82. ATLAS SHRUGGED: PART I (2011)
81. SUICIDE SQUAD (2016)
DC movies seem to want us to like them so, so badly. While Kevin Feige and the Marvel crew seem to be able to spin out some decently entertaining narratives out of nowhere--even the lesser ones like Doctor Strange have a lot going for them--Geoff Johns and DC are obviously trying very hard to make something that fits the public's desire. Suicide Squad was reportedly overhauled pretty heavily in post-production because the studio determined that what audiences wanted was an irreverent but overall pleasant antihero story like Guardians of the Galaxy.
Apparently what director David Ayer, the writer of Training Day and director of End of Watch, delivered to them was too abrasive, so they lightened it up, and boy, does it show. Suicide Squad seems to have been made entirely out of chaff. Its story is perfunctory, its characters forgettable, and its centerpiece--the romance between the Joker (Jared Leto) and Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie)--is barely even addressed.
Ayer reportedly directed Leto to method-act during filming, which led to his essentially being a jerk to all the other actors. This is already a pretty silly and unproductive way to get a performance, but it's made all the more pointless when we realize that Leto is barely in the movie and in some cases shares no screen time with his castmates. The only actor who doubles significantly with Leto is Robbie, and even she has to spend most of the movie without him.
The premise is interesting, even if Ayer doesn't do much with it. Government official Amanda Waller (Viola Davis, who I hope took home a lot of money for this role) assembles a Justice League of her own, but one of villains instead of heroes. Why villains? For one thing, it's better to have the worst people working for you, I suppose. For another, since they're already incarcerated, they can be easily controlled. In addition to Harley Quinn, the crew includes Deadshot (Will Smith), Diablo (Jay Hernandez), Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnouye-Agbaje), Slipknot (Adam Beach), Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), and Katana (Karen Fukuhara). The team is soon dispatched to stop an evil Enchantress (Cara Delevingne) from bringing about the apocalypse.
The pieces are in place for a fun adventure--and might still be, if James Gunn's inauspiciously-named sequel The Suicide Squad is up to par--but nothing comes together. The plot and characters are overpopulated and no fun. The only actor who registers is Robbie, who delivers a knockout performance as Harley, endowing a difficult character--how do you play someone whose primary characteristic is being controlled by another person?--with agency and power despite the lazy writing.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
The Top 100 Movies of the '10s, #76: SORRY TO BOTHER YOU (2018)
90. JOHN DIES AT THE END (2013)
89. BRIDESMAIDS (2011)
88. THE WITCH (2015)
87. HOW TO SURVIVE A PLAGUE (2012)
86. THE TREE OF LIFE (2011)
85. THE BABADOOK (2014)
84. REAL STEEL (2011)
83. MUDBOUND (2018)
82. STAN & OLLIE (2018)
81. STOKER (2013)
80. ROOM 237 (2012)
79. UPGRADE (2018)
78. MIDSOMMAR (2019)
77. FENCES (2016)
76. SORRY TO BOTHER YOU (2018)
With Sorry to Bother You, Boots Riley cements his place as a unique new voice in cinema. His style combines the community-building atmosphere of Spike Lee with the absurdist imagery of Terry Gilliam at his height, with a satirical allegory that dares to actually satirize. So much of what passes for satire nowadays is afraid to truly bite. Riley does not play nice with any of his characters, especially his hero.
It takes place in a skewed but very recognizable America, in which Cassius Green (Lakeith Stanfield) must eke out a living as a telemarketer, a job at which he's not very good. When a co-worker (Danny Glover) advises him to use his "white voice," his sales immediately skyrocket. Soon he finds himself climbing the corporate ladder, but he can't get very far up before he starts to disregard the people he left below him. His girlfriend Detroit (Tessa Thompson) is an artist and activist who's protesting the very company he works for.
Riley perfectly captures the desperation in working-class America that leads to isolation: Cassius needs a job to make a living, even if it goes against what he stands for. The "white voice" is a particularly ingenious invention in itself: it implies not only speaking in a "white" accent, but carrying a sort of feigned confidence and casualness, as if this white voice has a lot less to worry about than its non-white owner. The brilliant move was to dub Stanfield with a white actor rather than have him affect a voice; the happy lilt in David Cross's voice is appropriately jarring and hilariously unfitting (Patton Oswalt and Steve Buscemi provide co-workers' white voices).
Though its aim is broad, Sorry to Bother You surprisingly remains sharp in attacking its targets. Riley also hits at self-help gurus and capitalist ubermensches in his portrayal of Steve Lift (Armie Hammer), a combination of Tony Robbins and Elon Musk who has found a way to market slavery as empowerment in his "WorryFree" movement. Just what Lift is up to is something I won't reveal here, but let me profess that the movie set me up to expect the most ridiculous outcome, and it still outdid itself.
In the end, though the movie is decidedly a comedy, the message is uncompromisingly bleak, and though Cassius is its everyman hero, he's also the target as the cog in the capitalist wheel. I was a little disappointed in Riley's decision to include a mid-credits scene that adds a somewhat conventional conclusion. The correct final shot is the one directly before the credits begin, and it's a doozy.
89. BRIDESMAIDS (2011)
88. THE WITCH (2015)
87. HOW TO SURVIVE A PLAGUE (2012)
86. THE TREE OF LIFE (2011)
85. THE BABADOOK (2014)
84. REAL STEEL (2011)
83. MUDBOUND (2018)
82. STAN & OLLIE (2018)
81. STOKER (2013)
80. ROOM 237 (2012)
79. UPGRADE (2018)
78. MIDSOMMAR (2019)
77. FENCES (2016)
76. SORRY TO BOTHER YOU (2018)
With Sorry to Bother You, Boots Riley cements his place as a unique new voice in cinema. His style combines the community-building atmosphere of Spike Lee with the absurdist imagery of Terry Gilliam at his height, with a satirical allegory that dares to actually satirize. So much of what passes for satire nowadays is afraid to truly bite. Riley does not play nice with any of his characters, especially his hero.
It takes place in a skewed but very recognizable America, in which Cassius Green (Lakeith Stanfield) must eke out a living as a telemarketer, a job at which he's not very good. When a co-worker (Danny Glover) advises him to use his "white voice," his sales immediately skyrocket. Soon he finds himself climbing the corporate ladder, but he can't get very far up before he starts to disregard the people he left below him. His girlfriend Detroit (Tessa Thompson) is an artist and activist who's protesting the very company he works for.
Riley perfectly captures the desperation in working-class America that leads to isolation: Cassius needs a job to make a living, even if it goes against what he stands for. The "white voice" is a particularly ingenious invention in itself: it implies not only speaking in a "white" accent, but carrying a sort of feigned confidence and casualness, as if this white voice has a lot less to worry about than its non-white owner. The brilliant move was to dub Stanfield with a white actor rather than have him affect a voice; the happy lilt in David Cross's voice is appropriately jarring and hilariously unfitting (Patton Oswalt and Steve Buscemi provide co-workers' white voices).
Though its aim is broad, Sorry to Bother You surprisingly remains sharp in attacking its targets. Riley also hits at self-help gurus and capitalist ubermensches in his portrayal of Steve Lift (Armie Hammer), a combination of Tony Robbins and Elon Musk who has found a way to market slavery as empowerment in his "WorryFree" movement. Just what Lift is up to is something I won't reveal here, but let me profess that the movie set me up to expect the most ridiculous outcome, and it still outdid itself.
In the end, though the movie is decidedly a comedy, the message is uncompromisingly bleak, and though Cassius is its everyman hero, he's also the target as the cog in the capitalist wheel. I was a little disappointed in Riley's decision to include a mid-credits scene that adds a somewhat conventional conclusion. The correct final shot is the one directly before the credits begin, and it's a doozy.
The 100 Worst Movies of the '10s, #83: SWISS ARMY MAN (2016)
95. THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN (2016)
94. TRUTH OR DARE? (2018)
93. MORTDECAI (2015)
92. MAGIC IN THE MOONLIGHT (2014)
91. ANNABELLE (2014)
90. LIVE BY NIGHT (2017)
89. SAFE HAVEN (2013)
88. PAUL BLART: MALL COP 2 (2015)
87. DARK CRIMES (2016)
86. THE HUNGER GAMES (2012)
85. ONLY GOD FORGIVES (2013)
84. GROWN UPS 2 (2013)
83. SWISS ARMY MAN (2016)
Yes, I know, a lot of people are very fond of this movie. I'm not.
I get how the very funny premise buys it a little bit of understanding. A man named Hank (Paul Dano), stranded on a desert island, is about to kill himself. Then at the last second, he sees someone floating to shore. Hank figures this to be the sign that he should try to survive, even though the man on shore (Daniel Radcliffe) is very much dead.
I wish the movie had stuck with its first conceit in the use of Radcliffe as the dead body, named "Manny" by his living companion. Hank finds all sorts of uses for the titular Swiss Army Man: he uses him to crack open coconuts, he stores fresh water in his stomach, he uses his farts to propel the two of them like a jetski through water.
But then directors Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert abandon the most interesting aspect of their movie and focus on the triter relationship between Hank and his imaginary friend. I suppose there's a place for such a friendship, a sort of parody of Tom Hanks's "Wilson!" buddy in Cast Away, but the directors seem dead set on taking a novel, silly idea to hackneyed, boring places.
Give credit to Radcliffe for committing to this very strange role, and to Dano for earnestly playing his very not-strange one. When the movie finally reveals its game in the last act, it feels less like pulling the rug out from under itself than it does throwing a wet blanket over itself. The significance of Mary Elizabeth Winstead's character (who turns up in flashbacks throughout) is a groaner, and casts a shadow over the Hank character, making him seem not only pathetic but predatory. Matt Zoller Seitz, writing for rogerebert.com, quipped that "One thing you definitely can't say about Swiss Army Man is 'Oh, not that again.'" I'll say it: not another movie where a dangerous lunatic's fantasies are portrayed as cute and twee. Not that again.
94. TRUTH OR DARE? (2018)
93. MORTDECAI (2015)
92. MAGIC IN THE MOONLIGHT (2014)
91. ANNABELLE (2014)
90. LIVE BY NIGHT (2017)
89. SAFE HAVEN (2013)
88. PAUL BLART: MALL COP 2 (2015)
87. DARK CRIMES (2016)
86. THE HUNGER GAMES (2012)
85. ONLY GOD FORGIVES (2013)
84. GROWN UPS 2 (2013)
83. SWISS ARMY MAN (2016)
Yes, I know, a lot of people are very fond of this movie. I'm not.
I get how the very funny premise buys it a little bit of understanding. A man named Hank (Paul Dano), stranded on a desert island, is about to kill himself. Then at the last second, he sees someone floating to shore. Hank figures this to be the sign that he should try to survive, even though the man on shore (Daniel Radcliffe) is very much dead.
I wish the movie had stuck with its first conceit in the use of Radcliffe as the dead body, named "Manny" by his living companion. Hank finds all sorts of uses for the titular Swiss Army Man: he uses him to crack open coconuts, he stores fresh water in his stomach, he uses his farts to propel the two of them like a jetski through water.
But then directors Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert abandon the most interesting aspect of their movie and focus on the triter relationship between Hank and his imaginary friend. I suppose there's a place for such a friendship, a sort of parody of Tom Hanks's "Wilson!" buddy in Cast Away, but the directors seem dead set on taking a novel, silly idea to hackneyed, boring places.
Give credit to Radcliffe for committing to this very strange role, and to Dano for earnestly playing his very not-strange one. When the movie finally reveals its game in the last act, it feels less like pulling the rug out from under itself than it does throwing a wet blanket over itself. The significance of Mary Elizabeth Winstead's character (who turns up in flashbacks throughout) is a groaner, and casts a shadow over the Hank character, making him seem not only pathetic but predatory. Matt Zoller Seitz, writing for rogerebert.com, quipped that "One thing you definitely can't say about Swiss Army Man is 'Oh, not that again.'" I'll say it: not another movie where a dangerous lunatic's fantasies are portrayed as cute and twee. Not that again.
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
The Top 100 Movies of the '10s, #91: EXTREMELY WICKED, SHOCKINGLY EVIL, AND VILE (2019)
98. 1922 (2017)
97. LOCKE (2014)
96. BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE (2018)
95. HELL OR HIGH WATER (2016)
94. IT COMES AT NIGHT (2017)
93. A GIRL WALKS HOME ALONE AT NIGHT (2014)
92. THE INVITATION (2015)
91. EXTREMELY WICKED, SHOCKINGLY EVIL, AND VILE (2019)
What Zac Efron gets right is the hollowness. I have a feeling it's easy to method-act cunning, driven, angry, forlorn, or enthusiastic characters, but hollow is hard. The sense that there's nothing behind the eyes but craftiness. Deception. Planning the next move. No emotions except strategic ones. Hollowness.
Efron and director Joe Berlinger wisely avoid humanizing Ted Bundy, or rationalizing his motives, or explaining his background. It doesn't matter why he is. He just is.
Bundy confessed to murdering 30 people between 1974 and 1978. We don't see any of those murders on screen; we only see the prelude to one of them, and it's a visualization of one of Bundy's confessions. Truth be told, there's very little violence in this film at all, but it feels more violent than it is. That's because the violence is in Bundy's manipulation of the people around him, in his charm and charisma that enamor him to women, in his bland white Republican normalcy that enables him to fade into the background of suburban America.
Except for some glimpses, we see Bundy mostly through the eyes of his girlfriend Liz (Lily Collins), a single mother who is charmed by him one night at a bar and is soon inviting him into her life. Of course, Ted would never harm her: not because he feels an emotional connection to her at all, but because he would be easily caught. Once suspicion falls upon him for a murder in far-away Utah, Liz wants to defend him but soon discovers she cannot.
It doesn't end there. Soon Bundy flees to Florida, where he is suspected in several more gruesome murders. A boisterous televised trial follows, with Ted as its charming antihero. He commands the courtroom: riffing, frivolously objecting, firing his court-appointed attorney, lambasting the judge and prosecution. Efron deftly displays Bundy's hypermasculine confidence, which doubles as his weakness: his assumption that--of course--everyone will believe his plea of innocence, because he's smart enough to convince them. Even the judge (played with stoic authority by John Malkovich) admits to being impressed with Bundy's competence in representing himself. And because Berlinger puts us in the position of the charmed rather than the charmer, we're a little surprised when the guilty verdict comes.
Berlinger, a documentarian who--along with his late partner Bruce Sinofsky--delivered some of the best true-crime work that's ever been made, like Brother's Keeper and the Paradise Lost series, has dealt quite a bit with the notion of prejudice trumping evidence. The borderline-aboriginal family in Brother's Keeper finds it difficult to get a fair shake in court, as do the supposed Satan-worshiping West Memphis Three in Paradise Lost, even when the evidence seems to be in their favor. His much-maligned but underrated Blair Witch 2 spun out from the mockumentary format of the original to explore what happens when the footage doesn't seem to fit the fact.
Here Berlinger shows in disturbing detail how much of the public, including many women, took Bundy's side despite the evidence, possibly because he was handsome, affable, all the things that sociopaths learn to be in order to fool those around them. Even on death row, we see Bundy smiling, joking, still manipulating, still planning the next step. The evidence eventually won out in this case, but Berlinger seems to be saying that even in a seemingly clear-cut case such as Bundy's, it's an uphill slope.
97. LOCKE (2014)
96. BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE (2018)
95. HELL OR HIGH WATER (2016)
94. IT COMES AT NIGHT (2017)
93. A GIRL WALKS HOME ALONE AT NIGHT (2014)
92. THE INVITATION (2015)
91. EXTREMELY WICKED, SHOCKINGLY EVIL, AND VILE (2019)
What Zac Efron gets right is the hollowness. I have a feeling it's easy to method-act cunning, driven, angry, forlorn, or enthusiastic characters, but hollow is hard. The sense that there's nothing behind the eyes but craftiness. Deception. Planning the next move. No emotions except strategic ones. Hollowness.
Efron and director Joe Berlinger wisely avoid humanizing Ted Bundy, or rationalizing his motives, or explaining his background. It doesn't matter why he is. He just is.
Bundy confessed to murdering 30 people between 1974 and 1978. We don't see any of those murders on screen; we only see the prelude to one of them, and it's a visualization of one of Bundy's confessions. Truth be told, there's very little violence in this film at all, but it feels more violent than it is. That's because the violence is in Bundy's manipulation of the people around him, in his charm and charisma that enamor him to women, in his bland white Republican normalcy that enables him to fade into the background of suburban America.
Except for some glimpses, we see Bundy mostly through the eyes of his girlfriend Liz (Lily Collins), a single mother who is charmed by him one night at a bar and is soon inviting him into her life. Of course, Ted would never harm her: not because he feels an emotional connection to her at all, but because he would be easily caught. Once suspicion falls upon him for a murder in far-away Utah, Liz wants to defend him but soon discovers she cannot.
It doesn't end there. Soon Bundy flees to Florida, where he is suspected in several more gruesome murders. A boisterous televised trial follows, with Ted as its charming antihero. He commands the courtroom: riffing, frivolously objecting, firing his court-appointed attorney, lambasting the judge and prosecution. Efron deftly displays Bundy's hypermasculine confidence, which doubles as his weakness: his assumption that--of course--everyone will believe his plea of innocence, because he's smart enough to convince them. Even the judge (played with stoic authority by John Malkovich) admits to being impressed with Bundy's competence in representing himself. And because Berlinger puts us in the position of the charmed rather than the charmer, we're a little surprised when the guilty verdict comes.
Berlinger, a documentarian who--along with his late partner Bruce Sinofsky--delivered some of the best true-crime work that's ever been made, like Brother's Keeper and the Paradise Lost series, has dealt quite a bit with the notion of prejudice trumping evidence. The borderline-aboriginal family in Brother's Keeper finds it difficult to get a fair shake in court, as do the supposed Satan-worshiping West Memphis Three in Paradise Lost, even when the evidence seems to be in their favor. His much-maligned but underrated Blair Witch 2 spun out from the mockumentary format of the original to explore what happens when the footage doesn't seem to fit the fact.
Here Berlinger shows in disturbing detail how much of the public, including many women, took Bundy's side despite the evidence, possibly because he was handsome, affable, all the things that sociopaths learn to be in order to fool those around them. Even on death row, we see Bundy smiling, joking, still manipulating, still planning the next step. The evidence eventually won out in this case, but Berlinger seems to be saying that even in a seemingly clear-cut case such as Bundy's, it's an uphill slope.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
The 100 Worst Movies of the '10s, #96: RINGS (2017)
100. THE GIRL IN THE SPIDER'S WEB (2018)
99. 31 (2016)
98. THE ROOMMATE (2011)
97. WAR ON EVERYONE (2016)
96. RINGS (2017)
A lot of people complain about cancel culture. I'm more irritated with resurrection culture.
Somewhere along the line, movie studios got the idea that just because a series has lain dormant for a few years, a reboot or sequel or remake is somehow warranted. Sometimes, as with the long-awaited revival of The X-Files, it's worthwhile. Other times, as with the ill-fated fifth entry in the Pirates of the Caribbean saga, it's not. Rings, the revival of the Samara saga of the American version of The Ring (2002), is boring and ineffectual in addition to being unnecessary.
Give credit to director F. Javier Gutierrez (I know, I know--what did Javier Gutierrez ever do to me) for injecting as much atmosphere as he can. The credited writers are no flunkies, either: Akiva Goldsman has a ton of heavy hits to his name, and made a little throwaway thriller a few years ago called Stephanie that was a lot of fun; Jacob Aaron Estes has made some decent indie films, including the haunting Mean Creek; David Loucka wrote a moderate flop called Dream House that nonetheless introduced future spouses Daniel Craig and Rachel Weisz, and a year later wrote a turd called The House at the End of the Street that was notable for headlining a budding star named Jennifer Lawrence--but more on that one later in the countdown.
Rings lands upon some interesting premises in its first half-hour, and then jettisons them immediately in favor of another pseudo-whodunit in which the main character tries to piece together the clues. Why? We know from six or seven previous movies between the U.S. and Japan that it doesn't matter and she gets you in the end.
The more successful movies in the series--namely the first Japanese Ringu and the American sequel The Ring Two--worked because they focused more on experience and less on plot. The premise is simple--that there's a VHS tape that kills anyone who watches it--but most of the movies in the series can't find a way to let the primal horror speak for itself. What's scary is not the quest to find out more about the origins of the tape, but the nagging notion that even a silly threat like "You will die in seven days" might be true. Kind of like how the zombies in Night of the Living Dead aren't particularly scary on their own, but the inevitability of a horde of zombies coming toward you slowly but surely chills you to the bone.
The first act gave me hope of some invention in the series. A copy of the deadly tape ends up in the hands of Gabriel (Johnny Galecki, really stretching to play a sketchy college professor), who of course spins it into an academic project and shows it to his students. This could have been an interesting premise: how much of Gabriel's research is based in legitimate curiosity, and how much is smug academic self-congratulation? And how much of it comes from his simply trying to save his own life?
But never mind that. Most of the movie follows Julia (Matilda Lutz), the girlfriend of one of Gabriel's students who has disappeared. She's living at home to take care of her sick mom, who I suppose gets conveniently better once Julia needs to trek off to the corners of the forest to investigate her boyfriend's disappearance. From here on out it's the same old lazy mystery story, following pointless strand after strand, stopping for a bit at Vincent D'Onofrio's house for some reason, and settling into a thudding non-ending.
Though Rings is really too insignificant to make a Bottom 100 list, I'm using it as my stand-in for every franchise that has been needlessly retreaded over the past 10 years. There might have been a way to make a Ring movie seem warranted in 2017, but little effort was made here.
99. 31 (2016)
98. THE ROOMMATE (2011)
97. WAR ON EVERYONE (2016)
96. RINGS (2017)
A lot of people complain about cancel culture. I'm more irritated with resurrection culture.
Somewhere along the line, movie studios got the idea that just because a series has lain dormant for a few years, a reboot or sequel or remake is somehow warranted. Sometimes, as with the long-awaited revival of The X-Files, it's worthwhile. Other times, as with the ill-fated fifth entry in the Pirates of the Caribbean saga, it's not. Rings, the revival of the Samara saga of the American version of The Ring (2002), is boring and ineffectual in addition to being unnecessary.
Give credit to director F. Javier Gutierrez (I know, I know--what did Javier Gutierrez ever do to me) for injecting as much atmosphere as he can. The credited writers are no flunkies, either: Akiva Goldsman has a ton of heavy hits to his name, and made a little throwaway thriller a few years ago called Stephanie that was a lot of fun; Jacob Aaron Estes has made some decent indie films, including the haunting Mean Creek; David Loucka wrote a moderate flop called Dream House that nonetheless introduced future spouses Daniel Craig and Rachel Weisz, and a year later wrote a turd called The House at the End of the Street that was notable for headlining a budding star named Jennifer Lawrence--but more on that one later in the countdown.
Rings lands upon some interesting premises in its first half-hour, and then jettisons them immediately in favor of another pseudo-whodunit in which the main character tries to piece together the clues. Why? We know from six or seven previous movies between the U.S. and Japan that it doesn't matter and she gets you in the end.
The more successful movies in the series--namely the first Japanese Ringu and the American sequel The Ring Two--worked because they focused more on experience and less on plot. The premise is simple--that there's a VHS tape that kills anyone who watches it--but most of the movies in the series can't find a way to let the primal horror speak for itself. What's scary is not the quest to find out more about the origins of the tape, but the nagging notion that even a silly threat like "You will die in seven days" might be true. Kind of like how the zombies in Night of the Living Dead aren't particularly scary on their own, but the inevitability of a horde of zombies coming toward you slowly but surely chills you to the bone.
The first act gave me hope of some invention in the series. A copy of the deadly tape ends up in the hands of Gabriel (Johnny Galecki, really stretching to play a sketchy college professor), who of course spins it into an academic project and shows it to his students. This could have been an interesting premise: how much of Gabriel's research is based in legitimate curiosity, and how much is smug academic self-congratulation? And how much of it comes from his simply trying to save his own life?
But never mind that. Most of the movie follows Julia (Matilda Lutz), the girlfriend of one of Gabriel's students who has disappeared. She's living at home to take care of her sick mom, who I suppose gets conveniently better once Julia needs to trek off to the corners of the forest to investigate her boyfriend's disappearance. From here on out it's the same old lazy mystery story, following pointless strand after strand, stopping for a bit at Vincent D'Onofrio's house for some reason, and settling into a thudding non-ending.
Though Rings is really too insignificant to make a Bottom 100 list, I'm using it as my stand-in for every franchise that has been needlessly retreaded over the past 10 years. There might have been a way to make a Ring movie seem warranted in 2017, but little effort was made here.
The Top 100 Movies of the '10s, #99: MOCKINGBIRD (2014)
100. THE NIGHTMARE (2015)
99. MOCKINGBIRD (2014)
Bryan Bertino's 2008 surprise hit The Strangers was so expertly made (and by a first-time director who learned the craft pretty much on the fly, no less) that it was easy to forget how fairly shallow it was. Though it had moments where Bertino's talent for tension transcended the need for extraneous things like plot and character, there was really nothing left in the end but an empty scream. Some characters survived, some didn't, and so what?
Bertino has come into his own since then, with the well-received character drama/fairytale horror film The Monster in 2016, which featured a career-defining performance from Zoe Kazan. But he made a movie in between, which BlumHouse released directly to streaming without any fanfare, called Mockingbird, and it's not only one of the best horror films of the decade, but a pointed deconstruction of the found footage genre in particular.
The opening title reads "Once upon a time in 1995." Before social media, before cell phones became ubiquitous, before the world turned into a general panopticon where everyone's lives have been more or less documented at every moment. This is important to the story.
The movie is told through three separate parallel narratives, defined by titles as "The Woman," "The Family," and "The Clown." Each is sent a video camera in the mail along with a message of "Congratulations!" and instructions to record themselves. The cameras are already recording and streaming the footage. Just what they've won is unclear, but the victory is not unexpected; all parties make a vague reference to having signed up for a contest at the mall. All are excited to participate in whatever they've just won: after all, they're stars now.
Then the Woman and the Family receive a message demanding that they never stop filming themselves, with a videotape that brutally displays the consequences of disobeying. The Clown gets no threat or demand, but receives a series of increasingly ridiculous instructions which he enthusiastically follows, to the point of embarrassment and self-harm.
Mockingbird was written by Bertino from a story he created along with Sam Esmail, who since has rocketed to auteur status with the brilliant series Mr. Robot, which just wrapped up its four-season run on USA. I don't know exactly what Esmail's contribution here was, but what it shares with his other flagship work is a caution about the fragility of privacy. The characters are completely cavalier about the personal information they give away, in the name of simply performing in a proto-version of a reality TV show or social media. In signing up for the "contest," they've unwittingly signed their lives away. Anyone who's skeptical about this should recite for me any line from Apple terms and conditions.
The movie crosscuts until the three storylines inevitably meet, in an ending that seems contrived because it is. The orchestrators of the "contest" are making their own horror film with unwitting subjects, and they essentially script it without scripting it, similar to any reality TV show. (They even place record players throughout the houses they stalk to score their scenes with foreboding music.) I won't reveal who the orchestrators turn out to be, but it's worth noting that Bertino and Esmail realize that young people have mastered technology that older generations still treat as novel. Just look at the number of baby boomers taken in by Trump bluster, Q conspiracies, and online scams. In the end, "reality" can be scripted as easily as fiction can. Maybe easier.
99. MOCKINGBIRD (2014)
Bryan Bertino's 2008 surprise hit The Strangers was so expertly made (and by a first-time director who learned the craft pretty much on the fly, no less) that it was easy to forget how fairly shallow it was. Though it had moments where Bertino's talent for tension transcended the need for extraneous things like plot and character, there was really nothing left in the end but an empty scream. Some characters survived, some didn't, and so what?
Bertino has come into his own since then, with the well-received character drama/fairytale horror film The Monster in 2016, which featured a career-defining performance from Zoe Kazan. But he made a movie in between, which BlumHouse released directly to streaming without any fanfare, called Mockingbird, and it's not only one of the best horror films of the decade, but a pointed deconstruction of the found footage genre in particular.
The opening title reads "Once upon a time in 1995." Before social media, before cell phones became ubiquitous, before the world turned into a general panopticon where everyone's lives have been more or less documented at every moment. This is important to the story.
The movie is told through three separate parallel narratives, defined by titles as "The Woman," "The Family," and "The Clown." Each is sent a video camera in the mail along with a message of "Congratulations!" and instructions to record themselves. The cameras are already recording and streaming the footage. Just what they've won is unclear, but the victory is not unexpected; all parties make a vague reference to having signed up for a contest at the mall. All are excited to participate in whatever they've just won: after all, they're stars now.
Then the Woman and the Family receive a message demanding that they never stop filming themselves, with a videotape that brutally displays the consequences of disobeying. The Clown gets no threat or demand, but receives a series of increasingly ridiculous instructions which he enthusiastically follows, to the point of embarrassment and self-harm.
Mockingbird was written by Bertino from a story he created along with Sam Esmail, who since has rocketed to auteur status with the brilliant series Mr. Robot, which just wrapped up its four-season run on USA. I don't know exactly what Esmail's contribution here was, but what it shares with his other flagship work is a caution about the fragility of privacy. The characters are completely cavalier about the personal information they give away, in the name of simply performing in a proto-version of a reality TV show or social media. In signing up for the "contest," they've unwittingly signed their lives away. Anyone who's skeptical about this should recite for me any line from Apple terms and conditions.
The movie crosscuts until the three storylines inevitably meet, in an ending that seems contrived because it is. The orchestrators of the "contest" are making their own horror film with unwitting subjects, and they essentially script it without scripting it, similar to any reality TV show. (They even place record players throughout the houses they stalk to score their scenes with foreboding music.) I won't reveal who the orchestrators turn out to be, but it's worth noting that Bertino and Esmail realize that young people have mastered technology that older generations still treat as novel. Just look at the number of baby boomers taken in by Trump bluster, Q conspiracies, and online scams. In the end, "reality" can be scripted as easily as fiction can. Maybe easier.
Tuesday, July 16, 2019
VICE (2018)
There may be no way to make a movie about Dick Cheney, mainly because he's probably the most secretive politician in history, but also because to be true, he's impossible to humanize. Adam McKay, the writer and director of Vice, certainly pulls no punches in going after him. There's no ambiguity as to where Mr. McKay lies on the political spectrum, and nothing up in the air about his lingering anger toward the administration Cheney led and the heap that Cheney and his cohort left the country to clean up. The thesis of the movie, essentially, is this:
A completely valid approach, but also not a particularly challenging one. I voted against Cheney both times. I know he's a monster. Convince me he's a human being.
McKay graduated from SNL and goofy comedies like Anchorman to make The Big Short, a fascinating ensemble film which detailed the collapse of the housing market that Cheney partially oversaw. That movie, like Vice, mixed straight-faced social commentary with academic narration and acidic satire, but in taking essentially the format of a heist movie, it put human faces on its protagonists of varying moral sensibility. McKay particularly coaxed unique performances out of Christian Bale, as an eccentric math whiz, and Steve Carell, as a disgruntled stock market player who, the economy be damned, feels he's owed.
Though Bale and Carell turn up again here and give laudable performances, the humanity is missing. I suspect that McKay's collaborator on The Big Short, Charles Randolph, provided the conventional frame that gave its epic story shape, while McKay provided the acidic humor and righteous rage. Here, from a script he wrote by himself, McKay only has the acid.
He tries to apply the same explain-it-to-me-like-I'm-a-six-year-old method of The Big Short, having a working-class father named Kurt (Jesse Plemons) narrate Cheney's story from beginning to... well, near-end. We get a glimpse of Cheney's early years, a couple of his DUIs, his failure at Yale, and his being saved by the sternness of his dedicated wife Lynne (Amy Adams, wasted), who is played as more of a Lady Macbeth figure than I imagine the real Lynne Cheney is. We see his solidifying of power as he works his way from chief of staff to then-Congressman Donald Rumsfeld (Carell, hilarious) to Wyoming Congressman for 10 years, to Secretary of Defense, to Vice President.
The early scenes are a bit of a yawn, since the movie doesn't get to its red meat until the Bush years. It's then that we see the Cheney we know: scheming, gaining influence, consolidating as much power as he can in the Vice President's office, to the point where he's ordering planes to be shot down on September 11th without the President's authority. Since Cheney is all skill and no personality, there's really no point to the setup. There's no spark to his relationship with Lynne other than their collaborative scheming, which I suppose is the point.
The only moment where Mr. Cheney registers as a human being is his defense of his daughter Mary (played well by Allison Pill), who came out of the closet shortly before his run for the White House. It's Dick who defends her--against a casually apathetic George W. Bush (Sam Rockwell, grinning and empty) and against the ambitious Lynne--and his defense withers away toward the end, as he throws Mary under the bus to make way for his older daughter Liz (Lily Rabe) to run for Senate as an opponent to marriage equality. This turnaround could have sparked a real human conflict in the Cheneys, but either McKay isn't interested in it, or the Cheneys just aren't all that complicated. I think it's the latter.
Christian Bale is magnificent in his impersonation of Cheney, not only in his embodying of each mannerism but in his endowing each facet of Cheney's persona with its own purpose. He and McKay have rightly noticed that Cheney's odd way of speaking--in low tones with frequent pauses--demands that his audience listen closely and pay attention, and endows whatever he's saying with a certain gravitas. That was Cheney's game, and Bale gets it.
But how do you make a movie about someone who isn't there? McKay struggles in compiling a subject out of the elusive Cheney. The only real path he has to follow is the audacity of Cheney's ambition and the lengths he goes to in order to grabbing power. To McKay's credit, he still manages a few surprises here: the best scenes are of Cheney's days in the Ford Administration, in which he discovers disturbing loopholes in the limits on the President's power with the help of a young lawyer named Antonin Scalia (Sam Massaro), and of his early days in the W. Bush administration, in which he is constantly amassing influence, bypassing rules, and confirming his general omnipotence with the help of Rumsfeld, lawyer David Addington (Don McManus), chief of staff Scooter Libby (Justin Kirk, slimy), and deputy Sec. Def. Paul Wolfowitz (Eddie Marsan, also slimy). It's in these scenes that the movie feels authentic, and we see to the core of Cheney's opportunism and nihilism.
But McKay doesn't stick with it, probably because there's too much mud to sling. Detailing Dick Cheney's offenses would take the better part of a miniseries. Making hay out of Cheney is similar, I guess, to trying to make any scandals stick to the current occupant of the White House: there's too much. Focus too closely on one infraction and you're ignoring tons of others. Try to cover them all and you spread yourself too thin. Vice's unifying message, if there is one, is delivered in the revelation of Kurt's identity, which is clever but simplistic: at the end, the only thing to take from Cheney's life is that he has no soul, and until recently he had no heart either.
** out of ****
A completely valid approach, but also not a particularly challenging one. I voted against Cheney both times. I know he's a monster. Convince me he's a human being.
McKay graduated from SNL and goofy comedies like Anchorman to make The Big Short, a fascinating ensemble film which detailed the collapse of the housing market that Cheney partially oversaw. That movie, like Vice, mixed straight-faced social commentary with academic narration and acidic satire, but in taking essentially the format of a heist movie, it put human faces on its protagonists of varying moral sensibility. McKay particularly coaxed unique performances out of Christian Bale, as an eccentric math whiz, and Steve Carell, as a disgruntled stock market player who, the economy be damned, feels he's owed.
Though Bale and Carell turn up again here and give laudable performances, the humanity is missing. I suspect that McKay's collaborator on The Big Short, Charles Randolph, provided the conventional frame that gave its epic story shape, while McKay provided the acidic humor and righteous rage. Here, from a script he wrote by himself, McKay only has the acid.
He tries to apply the same explain-it-to-me-like-I'm-a-six-year-old method of The Big Short, having a working-class father named Kurt (Jesse Plemons) narrate Cheney's story from beginning to... well, near-end. We get a glimpse of Cheney's early years, a couple of his DUIs, his failure at Yale, and his being saved by the sternness of his dedicated wife Lynne (Amy Adams, wasted), who is played as more of a Lady Macbeth figure than I imagine the real Lynne Cheney is. We see his solidifying of power as he works his way from chief of staff to then-Congressman Donald Rumsfeld (Carell, hilarious) to Wyoming Congressman for 10 years, to Secretary of Defense, to Vice President.
The early scenes are a bit of a yawn, since the movie doesn't get to its red meat until the Bush years. It's then that we see the Cheney we know: scheming, gaining influence, consolidating as much power as he can in the Vice President's office, to the point where he's ordering planes to be shot down on September 11th without the President's authority. Since Cheney is all skill and no personality, there's really no point to the setup. There's no spark to his relationship with Lynne other than their collaborative scheming, which I suppose is the point.
The only moment where Mr. Cheney registers as a human being is his defense of his daughter Mary (played well by Allison Pill), who came out of the closet shortly before his run for the White House. It's Dick who defends her--against a casually apathetic George W. Bush (Sam Rockwell, grinning and empty) and against the ambitious Lynne--and his defense withers away toward the end, as he throws Mary under the bus to make way for his older daughter Liz (Lily Rabe) to run for Senate as an opponent to marriage equality. This turnaround could have sparked a real human conflict in the Cheneys, but either McKay isn't interested in it, or the Cheneys just aren't all that complicated. I think it's the latter.
Christian Bale is magnificent in his impersonation of Cheney, not only in his embodying of each mannerism but in his endowing each facet of Cheney's persona with its own purpose. He and McKay have rightly noticed that Cheney's odd way of speaking--in low tones with frequent pauses--demands that his audience listen closely and pay attention, and endows whatever he's saying with a certain gravitas. That was Cheney's game, and Bale gets it.
But how do you make a movie about someone who isn't there? McKay struggles in compiling a subject out of the elusive Cheney. The only real path he has to follow is the audacity of Cheney's ambition and the lengths he goes to in order to grabbing power. To McKay's credit, he still manages a few surprises here: the best scenes are of Cheney's days in the Ford Administration, in which he discovers disturbing loopholes in the limits on the President's power with the help of a young lawyer named Antonin Scalia (Sam Massaro), and of his early days in the W. Bush administration, in which he is constantly amassing influence, bypassing rules, and confirming his general omnipotence with the help of Rumsfeld, lawyer David Addington (Don McManus), chief of staff Scooter Libby (Justin Kirk, slimy), and deputy Sec. Def. Paul Wolfowitz (Eddie Marsan, also slimy). It's in these scenes that the movie feels authentic, and we see to the core of Cheney's opportunism and nihilism.
But McKay doesn't stick with it, probably because there's too much mud to sling. Detailing Dick Cheney's offenses would take the better part of a miniseries. Making hay out of Cheney is similar, I guess, to trying to make any scandals stick to the current occupant of the White House: there's too much. Focus too closely on one infraction and you're ignoring tons of others. Try to cover them all and you spread yourself too thin. Vice's unifying message, if there is one, is delivered in the revelation of Kurt's identity, which is clever but simplistic: at the end, the only thing to take from Cheney's life is that he has no soul, and until recently he had no heart either.
** out of ****
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