Monday, June 16, 2008The Hero: Love Story Of A Spy Release Year: 2003Country: India Starring Sunny Deol, Preity Zinta, Priyanka Chopra, Amish Puri, Kabir Bedi, Rajpal Yadav Director: Anil Sharma Writer: Shaktimaan Music by Uttah Singh Choreography by Ganesh Acnabya Producers: Ganesh Nankoosingh, Dhirajlal Shah, Hasmukh Shah, Pravin Shah It's with a mixture of pride and fear that I tackle The Hero: Love Story Of A Spy. Fear, because my feeble knowledge of Bollywood films and stars will surely be put to the test. But, by now, I figure I know my way around a spy film, so I am proceeding optimistically, figuring that if I make a botch of it on a Bollywood level, I can at least look it at on an espionage level (and scrape out of this with a small amount of dignity intact). The Hero: Love Story Of A Spy is a big budget Bollywood spectacular. At the time of it's release it was the most expensive Hindi film to date. And it certainly looks like all the money was thrown in all the right places. There are some spectacular action sets pieces, and the location cinematography is excellent. The film opens in Toronto Canada, and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service are honouring a top secret agent from India, Arun Kumah (Sunny Deol). The ceremony is packed with well wishers waving Canadian and Indian flags, and hordes of reporters and photographers all trying to get an interview with Kumah. Kumah's responses are humble and low key. He quickly slips into a waiting limousine and is whisked away to the airport, and on board a plane, which presumably taking him back home.
During the flight, we flash back to three (possibly four) years earlier. Kumah tells us: "The mission started on the day Ishaq Khan, chief of Pakistan's ISI hatched a deadly plot." Ishaq Khan (Amish Puri – For those who haven't being paying attention - Yes he was the evil Mola Ram in Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom) outlines his plan to his superiors unaware that a tiny surveillance camera has been planted in the room by the RAW (Indian Secret Service). The plan is a simple one: to regain control of Kashmir. Because Pakistan cannot openly attack India, the Pakistani government is allowing a group of militants to steal a nuclear bomb and do the dirty work for them. The plan is to be called Operation Nishan. The RAW discredits Pakistan by revealing the footage from the meeting to the world. This stops the attack, but Khan is still trying to cause havoc. Next he is in New York and he is attempting to bribe the U.N. Under Secretary. He wants the Under Secretary to discredit the RAW and Indian Government and insist that the footage was a hoax. His plan almost works, except for one thing. It wasn't the Under Secretary he was bribing, but Agent Arun Kumah in disguise. Khan is arrested and taken away. After his success Kumah is assigned to a new mission. He is to pose as Major Batra, a military commander in Sopore region of Kashmir. To avoid confusion, for the next portion of this review I will refer to Agent Kumah as 'Batra'. Onwards. We finally get to the title sequence. And in true Bollywood fashion we get a song and dance number. For those who have never seen a Bollywood film before, may have been wondering whether a tough violent spy thriller would have songs and dancing in it? In this case, the answer is a big YES. But more about the singing and dancing later. Under the titles Batra drives to his new protectorate accompanied by the squad of soldiers under his control. Along the way they encounter a road block. The villagers of Rishiki have a flock of sheep blocking the road. Usually the villagers demand a donation from travellers before they will move their flock. The soldiers do not respond to blackmail well, and fire their guns into the air. The sheep and villagers scatter. Left behind in the stampede is Reshma (Preity Zinta), a beautiful young girl from the village. Batra takes pity on her and gives her a donation anyway. In general, the villagers of Rishiki are very suspicious of the Indian soldiers. In the past, they have been victimised and treated badly. They do not expect things to change with Batra's arrival. But Batra's mantra is: "Give then love, and you will be loved. Give them hatred, and you will be hated!"
Batra is a benevolent governor and he arrives at the village with provisions for everybody. He provides food for the village, books for the schools, and medicine for the hospital. Eventually he wins over the trust and respect of the Kashmiri people. One of the first to respond to Batra is Reshma. They slowly form an attachment. Initially she just brings him scraps of information about informers and enemy agents. But one afternoon, Batra is involved in a gunfight with four enemy agents who were attempting to cross the border. During the fight, one of the agents produces a grenade and throws in at Batra. Batra evades the blast, but the explosion starts an avalanche in the mountains. Batra flees but is soon run down by the wall of snow that rolls down the mountain. But Reshma finds him and takes him to shelter. He is cold and in shock. She spends the night with him to keep him warm. Now in a James Bond film, this would all seem very tame. But in an Indian film, two un-married people spending the night together is not the done thing. In fact, Reshma's actions could have her driven from the village in disgrace. Well nothing of the sort happens. And Batra and Reshma's love for each other has grown. But Batra is torn between love and duty. Being a good soldier, he chooses duty and prepares to send Reshma across the border on a dangerous mission. But first she must be trained, which leads us into our second musical interlude. The story moves forward and Reshma heads across the border and poses as a servant at a complex run by the Pakistani military. The mission ends up being a dangerous one, and Reshma has to make a mad dash to get back across the border to safety, but she has procured a piece of evidence that shows that Ishaq Khan is not being held in prison, as the majority of the world believe. That is the end of Batra's time in Kashmir, and he is to return to duty elsewhere. But he is not leaving empty handed. He is going to take Reshma with him and they are going to get married. On New Years Eve, as fireworks fill the sky, a very lavish wedding ceremony takes place in a palatial glass domed building. This is the perfect setting for the third big Bollywood dance and song routine. The song is 'Dil mein hai pyar' and thematically its motif's haunt the film. Lyrics, translating as 'May the scorpion get the one who lies', and 'May the scorpion get me if I am lying' are peppered throughout the production. The lyric has a duality about it, applying to both a 'declaration of love' in the case of Batra and Reshma, or as a punishment for wrong doing, in the case of the villains of the piece.
Speaking of the 'Villains' of the piece, Ishaq Khan hasn't taken lightly to Batra's activities in Kashmir. And during the wedding celebration he has planned some entertainment of his own. He has planted a bomb in the building. I must say it is visually a very good set piece when the bomb goes off. One minute, everybody is dancing and singing, and the next, the glass dome of the palace has exploded and a giant orange fireball is engulfing the dancefloor. The palace is next to a river and as the whole building lurches and shakes, the balcony collapses and the guests start to slide into the river, Reshma tries to hold on, but loses her grip and drops into the water. Batra tries to get to her, but another explosion rocks the palace and he is thrown forward, even further into the water. He tries to find Reshma, but the current is too strong. Finally he is swept ashore, where he finds one of Reshma's wedding bracelets. That night, over one hundred people were killed. Many bodies were never found, including Reshma's. The tone of the film changes now, and it becomes quite a violent and explosive revenge flick. Batra, now vows to avenge the death of so many people, and to expose Ishaq Khan's evil plans. I think this is a good point to leave the synopsis. By now you are aware of the motivations of the main characters, and what Batra's mission is. And believe me, this is only the tip of the iceberg. The story still has a long way to go, and quite a few twists and turns as we follow Khan's trail from Pakistan to Canada. Now I know what you're thinking –– well at least what the Bond fans are thinking –– yes the story does have a few similarities to On Her Majesty's Secret Service –– Super Agent falls in love with girl / Marries girl / Girl gets killed on Wedding Day. But I think if you're going do this kind of spy love story, you may as well start with one of the best as a template and work from there, and that's exactly what this film does. The film doesn't stop at Reshma's death. In fact it becomes a catalyst for Batra to become a more insular and ruthless agent (an idea that is being expanded upon in the next Bond film Quantum Of Solace, after the death of Vesper Lynd in Casino Royale).
In a film of this kind, I think it's appropriate to mention the musical interludes. There are six big production numbers in The Hero: Love Story Of A Spy, and each of them is quite impressive. The numbers are Tere shaher ka, Tum bhi na maano, Dil mein hai pyar I, O maari koyal, In mast nighaon se, Dil mein hai pyar II. I do not speak Hindi, so I have no idea what the titles mean, but for those that do, they may provide a little insight into the story. The costumes and the sets and/or locations are truly amazing. There is an astonishing amount of colour and movement on the screen. And the choreography seems to be up to scratch too. If I have a criticism of the musical numbers, is that they are quite lengthy. These are not your three-minute pop songs. Each song takes around six to ten minutes, which is great if you are watching the movie for the singing and dancing. But I am looking at it from the 'spy-movie' perspective, and the movie already clocks in at a healthy 160 minutes. The dance numbers slow the narrative down, and turn what could be a simple stripped down spy-flick into a marathon affair. The film as a whole is an interesting variation on the spy film that I am used to. I am not prepared to say it's a bad film, because it has a lot of good elements. By the same time, I can't call it good, primarily because of it's excessive length, and it's attitude towards Pakistan. Sure, in the real world India and Pakistan have their differences, but presenting the conflict as a violent cartoon, and justifying it with some clumsy jingoistic speeches, isn't the way forward. I think you'll have to make up your own mind about this curiosity. It's a strangely affecting film, that lingers in the memory long after you've watched it –– well, certain scenes anyway. If you're a spy fan, there is a lot of 'classic' spy imagery. If you're a Bollywood fan, there's certainly enough hip shaking and shimmying to please on that level too. Labels: Bollywood, Stars: Amrish Puri, Stars: Sonny Deol, Year: 2003 posted by David at 3:54 AM | 3 Comments Monday, November 27, 2006Boom Digg this article. 2003, India. Starring Amitabh Bachchan, Jackie Shroff, Gulshan Grover, Padma Lakshmi, Madhu Sapre, Katrina Kaif, Javed Jaffrey, Zeenat Aman, Seema Biswas, Bo Derek. Written and directed by Kaizad Gustad.Whenever someone names a predictable title like Plan 9 from Outer Space or Robot Monster or Yor, the Hunter from the Future as one of the worst movies of all time, my inevitable response is that if they think that's one of the worst movies of all time, then they obviously haven't seen enough movies. Certainly not enough to be making such bold proclamations such as naming it one of the worst of all time. Now as you can imagine -- I've seen some bad films in my time. Not just, "so bad it's good" bad, or "guilty pleasure" bad; no, I mean "gnaw your own paw off to escape the trap" bad. I mean "I'd rather gut myself and strangle myself with my own innards than watch another second of this film" bad. More than all that -- I mean "boring" bad. As I've said before, there is no greater sin in cinema, in my opinion, than being boring and tedious. I can take pretty much anything else. Hit me with your worst shot. But boring? That takes me out of the game almost instantly.
The 2003 mega-budget disaster Boom has a reputation as one of the worst movies in Bollywood history. That's one hell of a claim, I tell ya what. And Boom is certainly an utter and complete fiasco of a movie. There isn't a single competent second in the entire overlong running time. Despite a bloated budget, international locations, the glam and glitz of the fashion world, and ample displays of writhing female flesh, the movie still manages to look ugly and grubby. The cinematography is mishandled, the direction never attains any sense of pacing, and the script seems to have been assembled in cut-up Burroughs style using the scripts of the complete filmography of Andy Sidaris as the source material. And the acting? Man, there's no word to even describe it. No adjective has yet been invented that satisfactorily expresses just how phenomenally atrocious the acting is. It's somewhere below the worst acting in micro-budget horror films -- and not the relatively competent (by comparison) modern micro-budget horror film. I'm talking, these people may one day achieve the level of acting we saw in Splatter Farm. You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? Everything in this movie is so inexpressibly, mind-blowlingly awful that Boom becomes one of the greatest movies I've ever seen. When I reviewed Asambhav, I said that as bad as the film was, I still thought fans of bad action films should see it because it was so absurd. In the case of Boom, however, let me state straight-out: absolutely, under no circumstances, should you take my advice regarding Boom. Do not listen to me. No matter what you hear, no matter how much I scream and beg, you must not listen to me, because I'm going to say, "Dude, you haven't seen Boom? You have to see Boom. It's one of the worst movies I've ever seen. It's awesome." It's the equivalent of, "Oh man, this milk has gone sour. It's awful. You have to smell it." Boom is that foul yet enticing carton of spoiled milk that gets shoved to the back of the refrigerator and forgotten until one day, you notice it there behind the half-finished jar of BBQ sauce and the half-dozen Coronas, can't help but open it and take a whiff, and then realize with horror that the rotting, curdled stench overpowers all else in the house and demands, as if possessed by some otherworldly power of mind control, than you immediately rush out and find others to share in the putrid rot. Boom is the cursed video from Ring. Once you've seen it, you will feel the overwhelming urge to make someone else see it, lest your head explode, the last image in your mind being a buff guy in giant nylon raver pants doing the pelvic thrust and shouting, "come on, baby, yeah!"
What really pushes Boom into the realm of the sublime and makes Krishna himself weep sweet, sweet tears of humiliation, is the fact that the film is stuffed with brand name talent. Eternal king of Bollywood cinema and de facto Prime Minister of India, Amitabh Bachchan, is on hand looking resplendent in his white suits. Queen of Bollywood and the unchallenged queen of 70s Hindi cinema, Zeenat Aman, came out of retirement to appear in this film. Jackie Shroff took time out to appear in the film as well. These are actual actors -- which is more than can be said for the rest of the cast. Seeing these proven, seasoned veterans showing up in this film, some after a fifteen plus year retirement, only to have the film be so jaw-droppingly horrendous is, honestly, as sweet as magic gumdrops. The goofiness begins right at the concept: during a flashy fashion show, two models get into a cat fight, resulting in a pile of stolen antique diamonds falling out of the hair of one of the models. You might think that if you were smuggling stolen diamonds, you wouldn't stick them in your hair and bring them to your fashion show, but really, that'll be the least of your concerns once this film gets rolling. The smuggler-model flees and goes into hiding, which means the gangsters who stole the diamonds have only one lead to finding them: the other model.
The other model, Anu (beauty pageant veteran Madhu Sapre) lives with her two model friends, Sheila (model turned Salman Rushdie wife and spice food spokeswoman, Padma Lakshmi) and Rina (Katrina Kaif). There is, however, absolutely no reason to remember their names. Just remember that there's the tough one, the smart one, and the dumb one. Of these three characteristics assigned to each of the women, only one of them is communicated onscreen with any hint of believability. I will not be handing out any prizes for correctly guessing which one it is. The brainy one communicates her braininess by continuously yammering out figures to the tenth decimal place, though they stopped short of having her constantly pushing up a pair of big-rimmed glasses (she does wear glasses in one scene, though). The tough one communicates toughness by emoting as little as possible. And the dumb one effectively communicates her idiocy by, it seems, just being herself. All three of these women are models. None of them are actresses. It shows. The gangsters (middle man Jackie Shroff, whose character consists of "he snorts coke," and big cheese Amitabh, whose character consists of "he reads comic books") send goofball muscleman Boom Shankar (Javed Jaffrey, the only legitimately entertaining part of the whole movie) to kidnap the models and give them a choice: either they perform fashion shows until the cost of the diamonds is paid off, or they become whores until the price of the diamonds is paid off. The girls, of course, decide for a third option which consists of using their incredible talents to beat the most dangerous criminal in the entire world at his own game. Keep in mind that the last plan they hatched was to keep anyone from finding out about the fashion show debacle by sending their maid out to try and purchase every single issue of the India Times in Mumbai before anyone else saw it. Another of their plans will involve robbing a bank while wearing masks of their own faces, which I have to say, is absolutely fucking brilliant.
A lot of the criticism that was leveled at Boom in the Indian press at the time of its release dealt with how foul-mouthed and crude the movie was, and I guess by Bollywood standards, it is foul-mouthed and crude. But I'm an American, damnit, and I say to the people who though the worst thing about this movie was that it was a tad dirty that there are plenty of other things that make this movie worth ripping to shreds. So many, in fact, that I'm almost overwhelmed, like a kid in a candy store, if the candy store didn't stock Now and Laters and Laffy Taffy but did have shelves stuffed with giggling killers in raver pants and Amitabh Bachchan in a little novelty kiddie car. I'll start with the writing, assuming any of this movie was actually written down at any point. Back in the late 1990s, there was a trend in Hong Kong action films of filming the movie, or at least a large chunk of it, in English. Ostensibly, this was done to give it a hip, international edge. Practically, speaking, however, it resulted in films packed with some of the worst acting and most nonsensical dialogue ever as actors who often had limited English-language skills read English-language lines written by scripters with limited English-language skills. The result, perhaps best epitomized by Gen-Y Cops and China Strike Force, was the creation of an entirely new language, one comprising of English words but not English sentences. Everyone was stilted in their delivery (often because they were unsure of their language skills, but just as often because, although the actor was a native English speaker, they were just really bad, or didn't give a damn), which only augmented the fact that the dialogue completely failed to reflect any semblance of actual spoken English. No one talks like that, or says those things. And English speakers listening to the English dialogue actually have a better chance of deciphering the meaning of the Chinese language dialogue. It was even better when these lines were read by people you know speak English fluently. Michael Wong (the world's most dedicated bad actor), Daniel Wu, Mark Dacascos, Coolio -- these people speak English. But I guess they just weren't that interested in reading the lines and changing them on the fly to something more akin to real English. And so a new and baffling mutant language has been born, with roots that can be traced back to bad English subtitles in old Hong Kong films and the similarly baffling mangling of English that happened when Italian films got dubbed.
At no point is the lack of understanding of the nuances of the English language more evident that when the characters start cursing or talking in slang. Back in the day, I worked at a college bookstore that served as the headquarters for the university's "English as a second language" courses, so everyone had to buy their books from us. One of the titles required for an advanced English class one year was something like, "Speaking Real English," and it was meant to teach students who had learned formalized "language class" English how to speak and understand the real thing as used by real people. And I felt so, so sorry for any poor kid from China or Ghana who picked up this book and went to a party a week later spouting off hip, 1990s slang like, "Hey my jive turkey brother, what's rad with you, Holmes," (actual sentence from the book). It was like some horrible joke a bunch of racists played. "If we publish a fucked up book of slang, then Chinese kids will get their asses kicked at parties." Anyway, whenever one of these movies starts to have their characters curse in English, it sounds like something out of that book (and I'm sure my "How to Speak Saucy Japanese" book is just as bad in the other direction). Effectively cursing requires an intimate knowledge of the language. I know people who are offended by cussin' fall back on the tired old, "it's a sign of a limited vocabulary, my jive Holmes street brother," chestnut, but I disagree. Being an effective curser is a sign that you have truly mastered the nuances of a language. I don't mean just blunt "screw you" stuff; I mean the really complex, foul-mouthed poetry. Listen to a cranky old Chinese woman curse out another cranky old Chinese woman who snaked her seat on the subway. That's a stream of misanthropic beauty that rages with the poetic grace, unbridled rage, and stinky pollution of the Yangtse River itself. I could never do that. At best, I can muster a feeble, "Hwai dan" or "ma bi," but that's mostly going to amuse people rather than infuriate them. Hell, I'm not even sure I'm saying it right. I don't speak Chinese fluently, and as a result, I can't curse in Chinese. It's no different for English.
But that never stops these movies from trying. And Boom really tries hard, peppering the dialogue with a steady stream of inappropriately used inappropriate words. throwing English words and sentences into the mix has been common in Hindi cinema for decades, but this is the rare instance where English is the primary language of the film. It's like a bunch of little kids who have just learned some bad words but haven't mastered their proper application, but that doesn't stop them from using them non-stop in the most comically unsuitable fashion. It's also kind of desperate, like when a comic book proves it is mature and adult by having superheroes who say "fuck." Rather than being cool or tough, it just sounds pathetic, like a meek whimper for attention. Look at me! I'm tough! I am! Far from setting the film apart as edgy or international, the foul-mouthed English-heavy dialogue in Boom is the spoken word equivalent of a greasy fat kid with a bowl haircut and "fat guy lisp" showing off his bo staff skills at a comic book convention. I know some of the people in this movie probably know some English (actually, I assume that Amitabh knows everything about everything) but none of them show any skill with it in their acting. Which brings us to the acting. Our three female leads are dreadful. It's almost inconceivable that stars in a major, professional film could be this bad. I mean, I know you people think Tom Cruise is bad, or Paul Walker, or even Paris Hilton. Forget it. This is a whole different level of game. Watching these three idiots try to act is going to make you realize how good those other supposedly bad actors really are.
But these gals have an excuse, right? They're models. They were cast for their looks, not their talent. Even this baffles me, though. Because, as I said to a friend, only in Bollywood could you eschew your usual pool of actresses, cast three supermodels in your movie, and still come up with women who are less attractive that your average Bollywood actress. Come on, man. Bollywood actresses are hot. I don't think there's any other film industry in the world that can boast so many gorgeous, and often genuinely talented, actresses as Bollywood has at its disposal. Bollywood has so many beautiful actresses from which to chose that it almost becomes humdrum. Yes, we know Aishwarya Rai is the most beautiful woman on the planet. We get it. Let's move on (actually, Manisha Koirala is the most beautiful woman in the world, but that's another debate entirely). Given that, why would a casting director even think to look to the throng of wannabe supermodels for their leads? I mean, nothing against these three women, but why go for second-rate looks and acting talent when you have so many better prospects? Maybe every name actress in Bollywood read this script and turned it down. Well, every one of them except Zeenat Aman. Zeenat ruled the 70s, and a good portion of the 80s, starring as a kungfu ass-kicker alongside Amitabh in movies like Don and The Great Gambler, along with being an industry-challenging pioneer who fought for substantial, strong female roles, and even starred in some of the first non-arty Bollywood productions to not feature musical numbers. She was a risk-taker and an ass-kicker, and she looked better than anyone else while she was doing it. In 1989, she retired from filmmaking (though she is credited with an appearance in the 1999 film Bhopal Express, but I have no idea how substantial her role in that film was). Whatever the case, that's more or less a decade and a half of virtual absence from movie screens.
And then, in 2003, someone -- or something -- convinced her that she should make a glorious comeback, and that this movie would be the one. It's sort of like if Hank Aaron came out of retirement in 1982 but did it by playing for the Toledo Mudhens in a game against the Norfolk Tides. Seriously, what the hell? What was it about this movie that suckered Zeenie Baby in? I can only assume that her old buddy Amitabh approached her with piles of cash, keys to a new Aston Martin, and a gun to the head of her firstborn. Nothing less than that could explain her agreeing to appear in this movie. I mean, Amitabh may be the emperor of the universe (a throne vacated upon the death of Testuro Tanba earlier this year), but he's also got a case of the Michael Caines (or the Tetsuro Tanbas). He'll appear in any damn movie. They probably could have gotten him to be in Splatter Farm if they'd asked. Amitabh, especially Amitabh from the late 1990s on, is a seemingly permanent fixture in awful movies, the go-to guy when you want to trick people into thinking there might be some redeeming factor to your movie. So seeing him in Boom was embarrassing, but it certainly wasn't unexpected or out of the ordinary. But Zeenat? She got out of bed for this? Notably, however, in her one brief musical scene (she slinks around a posh office to the tune of Hare Krishna Hare Rama, from the movie of the same name, which also happens to be the one that made her a cinema icon), she manages to be sexier than all three of the vapid young leads combined. Zeenie Baby, you're still tops in my book.
As for Amitabh, the former coolest man in Hindi cinema still looks cool, with his white hair and white suits, but he was apparently bitten at some point by a radioactive Robert DiNiro, giving him the proportional strength and speed for destroying prior respectability as the actual Robert DiNiro. Boom is Amitabh's Bullwinkle. Watching the scenes where he tools around a toy store in one of those novelty kiddie cars, or when he frolics down the beach shouting "Bo!" as an imaginary Bo Derek emerges from the water (played by the actual Bo Derek, in a pointless five-second cameo), and you'll start to wonder why anyone thought this guy was cool. Trust me, he is, and one need only return to the Fertile Crescent that is Don to be reminded of how cool Amitabh is when he's not in a movie as wretched as Boom. Jackie Shroff just sort of mumbles his way through his lines. The only guy really putting any oomph into his role is Javed Jaffrey as Boom Shankar (is that a Young Ones joke?), the shiny-shirt wearing professional hitman who is easily the least professional professional hitman I've ever seen. He bugs out his eyes, barks nonsensical lines, and generally seems to at least be enjoying the time he gets to spend in the company of three supermodels, one of whom (Madhu Sapre) looks sort of like a tired, past-his/her-prime transvestite in many scenes (shallow insult, but frankly, if you are going to try and get by on your looks, then I get to criticize you based on those looks).
Shankar's not even that likable, but he's still the most likable character in the movie. The three leads are nightmares. I can't imagine anyone having the slightest bit of sympathy for them. They're annoying, shallow bitches when the movie begins, and when it ends, they're still annoying, shallow bitches. Every time they open their mouths, the results are shrill and grating. I spent the whole movie wishing that Boom Shankar would just kill all three shrieking harpies, and we could move on to some other movie that was merely "incredibly bad," instead of "nightmarishly atrocious." And the scene where the three girls get in their post-robbery tiff -- that's got to be one of the single worst scenes ever filmed. Oh man. You know, I thought I was going to end up telling you that this movie is so awful, you really should see it. I was wrong. This movie just irritates me. It's sloppy and boring, and nothing makes any sense. The cinematography is ugly and awkward -- scenes that should be well-framed are always a bit off, so that everything looks like it was shot by a first time camera operator with a permanent crick in his neck. The lighting makes everything look grubby. And what's the deal wit the sound recording? Not that I really want to hear it, but come on! If you're going to have dialogue, even idiotic and nonsensical dialogue, at least mix it in a way that it can be heard. All the dialogue sounds like it was recorded with the actors standing across the room from the microphone.
This movie cost a ton and ended up being one of the most expensive films in Bollywood history. I have no idea where that money went. It's certainly not on the screen. The costumes are boring. There's nothing lavish about the production. The sets are dull and plain. I assume that a vast amount of the cash went to convincing Zeenat, Jackie, and Amitabh to show up for it. Otherwise, I have no idea where all that money went. Oh, it's just awful. Everything is awful. The bank robbery? It's the worst. Somehow, we're supposed to be convinced that these girls have been transformed into bad-ass robbers by Boom Shankar, despite all the evidence to the contrary in the movie. And come on, this movie was made in 2003 -- there is absolutely no excuse for having your characters hold their guns sideways. That's so 1999. The bank robbery is also the moment in which the film indulges in its one full musical number, and it's as sloppy and poorly staged as everything else in the movie. I'm starting to lose myself in just how bad this movie really is. Let's come back to the major criticism leveled at this film by many members of the public in India and the Indian film industry: it's dirty. And yes, it does feature the rare on-the-mouth kiss. And yes, there are a lot of poorly-used English curse words. And yes, boom Shankar makes dick jokes. But the girls aren't as hot as the average Bollywood actress, and there's not nearly as much sexual suggestiveness or skin on display as you can get from the average Bollywood masala. If you are going into the film looking for cheap titillation and skin and all that lewd perversion some people seemed to see, you're actually going to be pretty disappointed. Likewise if you are looking for action. The only action scene is the bank robbery, and the action there consist of nothing but three models wobbling in on high heels and yelling "Everybody get the fuck down!" over and over until they finally make a clean getaway via a slow-moving RV. The rest of the movie is just a bunch of people sitting around in an office or a living room, having conversations that don't make any sense. At no point is there a pay-off to any of the tedium. Even the finale is a total bore.
Boom -- it's really just incredibly awful. I like to always try to think up something positive to say about any movie, and with Boom, about the best I can come up with is, "It's only an hour and forty minutes long." That's practically non-existent by Bollywood standards, and even at that brief running time, you're going to be checking the watch and hitting the fast-forward button. I thought, when I began writing this review, that I was going to tell people this movie was so awful that you should see it, but now, you know what? Fuck Boom. See this movie if you need a solid example of how bad a movie can be. I alluded earlier to this being sort of the Bollywood equivalent of an Andy Sidaris movie without actual nudity, but that's not being fair to Andy Sidaris. Boom wishes it could be as bad as an Andy Sidaris film, but it's so much worse. Someone watched Boom at some point and must have realized how awful it was, because the movie was quickly retooled to be marketed as a "comedy." This smacks of a preemptive attempt to derail inevitable criticism by hiding behind the aegis of "parody." But it's not parody. It's just a really, really horrible failure of an action film that was ret-conned into being a comedy. But just as it's not a successful action movie, it's also not a funny comedy. It's not anything but a dreadful, boring mess. I can hardly even believe a professionally made movie can be this bad. Labels: Action, Bollywood, Stars: Amitabh Bachchan, Stars: Jackie Shroff, Stars: Zeenat Aman, Year: 2003 posted by Keith at 6:25 PM | 15 Comments Tuesday, May 16, 2006Goth
2003, United States. Starring Phoebe Dollar, Laura Reilly, Dave Stann, Larry Sprock, Todd Livingston, Jed Rowen, Ashley White, Matt Nespoli, Krista Stilley, Joe Di Angelo, Monika Wild, Snakelady Rose, Joe Myles, Gary Levinson, Zenova Braeden. Written and directed by Brad Sykes.
I have a lot of good goth jokes, but unfortunately I've used most of them up over the years. Which is a shame, because this movie presents a perfect opportunity to trot them all out in one conveniently concentrated package. But no luck. I'm trying to repeat myself less these days. Plus, this is an off-the-cuff micro-review, so you're just going to have to roll with it. I didn't realize how good I had it with Bloody Tease. Having said that movie wasn't very good, I immediately dashed out and rented another Brad Sykes shot-on-video micro-budget horror film, specifically because I'd been told, "Whatever you do, don't watch Goth. It's really awful." I couldn't write a better endorsement myself. Of course, there are rare occasions when I should have taken such advice at face value. Bloody Tease was bad, but I could laugh my way through it without much trouble, and eventually you do get some boobs and a couple of those love-making scenes where the chick is willing to show her breasts but nothing else, so the couple makes love while she has a quilt or a sheet wrapped around her waist. Goth drains the fun out of a movie faster than a vampire stripper can drain a drunken frat boy but doesn't replace it with anything interesting, resulting in a painfully tedious and laughably pompous affair that would be perfectly acceptable as a sullen teenager's gothy vampire fanfic posted to an online forum, but is really unforgivable as even a micro-budget professional movie. Chrissy is a pseudo-goth who goes out with her boyfriend one night and meets Goth, the goth who is so goth that she actually calls herself Goth. Goth talks about how many goth poseurs there are, which is funny, because after all my years as a punk rocker with plenty of goth friends, I'd say one of the biggest indicators that someone is a goth poseur would be if they did something like actually insist that their name was Goth. I'm surprised she didn't hang out with characters named Punk, Rockabilly, and Smooth Jazz McGhee. Actually, put a hold on Smooth Jazz McGhee. He's going to be a character in my own vampire stripper epic. Goth rambles on about the Three Laws of Goth, the rules written by Isaac Asimov that define the basic behaviors of a goth. These rules, and the whole ridiculously over-the-top character of Goth, must have been written by someone whose sole exposure to Goths was catching a couple Marilyn Manson videos. Now I'm an old man, and I know a lot of old goths from back in the day when we just called it death rock. Back then, being goth meant that you owned a Bauhaus t-shirt and listened to all the bands everyone pretends they liked in the 1980s when, in fact, they were all listening to Phil Collins, and listening to Siouxsie or Joy Division or The Cure got you beat up. That was about it. The whole white face paint nonsense started later, and it wasn't until much later that people started wearing those gigantic platform boots and leather trenchcoats with the cinched-in waist. I guess some bands, especially ones with industrial leanings (Thrill Kill Cult, etc) wore that stuff on stage from time to time, but it wasn't like today where every teenager in the city is perched awkwardly atop a pair of Klingon boots with foot-thick soles. So this whole goth shtick as presented in Goth seems pretty goofy to me, but if that's what the kids these days have turned it into, I wouldn't really know or care. What I do care about is that all this self-important, "Lo, the darkness" dialogue is painfully corny and, even more importantly, dull beyond comprehension. The shock factor as Goth takes Chrissy and her useless boyfriend on a "tour of the darkness that is the true goth lifestyle" is utterly goofy, and the fact that this duo sticks with this nutjob no matter how boring her rants become pushes the film into the realm of supreme irritation. OK, we get a reason, however absurd it may be, for Chrissy sticking with this whole ridiculous scheme, but honestly, Goth weighs maybe a hundred pounds and is armed with a silly Renaissance Festival letter opener. How exactly does she manage to strike fear in the hearts of entire rooms, including rooms full of gun-toting hookers (don't worry -- the gun-toting hookers aren't nearly as exciting as they sounds, so you're not missing out). Does no one think to just punch this girl in the face? Or, you know, anything? It's just a curvy-blade dagger wielded by a giggling teenage girl, people! It's not like she's a trained expert with a knife or anything. How she manages to slaughter entire rooms full of people still send sme into fits of head-shaking. And even though Chrissy is given a back story that explains why she is exploring the mystical and dark underworld of the goths, it still doesn't make much sense. It turns out Chrissy's sister was killed by a goth, though she soon discovers that her sister's dying word ("Goth") didn't mean she was killed by a goth, but by a person stupid enough to call themselves Goth. So Chrissy is secretly on a path of revenge, and yet rather than take that revenge on Goth any of the thousand times she has a chance to, rather than telling her boyfriend that, "well, it's about time we kicked this scrawny little psycho's ass," she just listlessly plays along with the murder and boring soliloquies until the finale where everyone gets Hunt's tomato paste smeared on them. I don't mind complete illogic in a micro-budget film, though I certainly admire the lack of illogic on the rare instances it presents itself, but what I can't tolerate is movies that are illogical in the most boring ways, and furthermore, characters who don't act like or do things real people would do, solely because the script demands that they do something dumb in order to move the plot forward. Goth is all the worse for its pretension of having some sort of deeper meaning than just being a really boring slasher/thrill kill film. Anyone over the age of 16 who still uses the word "poseur" or pulls out the "I shall show you the true meaning of my world" nonsense should just be kicked in the shin. Look, when I was a 16-year-old punk, I had a crush on this "normal" chick, and I pulled the whole mysterious, "I shall show you my world, but prepare yourself, for it is unlike anything you could have possibly imagined!" Of course, her world consisted of laughing and parties and having fun. My dark, dangerous, non-conformist world consisted of standing in a parking lot with a couple other people, looking sullen and talking about graveyards. It didn't take long for me to realize that, wow, my dark mysterious word was really lame. But even in my adolescent rebel stupor, I would have been smart enough to meet a chick like Goth and think to myself, "This girl is irritating." On top of an intolerably boring script full of inane, high-school quality "embrace the darkness and see the truth" exposition, the acting is uniformly bad. This is nothing surprising in a mciro-budget film, but someday, people are going to figure out how to fix this. Phoebe Dollar as Goth turns int he best performance, simply because her character lends itself to scenery-chewing over-the-top excess. Laura Reilly as Chrissy is quite a beautiful young lady, but her character is horribly dull and, for being the heroine, spend smost of the time standing there doing nothing. The rest of the cast range from bump-on-a-log boring (Dave Stann as Chrissy's useless boyfriend, Boone) to hammy but not hammy enough to be truly entertaining. They're all inexperienced, working mostly in similar micro-productions, so they could use some coaching that they don't get fromt he director, to say nothing of a better script. Even the effects look cheap and poorly executed. Usually, if nothing else, people are making micro-budget horror films purely because they want to show off their effects work. But here, even that is a major misfire. Once again, I admire Brad and his crew for mounting and successfully making a feature film despite the obvious hurdles all micro-budget film makers face, but admiring the dedication and gumption is a world away from actually enjoying the end product. Like almost all micro-budget directors, Sykes relies on an incredibly weak script. The script is the cheapest thing to work on -- all you need is time and some paper, so I wish these directors and producers would put a lot more work into this stage of their film project, rather than rushing ahead with a script so weak that it makes the admirable quality of finishing a film seem unimportant since the film you finished is so uninteresting. The only people I can imagine getting anything out of Goth would be either fellow micro-budget filmmakers who simply need to study the game (in which case, there's plenty of lessons to be learned here, though perhaps not as many as in a Todd Sheets movie) and goths who want a good laugh about the film's sundry, "this is what it means to be a true goth" lessons, which are about as accurate and valid as a big budget studio film's lessons on what true punks are really like. For the time being I'm just going to reflect on the fact that Bloody Tease wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. That, and I should probably ponder the fact that at this point I'm still giddy about the next bad Brad Sykes film in my queue, if only because it features someone I actually know. I'm rooting for you, Brad. Don't let me down. Become a better filmmaker. Don't be Todd Sheets. And of course, Goth completely fails to answer the one burning questions all viewers will come away from the movie with: who was driving the van? Labels: Director: Brad Sykes, Horror, Microreviews, Year: 2003 posted by Keith at 3:20 PM | 4 Comments Tuesday, March 14, 2006Oldboy Release Year: 2003Country: South Korea Starring: Min-sik Choi, Ji-tae Yu, Hye-jeong Kang, Dae-han Ji, Dal-su Oh, Byeong-ok Kim, Seung-Shin Lee, Jin-seo Yun, Dae-yeon Lee, Kwang-rok Oh, Tae-kyung Oh, Yeon-suk Ahn, Il-han Oo. Writer: Jo-yun Hwang and Chun-hyeong Lim Director: Chan-wook Park Cinematographer: Jeong-hun Jeong Music: Yeong-wook Jo Producer: Seung-yong Lim Availability: Buy it from Amazon 2003, South Korea. Starring Min-sik Choi, Ji-tae Yu, Hye-jeong Kang, Dae-han Ji, Dal-su Oh. Directed by Chan-wook Park. Written by Jo-yun Hwang, Chun-hyeong Lim. Purchase from Amazon.com Mainstream Korean films seem dedicated to one goal above all others: to be more Hollywood than Hollywood. To be bigger, faster, more technically accomplished, more slickly produced. There is little on display in most big Korean films that isn't complete cliche, very little that could be considered in any way original. On the surface, that may sound like a criticism. But what Korean films do with genre convention and cliche, much of the time, is execute it with such astounding panache and skill that it's still remarkable despite the lack of originality. Every cliche is executed as it should be, with absolute precision and skill. Take Shiri, for instance, the film that really sparked interest in Korean cinema over here in the United States (well, that and Yongary). Shiri is a pat and predictable film from beginning to end. Nothing in it is unexpected, and no genre requirement goes unfilled. But damn, it just executes those cliches so well! Oldboy comes to the west with a considerable amount of fanfare, having garnered awards at Cannes, as if such awards mean anything at all these days. I think at some point, every single film ever made will have won some sort of an award. Suffice it to say, there hasn't been a Korean film with this much stateside buzz surrounding it since Shiri and My Sassy Gal stormed the scene a couple years ago. And once again, what we have on our hands is a very cliche film in which everything that needs to happen does, but is presented so expertly that the end result is a hugely entertaining foray into an increasingly twisted tale of revenge. If Shiri was the Korean film industry doing the Hollywood action film several magnitudes better and more violent, then Oldboy is the same industry's response to the popularity of the genre-bending master of the sicko revenge film, Takashi Miike. Drunken oaf Oh Dae-su (Shiri's Choi Min-sik) is bailed out of jail one night by a friend. On the way home to see his little daughter and wife after his night of carousing and doubtlessly drinking a lot of Hienekin and wrapping his tie around his head, Dae-su simply vanishes. He wakes up in a fortified hotel room, with absolutely no idea where he is, why he's there, or who is doing this to him. He is there for fifteen years until one day, the very same day he has finally completed a tunnel to the outside through his wall, he is given a new set of clothes and a fat wad of cash and simply released without any explanation whatsoever. Completely lost as to what has just happened to him, he vows to track down the people who did this to him and extract some answers by any means necessary. It's a lean but exceptional premise for a film, indeed something that would seem right at home in a Miike or Hitchcock film, or even a Raymond Chandler novel. Oldboy possesses the same kind of quirky lack of balance that inhabits those works. It isn't long before Dae-su has managed to trace his way back to the hotel prison, and it doesn't even take that long to go fromt here to the person who paid to have him imprisoned. Oldboy's central mystery isn't who, but why. Dae-su must find out why he was imprisoned, first because the need to know is burning him up, and later because a sushi chef with whom he has struck up an awkward romantic relationship is placed under threat of death. Slowly, however, the film shifts focus even from that quest and we discover that Dae-su's revenge against his captors is secondary to the complicated revenge plot that has been hatched against him for reasons he can't understand. As he progresses from one clue, one fractured memory to the next, the revelations create an increasingly twisted and sick picture of what's happening.
Oldboy draws its strength primarily from the atmosphere. The slick direction by Chan-wook Park (JSA, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance) not only result sin a gorgeous, colorful film, but it greatly augments the feeling of bewilderment and anger engulfing Dae-su. The slow move from a simple tale of revenge into territory that is truly bizarre is perfectly accomplished, once again illustrating that the best way to unsettle someone is to take a very familiar world and subtly, slowly warp it into something alien and grotesque. Oldboy does this so well that you hardly even notice that the film is getting increasingly sicker with each fragment of a clue that is recovered. Although Miike would seem to me to be the obvious inspiration for this type of film, Park's steady approach resists the gory excesses and lack of focus that identify Miike's films, which is why I feel it's apt to say Oldboy falls somewhere between Miike and Hitchock, or a particularly surreal old hardboiled detective novel. The web of ever-more perverse characters and realizations wouldn't be entirely out of place in a Raymond Chandler novel, populated as they were by pornographers, drunks, lecherous scumbags, and decadent California aristocracy. When the final pieces of Dae-su's torture snap into place, it isn't entirely unexpected -- I'd guessed what the revelation would be already -- but it's unsettling and effective regardless. Although there is action in the film, it's hardly an action film. Having nothing better to do while locked in a hotel room for fifteen years, Dae-su decides to get into shape. One of the central elements to the overarching themes of the film is the transformation that takes place in Dae-su. When we first meet him, he's not necessarily a bad guy. He's just a useless chump. As wrong as what happens to him is, it's never the less responsible for transforming him into an entirely different type of person: physically fit, focused, determined. At the same time, we get the sense that this transformation has been engineered for him specifically so that he'll have so much more to lose when the hammer falls. His sudden explosion from being more or less entombed alive to being free means that every emotion, every feeling, every event is possessed of much greater power than would otherwise be. One of the first things he does upon obtaining his freedom is go to a sushi bar and order something, anything that is alive. So although this is a character study more than an action film, the nature of Dae-su's heightened awareness of everything around him means that he's going to explode into fits of rage from time to time, especially when someone is standing in the way of him obtaining the next level of truth. There are a few fight scenes, and a couple particularly sadistic torture scenes that don't quite plumb the gratuitous depths of Takashi Miike at his most insane but are never the less grueling to behold. But, as with the series of increasingly twisted revelations, none of the violence seems out of place. The man has been locked up for fifteen years, after all, in solitary confinement, with no explanation as to why. He's bound to be a little frazzled, and within the context of his character, everything he does makes sense. Still, dental work performed by hammer is pretty intense. When the hammer does fall, it's precisely because Dae-su is now focused and driven that he gets deeper and deeper into the secrets that lie behind his imprisonment and, consequently, the revelations that will conspire to destroy his present. These revelations never come across as contrived or happening simply because something needs to happen to propel the script along to its climax. The screenplay by Jo-yun Hwang and Chun-hyeong Lim is perfectly paced and presents each layer as an organic and entirely believable outgrowth of the previous, even during the end when things begin to get exceptionally complex and a little far-fetched. Within the confines of the film's internal logic, however, they make perfect sense and remain solidly believable. The film is peppered with bits and pieces of comedy, but it never dominates the situation, and the film remains for the most part, tensely paced and hauntingly grim. It's obvious almost from the beginning that no good is going to come of anything that happens in the film, and Dae-su is a sympathetic enough character that the knowledge that this is all going to end badly for him keeps you involved in the story. The villain of the piece, Woo-jin Lee (Ji-tae Yu) is acceptably freaky, but the film relies largely on the talents of Hye-jeong Kang as cute, beleaguered sushi chef Mi-do, who finds herself thrust into Dae-su's life seemingly at random, though the viewer knows it's very unlikely that anything happening to Dae-su is happening at random. Her career is really only just beginning, but she turns in a strong performance here, matching up very well with the far more experienced and accomplished Min-sik Choi. You know bad things are probably going to happen to her as well, and you really just don't want them to. All in all, quite a nerve-wracking though enjoyable film. I really like Park's direction in this movie. It's slick without indulging into overkill. The color palette goes for the over-saturated, ultra-rich look that is enjoying increasing popularity, a welcome change for me from all the washed-out or blue/yellow tinted films we've been suffering through the past few years. It works to make the very normal world around Dae-su seem not quite right, as if there is something off-kilter and sinister and somewhat fairytale-like about it, albeit one of those fairytales where everyone ends up cooked by witches or eaten by trolls. After watching a string of really awful Korean sci-fi films that looked beautiful but were almost impossible to watch (Yesterday and Natural City), it was nice to see another Korean film that doesn't skimp on cutting edge production but also remembers to wrap it around a compelling, intensely tragic, and haunting movie. Labels: Action, Country: Korea, Netflix Diary, Year: 2003 posted by Keith at 11:28 PM | 1 Comments Monday, July 18, 2005Deep Shock
2003, United States. Starring David Keith, Simmone Mackinnon, Mark Sheppard, Sean Whalen, Armando Valdes, Bob Zachar, Richard Gnolfo, Todd Kimsey, Tyrone Pinkham. Written by Brian Mammett and Jeff Rank. Directed by Phillip J. Roth.
Electric eels, to be honest, are pretty cool. I'm the sort of nerd who picks up a book in the library on thermophiles or lichens and says, "Oh damn, I need to read this," but nonetheless I think most people would agree with me that as far as the animal kingdom goes, electric eels are pretty interesting. But then again, I dunno if I'd have written a movie about them. Thankfully, the writers of Deep Shock decided to take utterly fictitious eels from the open sea, rather than pretending that there was some undiscovered stretch of the Amazon in which there's some relic of a more savage era or whatever other garbled nonsense they'd usually give us. But that thankfulness is short-lived... The eels live under the arctic circle, and that's fine with me. They're also hidden away by some hollow part of the earth's crust which they've tunneled into from beneath. That, perhaps, is inevitable; where else will you put these things? After all, they're also highly intelligent and they seem to be able to build stuff, though most of it just looks like a bunch of veins of glowing nothing that runs from one rock to another, and I'm not sure how they built those things without hands. I mean, the whole thing about humans is that those opposable thumbs, not to mention the oft-overlooked other four digits which our hands also boast, enable us to, y'know, manipulate and build stuff. The eels, on the other hand, communicate and attack using the same apparatus: their electrical charge. Now, that's not so farfetched by itself. A dolphin's sonar can detect prey, theoretically serve as language, be used to perform ultrasound on group members, and, I believe, be used as a sort of weapon against fish. I know that bats are known to stun their prey with a similar faculty... But that's not a tremendously large electrical charge, it's just really high-pitched noise. Anyway, these eels can summon electrical charges powerful enough to overload the generators on a futuristic sort of oceanic military station. The electricity is also a language, or maybe they have a separate speech faculty (it's never made very clear), and we learn later that the electricity is not "physical" but "neurological"--a dichotomy that continues to puzzle me, but the basic gist is that they're trying to imply that all that electricity is unadulterated thought. Thought which can then be shot at high speeds from the eels' heads to attack personal transports and sea bases. And then it comes out, right in the beginning no less, that global warming is not only not caused by greenhouse gases, but by these eels. There's a stereotypical megalomaniacal evil scientist who's hellbent on just sealing up the trench that the eels are opening (using hundreds of nuclear warheads?!?!?), but in the end it turns out that the eels, while they mean us no direct harm, have been slumbering for centuries waiting for I don't know what and now they decided it's time to melt the poles and reclaim the earth. It's not really explained how they're melting the arctic, whether it's just them spitting electricity at icebergs or if it's that non-machinery that we see for a moment in their trench... Anyway, the eels are implausible but at least interesting. The bulk of the movie is consumed by that lame "We got divorced because we broke each other's hearts, but we're still in love... darlin', let's get back together!" plotline, as well as the equally lame cliché of "I'm an evil scientist who believes that humans can cause global warming, and now I will deliberately waste human lives and cover up evidence because I... um... stop questioning me!!!" There are some "political motivations" alleged to explain some of that scientist's behavior, but those motivations are more talked about than they are ever identified. Basically, I kind of wanted everyone to die, and was really hoping for an ending where these weird and improbable eels would just suddenly melt the ice caps and kill off the unsympathetic human race that the movie exhibits. But the protagonist of the movie somehow, within a matter of hours, designs a "program" which decodes the eels' speech. She's then able to talk to them. It took decades to decode most of the Maya hieroglyphs, but it takes one woman a matter of hours to suddenly crack the code of nonhuman speech. If this had been a movie about her singular genius, that might've been interesting in a kind of arthouse Good Will Hunting way. Instead it just seems like a convenient device to enable more exposition so that we understand what the eels want and why they're there, making them seem both more humanlike and less interesting. I tend to speak of the film as a failure because, I guess, I keep hoping for more from these little ventures. I'm tired of the clichés and the poor handling of the core ideas. If you just want a simple science fiction film with giant eels that spit powerful electricity, or if you, as do I, find circumpolar and suboceanic regions to be aesthetically satisfying in a horror sort of way, then it might be worth your $5 or less, and honestly it probably is. It's a dumb movie, but I'm glad to own it. Deep Shock just annoys me because, like a lot of "monster" films of its ilk, the script is basically paint-by-numbers, and situations which could have been interesting are ruined by a cavalcade of unsympathetic characters and ridiculous events, in addition to the really pathetic CGI effects for which the movie can only sort of be faulted, since I doubt they had the budget to do anything better, either with computers or puppets. But of course, it's better to have a weak attempt at a giant intelligent electric eel movie than none at all. Labels: Science Fiction, Year: 2003 posted by Ryan at 11:19 AM | 1 Comments Tuesday, October 05, 2004Once Upon a Time in Mexico
2003, United States/England. Starring Antonio Banderas, Johnny Depp, Selma Hayek, Willem Dafoe, Eva Mendes, Micky Rourke, Cheech Marin, Ruben Blades, Danny Trejo. Directed by Robert Rodriguez. Available on DVD from Amazon
Well, if Scream and Scream Again seemed not to make much sense until the very end, and even then only tenuously, here's a movie that fails to make sense from opening to closing credits. Robert Rodriguez' third film in his Mariachi trilogy has the feel of a half-baked concept that was scripted out on a series of dinner napkins on the way to the first day of shooting, and even then half the napkins must have blown out the window. El Mariachi was quite an enjoyable little film that relied on wit and comedy to carry an otherwise heavy story about a mariachi who is mistaken for an assassin who carries the tools of his trade in a guitar case. The bigger-budget follow-up (but at just around $3 million, still miniscule in comparison to the $100 million or more behemoths that were emerging during the 1990s) to the micro-budget sleeper hit was Desperado, replacing star Carlos Gallardo with bigger star Antonio Banderas, then adding bombshell Selma Hayek to the equation along with bigger explosions, bigger arsenals, bigger shoot-outs, and even goofier comedy. Although overblown and perhaps too big budget for its own good, Desperado managed never the less to emerge as an entertaining actioner with more sex appeal and wit than just about any other film in the genre at the time. Which brings us, some eight or nine years later, to the third film. By this point, Rodriguez is not the scrappy young underdog he once was. Though still fiercely independent in his demand to write, produce, edit, direct, and sometimes score and do special effects for all his films, the riches of three Spy Kids films have the maverick Mexican director's coffers overflowing with cash. So he decided to take it and make the third mariachi film even bigger than the second, though once again at $30 million amid $200 million globe-busters. Banderas, sexy as ever, returns once again as the brooding guitar-playing mariachi who decides if he's going to keep getting mistaken for a killer, he might as well become one. But when we meet him here, he has retired and gone into seclusion in a small town with a towering old crumbling church you just know he's going to spend a lot of time posing on top of before he leaves to pursue whatever action will propel the film forward. We learn through a series of flashbacks that his beloved Carolina (Hayek) has born him a lovely daughter, but neither of them is on hand anywhere but in flashbacks, if you get my meaning. As is always the case with legendary gunslingers, the Mariachi is forced back into action once again when screwball CIA agent Sands (Johnny Depp) employs him to stop a renegade general (the same one responsible for the film's low Hayek content) from assassinating the president of Mexico. The plot is simple enough, but there are so many characters and so many odd moments and twists that one can quickly get lost in the labyrinth. Characters and logical plots have never been Rodriguez' strong point, and we see here that they still escape him. It doesn't really matter, however, because as the title of the film suggests, this is his ode to the westerns of Sergio Leone. After revolutionizing the western with his "Man With No Name" trilogy, Leone went on to direct the colossal Once Upon a Time in the West, a film far more interested in the epic myth of the West and in creating godlike statues out of its characters, turning their every appearance into formations as grand as the Monument Valley locations that served as the film's backdrop. Leone was unconcerned with complex characterization or well-sketched story. His characters were Greek gods, archetypes, symbols more than they were humans, and the story was only a skeleton upon which he could hang this grand visual epic. Likewise, Rodriguez' Once Upon a Time in Mexico is more concerned with bold strokes that subtle lines. Like Leone's masterpiece, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is littered with character actors doing what they do best: playing characters. Where as Leone had Fonda, Bronson, Robards, Claudia Cardinale, and Ferzetti, Rodriguez has Banderas, Depp, Hayek (sort of), Willem Dafoe, Mickey Rourke, Ruben Blades, Eva Mendes, and perhaps my favorite modern character actor of all time, Danny Trejo - also known as the version of Edward James Olmos who looks like he could kick the ass of pretty much anyone in the world. Cheech Marin and Enrique Eglesias round out the cast of very familiar faces playing types rather than actual "human" characters. Blades is the depressed, retired FBI agent whose "one big bust" got away from him. Dafoe is the creepy, posh drug baron, while Rourke is his good ol' boy sidekick looking to get out of the life. Mendes is a sexy Mexican cop with a secret, and Johnny Depp is…well, he's Johnny Depp. What more do you want? Once Upon a Time in Mexico does plenty right, enough to keep me liking the film even when parts of it frustrate or simple lose me altogether. Needless to say, the cast oozes with talent, and putting Depp, Hayek, and Banderas on screen in the same film is just about the sexiest thing any film could ever hope to achieve. Unfortunately, Hayek appears only briefly, but you can't have everything. We men who like to look at the pretty ladies get lots of films to stare at, so it's no shame that an action movies wants to give you a gaggle of hot guys to check out, then puts them all in tight black jeans on the dusty, sun-drenched Mexican landscape. The movie makes plenty of room for hot guys walking in slow motion while carrying guitar cases. I don't know that I'd call Dafoe or Cheech Marin sexy (though some would disagree with me), but Eglesias we all know, and I've always thought that Reuben Blades was much hotter than anyone seemed to give him credit for. And Eva Mendes? Forget it! She may not be the bombshell that Selma Hayek is, but then who is? As for former sex symbol Mickey Rourke, well I think he's supposed to look weird and disturbing here, which for the best. Both he and Dafoe aren't really given enough to do, but when they are on screen they perform as well as audiences have come to expect from them. I've never been a big Rourke fan, but his turn here, although limited, warmed me to him a little, much in the same way I've warmed to the previously unlikable (to me) Alec Baldwin since he stopped being so serious and started having a little fun as a character actor. Maybe age has something to do with it. Rourke seemed really insufferable as a young, sexy lead. But now that his star has faded, along with some of his looks, and he's put on a few pounds, he seems to be a much better actor. The film, not just because of the cast, is gorgeous. Super-saturated with the vibrant reds, yellows, greens, and blues of Mexico, Once Upon a Time in Mexico definitely stands out in a time when people still seem addicted to tinting all their action films blue or brown and draining them almost entirely of any sense of color or visual energy. No more gray-blue or green-yellow films! Rodriguez knows that Mexico is a colorful country, and that the color lends his film strength. To mute it would be like making a dreary monotone-colored film about India. The entire film was shot digital, and if nothing else it's a valuable promo reel for the advances in digital film technology. Where previous directors working in the digital realm relied on an overly "computerized" look, like in those crummy new Star Wars films that have lots of color but still reek of artificiality and drabness, Rodriguez is able to make the medium seem warm and human and, if not as cozy as traditional celluloid, at least close. For a movie that has ten times the budget of the action-packed second film, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is surprisingly low on the action quotient, though when the action does kick in, it's suitably wild and corny. The best scene, besides the repeat of the "what do these guitar cases shoot" joke from Desperado (it was funny then and is still funny now), involves a flashback in which Banderas and Hayek escape from a gang of pursuers while chained together and swinging one another up and down a wall as they repel out a window. The finale, in which a coup attempt takes place during the Day of the Dead festival, is as fantastic as it sounds, especially when Depp shows up in a strange sparkling black vest. Banderas almost seems lost amid so many characters, but he still shines when he gets the chance. It probably won't surprise anyone to hear that Johnny Depp is the most memorable thing about the movie. His character continues his streak of playing completely off-kilter anti-heroes, this time a murderous CIA agent who is as evil as he is heroic, and who also has strange taste in disguises - my favorite being the one where he wears shorts, a fanny pack, and one of those baggy t-shirts that says "CIA" on the front. Rodriguez seems to have pretty much let Depp show up on location and do whatever the hell he wanted, which seems a pretty sound strategy these days. Depp crawls into a quirky character like no one else can, and 2003 was a particularly strong year for him with this and Pirates of the Caribbean. It's one thing to play a quirky character. There are tons of those. Every movie tries to have one, and most of them aren't half as interesting as they hope. It's quite another thing to play a quirky character uniquely, not to mention fabulously, and that's what Depp can do. He thinks of things to do with a character that wouldn't have occurred to anyone else, except maybe Jack Nicholson before he simply started appearing in every film as Jack Nicholson. Although the script is complete chaos, it's still an admirable attempt to inject some brains into an increasingly brain-dead genre. Action films haven't exactly been firing up the sinews lately, and while Once Upon a Time in Mexico isn't a work of genius, it still manages to have something to say, however muddled that something may be. Themes of loss and redemption, common in action films, actually have some weight and meaning, partially because although broadly drawn, Banderas is such a charismatic actor. Like Russell Crowe without the blazing real-life obnoxiousness and chubbiness. The film's political messages are equally broad, but that there is anything political at all is worth cheering for, especially if it ends up with a well-armed Banderas in the ceremonial coat of the president of Mexico. As far as "visual feasts" go, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is one of the films that falls into such a category while still having something a little more going on than pretty pictures. The film's biggest drawback is that, while each individual piece is glorious, they are never assembled into the masterpiece they should be. Although patterned in the spirit of Once Upon a Time in the West, this is not the "mythic epic" that film became. Although individual sequences could be called grand, Rodriguez fails to assemble them into the film they deserve. As such, Once Upon a Time in Mexico feels much smaller and more low-key than it should, a feeling that isn't helped by the uneven pacing that plagues the movie. Parts of the film really seem to stumble, and from time to time it seems as if Rodriguez is aware of this fault and so trots Johnny Depp out again to liven things up. Whenever Depp is on screen, the scene can't help but crackle with his bizarre charm. Banderas should be more engaging here than he is. Although plenty likable, he tends, as I said, to become lost amid the various players and conspiracies swirling about him. It's by no fault of Banderas'. The script simply short-changes him in favor of the more outlandish Depp. I'm as impressed as anyone by Rodriguez' one-man-band approach to film-making and his ongoing proof-by-example that one need not have the crew of thousands to make a movie. Sometimes, though, it seems like maybe he needs to step down and ask for a little assistance with putting his sundry cool scenes together into, if not a cohesive or logical film, at least one that is as cool in its entirety as it is in its pieces. Once you have the basics of the plots sorted out and know who's who, it's best to simply let it all flow over you. Rodriguez makes movies because he loves making movies. He loves everything about it, as evidenced by the fact that he tries to do everything behind the scenes. And what ultimately saves Once Upon a Time in Mexico from being a disaster is the sheer exuberance on display. Every frame is filled with the joy of filmmaking. Robert Rodriguez has fun, and he manages to translate that onto screen even if his film has a lot of bumps. They're the sort of faults that result from a guy being too genuinely excited about what he's doing, and I can forgive those even as I point them out and even as they move the film from "must see" to "see if it it's around.". Once Upon a Time in Mexico pays tribute to old spaghetti westerns and Hong Kong action films without ever seeming to be a retread, and without ever resorting to the self-referential irony that has become the bane of my existence. Ultimately, this means that despite a cluttered and half-conceived script and despite the grim back story, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is something of a celebration. It is, in many ways, the Day of the Dead parade we see in the film's own finale. Never perfect, hardly polished, rarely as engaging as it should be, and at times seeming to collapse under its own weight, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is never the less a welcome, clever piece of popcorn entertainment that benefits from the fact that action films have become so awful that even a slapdash one like this that at least attempts to be something different comes across as a little special. Labels: Action, Netflix Diary, Year: 2003 posted by Keith at 11:55 PM | 0 Comments Tuesday, July 06, 2004Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
United States, 2003. Starring Russell Crowe, Paul Bettany, James D'Arcy, Edward Woodall, Chris Larkin, Max Pirkis, Jack Randall, Max Benitz, Lee Ingleby, Richard Pates, Robert Pugh, Richard McCabe, Ian Mercer, Tony Dolan, David Threlfall. Directed by Peter Weir. Available on DVD from Amazon.
Again, though Teleport City is best known (if indeed it is known at all) for scouring the globe for obscure madness or films that have simply been ignored by large swathes of the world's population, that doesn't mean we don't like a big film every now and then. Master and Commander is without a doubt one of my favorites. Russell Crowe once again brings the big screen a macho, swaggering old-fashioned hero who tempers his bravado with a sense of dignity, intelligence, and philosophy. Can anyone out there do this better than Crowe these days? Not that I've seen, and it's made all the sweeter by the fact that, by all accounts, Crowe is a boorish lout. I like him all the more for it, and I think perhaps some of the stories about him are blown out of proportion simply because the Hollywood elite is insulted by the fact that he couldn't give a rat's ass about them or see why he should treat them with reverence. He's a prick, it seems, and even if everything is true, I still admire a man whose basic reaction to fellow celebrities is to belch and say, "Fuck off." This time around, Crowe is Captain - or Cap'n if you prefer - Jack Aubrey, commander of the ship of the line HMS Surprise in grand ol' 1805. I'm not at all familiar with the books upon which the movie is based (though I plan on becoming so), so I'll leave any comparisons between the two to people with some credibility in that field. I believe the major change between the novel and the movie is that in the book our heroic British crew is chasing after an American privateer, where as in the movie it's a French vessel they're after. As an amateur historian, I quite like the fact that this movie got us cheering for the Brits, when in fact they would have been villains to the Americans of the time, sitting as we were on the verge of the War of 1812, which flared up in large part because British naval vessels like the HMS Surprise were wreaking havoc with American shipping. But heck, that was a long time ago, and we all get along pretty well now, so let's let it slide. As you should have gathered from that idiotic last paragraph, Cap'n Jack is taking his ship out in pursuit of a French ship called the Acheron. The French boat is bigger, faster, and better equipped, but the Surprise has a secret weapon: Russell Crowe's ability to climb up into the rigging and strike heroic, manly poses as his ship rockets across the wide open seas. His bold posing will lead the crew down the coast of South America, around the Cape, and into the Pacific in pursuit of the dastardly Napoleonic ship.
That's about it for plot. More of a situation really, but this is not a plot-driven film. Certainly it is an exuberant, swashbuckling sea adventure, but it is carried by personality rather than nonstop action (the action actually stops quite frequently) told with well-crafted intelligence. It is primarily equal parts character drama and historical examination. Where as Gladiator uses history as little more than a rack upon which to hang it's fictional drama, Master and Commander goes to great lengths to accurately recreate the realities of British navy life at the turn of that particular century. Almost the entire film is contained within the bows of the ship, making it in a way a slightly larger version of the film that kicked this journal off, Aguirre, The Wrath of God, only without all the insanity. At the focal point of the story are our two main characters. Three, actually. Captain Jack Aubrey, ship's doctor Stephen Maturin (Paul Bettany, one of the coolest actors in Britain), and young midshipman Blakeney (Max Pirkis). Together, they form a philosophical triangle. Aubrey is the career military man motivated by his love for king, country, and a wild day at sea. Maturin is the humanist; a man who fulfills his duties admirably as ship's doctor but sees a larger world than is defined by patriotism and the glory of battle. For him, the expansion of empire is less about military dominance and more about increasing the understanding of the world. Situated between the two is Blakeney. He is mesmerized by the firm but fair captain and admires the man's brilliance in battle. At the same time, he is equally enthralled by the world of the naturalist and of science as represented by Maturin. Both men want to guide him down their own path.
Although Stephen and Aubrey are opposites, neither man is a black and white caricature. The captain, for all his seafaring bravado, is also a man of culture. An enlightened warrior, if you will. And the doctor, despite his streak of compassion and humanism, isn't afraid or unwilling to whip out the pistol and sword and do some ass kicking when the time comes. Both men are friends, have been for quite some time, despite their differences. From what I understand of the books, they are equal characters, and Stephen has a particularly complex background as an anti-British Irish freedom fighter who joins the Royal Navy because he considers Napoleonic tyranny an even greater evil (a character revelation that makes the whimsical "lesser of two weevils" scene in the movie all the more meaningful). The cinematic version of Maturin gets slighted to some degree, and none of this information regarding his background is divulged. At the same time, however, it is his story that provides most of the film's philosophy, and to a lesser degree the story of Blakeney. Crowe's Jack Aubrey is charismatic, energetic, even fun to be around, but he is also the character who changes the least throughout their journey. Aubrey begs comparison again to Aguirre, as both films are about obsessed captains in pursuit of a prize that seems out of their reach. The big difference, of course, is that Klaus Kinski's Aguirre was stark raving mad. Lucky Jack is obsessed, perhaps to a fault, but he's also a realist. He never loses touch with what's going on around him, and he never becomes abusive of his men (except for one scene where discipline calls for such behavior). For my movie-buying dollar, it's Crowe's best performance. He makes this captain someone you can admire, and it's easy to understand why his men are willing to follow him, as the title says, to the far side of the world. Would that Jeffery Hunter had this sort of charisma back when we watched King of Kings. You shouldn't find a British sea captain more charismatic and deserving of loyalty than, say, the Son of God.
As the doctor, Stephen Bettany has less to work with and a more difficult task. It's always easy to cheer for the gung-ho captain who climbs the rigging and does that "looking out across the horizon" pose. It's more difficult to get worked up about the guy with a walking stick who sets out to collect lizards on the Galapagos. But Bettany is one of the finest young actors working today, and he manages to make the doctor more than just an intellectual foil or irritating nag. Although not as strong a character as he is in the books, Bettany's Stephen Maturin is a man who is also easy to respect, and you can see why young Blakeney is entranced by the doctor's pursuit of the natural sciences. But this is no pansy, predictable sort of intellectual character, the ones who constantly bitch about everything. Maturin is, in his own way, every bit as tough as Aubrey, and just as the captain is no cannon-crazy buffoon, neither is the doctor a cowardly sniveler. When battle erupts, the doctor either goes about the grim business of sawing off arms and legs, or he picks up arms and joins the fray. When he is accidentally wounded, the man lies back and performs surgery on himself. Fleshing out the crew is a stock of standard characters that are no less compelling because of being standard. There's the cranky cook, the crazy old salt, the incompetent officer, and a hobbit. Yes, poor Billy Boyd, destined to forever inspire the reaction, "Hey, it's that hobbit!" We spend a lot of time with the crew, drinking grog and dancing to folk medleys when we're not loading cannons, making Popeye faces, and shouting at the French. The depictions of the crew are as historically accurate as everything else. Contrary to what was sometimes seen in movies, British sailors at the time were the most skilled in the world and took great pride in what they did. And many of them were barely into their teenage years, if that.
When battle scenes do come along, and part of what I like so much about this film is that they don't come that often, they are made to count. Sound plays a major role in the film, from the classical duets for violin and cello the doctor and captain play together to the creaking of the ships. And when the cannons begin to fire the sound is appropriately thunderous. Making old style naval battles exciting is not an easy task, as much of it is simply two ships sailing past one another and launching volleys of cannonballs across the way as sailors peek out of cannon doors and snarl at each other. Master and Commander is wise enough not to rely on the battles themselves, but rather stays in close to make the battles personal in much the same was as was done in Gladiator. Still, they are explosive and exciting, partially because you actually care about a lot of the people who are getting blown up. And I guess it's worth mentioning that there are no women at all. Well, there's one, who is on screen for a few seconds during a brief trading exchange with some locals. Other than that, this is a testosterone-fuelled film, but like Esquire, it's meant to show man at his best. Bravery, sacrifice, intellectual inquiry, philosophy, music - a far cry from what might be the first thing that pops into mind when you think of a manly movie. But then, it's not the men of old who are responsible for the modern man being such a simp. In today's climate, Master and Commander was something of a risky movie. A film that uses action scenes sparingly and relies instead on characters? A film that is comprised primarily of two adventurous men playing classical music and debating the meaning of duty and the purpose of exploration? Not exactly what modern audiences seem to want, but then, modern audiences make some awful movies into gigantic hits, so you can't trust modern audiences. Peter Weir has put together one of the best movies of recent years, something that dares to make action an exclamation point rather than the entire sentence and relies instead on two of the best actors around (not to mention some incredibly polished young actors) to create an exchange of ideas and dialogue that sustains the movie as it rounds the cape for a final showdown with the French. Master and Commander is, to be short about it, an uncommonly great film. Labels: Historical Epics, Netflix Diary, Year: 2003 posted by Keith at 6:08 PM | 0 Comments |
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