I needed to give it a week on this one, and I’m glad I did. Walking out of Wolverine, I was less disappointed than just indifferent. Thinking back on 2008, when Iron Man was the second-best comic book movie of the summer, the bar was set pretty high for this year’s summer lineup. The idea of doing a reboot or an origin story is nothing new, and so Wolverine wasn’t exactly walking in new territory. Nevertheless, Wolverine was taking on a tough assignment, and unfortunately, didn’t really rise to the occasion. Star Trek greatly improved the outlook for the season, but Wolverine was a tough step out the door.
With this entry into the X-Men franchise, the direction for it gets that much more interesting. Bryan Singer did a progressively impressive job with the first two films in the series, and then came Brett Ratner. The Last Stand wasn’t exactly a failure, and for a light summer film was a reasonably good time. But Singer had proven that you could deliver summer explosions while still exploring interesting characters with some degree of depth. Ratner largerly walked away from that depth, and opted for broad and sweeping action. In doing so, he lived on our investment in the characters that Singer had provided.
Unfortunately, Wolverine wants to live in both of these worlds. The early moments provide promise, as we are introduced to Logan/Wolverine as he comes into his powers. The hero is born in tragedy, a tragedy that drives he and his brother Victor to spend their lives on the run. Born in the early 19th century, Logan, who will grow into adulthood then age no further, fights alongside he and his brother in America’s wars, delivered in a montage that probably should have been developed into the entire movie. After the music video ends, we join Logan in Vietnam, where he gets into deep trouble, only to be offered rescue by Stryker, a government operative who promises to help them both in exchange for their work on a secret government project.
It’s at this point in the story that the movie encounters its deepest problems, problems that it never figures out how to solve. If you’ve seen the first 3 films, and with $600 million combined domestic gross I’m thinking a few people have, than Stryker’s appearance is walking people down a road that we’ve already been. In fact a significant piece of X2 was Wolverine finding out a lot of this stuff. So we already know coming in that he’s going to get his adamantium skeleton from this government experiment, that he’s going to work on their behalf, that they will use him, and that ultimately something they do is going to take away his memories. Given all that, we have to wonder what else they have to tell us. Their answer: not much.
Let me be clear, I’m not opposed to prequels per se. I loved the Batman reboot. Star Trek was outstanding. Lost has even been sustaining our interest for two seasons by flashing forward in time then telling us how it’s going to get to that place. Where Wolverine stumbles is in its inability to expand our understanding of the character of James Logan. And that’s a shame. They’ve got a great actor in Jackman, and while he delivers as much as possible, they just don’t ask enough of him. A little brooding, a little anger, then a random fight with a rogues gallery of characters. Things look cool, but the plot just kind of wanders along.
The two banes of storytelling in the sci-fi/comic world are amnesia and time travel tales. Too often they show up as lazy devices that manufacture cheap drama. Over the course of two weeks, we see Star Trek find a way to rise above it, bringing us a great ride despite its time travel plotline, and Wolverine fail to figure out how to rise above its amnesia story.
Logan is an interesting character. In the opening reel, they touched on what was most interesting about him in the tragedy of his life and the decades he spent running from that tragedy. There’s a story there. By rehashing the government conspiracy from X2, they refuse to walk deeper into his life. They want to make him a hero (because that’s what a summer blockbuster needs), then take that away by removing his memories, because that’s what the storyline demands. This amnesia plot fails for the lack of accountability it produces. It doesn’t have to go anywhere, because anything they do with him they just get to reset at the end to get ready for his true heroic arc in the first two films.
The best film to make use of an amnesia arc in recent years in my mind is Memento, detailing a man who can form no new memories by telling his story backwards. For that film, the lack of accountability that forgetting produces was central to the theme of the film. These filmmakers probably needed to study that one. Wolverine had an opportunity to explore a character that moved through American history always running from a past. It was only when his memories were taken away that he was forced to confront that past. It was that confrontation that transformed his character and turned him into a hero. This ironic path had something to say, something that we needed to hear. Too bad they weren’t willing to walk that road.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Star Trek: A Review
I wonder how the fanboys are dealing with Star Trek? I’m not the one to ask. I’ve seen all the movies, and had some streaks of watching The Next Generation in college, but hadn’t ever seen an original series episode until a few weeks ago. So while I recognize that the attempt to reboot the franchise, complete with recasting of all the original characters, is stepping on sacred ground for a lot of people, I’m not the right defender. It’s Wars, not Trek for me, baby.
Even from the casual viewer’s perspective, though, I can tell there’s a lot that could challenge these folks. The film is driven by a time travel plot that plays with the character’s origins (and creates a few plot holes that will certainly prove distracting for some). It offers up a cameo by Leonard Nimoy, the original Spock, who becomes central to the plot in a way that may pull a few out of the film. For those who walk through the original work as hallowed halls, I’m sure some are being stretched.
And yet, I hope that they can pick up what the rest of us can enjoy, which is just how much Star Trek gets right. For me it comes down to one word: energy. This is an unapologetic summer blockbuster, and it brings it in spades. The opening moments, introducing us to Kirk’s father needing to save his ship’s crew, including his pregnant wife, in a no-win situation, is a gripping opener that gives us much of what we need to know about Kirk. Flash forward a few years, and we see the rebel farm kid interested in driving fast and breaking the rules (others have already commented on the connections to Luke Skywalker). Flash forward again, and we see him resisting the call to step into his father’s shoes and become a great pilot.
The plot skips over most of Kirk’s academy years, but gives us enough to establish the personas of the three main characters. Kirk, the arrogant womanizer is a brilliant pilot uninterested in following the rules. “Bones” McCoy is a temperamental hothead with unquestioned medical talent. Spock is ever caught between two worlds as a half-human, half-Vulcan, seeking to embrace the emotionless logic of his Vulcan upbringing while dealing with the passion that emerges from his human side. That we know these three are bound to strike up a lifelong friendship doesn’t detract from the intensity of the relationships we see in these early days. Theirs will be an unlikely friendship, as their personalities and priorities constantly put them at odds with each other. For me, knowing the outcome made the ride more enjoyable, as you could see the humor in the hostility, knowing that friendship would emerge.
The three have very separate journeys that get them on the newly minted Enterprise to face off against a new crises. I’ll save the plot for your own viewing, but events continue to put the three in impossible situations, pitting them against each other, and letting their own character and friendship emerge. The film continues at a fun, intense pace that we would expect from director J.J. Abrams. It works because of the great performances of the principals, the fun at watching these personalities interact, and because of the great action that surrounds the entire venture. All of that keeps it going when the plot may be a little less than perfect.
Without a doubt, Star Trek was the most fun I’ve had at the movies this year, and did a lot to purge the sour taste of Wolverine from my pallet (that review is coming). And yes, I’ll add my vote that everything Abrams did right he learned from Star Wars (you take your cheap shots when you can). That being said, the film fits an old school view of the summer blockbuster, rejecting the models of Batman and many of the other comic book properties, in that it really doesn’t try to explore or hint at deep themes. It promises a two hour frolic and an escape complete with popcorn and soda. And yet...
Over the last few months, I’ve read several discussing whether Star Trek can play for this generation. The property is almost 45 years old, and was started in a spirit of 60’s optimism that looked to the promise of space exploration as a framework for seeing the hope of the future. Can that kind of unapologetic optimism play in our more cynical age? I think so. Even where the perception is that our institutions are failing us, and the promises of prosperity that we cling to will not bear fruit, there is a power in hope that is far deeper than simple escapism. Star Trek works best when it gets small, focusing on the powerful friendships of people who fight alongside each other, offering loyalty even in hopeless situations. That we have a hope that we might rise above our institutions, yes even rise above ourselves, is a hope that seems relevant for any age.
Even from the casual viewer’s perspective, though, I can tell there’s a lot that could challenge these folks. The film is driven by a time travel plot that plays with the character’s origins (and creates a few plot holes that will certainly prove distracting for some). It offers up a cameo by Leonard Nimoy, the original Spock, who becomes central to the plot in a way that may pull a few out of the film. For those who walk through the original work as hallowed halls, I’m sure some are being stretched.
And yet, I hope that they can pick up what the rest of us can enjoy, which is just how much Star Trek gets right. For me it comes down to one word: energy. This is an unapologetic summer blockbuster, and it brings it in spades. The opening moments, introducing us to Kirk’s father needing to save his ship’s crew, including his pregnant wife, in a no-win situation, is a gripping opener that gives us much of what we need to know about Kirk. Flash forward a few years, and we see the rebel farm kid interested in driving fast and breaking the rules (others have already commented on the connections to Luke Skywalker). Flash forward again, and we see him resisting the call to step into his father’s shoes and become a great pilot.
The plot skips over most of Kirk’s academy years, but gives us enough to establish the personas of the three main characters. Kirk, the arrogant womanizer is a brilliant pilot uninterested in following the rules. “Bones” McCoy is a temperamental hothead with unquestioned medical talent. Spock is ever caught between two worlds as a half-human, half-Vulcan, seeking to embrace the emotionless logic of his Vulcan upbringing while dealing with the passion that emerges from his human side. That we know these three are bound to strike up a lifelong friendship doesn’t detract from the intensity of the relationships we see in these early days. Theirs will be an unlikely friendship, as their personalities and priorities constantly put them at odds with each other. For me, knowing the outcome made the ride more enjoyable, as you could see the humor in the hostility, knowing that friendship would emerge.
The three have very separate journeys that get them on the newly minted Enterprise to face off against a new crises. I’ll save the plot for your own viewing, but events continue to put the three in impossible situations, pitting them against each other, and letting their own character and friendship emerge. The film continues at a fun, intense pace that we would expect from director J.J. Abrams. It works because of the great performances of the principals, the fun at watching these personalities interact, and because of the great action that surrounds the entire venture. All of that keeps it going when the plot may be a little less than perfect.
Without a doubt, Star Trek was the most fun I’ve had at the movies this year, and did a lot to purge the sour taste of Wolverine from my pallet (that review is coming). And yes, I’ll add my vote that everything Abrams did right he learned from Star Wars (you take your cheap shots when you can). That being said, the film fits an old school view of the summer blockbuster, rejecting the models of Batman and many of the other comic book properties, in that it really doesn’t try to explore or hint at deep themes. It promises a two hour frolic and an escape complete with popcorn and soda. And yet...
Over the last few months, I’ve read several discussing whether Star Trek can play for this generation. The property is almost 45 years old, and was started in a spirit of 60’s optimism that looked to the promise of space exploration as a framework for seeing the hope of the future. Can that kind of unapologetic optimism play in our more cynical age? I think so. Even where the perception is that our institutions are failing us, and the promises of prosperity that we cling to will not bear fruit, there is a power in hope that is far deeper than simple escapism. Star Trek works best when it gets small, focusing on the powerful friendships of people who fight alongside each other, offering loyalty even in hopeless situations. That we have a hope that we might rise above our institutions, yes even rise above ourselves, is a hope that seems relevant for any age.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Watchmen: A Review
I can remember my high school junior year. Our English teacher had assigned us a paper to be written on the book of our choice. While we were trying to think creatively of titles that might pass muster with her critical eye, a friend and I decided to make a pitch for the Watchmen. This was the early-90’s, just a few years after the book’s serial publication, and already among those in the know it had obtained a certain reverential quality and was being held out as a real example of literature in the somewhat discounted genre of graphic novels (that is the respectable term for comic books). We brought her a copy, made our best pitch, and waited for her review. She was less than thrilled, and we proceeded to do our papers on a different book.
Well, time vindicated us, but oddly enough, I’m not sure the movie would be key evidence for that vindication. Watchmen over the years eventually obtained respected status in many literary circles. Long considered unfilmable, it took 300’s Zack Snyder to finally see the project come to bear. And, consistent with 300, Snyder delivers a film that is surprisingly faithful to its source material. Yet it may be this faithfulness that keeps the film from rising to the level obtained so recently within its genre. It is certainly an engaging and faithful adaptation of a marvelous work, but fails to achieve greatness in its own right.
The story that the film is trying to capture is a tough one. For the uninitiated, Watchmen posits an alternate mid-80’s in which costumed heroes, both ordinary and super, have been around for decades. While the vigilantes of the early years were entirely human, things changed with the arrival of the first legitimate superhero, Dr. Manhattan, in the late-50’s. His appearance changed world history, such that this alternate ’85 has Nixon still as president, serving a 5th term after bringing an end to the VIetnam War. The costumes eventually were outlawed, and so these heroes have retired, except for two who work directly with the government: that same Dr. Manhattan and the Comedian, a tough fighter who has been doing the government’s dirty work for decades. It is the Comedian that we get introduced to in the early moments, as we see his brutal murder at the hands of a mystery man.
The Comedian’s death begins an investigation by Rorshach, a costumed hero who previously worked with him and now continues his vigilante work in an underground capacity. As the investigation deepens, he reforges relationships with old heroes, as he becomes increasingly convinced that the Comedian’s death is part of a larger conspiracy against these heroes. These introductions become occasions for flashbacks through the lives of these heroes, whom we quickly discover are less than heroic. We see their failings, and for the most part the basic tragedy that their lives have become.
As if this story wasn’t enough, this is all happening with the end of the world looming in the background. The Soviet Union is threatening to invade Afghanistan, and it is made clear that their decision to do that could easily provoke a nuclear response from the United States. As the investigation deepens, so does the looming political crises, all the while leaving us to wonder if there may be some connection between the two.
Fortunately, the film’s best acting comes from some of my favorite characters. At the top of the list is Rorschach, who is brilliantly played by Jackie Earle Haley. Rorschach maintains a bleak view of the world, and everything we see throughout the film leaves us nothing to counter his conclusions. It is his voice, both literally through his narration, and figuratively that dominates the film. We see him dealing with the darkest parts of human nature, with no sense of hope that things might get better, yet somehow willing himself to fight.
In contrast to Rorschach, we have Dr. Manhattan, voiced by Billy Crudup. Dr. Manhattan was once a scientist with passion and hope, but years of living as this odd creature that he has become has left him a shell of a man. Crudup brings a low-key distance that captures well the oddities of this man. The more we see his distance and disconnect from reality, the more we feel the horror that the world has literally placed their future in his hands.
For fans, I’ll say that the end of the film, a significant alteration from the book, felt contrived and was one of the two biggest mistakes in the film (the other is with the lighting in the opening shots). I look forward to talking to folks that haven’t read the book to get their impression. I won’t comment on the details as I simply can’t without giving away major plot points, but I will say that I don’t think they arrived where they needed to arrive.
Despite this, the film largely brought to bear the powerful themes of the original work. Where it stretched away from the material, it experienced mixed results. Snyder, like in 300, made intense use of music to drive home emotional moments, and some worked better than others. Where the film tried to ramp up the blockbuster action aspects of the story, it felt like it was pushing against its own noir roots. The film probably needed more Sin City and less Dark Knight, and where it went towards the former, it generally worked fine.
This film had a vicious lawsuit that delayed its release for about a year, and leaving the film I felt that it really benefitted from that delay. Thematically, Alan Moore, the writer who disclaims connection to this and all of the films that stem from his works, explicitly stated that Watchmen was a criticism of “Reaganism” and the conservative global politics of the US and the UK in the ’80’s. As the book explores the fears of the Cold War, it runs the risk of being an interesting relic of a time that is passed.
Indeed, if the film were released a year ago, I think it might have diminished the story’s impact. After all, a year ago the message from media was virtually univocal when it came to politics: Bush bad, War bad, Need change. To put out this film in that environment could easily have seemed to echo the same message.
A year later, maybe there’s a chance we could see it differently. If Watchmen is nothing more than a criticism of cold war politics or conservative politicians, than it is simply too small a work to still be talked about 20+ years later. But the question that it asks, “Who watches the Watchmen?” has less to do with any particular brand of politics than it does our propensity to place our faith in heroes who are incapable of rescuing us. Watchmen is quite explicitly a godless universe, and the bleakness and hopelessness of its characters is at times directly linked to their acceptance that there is no God and their wrestling to understand how hope might endure in light of that tragic fact. The answer the story sees is that we place our hope, foolishly, in politicians who cannot provide the hope that we need.
In 2001, I was told I just needed to trust Bush and he would make things better. In 2008, I was told I shouldn’t have trusted him, because he didn’t make things better. It is as if he joins a long line of politicians of varying quality (I won’t put his dad and Winston Churchill in the same camp, but here they are) who endure summary rejection by people after their war is over. But instead of learning the lessons, I’m told now to place my faith in another politician. And here I thought I needed Jesus. Turns out I just need Obama.
The cautionary note of Watchmen, a note that still comes through in the film, is that our hope in these figures is simply misplaced, whether that hope deals with war, foreign affairs, or a bum economy. That we keep coming back to that well and appointing one messiah after another strikes me as our collective act of Sysyphus expressing or deep hope that simply will not be satisfied in the way that we keep looking for it. Instead, we need to look elsewhere, or as C.S. Lewis mused: “If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”
Well, time vindicated us, but oddly enough, I’m not sure the movie would be key evidence for that vindication. Watchmen over the years eventually obtained respected status in many literary circles. Long considered unfilmable, it took 300’s Zack Snyder to finally see the project come to bear. And, consistent with 300, Snyder delivers a film that is surprisingly faithful to its source material. Yet it may be this faithfulness that keeps the film from rising to the level obtained so recently within its genre. It is certainly an engaging and faithful adaptation of a marvelous work, but fails to achieve greatness in its own right.
The story that the film is trying to capture is a tough one. For the uninitiated, Watchmen posits an alternate mid-80’s in which costumed heroes, both ordinary and super, have been around for decades. While the vigilantes of the early years were entirely human, things changed with the arrival of the first legitimate superhero, Dr. Manhattan, in the late-50’s. His appearance changed world history, such that this alternate ’85 has Nixon still as president, serving a 5th term after bringing an end to the VIetnam War. The costumes eventually were outlawed, and so these heroes have retired, except for two who work directly with the government: that same Dr. Manhattan and the Comedian, a tough fighter who has been doing the government’s dirty work for decades. It is the Comedian that we get introduced to in the early moments, as we see his brutal murder at the hands of a mystery man.
The Comedian’s death begins an investigation by Rorshach, a costumed hero who previously worked with him and now continues his vigilante work in an underground capacity. As the investigation deepens, he reforges relationships with old heroes, as he becomes increasingly convinced that the Comedian’s death is part of a larger conspiracy against these heroes. These introductions become occasions for flashbacks through the lives of these heroes, whom we quickly discover are less than heroic. We see their failings, and for the most part the basic tragedy that their lives have become.
As if this story wasn’t enough, this is all happening with the end of the world looming in the background. The Soviet Union is threatening to invade Afghanistan, and it is made clear that their decision to do that could easily provoke a nuclear response from the United States. As the investigation deepens, so does the looming political crises, all the while leaving us to wonder if there may be some connection between the two.
Fortunately, the film’s best acting comes from some of my favorite characters. At the top of the list is Rorschach, who is brilliantly played by Jackie Earle Haley. Rorschach maintains a bleak view of the world, and everything we see throughout the film leaves us nothing to counter his conclusions. It is his voice, both literally through his narration, and figuratively that dominates the film. We see him dealing with the darkest parts of human nature, with no sense of hope that things might get better, yet somehow willing himself to fight.
In contrast to Rorschach, we have Dr. Manhattan, voiced by Billy Crudup. Dr. Manhattan was once a scientist with passion and hope, but years of living as this odd creature that he has become has left him a shell of a man. Crudup brings a low-key distance that captures well the oddities of this man. The more we see his distance and disconnect from reality, the more we feel the horror that the world has literally placed their future in his hands.
For fans, I’ll say that the end of the film, a significant alteration from the book, felt contrived and was one of the two biggest mistakes in the film (the other is with the lighting in the opening shots). I look forward to talking to folks that haven’t read the book to get their impression. I won’t comment on the details as I simply can’t without giving away major plot points, but I will say that I don’t think they arrived where they needed to arrive.
Despite this, the film largely brought to bear the powerful themes of the original work. Where it stretched away from the material, it experienced mixed results. Snyder, like in 300, made intense use of music to drive home emotional moments, and some worked better than others. Where the film tried to ramp up the blockbuster action aspects of the story, it felt like it was pushing against its own noir roots. The film probably needed more Sin City and less Dark Knight, and where it went towards the former, it generally worked fine.
This film had a vicious lawsuit that delayed its release for about a year, and leaving the film I felt that it really benefitted from that delay. Thematically, Alan Moore, the writer who disclaims connection to this and all of the films that stem from his works, explicitly stated that Watchmen was a criticism of “Reaganism” and the conservative global politics of the US and the UK in the ’80’s. As the book explores the fears of the Cold War, it runs the risk of being an interesting relic of a time that is passed.
Indeed, if the film were released a year ago, I think it might have diminished the story’s impact. After all, a year ago the message from media was virtually univocal when it came to politics: Bush bad, War bad, Need change. To put out this film in that environment could easily have seemed to echo the same message.
A year later, maybe there’s a chance we could see it differently. If Watchmen is nothing more than a criticism of cold war politics or conservative politicians, than it is simply too small a work to still be talked about 20+ years later. But the question that it asks, “Who watches the Watchmen?” has less to do with any particular brand of politics than it does our propensity to place our faith in heroes who are incapable of rescuing us. Watchmen is quite explicitly a godless universe, and the bleakness and hopelessness of its characters is at times directly linked to their acceptance that there is no God and their wrestling to understand how hope might endure in light of that tragic fact. The answer the story sees is that we place our hope, foolishly, in politicians who cannot provide the hope that we need.
In 2001, I was told I just needed to trust Bush and he would make things better. In 2008, I was told I shouldn’t have trusted him, because he didn’t make things better. It is as if he joins a long line of politicians of varying quality (I won’t put his dad and Winston Churchill in the same camp, but here they are) who endure summary rejection by people after their war is over. But instead of learning the lessons, I’m told now to place my faith in another politician. And here I thought I needed Jesus. Turns out I just need Obama.
The cautionary note of Watchmen, a note that still comes through in the film, is that our hope in these figures is simply misplaced, whether that hope deals with war, foreign affairs, or a bum economy. That we keep coming back to that well and appointing one messiah after another strikes me as our collective act of Sysyphus expressing or deep hope that simply will not be satisfied in the way that we keep looking for it. Instead, we need to look elsewhere, or as C.S. Lewis mused: “If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”
Friday, February 27, 2009
Gran Torino: A Review
As the credits rolled in Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino, we hear a quiet piano and the soft voice of Eastwood singing the gentle lyrics - gentle now the tender breeze blows, whispers through my Gran Torino, whistling another tired song. It’s a wonderful, and tender conclusion to an intriguing work from Eastwood. But I had to look the lyrics up, because I just couldn’t hear them over the mass exodus that was going on in the theater. It was a strange experience. Never had I seen a film that obviously was so intent on having you stick around for at least the opening moments of the credits, only to have an audience so soundly reject the invitation.
I chalk it up to a strange, Sunday night crowd at an odd, Charlotte theater, because it’s pretty clear to me that the film earned that moment. It was a fitting finish to a film that took many surprising turns. At the outset, we are introduced to Clint’s Walt Kowalski, a surly old man who is burying his wife. He lives in the same house and Detroit neighborhood that he spent his life in, but it is a neighborhood that is radically changed. What was once a bedroom community for auto workers is now run-down and struggling with gang activity. It is also populated by a large Asian population, something that runs against the grain of this small-minded guy.
In those opening moments, I was bracing myself for a tough adventure. Clint is rarely on screen without offering a broad and over-the-top sneer that echoes his signature characters. His look took me aback, as I couldn’t understand what seemed to be silly overacting coming from this master. It became clear, though, as the plot developed, that Clint knew what he was doing. Walt, a tough, Korean War vet, intervenes when his neighbor’s son is facing tough pressure from a local gang. This moment elevates his status for that house and the neighborhood, and despite his best efforts to be left alone and despise the changes in this community, he is barraged with gifts from those around him. This leads him to a grudging relationship with the neighbor’s daughter, an awkward friendship that undergoes it’s own story when her brother, in an effort to prove his worth with that gang, attempts to steal Walt’s prized possession: his 1972 Gran Torino.
The family requires the son to work for Walt as a way of restoring honor, and in their friendship and in Walt’s friendship with the family, we see something that’s rarely seen in these kinds of films: humor. While his sneer in those opening moments seemed overplayed, it was effective at lightening the mood enough to accept the humorous turn. The humor keeps us engaged and keeps us looking fresh at what could otherwise be standard fare for films on racism and urban life.
As expected, Walt’s views on his neighbors are softened as he gets to know them, and in the relationship with the son, he begins to instill life lessons that show cultural connections between the boy’s family and Walt’s old-school ways. Both Walt and the family’s worlds are facing the pressure of the urban gang and it’s ways of destroying the lives of the young. Again, nothing we haven’t seen before, but the film effectively shows us the ways in which both the young boys and girls can feel trapped by that world.
The film wisely avoids trying to postulate broad solutions for the challenges of urban crime and the destructive force of gangs, but as it tries to find a solution for this kid, it again takes down an interesting road. Without spoiling the plot, I found myself questioning where Walt seemed to be heading. After all, at least as I understood it, Unforgiven was supposed to be Eastwood’s movement away from revenge fantasies. This film wants to be just that kind of fantasy, as the plot moves us to that place. But the turn it offers is something that I think Christians should find resonate with our own story.
Films on racism and urban life are both fairly cliched, and so I found myself walking away from Gran Torino (after the song ended) glad to see a master like Eastwood offer his own voice on both subjects. He was remarkably able to engage those cliches while giving us something different. I am doubtful that he has discovered any deep solutions for these problems, but with ideas in view like forging relationships, sharing values, and living self-sacrificially for our friends, he is pointing to virtues that need to be in play in these and many other problems that we face in our world.
I chalk it up to a strange, Sunday night crowd at an odd, Charlotte theater, because it’s pretty clear to me that the film earned that moment. It was a fitting finish to a film that took many surprising turns. At the outset, we are introduced to Clint’s Walt Kowalski, a surly old man who is burying his wife. He lives in the same house and Detroit neighborhood that he spent his life in, but it is a neighborhood that is radically changed. What was once a bedroom community for auto workers is now run-down and struggling with gang activity. It is also populated by a large Asian population, something that runs against the grain of this small-minded guy.
In those opening moments, I was bracing myself for a tough adventure. Clint is rarely on screen without offering a broad and over-the-top sneer that echoes his signature characters. His look took me aback, as I couldn’t understand what seemed to be silly overacting coming from this master. It became clear, though, as the plot developed, that Clint knew what he was doing. Walt, a tough, Korean War vet, intervenes when his neighbor’s son is facing tough pressure from a local gang. This moment elevates his status for that house and the neighborhood, and despite his best efforts to be left alone and despise the changes in this community, he is barraged with gifts from those around him. This leads him to a grudging relationship with the neighbor’s daughter, an awkward friendship that undergoes it’s own story when her brother, in an effort to prove his worth with that gang, attempts to steal Walt’s prized possession: his 1972 Gran Torino.
The family requires the son to work for Walt as a way of restoring honor, and in their friendship and in Walt’s friendship with the family, we see something that’s rarely seen in these kinds of films: humor. While his sneer in those opening moments seemed overplayed, it was effective at lightening the mood enough to accept the humorous turn. The humor keeps us engaged and keeps us looking fresh at what could otherwise be standard fare for films on racism and urban life.
As expected, Walt’s views on his neighbors are softened as he gets to know them, and in the relationship with the son, he begins to instill life lessons that show cultural connections between the boy’s family and Walt’s old-school ways. Both Walt and the family’s worlds are facing the pressure of the urban gang and it’s ways of destroying the lives of the young. Again, nothing we haven’t seen before, but the film effectively shows us the ways in which both the young boys and girls can feel trapped by that world.
The film wisely avoids trying to postulate broad solutions for the challenges of urban crime and the destructive force of gangs, but as it tries to find a solution for this kid, it again takes down an interesting road. Without spoiling the plot, I found myself questioning where Walt seemed to be heading. After all, at least as I understood it, Unforgiven was supposed to be Eastwood’s movement away from revenge fantasies. This film wants to be just that kind of fantasy, as the plot moves us to that place. But the turn it offers is something that I think Christians should find resonate with our own story.
Films on racism and urban life are both fairly cliched, and so I found myself walking away from Gran Torino (after the song ended) glad to see a master like Eastwood offer his own voice on both subjects. He was remarkably able to engage those cliches while giving us something different. I am doubtful that he has discovered any deep solutions for these problems, but with ideas in view like forging relationships, sharing values, and living self-sacrificially for our friends, he is pointing to virtues that need to be in play in these and many other problems that we face in our world.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Slumdog Millionaire: A Review
With Sunday’s Oscar ceremony approaching, there are some races that seem settled. Among these is Best Picture, and if any film other than Slumdog Millionaire walks off with the trophy, it will be an upset that will provide much delight to writer’s everywhere. I admit that, once again, I find myself almost entirely uninterested in the Oscars, and it stretches my imagination to understand a Best Picture conversation that doesn’t even have The Dark Knight on the list. Still, of those that remain, I have no doubt that Slumdog is a worthy recipient.
Given last years’ horse race between No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood, it’s fascinating to see Hollywood’s shizophrenic personality that it has so readily embraced Slumdog. To be clear, Slumdog is as uncynical, positive, and hopeful picture as I’ve seen in awhile. That alone could make it hard to watch (cynic that I am), but the top-to-bottom quality of the film is just so strong, it quickly drew me in. The story centers on Jamal, a young man who is making his way through India’s version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire to setup the chance to be the game’s big winner. The game producers are suspicious, and so we find him being carted away and put through brutal questioning from police about how he has rigged the game. As he explains how he knew the answers to each question, it allows him to tell about his life. Born in the slums, we see him as a survivor from his earliest days. He faces dreadful poverty and all that it entails, including the corrupting influence of those who take advantage of these children. We see him growing up learning to survive, and fiercely looking out for this brother and Prem, a young girl he meets along the way.
As the story moves on, we see Jamal grow up, getting out of the tougher parts of his circumstances, but trying and failing to rescue Prem from her lot. As he ages, his love for her only increases, and we slowly understand this film as an unashamed love story. As this comes clear, we see his journey in the game show from two different perspectives. The nation is gripped by a rags-to-riches story of a boy with the potential to earn extraordinary wealth. Jamal is consumed in the midst of this story with the hope of rescuing his love. How this plays out is better left to the viewing. Suffice it to say, the way the story is told was fun and captivating.
The question that frames the movie is why this would happen. Is he lucky? Is he cheating? The answer the movie gives is simple: “Because it is written.” The linking of ideas of destiny, fate, or providence to a story about a game show contestant could easily come across as trite, but it is Slumdog’s success that it earns the right to make this connection. Still, I had to wonder as I left the theater what it is I should have been rooting for. Even while Jamal was hoping for something deeper than just “getting the girl,” the game show’s viewers were just interested in watching a lottery winner. Does invoking these terms around a story of material success play to the worst aspects of our materialism? Is this an invocation of the God of health and wealth?
Despite this initial trepidation, I eventually made my peace with where the film went. Jamal has a clear eyed understanding that the money was not going to save him. For him, the money was merely a tool for a more worthy pursuit. The film’s hope lies in the promise that there is something or someone at work behind all of the horrors of life that is bringing about something good and worthwhile. That the film remains agnostic about what that something or someone is doesn’t diminish the worthiness of the message.
This is the right movie for a season of uncertainty. Slumdog Millionaire serves as a useful conversation partner for Christians, whose hope lies in the sovereign power and character of a God who is indeed writing “the end from the beginning” and who is working out good even in the midst of the darkest of circumstances. That’s a message that we need reminding of in all seasons.
Given last years’ horse race between No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood, it’s fascinating to see Hollywood’s shizophrenic personality that it has so readily embraced Slumdog. To be clear, Slumdog is as uncynical, positive, and hopeful picture as I’ve seen in awhile. That alone could make it hard to watch (cynic that I am), but the top-to-bottom quality of the film is just so strong, it quickly drew me in. The story centers on Jamal, a young man who is making his way through India’s version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire to setup the chance to be the game’s big winner. The game producers are suspicious, and so we find him being carted away and put through brutal questioning from police about how he has rigged the game. As he explains how he knew the answers to each question, it allows him to tell about his life. Born in the slums, we see him as a survivor from his earliest days. He faces dreadful poverty and all that it entails, including the corrupting influence of those who take advantage of these children. We see him growing up learning to survive, and fiercely looking out for this brother and Prem, a young girl he meets along the way.
As the story moves on, we see Jamal grow up, getting out of the tougher parts of his circumstances, but trying and failing to rescue Prem from her lot. As he ages, his love for her only increases, and we slowly understand this film as an unashamed love story. As this comes clear, we see his journey in the game show from two different perspectives. The nation is gripped by a rags-to-riches story of a boy with the potential to earn extraordinary wealth. Jamal is consumed in the midst of this story with the hope of rescuing his love. How this plays out is better left to the viewing. Suffice it to say, the way the story is told was fun and captivating.
The question that frames the movie is why this would happen. Is he lucky? Is he cheating? The answer the movie gives is simple: “Because it is written.” The linking of ideas of destiny, fate, or providence to a story about a game show contestant could easily come across as trite, but it is Slumdog’s success that it earns the right to make this connection. Still, I had to wonder as I left the theater what it is I should have been rooting for. Even while Jamal was hoping for something deeper than just “getting the girl,” the game show’s viewers were just interested in watching a lottery winner. Does invoking these terms around a story of material success play to the worst aspects of our materialism? Is this an invocation of the God of health and wealth?
Despite this initial trepidation, I eventually made my peace with where the film went. Jamal has a clear eyed understanding that the money was not going to save him. For him, the money was merely a tool for a more worthy pursuit. The film’s hope lies in the promise that there is something or someone at work behind all of the horrors of life that is bringing about something good and worthwhile. That the film remains agnostic about what that something or someone is doesn’t diminish the worthiness of the message.
This is the right movie for a season of uncertainty. Slumdog Millionaire serves as a useful conversation partner for Christians, whose hope lies in the sovereign power and character of a God who is indeed writing “the end from the beginning” and who is working out good even in the midst of the darkest of circumstances. That’s a message that we need reminding of in all seasons.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
The Wrestler: A Review
As the credits rolled on The Wrestler, Darren Aronofsky’s newest film starring Mickey Rourke, Bruce Springsteen sings the line that captures Rourke’s capture: “If you’ve ever seen a one-trick pony, you’ve seen me.” That sums him up better than just about any other line, but what makes the film such a fascinating experience is just how interesting it is to watch this one-trick pony live his life.
Rourke stars as Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a wrestler (you know, the “fake” kind) who had a heyday back in the ’80’s, when he was the biggest star in his business. That career culminated in 1989 when he wrestled his nemesis in Madison Square Garden. 20 years later, we see The Ram in a very different light. He’s still wrestling, though now in the minor circuits for small change. Even so, we get two different views of him. Within the wrestling world, he is respected, still with a following that remembers his glory years, and especially among the other wrestlers, who clearly look to him as a mentor of sorts. Within that world, he’s charming, engaging, still with some talent.
In his other world, the real world, Randy can’t quite seem to make it work. He can’t afford the rent on his trailer, can’t quite get enough hours at the grocery store to pay the bills. He has a daughter that he abandoned years ago that he can’t reconcile with. As we see him with his hearing aid, we recognize that time is taking its toll, and that the body that serviced him for a career isn’t going to hold up.
This finally comes to fruition after a particularly brutal match (a scene that can easily alter one’s view of pro wrestling), Randy has a heart attack, and wakes up after having bypass surgery. The doctor says he can’t wrestle again.
As he starts to adjust to his new life, he decides to pursue the closest thing to a relationship that he knows, that of a stripper at the club he frequents. The choice of pairing a wrestler and a stripper is fantastic. It would be hard to come up with two jobs that are more about creating a fantasy world. In both cases, we peer into lives of people that are used to being looked upon as objects. Within both lives, we see the wounds that are tearing each of them down, as they cling to dreams that are slowly fading away.
Whether it’s a hope for love, for reconciling with his daughter, for making a living after wrestling, Randy sure does give it a try. But the demons in his life that have haunted him along the way still are there, and there’s not much that he can do right. There’s only one thing that Randy knows how to do, and that’s wrestle.
In a way, The Wrestler goes where the original Rocky could have gone. As it does, I found myself left with a profound sadness at the end of the movie. Sad at Randy’s inability to bring all of that charm and diligence from his wrestling life and put it to use in the other. Sad because Randy ultimately believed a lie, embracing a path that he didn’t need to embrace. Sad because there was a hope for him that he simply walked away from.
Still, Aronofsky has an ability (think Requiem for a Dream) to give us glimpses of the raw aspects of life without apology. And so he does here. There are indeed many who can’t push through their demons, can’t seem to make sense of things, never figure out the hope that is before them. They have a story too, and The Wrestler captures it as well as anyone. It made me think of an old country song:
Here’s to all the soliders who have ever died in vain,
The insane locked up in themselves, the homeless down on main,
For those who stand on empty shores, and spit against the wind.
And those who wait forever, for ships that don’t come in.
Rourke stars as Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a wrestler (you know, the “fake” kind) who had a heyday back in the ’80’s, when he was the biggest star in his business. That career culminated in 1989 when he wrestled his nemesis in Madison Square Garden. 20 years later, we see The Ram in a very different light. He’s still wrestling, though now in the minor circuits for small change. Even so, we get two different views of him. Within the wrestling world, he is respected, still with a following that remembers his glory years, and especially among the other wrestlers, who clearly look to him as a mentor of sorts. Within that world, he’s charming, engaging, still with some talent.
In his other world, the real world, Randy can’t quite seem to make it work. He can’t afford the rent on his trailer, can’t quite get enough hours at the grocery store to pay the bills. He has a daughter that he abandoned years ago that he can’t reconcile with. As we see him with his hearing aid, we recognize that time is taking its toll, and that the body that serviced him for a career isn’t going to hold up.
This finally comes to fruition after a particularly brutal match (a scene that can easily alter one’s view of pro wrestling), Randy has a heart attack, and wakes up after having bypass surgery. The doctor says he can’t wrestle again.
As he starts to adjust to his new life, he decides to pursue the closest thing to a relationship that he knows, that of a stripper at the club he frequents. The choice of pairing a wrestler and a stripper is fantastic. It would be hard to come up with two jobs that are more about creating a fantasy world. In both cases, we peer into lives of people that are used to being looked upon as objects. Within both lives, we see the wounds that are tearing each of them down, as they cling to dreams that are slowly fading away.
Whether it’s a hope for love, for reconciling with his daughter, for making a living after wrestling, Randy sure does give it a try. But the demons in his life that have haunted him along the way still are there, and there’s not much that he can do right. There’s only one thing that Randy knows how to do, and that’s wrestle.
In a way, The Wrestler goes where the original Rocky could have gone. As it does, I found myself left with a profound sadness at the end of the movie. Sad at Randy’s inability to bring all of that charm and diligence from his wrestling life and put it to use in the other. Sad because Randy ultimately believed a lie, embracing a path that he didn’t need to embrace. Sad because there was a hope for him that he simply walked away from.
Still, Aronofsky has an ability (think Requiem for a Dream) to give us glimpses of the raw aspects of life without apology. And so he does here. There are indeed many who can’t push through their demons, can’t seem to make sense of things, never figure out the hope that is before them. They have a story too, and The Wrestler captures it as well as anyone. It made me think of an old country song:
Here’s to all the soliders who have ever died in vain,
The insane locked up in themselves, the homeless down on main,
For those who stand on empty shores, and spit against the wind.
And those who wait forever, for ships that don’t come in.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button: A Review
David Wilcox has a song “Start With the Ending” that muses on the possibility of strengthening relationships by living the relationship backwards. In a live version, he has a little monologue about living life backwards, beginning life with all sorts of wisdom and experience and ending it as a helpless infant. The song is more amusing than profound, but even in the whimsy, it offers some interesting thoughts about how we might conceive of our lives differently if we lived it a different direction.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button gives us a glimpse at a lengthier reflection on the same idea. For reasons that the film wisely does not explain, Benjamin Button is born with the (small) body of an old man, and lives his life growing younger. The third partnering between director David Fincher and Brad Pitt, it is probably the weakest of the three, but that’s not saying much given that the other two were Se7en and Fight Club. It’s getting a lot of attention during the award season, and it is attention that’s well-earned.
As a child, Button lives his life in a home for the elderly. This is key to his survival, as nobody in this home would ask hard questions about his oddities. It also means, though, that he grows up surrounded by death. He makes friends, and his friends die. From his earliest years, you see Ben cultivating a certain distance from life, accepting things about life and death that most of us wrestle with throughout our lives.
And then there’s love. Early on, he meets one of his housemates’ granddaughters, Daisy. They forge a friendship during their visit, a rare chance for him to interact with someone who matches his emotional maturity rather than his physical appearance. They meet through the years, and as she grows, so does his interest in her. Much of the romantic arc of the movie is driving them to meet in the middle, where they can find each other at similar stations and forge the love of both of their lives. Daisy becomes a dancer, and as she experiences the highs of living life to the full and the lows of life’s disappointments, Ben’s desire for her only grows.
The film is criticized by some for its length, and while the pacing is labored, I felt it helpful to the story. As Ben slowly figures out the body he has, slowly reaches the point where he can take on life’s adventures, slowly figures out the limits of those adventures and the boundaries that his situation imposes on him, the film needs the time to assemble it. Any other pacing would seem to sell the story short.
At its best, Button shows a person coming to terms with the limitations of life, and becoming the best person he can be within those limitations. He embraces the friendships that he has, even as he is always acutely aware of their temporal nature. When he falls in love, he loves fully, even while he is aware that hard choices will have to come. Ben Button must always be aware of the strangeness of his lot, yet finds a way to live the life before him in the midst of these limitations.
At its weakest, the film winds up creating a certain emotional distance from the audience. Pitt’s performance, while strong, at times slips into a kind of quiet smirk reminiscent of his Joe Black character from Meet Joe Black. It’s a distance that drives home the odd beat the film is trying to strike. How does one live life with a deep awareness of its limitations without practicing a kind of resigned fatalism about it? There is a temptation that the film, in trying to offer some kind of answer, might find its answer in a way that is devoid of real passion.
As I find myself in the midst of a season of change, whether it’s changing jobs, exploring a move, or even just watching my daughter grow so fast, the story of Ben Button seems particularly poignant. Can we learn to embrace and engage the joys of the present days, accepting their limitations? Do we find ourselves derailed by nostalgia or regret, or frozen by fear of the future? As we accept the transient nature of these days, can we still find a way to engage them with real passion? Though Button’s limits were indeed “curious,” they were no less real than the limitations that any of us have. Might there be a richness in the humility we might cultivate if we learn to thrive within those bonds? Might there be strength in the peace that that kind of self-awareness might foster?
I find myself resonating with much that Button offers, while recognizing that the film’s limitations are in part a failure of philosophy. We need to live with an aware of life’s limits, even while the Christian hope points to a source of limitless possibility. It is that hope that becomes for us a source of joy and passion that should shape and inform these fleeting days.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button gives us a glimpse at a lengthier reflection on the same idea. For reasons that the film wisely does not explain, Benjamin Button is born with the (small) body of an old man, and lives his life growing younger. The third partnering between director David Fincher and Brad Pitt, it is probably the weakest of the three, but that’s not saying much given that the other two were Se7en and Fight Club. It’s getting a lot of attention during the award season, and it is attention that’s well-earned.
As a child, Button lives his life in a home for the elderly. This is key to his survival, as nobody in this home would ask hard questions about his oddities. It also means, though, that he grows up surrounded by death. He makes friends, and his friends die. From his earliest years, you see Ben cultivating a certain distance from life, accepting things about life and death that most of us wrestle with throughout our lives.
And then there’s love. Early on, he meets one of his housemates’ granddaughters, Daisy. They forge a friendship during their visit, a rare chance for him to interact with someone who matches his emotional maturity rather than his physical appearance. They meet through the years, and as she grows, so does his interest in her. Much of the romantic arc of the movie is driving them to meet in the middle, where they can find each other at similar stations and forge the love of both of their lives. Daisy becomes a dancer, and as she experiences the highs of living life to the full and the lows of life’s disappointments, Ben’s desire for her only grows.
The film is criticized by some for its length, and while the pacing is labored, I felt it helpful to the story. As Ben slowly figures out the body he has, slowly reaches the point where he can take on life’s adventures, slowly figures out the limits of those adventures and the boundaries that his situation imposes on him, the film needs the time to assemble it. Any other pacing would seem to sell the story short.
At its best, Button shows a person coming to terms with the limitations of life, and becoming the best person he can be within those limitations. He embraces the friendships that he has, even as he is always acutely aware of their temporal nature. When he falls in love, he loves fully, even while he is aware that hard choices will have to come. Ben Button must always be aware of the strangeness of his lot, yet finds a way to live the life before him in the midst of these limitations.
At its weakest, the film winds up creating a certain emotional distance from the audience. Pitt’s performance, while strong, at times slips into a kind of quiet smirk reminiscent of his Joe Black character from Meet Joe Black. It’s a distance that drives home the odd beat the film is trying to strike. How does one live life with a deep awareness of its limitations without practicing a kind of resigned fatalism about it? There is a temptation that the film, in trying to offer some kind of answer, might find its answer in a way that is devoid of real passion.
As I find myself in the midst of a season of change, whether it’s changing jobs, exploring a move, or even just watching my daughter grow so fast, the story of Ben Button seems particularly poignant. Can we learn to embrace and engage the joys of the present days, accepting their limitations? Do we find ourselves derailed by nostalgia or regret, or frozen by fear of the future? As we accept the transient nature of these days, can we still find a way to engage them with real passion? Though Button’s limits were indeed “curious,” they were no less real than the limitations that any of us have. Might there be a richness in the humility we might cultivate if we learn to thrive within those bonds? Might there be strength in the peace that that kind of self-awareness might foster?
I find myself resonating with much that Button offers, while recognizing that the film’s limitations are in part a failure of philosophy. We need to live with an aware of life’s limits, even while the Christian hope points to a source of limitless possibility. It is that hope that becomes for us a source of joy and passion that should shape and inform these fleeting days.
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