"That's a Bingo!" OR "The Shoe Is On the Other Foot"

Photo courtesy Tyler Stout, via We Are Movie Geeks

Fanboys know that Tarantino's WWII flick has been a long, long time coming. The celebrated, controversial, eponymous writer/director announced sometime before the turn of the millennium that he intended to create his own version of the Dirty Dozen (a classic American WWII movie of the earnest, macho 1960's sort, wherein Allied soldiers facing court-martial for various capital offenses are offered the promise of full pardons for undertaking a suicide mission). In the time between this declaration and the eventual release of Inglourious Basterds, a sidelined Tarantino created Kill Bill and the Planet Terror portion of Grindhouse.

I remember very vividly after the release of Kill Bill Pt. 1 in 2003, (which, if generally well-recieved, still achieved nowhere near the universal acclaim of his earlier seminal films Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs) one particularly scathing Internet comment on the film that accused Tarantino of smoking too much weed, watching too much kung-fu and becoming too deluded to realize the difference between quality and self-indulgence in his filmmaking. So if one sect of ultra-loyal Tarantino worshiping fanboys were always unequivocally excited for his WWII project, by the time of Kill Bill, an increasing subset of geekdom was becoming more vocally dubious about his abilities. Can anyone blame them? As it is with any long-in-development project from an artistic giant, e.g. Guns and Roses Chinese Democracy, the more time that goes by, the less likely it is that the results will come anywhere close to justifying the wait.

But of course, the majority of the moviegoing public has minimal-to-no knowledge about this back story. They simply began seeing trailers a few months ago with a hillbilly-accented Brad Pitt talking about killing Nazis and then, FLASH: Tarantino's name, and they either bought into that premise or they didn't.

Fortunately for Tarantino, and, more fortunately for the film's producers, the Weinstein's (who are struggling financially as David Segal expertly reported in the New York Times), Inglourious Basterds looks to be a critical and commercial hit. True, it's not going to match the stellar success of Pulp Fiction - and again, what could? - but it's going to come close, maybe even ascending to his second-highest gross by the time its all said and done. And yet I would argue that the most fortunate people in this whole situation are actually us, the American moviegoing public, fanboys and the less-rabid folk alike. Why's that? Well, the simple truth is that Inglourious Basterds is just a thoroughly well-made film in all aspects. It's confidently written, inspiringly directed, expertly acted, and cleverly edited. It's entertaining, intellectual, insightful, violent, humorous, daring, fun, occasionally romantic and at least in a few notable instances, appropriately tragic. Yes, the film is also occasionally sadistic and gory, but c'mon, that's Tarantino, and, as I alluded to before, you're either down with that side of his work or you're not.

On more than one occasion, as those close to me will attest, I have actually been conspicuously among "you're not" segment of the population, as in I've not always been sold on Tarantino's artistic merit. I found Pulp Fiction to be highly overrated (for a film about hitmen and other unsavory characters, there's more than a few stretches of time where it's damn boring) and Reservoir Dogs to be more gratuitous and nihilistic than it was subversive. I remember vocally criticizing the first Kill Bill for its monotony of violence, but it has grown on me tremendously, especially in light of Kill Bill Vol. 2, which I still personally enjoy the most out of all his films (any director that has the chutzpah to blacken the screen for minutes at a time, relying solely on audio to move the plot forward, deserves my unbridled appreciation).

Yet in the run-up to to Inglourious Basterds I felt a strange sense of excitement, of honest anticipation. Even reading the early mixed-reactions out of Cannes didn't dissuade me in the slightest, in-fact, I felt an even stronger conviction that I would enjoy this film. It wasn't just the marketing that sold me, for some odd reason I was eager to see what Tarantino would do with the setting, with the actors. More on that last point: He is well-known for re-invigorating the careers of actors in deep slumps (see Travolta circa '91, Carradine circa '03), but in this case, he's got a leading man at the top of his game (Brad Pitt) and some notable ascending names (B.J. Novak, Eli Roth).

Whether it was some sort of unnoticed maturation, evolution in my own moviegoing taste or an overall low-quality year of films, or some combination thereof, I really, genuinely wanted to see and appreciate Inglourious Basterds for what I thought it would be: a violent, Grimm-stye adult fairytale set in WWII era France.

So it was that I found myself in the awkward position of defending the picture a day-or-so before it's official release, prior to myself or it's would-be detractors seeing it. What happened was this: At my internship, during a fairly ordinary lunch period on the sun-scorched roof-patio of our office building here in DC, a common discussion about weekend plans ensued. I proposed the idea of getting a group of interns to see Inglourious Basterds on opening (Friday) night, only to be greeted with reactions of harsh distaste, even disgust at the suggestion. Two of my fellow interns, friends of mine, were unapologetic in their pre-determined aversion to and boycott of the film. Amidst my own surprise and rising defensiveness (I thought it was a fine idea for a night's entertainment? No?), I attempted to understand their strong position against it. Apparently, I had neglected to consider the strong, implicit sociopolitical implications of the film: The fact that was set during WWII, that it was not factual but could be misread as such, that it was openly described as being a "Jewish Revenge" fantasy ("Kosher-Porn," according to one notable review), raised a host of problematic issues for those concerned about the present state of Jews, Anti-Semitism, Israel, Palestinians, The Middle East and all other related hotbeds of real-life controversy, to say nothing of the historical legacy of WWII, Nazism and the Holocaust.

"But Tarantino's not concerned with those things," I protested. "Look, you're reading too much into it." I.e. superimposing too many of your own intellectual preoccupations onto the film. "The movie isn't about World War Two, it's a spaghetti-western that happens to be set in World War Two, it uses World War Two as the backdrop." This proved to be an unsatisfactory defense, as the very fact that the writer/director would have the audacity to trivialize the memory of World War II with a fanciful, farcical story was evidence of the film's irresponsibility and lack of taste. I tried in vein to bring up the fact that many other directors and popular entertainment had done just this, creating fictional, humorous plots out of a real tragedy, but to no avail. We agreed to disagree, and that was that.

But I will say I was wrong about one of my latter, pre-viewing assertions: WWII is NOT just a backdrop for the film. Indeed, by the end of the movie, our titular protagonists are thrust into the absolutely most vital position in the Allied offense. The course of an alternate war history is irrevocably altered because of the deliberate machinations of characters and resulting events. This is the simultaneously the most bold and ridiculous aspect of the movie, but it is unabashedly so, as we would expect from Tarantino. Furthermore, I would argue that by not compromising his vision, by deliberately warping historical narrative, with all of the negative connotations that may have on a particular segment of the audience wedded to Saving Private Ryan-style historical reenactment, the filmmaker actually succeeds in making this the most raw, powerful and emotive part of the show.

Meanwhile, devotees of Tarantino-signature dialogue have more than enough to chew on with this screenplay, which employs the various languages of the European front so often that the subtitles become a source of self-reflective comedy. Two of my favorite lines form the title of this review, but it is the second, "The shoe is on the other foot," that really gets at the heart of what is going on in and with this film.

All but the most deliberately disengaged know what it's ostensibly about going in: A squad of Jewish-American soldiers are assigned to massacre, to brutalize, some would say terrorize, as many Nazis as they possibly can in Occupied France. In trailers we hear Brad Pitt's character, the commanding officer, Lt. Aldo Raine, saying he wants every one of the men under his command to be scalping the Nazi soldiers they take down, with each man responsible for producing no less than 100 Nazi scalps. A grim (if you're like me, darkly-comedic, but grim nonetheless) directive to be certain, but the trailers do not evidence how successful, if at all, the men are in this enterprise. But watching the film, we quickly learn that they are stunningly so, enough to rattle Hitler himself. Thus, the shoe is indeed on the other foot- with the overwhelming numbers of Hitler's "master race" irrationally fearing the wrath of a very small number of the very group they systematically objectified, subjugated and exterminated.

I recently claimed, in conversation, that Inglorious Basterds was Tarantino's most mainstream film, and I still stand by this assertion. What is more universally agreed upon than the evil of the Nazis and the righteousness of the Allied forces in taking them down?

But that's just an excuse for Tarantino to mess with us: By inverting the role of the pursuer, making the Nazis the victim of a group of sadistic and yet still undeniably charismatic and "good" American soldiers, the film becomes much more interesting and emotionally complex. The same goes for another hero, the French Jew Shosanna, whose early, horrific escape from the film's principle Nazi villain drives her to plan an epic, cold-bolded massacre of her own. Time and time again, as the plot unfolds, Tarantino reverses the relative roles of the characters in the film- moving them between polarizing positions of dominance and subjugation, of moral superiority and compromise, of power and powerlessness. This is, for me, the chief accomplishment of the film, and the reason it is so satisfying on so many levels, the fact that it is ultimately all predicated on the continuous shifting of power-dynamics. To be certain, it is not very faithful to historical reality at all, but at the same time, I cannot help but think, from my perspective some 60+ years later, that Tarantino is actually being quite faithful to the essence of WWII, with all of its untold moral ambiguity and then-uncertain outcome.

In Sum: A masterful film that is an undeniable, exceptional, rollicking good time, in spite of its sociopolitical baggage. Undoubtedly the best of '09, thus far.

Time keeps on slipping

This post isn't about me, per se. It's about the frequently attempted, perpetually postponed, hyper-idealized, bitterly contested fanboy-altar that is WATCHMEN. But before I write about this odd, bold yet unmistakably unwieldy beast of a film, I have to write a few words about myself.

Firstly, I am a Watchmen fanboy. I am a film geek. But I haven't but updating this blog with anywhere close to the frequency that I did when I first began it in the Autumn of 2007. At that time, I was third-year University student (junior) enrolled in the Magazine Journalism program, and I thought I wanted to become a professional movie critic.

I am now, in the Spring of 2009, just a few weeks shy of my graduation, slated to receive a Bachelor of Arts in Magazine Journalism and another in Religious Studies, and all that I know is that I want to write.

The American college experience is supposed to change one's life markedly, at least as far as the price-tag goes. And indeed, I can evaluate my four college years as being some of the most profound, entertaining, and altogether wonderful years of my life. I have been blessed to have a supportive group of educators and more importantly, good friends, whom have taught me much about the life, the world, and myself. I know for instance that reviewing or following movies as a profession would be fun, but not if I have to "sell-out" and write in a disingenuously-flattering or over-simplified way.

Type type type! Get to the point, right? What does this have to do with Watchmen? I read the original Watchmen graphic novel as a junior, a few posts into my self-proclaimed "introspective movie reviews" blog. Although I read a good number of comics growing up thanks to the influence of my cousins, I didn't discover the work of Alan Moore until I was at university. (I'm not going to get into the graphic novel vs. comic debate here, but sufficed to say, I often use the terms interchangeably, although I recognize why some people maintain a firm distinction)

Well before I had connected Moore to Watchmen, I had read reports on AICN, CHUD, and all the other film news that I check consistently about its potential development as a film. First it was Terry Gilliam who had tried to make it in the 80's, as I recall. Then it was Aronofsky, then Greengrass, etc. etc. ad nasuem. Then there was time putting Watchmen on it's list of the 100 greatest novels of 20th century, the sole graphic-novel. My interest was sufficiently piqued. Why was this title so difficult to translate to the screen?

I had to read it for myself, of course. So I went back to the library, procured a copy and although it would be cool to say I read it in a single sitting, I did not- instead I read it over a few nights span in the Winter of 2007/08, during my break from school. When I finished, my life was changed. I never anticipated a comic-book to be able to affect me in the Watchmen did. M(o)ore importantly, I never anticipated a comic-book to be written the way that Watchmen was- with so much character development, background and historical commentary. I was surprised and delighted to discover Moore had taken the time to include material written by the characters themselves in the book. But it was the underlying ideology that really struck with me. This effort to humanize the characters, to humanize the story, to put it in the same world as we live in, where nations are the only things that are considered "superpowered," and all of our role models have some skeletons in their closets. This effort to include moral, philosophical and psychological complexity, this is what I truly admired the most.

SPOILER ALERT

Before I saw the film, I thought about ways to quickly summarize Watchmen for people who hadn't read it. Like that website that does one sentence movie reviews. A foolhardy endeavor, to be sure, but one that I engaged in for some moments nonetheless. I came up with a few possibilities: "Superheroes age and discover that their biggest enemy is within themselves." That sounded nice, except it neglected Veidt's role as the conspiratorial mastermind. "Aging superheroes fight internal struggles while attempting to uncover a worldwide conspiracy." What about the cold war? The whole American experience angle, the dashed American Dream? The parallel history? "In an alternate 1986, costumed American heroes are real, but the combination of their conflicted personalities and Cold War anxiety has rendered them outcasts. As nuclear war between the USSR and the USA seems more and more inevitable, one hero's mysterious murder propels those remaining back into action to uncover a global conspiracy." Ugh. It is impossible, you see? Watchmen cannot be effectively summarized- or at least I have yet to see one. Definitely creates problems for pitching the screenplay.

But that was never the problem, really. Everyone in Hollywood WANTED to make Watchmen. So many people tried and failed. All along, Alan Moore kept his distance, raining criticism every cinematic adaptation of his work from his mystical retreat in England. And why shouldn't he? "LXG" was a notorious flop, and will be eternally remembered as such. "From Hell," totally forgettable. "V for Vendetta," the only one to recieve some critical and popular praise, was still santized and trimmed and dumbed down for the masses. Moore was well in his rights to be dead-set against a Watchmen adaptation.

Finally, Zach Synder came along, remade "Dawn of the Dead" and suprised everyone when it turned out to be actually pretty good. Even more stunning was "300," a "niche," "fanboy," call-it-what-you-will-to-make-it-sound-less-mainstream comic book adaptation that made some $70 mil its opening weekend. As for as movie execs and most American moviegoers were concerned, Snyder was 3 for 2 at that point- a "rookie" director on an impossible winning streak. Why the fuck not take on the most daunting of projects, the "un-adaptable" Watchmen? Why not?

Well, now, on Monday, March 23 we have the answer. Believe me, I was hoping that the Watchmen film would be great. Everything I read about the production indicated to me that Snyder and Co. were doing the title do-justice, recreating locations, scenes and characters in excruciating detail. Fuck, they even had the original illustrator Dave Gibbons on board. I wanted everyone, from fanboys to my mother (ok, maybe not her, but point made) to go into the theater and be absolutely blown away by the literary grandeur and sheer inventiveness of Watchmen. I wanted everyone to feel in their bones, in their soul, that Watchmen was the greatest story about comic superheroes that has ever been told, because that's how I felt when I read the book.

Of course, I was let down. It didn't happen the way it should have- not to me, not to anyone. Nobody left the theater after the film thinking "that was one of the most awe-inspiring, brilliant things I've ever seen." Even the fanboys like myself just had to internally justify the cheesy dialogue, the slapstick violence, the pornographic sexuality, and all while we were watching the film for the first time. Nothing about the film conveyed any literary merit whatsoever. What happened? What went wrong? Did Alan Moore's curses really work?

Maybe. But the bottom line that the direction wasn't good. Yes, it was lots of word-for-word dialogue and narration from the book. Yes, the filmmakers were careful to convey the tone of dread, angst and loathing, and, where appropriate, love, appreciation and reconciliation. But it just didn't ring true. Characters, set pieces, situations themselves were played for their sheer, comical outlandishness rather than for their unsettling strangeness and earnest, complex emotion.

I thought the point of the Watchmen graphic-novel was to anchor superheroes in reality, though not in the same way that "The Dark Knight" anchored Batman to the streets of a gritty, mob-infested version of Chicago. No, the Watchmen graphic novel was so good because in anchored superheroes to the reality of the human mind- to the fact that there are psychological motivations in all for us for fighting, sacrificing, seeking attention and simultaneously masking our true selves from the world.

You don't have to have your parents killed in an ally to want justice for criminals, for instance. All it takes is being alive in the world to know that it's fucked up, and that somebody should do something about it. Moreover, in being alive for some years, most people learn that most things, including the most important things, are beyond their control. And yet, the human potential for creativity, for accomplishment, is surprisingly unlimited- especially when it is least expected. This is a curious, profoundly vexing dichotomy to recognize, and it is expressed nowhere better than in the original Watchmen.

Maybe I demand too much of my films. Maybe I demand too much of the people making them, or, more probably, people in general. After all, we are profoundly limited and powerless so much of the time. But watching the Watchmen film on that opening Thursday night at midnight, my girlfriend and I both off to the far left side of the screen because the theater was so packed with people in my demographic (20s, college, geek), I couldn't help but imagine what it could have been. Imagine a dark, gritty, "Se7en"ish Watchmen directed by David Fincher. Or a profoundly intellectual and artistic one by Aronofsky. Or a raw, unflinching one by Danny Boyle. I wanted a Watchmen with gray and white and shiny metal tones, with slow, deliberate close ups and meditative long shots, with an original weird, bubbly and minimalistic synth-orchestra soundtrack. I wanted it to be a subtle, heavy, introspective mystery as opposed to a slick, light, action/adventure. I wanted my Watchmen to be so uncool it was cool, rather than the reverse.

I understand what Alan Moore is so paranoid about, because now I'm paranoid about the same things. Yeah, sure, you can try and make something that appeals to a bunch of different people, to society at large. But in the end, unless you are doing what you are doing for you, without regard for what other people will think, its not going to be very good. That's why I resumed writing on this blog- For me. I had stopped because I was discouraged and disenchanted with my professional experiences trying to review film. Everyone who I saw succeeding was doing so at the cost of authenticity and originality. The Watchmen film suffered from precisely this problem- trying to remain loyal and yet appeal to everyone and their mother.

At least it was about as long as I expected, which is still shorter than this post.

In Sum: A monumental effort at adapting an epic piece of fiction, but a wholly misguided and ultimately futile one. Irony abounds.

Bah Slumbug!

Slumdog Millionaire is this year's City of God. Think about it: Both films are about male-pair relationships (best friends/brothers), set in filthy, crime-ridden slums on the outskirts of rapidly modernizing cities (Rio/Mumbai) and shot on location. In either case, the more ambitious of the male protagonists end up falling in with the criminal set. In fact, even the ethically-bound characters are often depicted doing illegal things to survive, mostly petty theft. The films are similarly tragic throughout, although they end on highly triumphant notes. They even have suspiciously analogous openings:





Which is better? See them both, and you tell me...it's a tough call, for sure.

Whip it Goode

Well, I’m summering in London for school credit. I still plan on reviewing new films as they are released here, but since my class has just recently started up I’ve been quite busy with dense reading assignments. As such, I present guest-blogger Saul Goode’s review of one of the summer’s most hyped films: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. As a forewarning, Saul has practiced trepanning on himself, so his opinions should be taken with some discretion.....

Never having seen any of the other films featuring adventurer, archeologist, and entertainer Hannah-Montana Jones, I was a little apprehensive about going to see The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Still, all my friends seemed to be excited about it, and I do love me some historical hijinks, so into the theater I went. 14 dollars and 80 cents (7 pounds, 40 pence) later, I am pleased to report that my skepticism was utterly unfounded: this film is absolutely astounding. There has never been anything quite like it before, except American Graffiti, Grease, The Mummy, Tarzan, Apocalypto, Transformers, Independence Day and Fern Gully, but all of those movies rule as it is so just imagine them combined!

Lucas and Spielberg have finally done it- they’ve come together like two long lost lovers and created the most beautiful, remarkable child the world has ever seen, besides maybe Jesus. Any bad feelings you might have had about the Star Wars prequels will completely vanish once you finish watching this movie. Your head will be so full of wonderful thoughts and images, like clouds of gunpowder and refrigerators flying through the air. You won’t even mind that the movie doesn’t explain some things all the way. The ambiguity in the story is fun! It’s a mystery and a comedy and a videogame combined! There are also lots of animals for the kids: gophers and monkeys and ants and long rubbery snakes and aliens and fearsome indigenous natives who live inside of stone walls.

Some people might complain that there is lots of CGI, but don’t pay attention to them. It all adds to the fun of the movie. That’s the part that makes it seem kind of video-gamey and cool and hip. Every set looks like it was made for a high school play, but at a really rich school.
Instead of taking place in the boring real world with real people, the movie is set in it’s own alternative cartoony world with characters who act funny and amusing and crazy all the time. But that’s not to say that there aren’t any parts that are touching. There are some very important family revelations and instances of real affection that help to balance out all the happy fun and excitement. As they say in this industry; “you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you won’t want to leave with the flying saucers!”

What about Harrison Ford and Shia LeBouf you ask? Well, in the first place, Ford totally embodies the ancient history professor turned committed babysitter. He’s kind of like Elisabeth Shue in Adventures in Babysitting in that he’s the oldest one in the movie, he’s willing to go to great lengths to protect his motley crew, and he’s a romantic at heart. Meanwhile, Shia LeLebouf does a good job inhabitating the rebellious greaser badass, also with a heart (and hair full) of gold. For comparison, my friend Michelle cleverly suggested the film The Outsiders. I think Shia was channeling the great Emilio Estevez, to fantastic effect, I might add.

You would think that a movie this action-packed and zany would fly by, but again, Kingdom of the Crystal Meth is actually really lengthy and epic. The movie starts with a literal bang and although it kind of takes some breathers in the middle, the ending is truly a sight to behold. It’s “out of this world” in more ways than one, and I apologize if that is a spoiler to anyone. But seriously, IJATKOCKS is super KICKASS.

Basically, it’s comparable to the spending the whole day in one of those inflatable “moon” bounce boxes- only it’s on fire, and slowly burning to the ground around you.

-1 out of 10.

-S.G.

BatmAnime Begins!

Having trouble waiting for Bruce Wayne to bust out the Bat again on July 18 in The Dark Knight? Wish you had something to tide you over for the final 10 days? Coming to the rescue on July 8 is Batman: Gotham Knight, with fan-favorite Kevin Conroy as the voice of anime Batman. (Batmanime?) Here's my explanation of this for VOX Magazine.

Second-Hand Smoke

It was probably a bit naive of me to expect Harold and Kumar: Escape from Guantanamo Bay to be equally as good, if not better than its unexpectedly sharp predecessor. Paying for Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle (2004) was like buying a bag of middies, only to find out that it was laced with something extra; fresh, vivid social satire on top of simple comedic green. The re-up has a similar but less potent formula, one that doesn't completely fail to do the job, but never quite produces the same kind of giddy, fits-of-laughter-high as the first.

This biggest problem for me was probably the scope of the plot. The original film was a clever skewering of the road comedy from a tetrahydrocannabinol-aficiando's perspective, with every distance, commute time and minor inconvenience hilariously, accurately exaggerated due to the effects of the drug. All the action was tightly-wound, contained in a radius of some 50 square miles in western New Jersey, an area aptly served by the minimalistic sets and low-budget special effects of the production.

The unremarkable, hedonistic goals of the protagonists were played brilliantly to opposite effect; taking on a kind of soaring, idyllic significance that seemed strangely more honest and realistic than most films "based on a true story." Harold Lee and Kumar Patel came off as refreshingly unpretentious, unsung American heroes championing humble, individual happiness and friendship amidst a social climate of ignorance, intolerance and just plain strangeness. An unforgettable cameo by then-closeted Neil Patrick Harris of television fame, in which he plays a despicably narcissistic, strung-out version of himself, helped to balance and moderate the titular duo's singular desires. In its entirety, the film was perhaps more important for cannabis-decriminalization efforts than it's clear-cut ancestor, the seminal Cheech and Chong-series. Where that similarly ethnic duo were from the get-go stereotypical parodies of unhygenic, unambitious simpleminded drug-users, Harold and Kumar were able to confront the image of intelligent, affluent "model minority" figures without losing any dignity in the process. Even the shameless commercialism of the film's title and ultimate destination, burger-chain White Castle, worked well to this end- validating the lifestyle habits of young, urban, pot-smoking American professionals. (YUPPPIES)

But that was four years ago, at least as far as we in the audience are concerned. (The new film begins minutes after the old one ended, an issue that doesn't ever really get addressed as thoroughly as it should within the context of the narrative). Now we have Harold and Kumar embarking on a more cliche cross country voyage of redemption and self-discovery, away from the worst place you could possibly be when under the influence of drugs; the American military prison at Guantanamo Bay.

This aspect of the plot alone suggests a more pointed, mature and smarter film, but sadly, that's not the case. With the exception of a few vague statements about the implied hypocrisy of the American federal government and Americans in-general, Escape from Guantanamo Bay is mostly preoccupied with crassness and vulgarity. Generally, these are welcome forces in any film if used discerningly, and while Escape from Guantanamo Bay takes a more scattershot approach, for the most part the comedy is spot on.

Watching Neil Patrick Harris eat mushrooms and drink a fifth of Jack-Daniels whiskey while driving through a roadside police-checkpoint is just one of the many small delights in this vein. Another is James Adomian's masterful George W. Bush impersonation. The 28 year old gives the president an endearing, everyman quality. Bush appears as a fun-loving, irresponsible heir struggling to live up to his strict father's high standards, a schtick we've seen before, but one that has rarely seemed as plausible or as acceptable as presented by Adomian.

Unequivocally, my favorite moment of the film, was a scene where a flamboyantly dressed Harold and Kumar end up driving a flashy yellow convertible into a predominantly black, rural Alabaman neighborhood. A bunch of intimidatingly large young men are playing a game of basketball in the street, blocking our heroes path to safety. Harold attempts to turn around only to back the car into a fire-hydrant, sending a spout of water into the air and over the ground, where it spreads to the basketball game. Things go from bad to worse, as they often do when stoned people attempt to correct their errors, but I hesitate to go into further specifics for fear of ruining the scene for prospective viewers. You may imagine, however, what it would be like to be in even the situation described above, and already the comedic possibilities seem quite bountiful.

Escape from Guantanamo Bay's bounty of unsophisticated humor is not enough, though, to overlook some of the weaker aspects of the production; namely, the script, which leans too heavily on the structure of it's forebear, and the expanded setting, for which cheap-special effects and minimalist sets seem too artificial to be representative of reality, even in an allegorical sense. The climax of the film is copied almost directly from Wedding Crashers (2005), an unfortunate choice since it invites an invariable comparison to that film, in which it also comes up short.

And yet, despite all of it's missed opportunity and uninspired riffs on Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, Escape from Guantanamo Bay is tough not to like, at least a little bit. The uptight Harold and easygoing Kumar win you over with their disarming charm, wit and mettle. They are eternal underdogs whose fortunes alternate constantly between the ridiculously terrible and the impossibly fantastic. Up and down the American social ladder they go, encountering a variety of characters obviously designed to evoke Homer's epic The Odyssey, which might even be a deliberate crack at the state of mind of such canonical writers. But even if this is not the case, the film is a fine example of the entertainment value of it's subgenre: the Stoner-Comedy.

In Sum:
My friend Erik astutely gauged the film at 75% of the original, a number that coincides quite well with my viewing experience, although I'd probably even lower that number to 70%. But as Jim Morrison once said: "The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are," and no one could fault either of the Harold and Kumar pictures for being just that. See the sequel if you liked the first, or even if didn't catch it, as this is a fun night out for anyone who can stomach gratuitous nudity and foul language.

The Rats of Nim

It's would be easy to dismiss Nim's Island as a run-of-the mill live-action children's comedy, along the lines of Max Keeble or Agent Cody Banks, except for a few key moments when the madcap trouble-in-paradise gives way to a staunch message of environmental activism. How timely! Nim could have been a bold new, blatantly environmentally conscious youth role-model, yet despite some tantalizing steps in this direction, the narrative of the film is ultimately concerned with a few very self-centered human quests.

Not having read the novel, I cannot authoritatively blame this squandered potential on the filmmakers (Jennifer Flackett and Mark Levin, a bona-fide husband-and-wife pair, at least for now.) But damn, with the high number of recurring animal characters, the avid interest in science expressed by the lead human characters, and the idealistic tropical-island sets, it seems like someone had to go out of their way to keep the film from being the Fern-Gully of the early 21st century.

As it plays in theaters right now across the country, the film isn't even all that terrible or vacuous. It deals with issues that any child would find weighty, such as the death and imperilment of parents, and the impending loss of a home. Less serious are Nim's subtle, cautious first steps towards romance. Fortunately, Abigail Breslin is highly-capable of taking on the role of the precocious young bookworm and adventurer, and by extension, it is her that ends up carrying the majority of the film. While many comic-book geeks (including myself) were frustrated to learn that Gerard Butler was continuing his post-300 sabbatical from gruesome violence for this picture, playing the dual role of Nim's brainy Dad and Indiana-Jones ripoff Alex Rover, one cannot deny his commitment to the part. His performance exudes charm and contagious energy, and if the viewer squints, Butler could almost be mistaken for Sean Connery in his prime.

Then we come to Jodie Foster- the wildcard- she's made her name as a dramatic actress in thrillers...and here she is playing the comedic role of a timid, agoraphobic, o.c.d. novelist. It's not that she lacks the ability to play against type; it's whether viewers will accept it. As an attendee of a screening filled with mostly mothers and young children, I can report that Foster's performance not only went over well with the intended audience, but that she was actually in danger of stealing lead Breslin's thunder. Foster's routine consists of mostly crude slapstick and stereotyping, but that's all that is required of her, as the script makes her character the clumsy victim of virtually every situation. She does display an amazing range of physical movement, but make no mistake, Jim Carrey she is not.

The problems with Nim's Island don't stem from the acting or the straightforward directing style. Rather, they are the result of a criminally unrealized concept and a poorly paced screenplay. The movie clocks in at what should be a very endurable 96 minutes, but begins to drag noticeably during the second half. Situations that should be resolved in a few scenes extend until the conclusion of the film, which comes about abruptly and anti-climatically. The end is so predictable and sloppy, actually, that it undermines almost everything clever about the rest of the story.

The worst offense of all in Nim's Island is that it actually comes near to subverting its' own fundamentally green message. The titular paradise exists as a playhouse for the humans who call it home, and seems to have no purpose outside of catering to their desires. When Nim attempts to prevent a bunch of cruisegoers from descending upon her shores, the effort seems oddly selfish, far less noble than it should, which is perhaps to be expected from a spoiled only child. Yet still, we deserve more than the expected. That's part of the reasons films are worth watching the first place, because they are surprising, exciting and fresh. If Nim's had brought anything new to the table, if it had delivered even slightly more on its' own environmental inclinations, I might be able to recommend it. But as its cut right now, this film is no more enjoyable than a Disney Channel made for TV movie, and only slightly better acted and produced.

In Sum: Even though the premise seemed to promise something special, Nim's Island is barely more than a recycling of tired cliches played out by some very talented actors. The result is nothing short of disappointing, although it is not substantially worse than most films for kids. Save your money and see this one on TV, if at all.

George W. Beowulf

I'd like to say that the primary decision I waited so long to post this review of Beowulf is because I wanted to see it on a conventional movie screen as well as the obviously more visually compelling Imax 3d screen, but the truth is I've just been feeling rather lazy and ill the past few days. However, I did see it in both formats, and now that I'm on the mend, it's time for me to impart my opinions of the latest swords and sex blockbuster, which will invariably be compared to the much hipper, edgier, harder entry in the same genre, "300."

As it should be. "300" saw wide release in the United States not too long ago, in March of this year. Like "Equilibrium" was to "The Matrix," like "Deep Impact," was to "Armageddon," (all films about the same subject released within a year of the other) Robert Zemeckis's noble latest effort, although in development long before "300," will always be remembered by contemporary moviegoers as the younger, less polished sibling of the former film. This is a fairly remarkable situation considering Zemeckis's long history of employing sophisticated technical wizardry to craft classic, beloved, popcorn films.

If someone had told me a year ago that a film by young-gun director Zack Snyder, fresh off the noteworthy but limited success of his "Dawn of the Dead" remake, would achieve a much greater opening weekend box-office total and overall level of popularity than a fresh interpretation of English literary-canon by Zemeckis, I doubt I would have believed it for a second. But- one must of course consider Zemeckis' recent string of duds, including the virtually universally decried "Polar Express," (made using the same motion capture/computer animated technique as Beowulf) and Snyder's youthful enthusiasm and originality.

Notwithstanding, I am very happy to report that "Beowulf" is a fortunate and timely return to form for Zemeckis, and even breaks new some significant new ground for the director, though perhaps not in the way many are expecting.

Now, I must also caution that my opinion is certainly influenced by the fact that I have yet to read the original epic Norse poem in its entirety, and have no firm plans to do so in the near future. This hasn't stopped me from developing what I believe is a pretty solid understanding of the story in its "classical" form, and I am well aware of the many massive liberties taken by screenwriters Gaiman and Avary in this latest cinematic incarnation. Anyone that knows me fairly well might also question my critical reviewing skills when it comes to ANYTHING by Neil Gaiman, one of my all-time favorite authors and personal idols, but I stress; I am not predisposed to like everything the man creates and does. In fact, the latest novel of his I read, "Anansi Boys" struck me as pretty weak and uninspired.

So with that aside, let's examine Beowulf- using the unofficial, unscientific, altogether undignified method that I bring to most films. In terms of technical achievement, which I spoke of briefly in regards to Zemeckis' film catalog earlier, the movie is a vast improvement over "Polar Express." Complaints of zombie-eyes and cold, lifeless facial expressions, which surfaced in reviews of that earlier picture, are unlikely to be applied here. The motion-capture technology hasn't been quite perfected yet, but its getting damn close, and at least it's no longer an unforgivable distraction. If and when you see it, take a look at King Hrothgar's face- a perfect meld between the familiar, stalwart Anthony Hopkins and a vulgar, decrepit Danish king from a time long ago. The fusion is frighteningly realistic at times, and is evident to more or less of a degree in all of the other characters.

However, this is clearly an animated film, and is designed to appear thus, especially in 3-d, much to the surprise and chagrin of at least one of my friends, who was misled by the TV-spots into thinking it was going to be a live action/green-screen fusion ala "300" or "Sin-City." Therefore, I think it would be advisable to look at "Beowulf," not so much as a wannabe "300," but rather as a violent and bloody picture-book come to life, in the vein of Ed Gorey. A story that might have, in a different world, been retold by Pixar Studios, with much more spectacular results.

Even this version of "Beowulf," though not quite as good as it could have been, still manages to be pretty damn spectacular. All of the big action sequences are exquisitely choreographed. The camera, freed from the constraints of physical sets and actors, swims around the screen rapidly and crazily to follow the violence or to close up on a certain character's expression. These movements are never jarring or vomit inducing, though, they are always graceful and deliberate. The fantastical creatures are particularly incredible to look at, formidably detailed and epic in scope, including the absolutely revolting Grendel. The infamous being was my favorite character in the film, thanks to a-near perfect performance by the always good Crispin Glover, who manages to turn the glistening, shuddering frame of the "monster" into something real and emotional, a freak of nature the audience simultaneously fears and pities.

Although he is given a run for this title by his mother, the unbelievable sexpot that is Angelina Jolie. When she first appeared onscreen in humanoid form, slowly rising out of a luminous cave pond, I immediately thought of what it would have been like to see this film as a 13 year old, or younger, and I was both grateful that I was not that age, and envious. Jolie's water-demon is a creature of breathtaking but scandalous beauty. Her voice, her walk (on gold-claws that are made to appear as stillettos), her eyes; all of these ooze the intense, raw, sexual confidence of a porn-star. But like a porn star, she appears almost immediately unwholesome, a tantalizing but potentially dangerous figure who turns out be destined for a much larger purpose than being the object of male (and female) fantasy.

Ray Winstone's "Beowulf," begins the film as a brash, arrogant young muscleman that is not easy to like, (unless you are a 13-year old boy, or a football player) and even less easy to take seriously. Yet by the end, it is his transformation into a resigned, regretful old has-been seeking redemption for his mistakes that is not only the most compelling aspect of the movie, but ironically enough, it's salvation. I'm extremely glad I saw this film the same week I watched "No Country for Old Men," because they make very nice compliments to each other, a point I will hopefully expand upon further in my review for that film.

Because for all of his bravado and boasting, this Beowulf is no stronger than any of us mere-mortals when it comes to temptation. His skill at fighting and womanizing and seizing the opportunity to enhance his own image is undermined by his own lack of foresight, his inability to perceive how his actions will affect his friends and family. This is, of course, a tragic flaw not found in the canon version of the story, and one that would understandably incense some of the more diehard fans and scholars.

It must be said that it is precisely this, though, that distinguishes Beowulf from "300's" Leonidas, or any of the Spartan warriors, and transforms the movie from a brutal, misogynistic, unapologetic orgy of violence and decadence into a fairly cerebral social commentary, one that could not be more appropriate for our morally ambiguous times. Beowulf operates on at least several levels in this regard- first, as a character study of the man himself, but secondly, and more interestingly, as a probe into the collective, seemingly timeless human tendency for creating and exalting certain people as untouchable heroes.

For although Beowulf himself was quite preoccupied with establishing and maintaining his legacy, consequences be damned, it was not he alone that spread the tale of his so-called victories far and wide. As is shown in this film adaptation, the people of his age were hungry for a hero to solve their problems, to lead them out of darkness, to give them a reason to believe that humankind was worth saving. Ordinary people are even willing to overlook the nearly obvious, to ignore pronounced faults and inconsistencies, so that they can retain idealistic, unblemished images of their heroes. Forgive me for bringing politics into this mess, but it is not difficult to see parallels in the way some loyal Neoconservatives in the United States were willing, for the better part of the last decade, to overlook so many of the same faults in their own heroes, especially those occupying the highest political offices in the country. But I do not think this tendency is unique to any particular group of people or ideology.

That is, for me, the one of the most remarkable aspects of this Beowulf movie, that it touches on what I see as a very universal human urge- to entertain those that even give the slightest pretense to heroism, to trust them with our lives and our future, hoping that they can somehow make sense of, or at least distract us from this very complicated, mostly inglorious place we call home.

Towards the end of the film Beowulf attempts to apologize to the forever loyal bride whom he betrayed, saying, "Keep a memory of me, not as a hero, but as a man, fallible and flawed." Once again, this is nothing like the Beowulf one would come to understand from reading the ancient poem, but it is one that makes more sense to us- a self-pitying geezer who has nothing left to offer save belated apologies and a seemingly hopeless, final physical trial to prove he is worth something after all. And SPOILERS AHEAD, low and behold, he succeeds, leaving the audience with a breathtaking, sacrificial last act that almost makes up for his past transgressions. This was my favorite moment in the film, and the one I find to be groundbreaking for Zemeckis. Where most of the director's other films have been inspiring because of their unnecessarily suffering noble leads and mostly happy, sappy, conclusions, this one was inspiring because it captured more realistically the ever-mysterious, contradictory nature of real life. Even people who we have come to mistrust and nearly loathe can surprise us. Even animation, a medium usually relegated to children's stories and comedy, can be used to retell and reinvigorate a longstanding literary classic. Even a tale that is swollen with gratuitous bloodletting and hubris can reveal some very thought-provoking, multifaceted topics about the fragility of humanity (a feature mostly absent from "300"). So, while it suffered from a lack of the spectacular vistas found in the "Lord of the Rings" movies, and an absence of the edgy, artistic hipness of "300," and was weighed down by too many scenes designed specifically to showcase the 3d effect, the "Beowulf" of 2007 still pleased me a great-deal, and I was glad I saw it twice.

In sum: A surprising and mostly successful experiment, but one that still falls short of the greatness achieved by recent masterpiece entries in the genre. Definitely still worth paying for, especially in 3d.