Transporter 3

Transporter 3 movie poster

 

Trans­porter 3, pro­duced by Luc Besson and directed by Olivier Mega­ton, is an inter­na­tional prod­uct tai­lored for the Amer­i­can mar­ket. Despite its French locales, Ger­man cars, and adorably freck­led Ukrain­ian hot­tie, the hero and vil­lain are both quite Amer­i­can. The tit­u­lar Trans­porter is Frank Mar­tin (Jason Statham), a fighter and dri­ver par excel­lence who earns a lux­u­ri­ous but lonely exis­tence as an ask-no-questions courier. The events of his two pre­vi­ous mis­ad­ven­tures have reformed his amoral ways and loner habits, as evi­denced by his col­lab­o­ra­tive friend­ship with for­mer neme­sis Inspec­tor Tar­coni (François Berléand).

So in order for there to even be a Trans­porter 3, its plot must cor­ral this reformed man into a caper full of oppor­tu­ni­ties for car­nage and law­break­ing. The vil­lain­ous Amer­i­can John­son (Robert Knep­per) is con­ceived as Martin’s evil, less evolved twin: a mer­ce­nary like him, but unleav­ened by con­science. His ill-defined plan involves black­mail­ing Ukran­ian politi­cian Leonid Vasilev (Jeroen Krabbe) into allow­ing a giant cor­po­ra­tion to import a tanker full of bar­rels of toxic waste. At one point Mar­tin is men­aced by a truck full of the stuff on land, but the tanker hasn’t docked yet. Confusing.

Natalya RudakovaNatalya Rudakova in Trans­porter 3

Statham is this generation’s Jean-Claude Van Damme or Steven Segal. He’s already been type­cast as the tough loner in a con­stant series of b-movies (some more B than oth­ers, but The Bank Job is a step up), but usu­ally light­ens things up with a hint of Jackie Chan-esque self-deprecation. He’s impec­ca­bly tai­lored, lean, and fero­ciously fit, look­ing and mov­ing more like a gym­nast than the pre­vi­ous gen­er­a­tion of slow-moving body­builder action heroes. A good drink­ing game for any Statham film is to drink a shot every time his shirt comes off. You’re likely to get alco­hol poi­son­ing in this case.

One of the rea­sons I enjoy pro­ducer Luc Besson’s Trans­porter fran­chise is that I dis­like being expected to applaud the typ­i­cal movie action hero that stands back and shoots bad guys from afar. This applies to pretty much any Stal­lone and Schwarzeneg­ger film, but is also true of even James Bond (in which his fabled license to kill often trans­lates into mow­ing down rooms full of extras with machine gun fire — or in the case of Moon­raker, laser pis­tols) and Indi­ana Jones (audi­ences applaud him for shoot­ing a scimitar-wielding bad­die in Raiders of the Lost Ark, but really, is that fair?). In stark con­trast, Mar­tin almost never uses any weapon other than his own phys­i­cal­ity. Most of the vio­lence in the Trans­porter films is in the acro­batic, blood­less rock ‘em sock ‘em style of kung-fu flicks, lib­er­ally sea­soned with impres­sive auto­mo­bile car­nage. The first few min­utes of Trans­porter 3 fea­ture a sig­na­ture sequence in which Mar­tin dis­patches a room full of armed bad­dies using no tools save his own suit jacket. But I was star­tled to see Mar­tin actu­ally exe­cute a few evil­do­ers later in the film, some­thing I don’t recall him doing in the pre­vi­ous two. It’s wholly out of char­ac­ter, and spoils the fun.

Jason Statham in Transporter 3It’s never long before Jason Statham’s shirt comes off

What dooms Trans­porter 3 to be the worst of the fran­chise is that there are sim­ply not enough action sequences, and what few there are are unin­spired. I recall only two more notable action sequences: in one, Mar­tin is teth­ered to his car by an explo­sive device (just roll with it), and must catch up to it on foot after it is stolen. Later, he launches it off a bridge onto the top of a speed­ing train, and then from there smashes it into the body of a detached pas­sen­ger car. For a movie so con­cerned with car chases, prod­uct it doesn’t help the audi­ence when most of the vehi­cles are dic­tated by prod­uct place­ment to be the same brand (Audi) and color (black with tinted windows).

The awk­ward, eyebrow-raising end­ing to Trans­porter 2 left it up in the air as to whether Mar­tin is gay or just an extreme loner. Sur­pris­ingly, Trans­porter 3 actu­ally revives that ques­tion and makes it its key sub­ject. When Vasilev’s hot freck­led daugh­ter Valentina (Natalya Rudakova) comes on to him, Mar­tin protests he’s “not in the mood” but cer­tainly, absolutely, pos­i­tively, no way no how, def­i­nitely not gay, how could you even ask, good grief. Well, that set­tles that ques­tion, in an rather dis­ap­point­ingly con­ven­tional man­ner. So the end of the film finds Mar­tin not only recon­firmed as a good guy, but also in a steady het­ero­sex­ual rela­tion­ship. A key com­po­nent of both the James Bond and Jason Bourne char­ac­ters is that their great­est loves were mur­dered, so they choose to be emphat­i­cally alone. Where can Besson take Frank Mar­tin in another sequel? Don’t expect Valentina to last long into Trans­porter 4.


Offi­cial movie site: www.transporter3film.com

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

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.

Redbelt

Redbelt movie poster

 

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

Chiwetel Ejiofor in Redbelt“Com­pe­ti­tion is weakening”

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

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

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

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

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


Offi­cial movie site: www.sonyclassics.com/redbelt

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

A Clash of Faiths: Ridley Scott’s Body of Lies

Ridley Scott

Body of Lies movie poster

 

Rid­ley Scott’s fol­low up to the gen­tle com­edy of A Good Year (read The Dork Report review) and the crime drama Amer­i­can Gang­ster (partly mod­eled, I think, on Michael Mann’s epic Heat), returns to the politically-themed yet still action-oriented ter­ri­tory he first vis­ited in Black Hawk Down. The key dif­fer­ence here is that, like Peter Weir’s The King­dom and Pete Travis’ Van­tage Point (read The Dork Report review), Body of Lies is set in a fan­ta­sy­land safely divorced from the very, very real events that inspired Black Hawk Down. All of these films have the air of gritty real­ism, but still indulge in the wish ful­fill­ment of a very cin­e­matic war on terror.

Body of Lies can be seen as com­plet­ing a kind of Mid­dle East tril­ogy for Scott, after the afore­men­tioned Black Hawk Down plus the Cru­sades epic King­dom of Heaven (read The Dork Report review). Screen­writer William Mon­a­han wrote both King­dom of Heaven and Body of Lies (adapted from the novel by David Ignatius). But of the three, Body of Lies is clearly the least serious.

Russell Crowe and Leonardo DiCaprio in Body of LiesMesopotamia, and step on it!

No doubt movie stu­dio exec­u­tives have cal­cu­lated down to the last cent that world audi­ences are still too sen­si­tive to actual ter­ror­ist attacks like Lon­don and Madrid in order to buy tick­ets for dra­matic recre­ations on the big screen. Instead, most main­stream terrorism-themed movies are basi­cally enter­tain­ments that only have the feel of seri­ous import, and none of the sub­stance. Body of Lies invents anal­o­gous ter­ror­ist attacks such as a sleeper cell blow­ing up their Lon­don flat, and later, the bomb­ing of a U.S. marine base in Turkey (I hope O’Neal — Demi Moore — from Scott’s G.I. Jane — read The Dork Report Review — wasn’t sta­tioned there). Van­tage Point is a lit­tle more cre­ative in imag­in­ing a worst-case-scenario of a pres­i­den­tial assas­si­na­tion, but has no inter­est in the reper­cus­sions beyond a Rashomon-like recount­ing of the imme­di­ate aftermath.

So audi­ences get films like this, where shad­owy CIA oper­a­tives sneak around Iraq and Jor­dan, sav­ing the world from Islamic fun­da­men­tal­ism. They have seem­ingly lim­it­less resources but no gov­ern­ment over­sight, and any­thing is pos­si­ble with a lit­tle com­puter hack­ing. Mean­while, more seri­ous and real­is­tic movies are ignored, like In the Val­ley of Elah (read The Dork Report review) and the truly excel­lent but emo­tion­ally dev­as­tat­ing United 93. In com­par­i­son, Scott’s Black Hawk Down was unafraid to recre­ate actual events still raw in the Amer­i­can public’s mem­ory: the cat­a­strophic marine incur­sion into Soma­lia in 1993. And even to limit the scope to Scott’s own oeu­vre, King­dom of Heaven is a much smarter con­sid­er­a­tion of the clash of faiths in the Mid­dle East.

Leonardo DiCaprio and Golshifteh Farahani in Body of LiesLeo meets cute with an Iran­ian nurse (Gol­shifteh Farahani)

Body of Lies is Rus­sell Crowe’s fourth film with Scott, fol­low­ing Glad­i­a­tor, A Good Year, and Amer­i­can Gang­ster. Here, he packs on some seri­ous poundage to enter the same schlubby mode he debuted in Michael Mann’s The Insider, sea­soned with a lit­tle of the crass bas­tard he played in A Good Year. Leonardo DiCaprio, on tem­po­rary loan from Mar­tin Scors­ese, sports a scrappy beard but still looks like a teenager. The pretty boy is con­stantly get­ting beaten up, cut, bruised, and los­ing fin­gers. But he meets cute with pretty Iran­ian nurse Aisah (Gol­shifteh Fara­hani), so that’s alright, then.


Offi­cial movie site: www.body-of-lies.com

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Ridley Scott’s Black Rain

Ridley Scott

Black Rain movie poster

 

Rid­ley Scott’s police thriller Black Rain (1989) opens in New York City at a time when The Meat­pack­ing Dis­trict actu­ally was a meat­pack­ing dis­trict. Tough cop Nick (Michael Dou­glas) is a ridicu­lously aggres­sive, foul-mouthed tough guy who tools around the city astride his crotch rocket. The despised Inter­nal Affairs depart­ment sus­pects him of being a bent cop­per (spoiler alert: rightly, it turns out!), and pres­sures him to name names. By sheer acci­dent, he and rookie part­ner Char­lie (Andy Gar­cia) wit­ness a Yakuza assas­si­na­tion in a Meat­pack­ing Dis­trict bar. After a thrilling chase through some vin­tage Man­hat­tan loca­tions since replaced by night­clubs, lux­ury con­dos, and The Apple Store, they man­age to appre­hend the per­pe­tra­tor. The Yakuza assas­sin Sato (Yasaku Mat­suda), being Asian in a Hol­ly­wood movie, is of course a mar­tial arts expert. Con­trived plot machi­na­tions result in Nick and Char­lie escort­ing Sato back to Japan, where­upon they imme­di­ately and embar­rass­ingly lose him. By this point, the plot has been con­structed in such a way as to raise Nick’s stakes to the high­est level pos­si­ble: the only two things that mat­ter to him, his honor and job secu­rity, depend on one task: catch­ing or killing the bad guy. If he returns to the States empty-handed, he’s almost cer­tainly to be disgraced.

Andy Garcia and Michael Douglas in Black RainAndy Gar­cia refuses to pass the edamame

In his Tokyo down­time, Nick enter­tains an uncon­sum­mated romance with gai­jin Joyce (Kate Cap­shaw). The sub­plot is a bor­ing dis­trac­tion. Joyce is a mere love inter­est in the worst sto­ry­telling sense: her char­ac­ter is not inte­grated into the main thriller plot as is the female lead in Scott’s Some­one to Watch Over Me. It strikes this Dork Reporter as some­thing of a copout on the part of Scott and screen­writ­ers Craig Bolotin and War­ren Lewis that their pro­tag­o­nist Nick goes all the way to Japan but doesn’t do as the Japan­ese men do (which is to say, Japan­ese women).

Nick and Char­lie part­ner with upright Japan­ese cop Masahiro (Ken Takakura). Cul­tures clash, and the suave Char­lie teaches the uptight Masahiro to party hearty, beat­ing the Japan­ese at their own game (that being karaōke). When Nick’s moral ambi­gu­ity becomes known, the right­eous Masahiro seems to con­vince Nick that theft of any sort is shame­ful. But in the end, it is Nick that teaches Masahiro that it’s OK to steal from crim­i­nals (in the moral uni­verse of this film, at least). I’d never say that any work of fic­tion has an oblig­a­tion to present morally-correct behav­ior (the kind of cen­sor­ship that Hol­ly­wood the­o­ret­i­cally left behind with the demise of the Pro­duc­tion Code). But Black Rain seems to present Nick’s amoral behav­ior as The Right Thing, instead of the com­pli­cated actions of an inter­est­ing com­plex character.

Michael Douglas in Black RainA back­lit Michael Dou­glas con­tem­plates a new hairdo

Scott stages a huge shootout sequence at a refin­ery, seem­ingly cho­sen for max­i­mum visual appeal (pic­ture the clouds of steam, show­ers of sparks, bursts of flame, etc.). In a kind of self-referencial closed cir­cuit, Scott’s aer­ial shots of Japan look just like Blade Runner’s futur­is­tic dystopian Los Ange­les, which was itself inspired by Tokyo. Another direct lift from Blade Run­ner: Nick dis­cov­ers sequins from Joyce’s dress at a crime scene, recall­ing the sequence in Blade Run­ner in which Deckard tracks down the ori­gin of syn­thetic snake scales — belong­ing, of course, to one of cinema’s most famous femmes fatale.

The open­ing cred­its state “In asso­ci­a­tion with Michael Dou­glas.” Dou­glas is of course a suc­cess­ful pro­ducer (for instance, One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest), but Black Rain has the feel of an ego trip. More trivia: the direc­tor of pho­tog­ra­phy Jan de Bont was later to direct Speed.

One final cheap shot before I go. I don’t know what has dated more: the cheesy music or Michael Dou­glas’ big hair.


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Ridley Scott’s Someone to Watch Over Me

Ridley Scott

Someone to Watch Over Me movie poster

 

Rid­ley Scott’s Some­one to Watch Over Me (1987) is more of a drama than a police thriller, refresh­ingly focussed on its char­ac­ters over sus­pense and action alone. Mike Kee­gan (Tom Berenger) is a salt-of-the-earth Queens detec­tive assigned to pro­tect mate­r­ial wit­ness Claire (Mimi Rogers) from assas­si­na­tion. Kee­gan is a mod­est fam­ily man, recently pro­moted to the sec­ond rung of the police hier­ar­chy. It’s no glam­orous job; he spends most of his work­ing hours just sit­ting around not fin­ish­ing cross­words. He’s utterly unlike the over-the-top testosterone-laden cop char­ac­ter played by Michael Dou­glas in Scott’s other police thriller, Black Rain.

Tom Berenger in Someone to Watch Over MeAny dame what lives in a spread like this is outta yer league, pal.

Kee­gan is more-or-less hap­pily mar­ried (to Lor­raine Bracco as Ellie), but a man like him would never oth­er­wise come into con­tact with a beau­ti­ful uptown girl like Claire. Cooped up in close prox­im­ity to each other every night, they inevitably lapse into an affair. Her effem­i­nate but wealthy and pow­er­ful hus­band senses that Kee­gan is a roman­tic rival, but he is an effec­tively impo­tent char­ac­ter and fre­quently dis­ap­pears from the film alto­gether. Also notable is song-and-dance man Jerry Orbach already type­cast as a detec­tive in a small role as Keegan’s tough Lieutenant.

Mimi Rogers in Someone to Watch Over MeWhen Mimi Rogers heard Direc­tor Rid­ley Scott was big on visual spec­ta­cles, this isn’t what she had in mind

One of the guar­an­teed plea­sures of any Rid­ley Scott film is the visu­als. Some­one to Watch Over Me’s open­ing cred­its fea­ture the name­sake song by George Gersh­win sung by Sting over beau­ti­fully sleek aer­ial shots of New York City at night. The final shootout is per­fectly staged in a claus­tro­pho­bi­cally enclosed space, with huge mir­rors placed for max­i­mum dra­matic impact. The prin­ci­pals stalk each other in near silence, punc­tu­ated by the wide dynam­ics of sound design. Per­haps Scott was com­pet­ing with that other upstart mas­ter of cin­e­matic shootouts, Michael Mann (in par­tic­u­lar, the sim­i­larly explo­sive con­clu­sion to the con­tem­po­rary thriller Manhunter).


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The Magnificent Seven

The Magnificent Seven

 

John Sturges’ The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven is Hollywood’s answer to Akira Kurosawa’s hugely pop­u­lar Seven Samu­rai (read The Dork Report review). It suf­fers in com­par­i­son, espe­cially if, like this Dork Reporter, one watches them in suc­ces­sion. The remake is quaint, chaste, and dated in ways the fairly frank orig­i­nal isn’t. To put it another way, Seven Samu­rai is a period piece of its 16th Cen­tury set­ting, while The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven is a period piece both of its 19th Cen­tury set­ting and its 1960 production.

A remake was inevitable con­sid­er­ing the dizzy­ing cir­cle of influ­ence. Kuro­sawa was a fan of the Hol­ly­wood west­ern and espe­cially of direc­tor John Ford, all of which directly informed Seven Samu­rai. Hollywood’s trans­po­si­tion of the story to the Amer­i­can West for The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven was fairly straight­for­ward. Its great suc­cess led to three motion pic­ture sequels, a tele­vi­sion series, and is to be remade again in 2009.

The orig­i­nal epony­mous seven samu­rai were actu­ally ronin, mas­ter­less mer­ce­nar­ies akin to the West­ern out­law: morally ambiva­lent drifters, killers with a per­sonal code of honor. The West­ern genre is usu­ally about out­laws, for the sim­ple rea­son that they’re more dra­mat­i­cally inter­est­ing than reg­u­lar plain folk. In both ver­sions of 3:10 to Yuma (1957 and 2007), for exam­ple, the vil­lain Ben Wade (Glen Ford and Rus­sell Crowe) is a far more appeal­ing and seduc­tive char­ac­ter than the good guy Dan Evans (Can Heflin and Chris­t­ian Bale). An excep­tion to the rule is the clas­sic High Noon, in which Gary Cooper plays an hon­est law­man who pre­vails under extreme duress. The biggest clue the mag­nif­i­cent seven are not clas­sic good guys: Yul Bryn­ner appro­pri­ately sports his trade­mark black hat. Upping the badass quo­tient and testos­terone lev­els are no less than Steve McQueen (here get­ting to drive a real mus­tang on screen), Charles Bron­son, and the very lanky James Coburn.

The Magnificent SevenThe meet­ing of the Badass Soci­ety is adjourned

The basic sce­nario is sim­i­lar: seven Amer­i­can gun­slingers accept a pit­tance in order to defend a Mex­i­can vil­lage besieged by ban­dits. But the many alter­ations beyond this all reflect some very “Hol­ly­wood” think­ing. In the orig­i­nal, it is enough for the samu­rai that there be an injus­tice they are capa­ble of address­ing. But in a Hol­ly­wood film, there must be indi­vid­ual moti­va­tions, which inter­est­ingly have the side effect of ren­der­ing some char­ac­ters less heroic. Harry Luck (Brad Dex­ter) is con­vinced Chris (Bryn­ner) has an ulte­rior motive, such as pil­fer­ing a non-existent gold mine. The dandy bounty hunter Lee (Robert Vaughn) is also along for self­ish rea­sons; he’s on the lam for an unspec­i­fied trans­gres­sion, and needs to dis­ap­pear for a while.

The orig­i­nal Seven Samu­rai is actu­ally tech­ni­cally com­prised of only five actual samu­rai and two pre­tenders. Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune) is a peas­ant pos­ing as a samu­rai, and Kat­sushiro (Isao Kimura) is an earnestly roman­tic young boy seek­ing samu­rai train­ing and adven­ture. Per­haps to econ­o­mize the story, The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven com­bines these two char­ac­ters into Chico (Horst Buch­holz), a for­mer farmer that wor­ships the out­laws and attaches him­self to them in order to become one.

So that leaves Chris, Bernardo (Bron­son), and Vin (McQueen). In this remake’s best sleight-of-hand, we’re in the dark as to their moti­va­tions until near the very end. None of them are young men, and what dri­ves them turns out to be the fan­tasy of set­tling down into an agri­cul­tural lifestyle. The gruff Bernardo befriends a batch of scrappy kids, becom­ing a kind of pro­tec­tive older brother if not a father fig­ure. Chris and Vin seal their friend­ship with the mutual con­fes­sion that they both han­ker for a sim­pler life (a sort of admis­sion very dif­fi­cult for two very macho men).

The Magnificent SevenGo ahead and make our day

But many poor changes out­weigh these afore­men­tioned inter­est­ing ones. Being a prod­uct of Hol­ly­wood, it’s actu­ally less vio­lent, pro­fane, and sexy than the orig­i­nal Japan­ese film. The Mex­i­can vil­lagers are wise and saintly, com­pared to the more real­is­ti­cally flawed farm­ers in Seven Samu­rai. The threat of sex­ual vio­lence is white­washed away; the ban­dits are not inter­ested in the Mex­i­can women. We see too much of the vil­lains, and the chief ban­dit Calvera (Eli Wal­lach) is prac­ti­cally a fea­tured character.

But just as I was begin­ning to dis­miss the remake as infe­rior to the orig­i­nal in every way, and of his­tor­i­cal inter­est only, the movie dark­ens and becomes inter­est­ing again. The Mex­i­can vil­lagers, like their ancient Japan­ese coun­ter­parts, do reveal a dark side after all. Despite their ini­tial suc­cess in beat­ing back the ban­dits with the out­laws’ help, they have a cri­sis of faith and betray the out­laws in order to return to the com­fort zone of their par­a­sitic rela­tion­ship with the bandits.

In the old west, an out­law may very well find a home in a fron­tier town where no one knows his past deeds (a core theme of the HBO series Dead­wood and the sit­u­a­tion in which Clint Eastwood’s The Unfor­given opens). But in ancient feu­dal Japan’s caste sys­tem, a ronin could never take a step down and live among farm­ers. This also proves to be the case in The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven: Chris and Vin mosey on out of town and Chico stays behind, reject­ing his pre­ten­sions to being a rebel out­law, and revert­ing to his des­tined life as a farmer.


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

Raiders of the Lost Ark

Raiders of the Lost Ark

 

In order to catch up on the over­whelm­ing back­log of movies I intend to cover here on this blog, this Dork Reporter is going to keep it brief with a few dis­con­nected bul­let points:

• The 2008 DVD reis­sues of the clas­sic Indi­ana Jones tril­ogy have ter­ri­bly designed menus; it looks like everything’s been over­processed with Photoshop’s “Dust and Scratches” filter.

• The zippy, witty screen­play is by Lau­rence Kas­dan, known to genre geeks as the beloved writer of the best Star Wars script, now and for­ever: The Empire Strikes Back.

• Hey, it’s that guy! A young Alfred Molina briefly appears in his first film role. In the DVD bonus fea­tures, he recounts an amus­ing tale involv­ing his lack of dif­fi­culty in evok­ing fear in his per­for­mance as a batch of real taran­tu­las scram­bled across his face.

Raiders of the Lost Ark“I like your hat.” “So do I.”

• Karen Allen is really win­ning as the hard-drinkin’ Mar­ion, and it’s a pity she never became a big­ger star, or at least appeared in the sec­ond and third install­ments. She was robbed!

• Does the Indi­ana Jones fran­chise really give the field of archae­ol­ogy a good name? Indy is moti­vated by money; he loots relics with­out the per­mis­sion of indige­nous peo­ples, and sells them to a museum asso­ci­ated with the uni­ver­sity where he teaches (it’s implied his job or tenure — and that of his boss Mar­cus — depend on it).

Raiders of the Lost ArkRated PG, my melt­ing face, suckas!

• I think I had the offi­cial col­or­ing book as a kid, and I recall being fas­ci­nated by the con­cept of lost cities buried under sand.

• For bet­ter or for worse, the prac­ti­cal details of the phan­tas­magoric cli­max are left unex­plained: why is the Ark empty, why does it make bad guys’ heads explode and/or melt, why does it mat­ter if your eyes are open or not, and why does Indy know that it does?

• There’s lotsa drink­ing, gun­play, gore, and Ger­man pro­fan­ity — in other words, all the stuff kids love! They don’t make PG movies like this anymore.

• Kids, the moral of the story is: any­one with an accent is not to be trusted.


Offi­cial movie site: www.indianajones.com

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

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

 

Indi­ana Jones and the King­dom of the Crys­tal Skull is ulti­mately a lit­tle dis­ap­point­ing, espe­cially if one reflects too much on its plot and basic plau­si­bil­ity, but it has plenty to com­mend it. It is also far from the worst entry in the fran­chise (that would be Tem­ple of Doom — blech! stay tuned for The Dork Report’s forth­com­ing tear­down of that stinky turd), which admit­tedly isn’t say­ing much.

The basic con­cept (report­edly con­ceived by pro­ducer George Lucas and viewed askance at by direc­tor Steven Spiel­berg and star Har­ri­son Ford) is sound. The orig­i­nal tril­ogy was set in the 1930s, and as such the first and third films mostly con­cerned Indy bat­tling the Ratzis. So, whom bet­ter for an older Indi­ana Jones to face off against in the 1950s than Com­mies and UFOs? In all seri­ous­ness, sounds like fun to me! Unfor­tu­nately, the end result is mud­dled with bits of busi­ness about El Dorado, and sad­dled with a dis­ap­point­ingly con­ser­v­a­tive tsk-tsk dis­ap­proval of the ras­cally Indy’s way­ward ways with women. But per­haps the focus on mar­riage and the restora­tion of a bro­ken nuclear fam­ily was also a con­scious allu­sion to the con­formist 1950s?

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal SkullVee haff vays of mak­ing you talk

Cate Blanchett is far and away the best thing in it, but then again, she usu­ally is. Impos­si­bly sexy in a severe bob hair­cut and out­ra­geous accent (the sub­ject of Indy’s best gag: “Well, judg­ing by the way you’re swal­low­ing your wub­b­ley­ous, I’m guess­ing Russ­ian”), Blanchett can take a line as bor­ing as “Take the thing and put it in the car” (I’m para­phras­ing) and steal the scene with it. How­ever, this Dork Reporter is puz­zled by the ubiq­uity of sud­den A-lister Shia LeBeouf. He is not espe­cially hand­some, funny, charis­matic, or even a skilled action per­former. But Stephen Spiel­berg seems to have a man-crush on him, so here he is. Let’s hope saner heads pre­vail and don’t make him the star of future sequels. There can only be one Young Indi­ana Jones; River Phoenix, we miss you. It’s a treat to have Karen Allen back at last. Unfor­tu­nately, there’s no John Rhys-Davies or Sean Con­nery to be had, but in a pinch, Ray Win­stone will do fine.

Of course mod­ern action movies get com­pared to video games all the time (often deri­sively, mostly deserv­ingly), but The King­dom of the Crys­tal Skull is one of the most overt offend­ers I’ve seen yet. Sequences like the one in which the gang must solve puz­zles like rac­ing down a spi­ral stair­case as the steps retract and the ground falls away will no doubt trans­late more or less intact into the film’s offi­cial game.

The biggest clas­sic Indy theme miss­ing from Skull is that of reli­gion. In the first film, Indy tracked down the honest-to-Moses Ark of the Con­venant. The MacGuf­fin of the sec­ond film was a set of Hindu (well, a deroga­to­rily fic­tion­al­ized ver­sion thereof) sacred stones. The third install­ment went back to the franchise’s Judeo-Christian roots and had Indy pur­sue none other than The Holy Grail. Indy some­times dis­misses reli­gious tra­di­tions as myth, but usu­ally doesn’t have any trou­ble accept­ing that the 10 Com­mand­ment tablets and the Grail are any­thing less than actual objects. There are no mere metaphors for Indi­ana Jones!

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal SkullYou never intro­duced me to your father!

In keep­ing with the reli­gious over­tones, all three parts of the orig­i­nal tril­ogy end in psy­che­delic freak­outs: wit­ness an empty Ark explode Nazi heads, sacred stones mag­i­cally relieve a village’s famine, and a Grail cause an earth­quake. So as much as I may have hated Skull’s mys­ti­fy­ing, CG-drenched in which a bunch of alien corpses become one liv­ing being that does some­thing glowy to Irina Spalko and launches his space­ship off into another dimen­sion (all of which is like an unholy love child of the X-Files fea­ture film Fight the Future and Spielberg’s own A.I.: Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence), it is actu­ally in keep­ing with the end­ings of the orig­i­nal three films (even the “good one,” of course, Raiders). If you don’t believe me, go back and watch them again.

Must read: Rod Hilton’s hilar­i­ous, cut­ting The Abridged Script.


Offi­cial movie site: www.indianajones.com

9/11-ploitation: J.J. Abrams’ Cloverfield

Cloverfield movie poster

 

First of all, let me just say I get it.

I get that Clover­field is meant to be a mod­ern day ana­logue of Godzilla. I get that post­war Japan­ese movie­go­ers wit­nessed an enraged giant lizard borne of nuclear tech­nol­ogy stomp Tokyo flat in an unstop­pable piqué, and I get that Godzilla became a clas­sic for that very rea­son. I get that we West­ern­ers were long due to be attacked on film by own very own alle­gor­i­cal crea­ture as pop ther­apy for our ter­ror­ism anxieties.

Per­haps we need that movie some time. But sig­nif­i­cantly more advanced than Godzilla in terms of visual style and spe­cial effects, I don’t think Clover­field is that movie.

As a long­time fan of J.J. Abrams from Alias and Lost, and made a help­less sucker by the film’s clever mar­ket­ing, I very much wanted to love Clover­field. How­ever, I found it extremely dif­fi­cult to watch and to like, for two basic rea­sons both related to my being a New Yorker for a decade & change: I. unlike­able and unre­al­is­tic char­ac­ters, and II. what can only be described as 9/11-ploitation.

I. THE CHARACTERS

We know the back­grounds of only two char­ac­ters, Rob and Beth. Rob has recently been pro­moted to Vice Pres­i­dent of an unspec­i­fied type of com­pany at an improb­a­bly young age, and is about to leave for a long busi­ness trip to Japan. In my under­stand­ing of lifestyles of the rich & beau­ti­ful in New York City, such young execs were more com­monly found in the dot-com 90s econ­omy, but even now still exist in scrappy new media com­pa­nies like CollegeHumor.com. But let’s assume Rob helped invent the next Face­book and move on.

random hot girl in CloverfieldYowza howza! Yes, it’s true, all New York­ers go to par­ties like this all the time.

We don’t know what Beth, his one true love, does for a liv­ing, if any­thing. She lives with her fam­ily high up in the north­ern tower of the Time Warner Cen­ter (more on that later). Her stun­ning looks and wardrobe might peg her as model, but she appears to be a socialite born of priv­i­lege. But far from the slow train­wrecks that are Paris and Nicky, Beth appears to be a sweet, sober girl. In fact, she leaves a party not uncon­scious in the back of a limo, but out of pro­pri­ety, to go home to bed, alone.

Us reg­u­lar joes are sup­posed to iden­tify with and care about these peo­ple? For all its faults, Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds (another monster-attack film touch­ing uncom­fort­ably upon domes­tic dis­as­ter in a post 9/11 world) fea­tured an every­man type char­ac­ter in auto repair­man Tom Cruise. To be fair, Godzilla was full of white-coated sci­en­tists and teeth-gritted soldier-types, so the genre doesn’t exactly call for com­par­a­tively bor­ing lower wage-earners that don’t live in lux­ury con­dos and party in down­town lofts.

II. 9/11-SPLOITATION

Godzilla was utterly frank in link­ing the mon­ster with the hor­rors of the nuclear age. So if Cloverfield’s beast is a per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of ter­ror­ism, how does the metaphor fit? Did US mil­i­tary adven­tur­ism in Afghanistan and Iraq unearth the mon­ster? Is the beast a hereto­fore undis­cov­ered sub­ter­ranean oil-feeder, angered by our drain­ing the earth’s sup­ply of fos­sil fuel? With­out a clear metaphor, Clover­field just seems to enjoy allud­ing to the super­fi­cial events and imagery of 9/11 with­out any depth: sky­scrap­ers “pan­cak­ing” them­selves flat, streets fill­ing with clouds of debris, ash-coated sur­vivors struck numb. I’m not against pop­u­lar fic­tion using metaphor to touch upon raw nerves that maybe need to be tweaked now and then… but is Clover­field it?

New York City burns in CloverfieldDon’t worry, New York­ers, it’s only a movie.

One of the film’s key set pieces is set atop the twin tow­ers of the Time Warner Cen­ter. The allu­sion is clear, but it’s a stretch fac­tu­ally. Are there res­i­den­tial apart­ments in the TW Cen­ter? As both a New Yorker and Time Warner employee, this is news to me. I should also add that the geog­ra­phy of Man­hat­tan as seen in the film is just this side of real­is­tic. In a space of about 6 hours, it’s plau­si­ble the char­ac­ters could make it from lower Man­hat­tan to the roof of the Time Warner Cen­ter at the south­ern foot of Cen­tral Park (assum­ing, that is, that their young thighs are capa­ble of the trek).

Inva­sion of the Bodys­natch­ers is one exam­ple of a sci-fi thriller that has worked well enough to illu­mi­nate con­cerns of the times to war­rant mul­ti­ple remakes. Just to name three: the orig­i­nal took on McCarthy­ism, the Abel Fer­rara 90’s ver­sion looked at obe­di­ence and con­for­mity in the mil­i­tary, and Robert Rodriguez’s The Fac­ulty found the story use­ful as a satir­i­cal cri­tique of high school peer pres­sure. But none of the var­i­ous Bodys­natch­ers films pre­sented us with recre­ations of cities pressed flat; were con­tem­po­rary Japan­ese made sick by the sight of their hor­rors anthro­po­mor­phized in a giant lizard? See­ing my home city’s sky­line smok­ing and col­laps­ing was not some­thing I would call cathartic.

I saw the film early evening on open­ing day, with an audi­ence full of kids just out of school. The movie went over like a lead bal­loon; the con­clu­sion was loudly heck­led and booed. I sus­pect the kids mostly objected to the uncon­ven­tional struc­ture and end­ing. Which is, for what it’s worth, what I found best about the film: it pro­vides a very mov­ingly unex­pected happy ending.


Offi­cial movie site: www.cloverfieldmovie.com

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