astray are over.

Caterina Murino in Casino RoyaleWait… there was another Bond girl besides Eva Green?

21st Cen­tury Bond Girls are smarter and more proac­tive than ever, but not at the expense of being drop-dead gor­geous and at least half the age of the cur­rent lead actor. In this Dork Reporter’s esti­ma­tion, Eva Green as Ves­per Lynd ought to go down in his­tory as one of the great­est yet. She may not be as phys­i­cally adept at action as Michelle Yeoh, but she is one of the most beau­ti­ful. Best of all, she’s enjoy­ably con­ceived by writ­ers Neal Purvis, Robert Wade, and Paul Hag­gis as a true foil for the naughty double-entendres that still roll off this Bond’s tongue. She made such a strong impres­sion on me, that when rewatch­ing the film on DVD, I real­ized I had for­got­ten all about the other Bond Girl, Cate­rina Murino as Solange Dim­itrios. Her char­ac­ter pro­vides for a quick throw­back to retro Bond; he flirts with her solely for infor­ma­tion and then cru­elly aban­dons her to cer­tain death.

The thrilling film down­shifts for a long poker sequence, with no mercy shown for any­one who doesn’t under­stand the game (like, say, me). There does seem to have been a mis­cal­i­bra­tion how­ever, dur­ing one scene where even I could sense Le Chiffre was double-bluffing an obliv­i­ous Bond.

Dench is the only return­ing player from the Bros­nan era, but her char­ac­ter is now part ruth­less boss and part tough-love mother fig­ure. The one con­ven­tion of the clas­sic, sil­lier Bond sto­ries that I do miss is Q (Desmond Llewe­lyn) and his won­der­ful inven­tions. The high­light of every Con­nery, Moore, or Bros­nan film for me was always the cus­tom­ary stroll through Q’s lab as his lat­est pro­to­types mal­func­tion in amus­ingly lethal man­ners. I would cheer­fully recite along with Q’s scold­ing catch­phrase “Oh Bond, do pay attention.”

When­ever I see any Bond film, I’m always sur­prised at how enthu­si­as­ti­cally he lives up to his “license to kill” rep­u­ta­tion. The body count is always high, but Casino Royale is even more vio­lent than most. What dif­fer­en­ti­ates it is the time spent dwelling on the after­math, includ­ing Bond hav­ing to hide bod­ies instead of sim­ply strolling away from the car­nage with­out reper­cus­sions. There’s also a fleet­ing dash of crude moral­ity rarely if ever seen in the series; Bond must awk­wardly com­fort Ves­per, trau­ma­tized by her cul­pa­bil­ity in one of Bond’s kills. And whereas old-school Bond vil­lains would merely threaten bod­ily harm with laser beams and taran­tu­las, Bond must now must face ugly, raw tor­ture (which is A-OK with the hyp­o­crit­i­cal MPAA’s notion of PG-13 movies, appar­ently — but that’s a rant for another time).


Offi­cial movie site: http://www.sonypictures.com/movies/casinoroyale/site/flash.html

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

Tokyo!

Tokyo! movie poster

 

Tokyo! is a port­man­teau film com­prised of three shorts set in the epony­mous city, all by direc­tors not them­selves from Japan: Michel Gondry and Léos Carax from France, and Bong Joon-ho from South Korea.

Gondry’s “Inte­rior Design” is based on the comic book “Cecil and Bell in New York” by Gabrielle Bell, with the action trans­posed to Tokyo. At first, her low-key love story doesn’t seem to bear Gondry’s char­ac­ter­is­tic whim­si­cal sur­re­al­ity, but by the end her col­lab­o­ra­tion with Gondry makes per­fect sense. Young cou­ple Hiroko (Ayako Fuji­tani, daugh­ter of Steven Sea­gal) and Akira (Ryo Kase) move to Tokyo, with the hope of find­ing audi­ences for Akira’s pre­ten­tious films. With­out prospects, they crash on the floor of a child­hood friend’s minis­cule flat and quickly out­stay their wel­come. Their opti­mism to find jobs and an apart­ment is quickly dashed — only Akira is suited to menial work, and they can’t even afford the city’s dingi­est rat traps. Like April (Kate Winslet) in Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Road, (read The Dork Report review) Hiroko doesn’t have much ambi­tion of her own beyond sup­port­ing her artist part­ner. After going to extra­or­di­nary lengths on Akira’s behalf with­out feel­ing appre­ci­ated, Hiroko under­goes a fan­tas­ti­cal trans­for­ma­tion and winds up lit­er­ally sup­port­ing a dif­fer­ent artist. The sig­nif­i­cance of title comes clear as she lit­er­ally becomes part of the scenery.

Ayako Fujitani and Ryo Kase in TokyoHiroko and Akira in Tokyo

In Carax’s scat­o­log­i­cal “Merde,” Tokyo is ter­ror­ized by a mad cau­casian with a twisty gin­ger beard and a rig­or­ous diet of flow­ers, yen, and cig­a­rettes. The “sewer crea­ture” (so named by the media) is rel­a­tively harm­less until he dis­cov­ers a cache of grenades in a for­got­ten World War II-era bunker buried beneath the city. Only after he uses Impe­r­ial Japan’s own weapons against them in a ter­ri­ble mas­sacre is he tracked down in his sewer lair and appre­hended. At this point, Carax’s short film becomes a court­room drama, in which eccen­tric French mag­is­trate Maître Voland (Jean-François Balmer) claims to be able to inter­pret the terrorist’s rav­ings, not least includ­ing his name: Merde (“shit”). His scan­dalous speeches incite Japan­ese self-loathing and racism, but the pop­u­lace curi­ously fails to ques­tion whether Voland is some kind of mad ven­tril­o­quist voic­ing his own prej­u­dices through the mouth of an idiot. Merde becomes a pop icon; duel­ing gangs of pick­eters chant “FREE MERDE” ver­sus “HANG MERDE.” Merde is sen­tenced to a Christ-like exe­cu­tion (which also very much resem­bles a sim­i­lar sequence in Lars Von Trier’s Dancer in the Dark), fol­lowed by a cap­tion that threat­ens a sequel set in New York.

Merde Tokyo!Free Merde!

Bong Joon-ho’s “Shak­ing Tokyo” is the tale of a unnamed hikiko­mori (shut-in) liv­ing alone in a totally ivy-covered house, finan­cially sup­ported by a father he hasn’t seen in years. The ago­ra­phobe (Teruyuki Kagawa) has become accus­tomed to a life of lone­li­ness and rig­or­ous rou­tine. One day he meets a cute pizza deliv­ery girl (Yu Aoi), out of his league in terms of looks, but appar­ently with her own share of crip­pling emo­tional issues. She passes out in his foyer dur­ing an earth­quake (not uncom­mon in the vol­canic islands of Japan), and the hikiko­mori reboots her using her self-tattooed but­tons on her body that appear to lit­er­ally con­trol her mood and health. The smit­ten loner escapes his self-created prison to seek her out again. He finds a city full of shut-ins, for whom even another earth­quake isn’t enough to keep them out of their own homes for long.

Yu Aoi  and Teruyuki Kagawa in Tokyo!One large pie with extra neuroses

Offi­cial movie site: tokyothemovie.com

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

Generation Kill

Generation Kill poster

 

The HBO minis­eries Gen­er­a­tion Kill comes from David Simon and Ed Burns, the mas­ter­minds behind the superla­tive series The Wire. Simon him­self is a for­mer jour­nal­ist, the state thereof being a pri­mary pre­oc­cu­pa­tion of the fifth sea­son of the The Wire. So it makes sense that he would be drawn to a war story seen through the eyes of a fel­low writer. Gen­er­a­tion Kill is based on the non­fic­tion book by Evan Wright, a Rolling Stone reporter embed­ded in the US Marine Corps 1st Recon­nais­sance Bat­tal­ion, the first boots on the ground dur­ing the 2003 inva­sion of Iraq. Actor Lee Terge­sen plays Wright as a wide-eyed inno­cent among per­verse killers, delight­edly scrib­bling the marines’ col­or­ful boast­ings in his note­book, when not dodg­ing sniper fire. The most quotable is the manic dri­ver Cor­po­ral Josh Ray Per­son, well-cast as James Ran­sone, basi­cally repris­ing his char­ac­ter Ziggy Sobotka from The Wire sea­son two.

The marines’ lingo flashes back to pop cul­ture circa 2003, which already seems so very far away. A rumor spreads that J-Lo is dead, remind­ing us of the brief period when Jen­nifer Lopez was the most desired woman on the planet. Everyone’s a “dog” or “bra” (not as in the under­gar­ment but as in “bro”). In between har­row­ing bat­tles (which the war­riors long for but hate when they arrive), much of their expe­ri­ence is com­prised of long stretches of bore­dom. They sup­ply their own sound­track, rec­ol­lect­ing what lyrics they can and recre­at­ing every part of a song a cap­pella with great enthusiasm.

Generation KillCpl. Josh Ray Per­son: “When my band opened up for Limp Bizkit in Kansas City, we fuck­ing sucked. But then again, so did they. The only dif­fer­ence is that they became famous and I became a marine.”

After exhaust­ing the con­ver­sa­tional value of their bowel move­ments and each other’s alleged sex­ual ori­en­ta­tions, there’s noth­ing but time to talk about the ori­gins and moti­va­tions of the war. One pop­u­lar the­ory is that it is a noth­ing but another race war. As one sol­dier puts it, it’s “White man’s des­tiny to rule the world” and “White man won’t be denied.” Or is it to clear the ground for more Star­bucks fran­chises? Or maybe it’s a war over the scarcest resource of all: virgins.

Marines are trained to deper­son­al­ize and vil­ify the enemy, all with the aim of being effec­tive killers. So they are essen­tially ill-equipped for a 21st cen­tury war in which they are expected to request per­mis­sion before engag­ing any tar­get, and for sit­u­a­tions in which they must deal diplo­mat­i­cally with the civil­ian pop­u­la­tion — some of which may be threats in dis­guise, but most often are just peo­ple who either need their help or would rather they just leave. When the marines do wish to offer com­pas­sion, they are thwarted by their com­mand or by cold hard real­ity — often­times there’s noth­ing they can do. They’re also fatally under­equipped in a lit­eral sense: they’re issued less body armor than Wright was able to pur­chase on eBay, they have state-of-the-art nightvi­sion gog­gles but no bat­ter­ies, and as if they didn’t stand out enough, they’re clad in the wrong cam­ou­flage style. They sub­sist on only one M.R.E. (Meal, Ready to Eat) each day, sup­ple­mented with copi­ous caf­feine pills, Skit­tles, Hus­tler, and Skoal. But as one marine quips, “Sem­per Gumby — always flex­i­ble.” As char­ac­ter­ized here, these Marines never miss an oppor­tu­nity to bitch, but pride them­selves on being able to “make do.”

Generation KillLt. Col. Stephen ‘God­fa­ther’ Fer­rando: “What’s fore­most in Godfather’s mind? We’re still very much in the game, gentlemen.”

Aside from the frus­trat­ingly elu­sive Iraqi army or sui­cide bombers, there are few antag­o­nists marines hate more than Reservists, the Army, and their own incom­pe­tent com­mand. But they grad­u­ally learn that their supe­ri­ors are often far wiser than they real­ized. Lieu­tenant Colonel Stephen “God­fa­ther” Fer­rando (Chance Kelly) (so nick­named because of a hoarse voice derived from lung can­cer) nearly causes a mutiny by refus­ing to aid a fatally injured Iraqi boy. In a rare def­er­ence from a man that has no need to explain him­self to his sub­or­di­nates, he explains in detail why he made his deci­sion: it was lit­er­ally impos­si­ble to save the boy. Later, he reveals to the reporter that he is always fully con­scious of inef­fec­tive com­man­ders like the grossly incom­pe­tent Cap­tain Dave McGraw (Eric Nen­ninger), known to his detrac­tors as “Cap­tain Amer­ica.” God­fa­ther can’t always act on every sin­gle infrac­tion, lest polic­ing his peo­ple become his entire role in the mil­i­tary machine. Even the rep­re­hen­si­ble Sergeant Major John Sixta (Neal Jones) turns out to be more canny than any­one sus­pected; he knows his job is to make him­self into a car­toon vil­lain against which the men can direct their frus­tra­tions. His role is part of the time-tested marine tra­di­tion: a morale-building fig­ure. And for audi­ences of this series, a bit of comic relief (“That hel­met is the prop­pity of the Yoo-Ess-of-Ay!”).

I found the series to be dis­ap­point­ingly frac­tured, no rival at all to Simon and Burns’ mas­ter­piece the Wire. Only the sub­lime final scene rises to the vaulted heights The Wire reg­u­larly reached. One marine had spent weeks shoot­ing and edit­ing a home movie of the inva­sion. When the com­pany finally reaches Bagh­dad, they find they lit­er­ally can­not watch the com­pleted movie. Each walks away, in silence, one by one. In the tra­di­tion of The Wire, this clos­ing mon­tage is set to a per­fectly cho­sen piece of music (Johnny Cash’s apoc­a­lyp­tic “When the Man Comes Around”) and sends shiv­ers down the spine.


Offi­cial site: www.hbo.com/generationkill

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

Waltz With Bashir

Waltz With Bashir movie poster

 

Ari Folman’s Waltz With Bashir could eas­ily be filed away under any or all of the fol­low­ing gen­res: doc­u­men­tary, auto­bi­og­ra­phy, mem­oir, jour­nal­ism, and non­fic­tion. If there’s one thing all of these have in com­mon, it’s that none make for nat­ural car­toons. The excep­tion that proves the rule is Mar­jane Satrapi’s Perse­po­lis (read The Dork Report review), which began life as a pair of graphic nov­els before being adapted into an ani­mated fea­ture film. Waltz With Bashir takes the oppo­site route, start­ing as a film and end­ing up as a book. Could ani­mated ver­sions of Joe Sacco’s Pales­tine and Art Spiegelman’s Maus: A Survivor’s Tale be far behind?

Fol­man has lost his mem­o­ries of a key expe­ri­ence dur­ing his ser­vice in the Israel Defense Forces dur­ing the 1982 war in Lebanon. A con­ver­sa­tion with a friend sparks a frag­ment of mem­ory involv­ing the Sabra and Shatila mas­sacre. The Israeli Defense Force sur­rounded Pales­tin­ian refugee camps in Beirut, but stood by as the Pha­langists, a Chris­t­ian Lebanese mili­tia, entered and mas­sa­cred a still unknown num­ber of Pales­tin­ian civil­ians. Was he really there, as he now seems to rec­ol­lect? Did he have any­thing to do with it?

Waltz With Bashir

Fol­man speaks of mem­ory as “some­thing stored in my sys­tem,” as if his brain were merely a com­puter, dis­as­so­ci­ated from any cul­pa­bil­ity in the mas­sacre. He merely wit­nessed it, but it was enough for him to sub­con­sciously erase his mem­o­ries over the inter­ven­ing years. He seeks out old com­rades in the search of some­one else who served with him and may help fill in the blanks in his mem­ory. Like a detec­tive story, the search for clues pro­vides a use­ful sto­ry­telling device while pro­vid­ing an episodic nar­ra­tive structure.

The title refers to a fel­low sol­dier that madly waltzed with a machine gun while sur­rounded on all sides by Lebanese fight­ers. “Bashir” is Bashir Gemayel, the assas­si­nated Pha­langist com­man­der lion­ized by Lebanese, and a celebrity on a scale that one Israeli likens to how he felt about David Bowie.

Fol­man is an artist as well as a film­maker; at one point he asks one of his old friends if it’s OK to sketch his fam­ily dur­ing their inter­view. His visual sense man­i­fests in Waltz With Bashir’s stun­ning images, com­po­si­tion, and color. Like Star Wars: The Clone Wars (read The Dork Report review) and Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Com­plex, it fea­tures stiff, sim­pli­fied char­ac­ters atop fully-rendered 3D envi­ron­ments. Human faces are crudely ren­dered with small looped expres­sions, when not totally still (note that the 2D vec­tor ani­ma­tion is not the same tech­nique used in Wak­ing Life or A Scan­ner Darkly). They con­trast sharply with the fluid move­ment of the detailed, com­plexly lit vehi­cles, back­grounds, and weapons. If such styl­ized human fig­ures were a delib­er­ate artis­tic choice, what is to be gained? A few pos­si­ble explanations:

  • As recent CGI movies like Final Fan­tasy: The Spir­its Within, The Polar Express, and Beowulf have proven to their detri­ment, the uncanny val­ley (the point at which a sim­u­la­tion of a human becomes almost, but not quite, real­is­tic and thus creeps audi­ences out) is a very real prob­lem fac­ing ani­ma­tors as tech­nol­ogy pro­gresses. All three of these are tech­no­log­i­cal mar­vels, but the human char­ac­ters are still just one step away from dead-eyed zombies.
  • In the most prac­ti­cal sense, ani­ma­tion is use­ful to cre­ate images of his­tor­i­cal events where no cam­eras were present. Fol­man does recount see­ing jour­nal­ist Ron Ben-Yishai boldly film the afore­men­tioned fire­fight in which his friend had his machine-gun-waltz with Bashir, so per­haps some actual footage existed for reference.
  • The dream­like unre­al­ity of ani­ma­tion plays into Folman’s theme of the muta­bil­ity of memory.
  • Like Isao Takahata’s stun­ning Grave of Fire­flies, ani­ma­tion makes it slightly eas­ier to watch painful images. Takahata’s emo­tion­ally drain­ing film involved a lit­tle girl slowly starv­ing to death after the World War II fire­bomb­ing of Japan, and Waltz With Bashir fea­tures such images as a field full of dying horses and the corpse of a child buried in rub­ble. The end of the film snatches away this dis­tanc­ing tech­nique; we finally see archival footage of the massacre’s aftermath.

Waltz With Bashir

Is it fair to crit­i­cize the film for tak­ing the Israeli point of view in a story about the Sabra and Shatila mas­sacre? Save for one woman that appears in the actual footage seen at the end, Pales­tini­ans lit­er­ally don’t have a voice in the film. But nei­ther, for that mat­ter, do the Pha­langists. In the case of this his­tor­i­cal event, Israelis were pas­sive bystanders, nei­ther vic­tims (as they were dur­ing the Holo­caust) nor oppres­sors (as they are now over the Pales­tini­ans — I invite objec­tions in the com­ments below, please). If to bluntly ask what Waltz With Bashir is for, it does three things: First, it’s a med­i­ta­tion upon the com­plex­ity and unre­li­a­bil­ity of human mem­ory. Sec­ond, it’s an act of jour­nal­ism; return­ing the Sabra and Shatila Mas­sacre to the pub­lic con­scious­ness. Third, it’s one man’s per­sonal com­ing to terms with his past.


Offi­cial movie site: www.waltzwithbashir.com

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

MGMT live in Brooklyn, July 1, 2009

 

The electronic/disco/pop/rock group MGMT has made a huge splash, earn­ing spots on tours with no less than Paul McCart­ney and Beck. The wildly catchy “Time to Pre­tend,” “Elec­tric Feel,” and “Kids” (the lat­ter fea­tur­ing a truly deranged music video) are not out of keep­ing with the rest of their reper­toire in terms of style and instru­men­ta­tion, but the infec­tious hooks do stand apart from the for­get­table rest. At their Cel­e­brate Brook­lyn con­cert in Prospect Park on July 1, they debuted a few new songs set for their forth­com­ing sopho­more album that didn’t imme­di­ately grab me either.

MGMT live in Prospect ParkMGMT live in Prospect Park

For a band called “synth-hippies” by Pitch­fork, they all looked rather clean-cut to me (but they evi­dently have a very young and boozy audi­ence — one kid passed out and lit­er­ally col­lapsed on our feet only a few songs into the con­cert). Their sound may be very elec­tronic and a throw­back to disco, but their live instru­men­ta­tion is very rock gui­tar ori­ented. The only excep­tion being “Kids,” for which the band put down their ana­log instru­ments and let the syn­the­siz­ers and sequencers take over, even recre­at­ing a live fadeout.

MGMT live in Prospect ParkMGMT live in Prospect Park

Offi­cial band site: www.whoismgmt.com

Buy the MGMT album Orac­u­lar Spec­tac­u­lar from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.