6/8/14 (Part One): Where is Mothra’s Power of Attorney?

Tags

1960's films, Akira Kubo, Akira Takarada, alternate title, astronauts, auteur theory, cinema, Emi Ito, fighting monsters, Film auteurs, film franchise, film reviews, films, Ghidorah, giant monsters, giant moth, Godzilla, Godzilla film, Godzilla films, Godzilla vs Monster Zero, Godzilla vs Mothra, Godzilla vs The Thing, Hiroshi Koizumi, Invasion of Astro Monster, Ishiro Honda, Japan, Japanese cinema, Jun Tazaki, Kenji Sahara, Kumi Mizuno, Mario Bava, monster movies, Monster Zero, Mothra, Mothra Island, Movies, Nick Adams, nuclear radiation, Planet of the Vampires, Planet X, Rodan, sci-fi, science-fiction, taking over the world, tropical islands, Yoshifumi Tajima, Yoshio Tsuchiya, Yu Fujiki, Yumi Ito, Yuriko Hoshi

While I’ve never been as big a fan of him as I am of King Kong or the Kraken, I’ve always enjoyed Godzilla films over the years. While the Toho Godzilla films tended to range in quality and focus over the years (at least as far as I’m concerned), there are a few that have managed to stake out their individual claims on my movie-loving heart. In particular, I’ve always been fond of Godzilla vs Mothra (1964), which features a fairly nutso storyline that manages to ape King Kong (1933) in more ways than one and Godzilla vs Monster Zero (1965), an even battier film that welds Planet of the Vampires (1965)-era Mario Bava to more traditional American ’50s sci-fi. Even though neither film is what I would call amazing, I’ve spent countless rainy afternoons watching them, over the years, and never cease to be entertained.

Godzilla vs Mothra (alt title: Godzilla vs the Thing) bears the benefit of featuring one of Godzilla’s more infamous opponents: the enormous, titular moth. Mothra leaves the relative comforts of its island (Mothra Island) where it’s worshipped like a god (probably because it has an island named after it) and travels to mainland Japan in order to retrieve one of its missing eggs. A recent typhoon (featuring some genuinely cool storm effects) ripped the egg away from the island, depositing it onto the shore where reporter Ichiro Sakai (Akira Takarada) and photographer Yoka Nakanishi (Yuriko Hoshi) just happen to be covering some storm-related flooding. The greedy locals quickly sell the massive egg to a local entrepeneur, Kumayama (Yoshifumi Tajima), who conspires to build a large amusement park around the egg and charge exorbitant admission prices. Kumayama is working hand-in-hand with Banzo Torahata (Kenji Sahara), an even shadier land developer. The twin fairies Shobijin (Emi and Yumi Ito) show up to try to convince the developers to do the right thing and give Mothra Island back their egg but are nearly captured for their troubles. When Sakai, Nakanishi and their new ally, Professor Miura (Hiroshi Koizumi), try to help the fairies appeal to the villains, they are met with the classic request to “provide Mothra’s power of attorney for the egg.” Looks like this is about to go…to the People’s Court.

This wouldn’t be a Godzilla film without the big green guy, however, and it seems that the rampaging typhoon also disturbed his resting place. In short order, Godzilla is stomping about Tokyo, destroying things left and right and generally making a colossal pain in the ass out of himself. When all attempts to subdue/kill/get Godzilla’s attention, someone has the bright idea to see if Mothra might be able to help. As can be expected, however, the folks of Mothra Island are a little bit peeved at the mainlanders and don’t see much reason to lend them their all-powerful moth god. Will Sakai and the Professor be able to convince the people of Mothra Island to give them another chance, even though they’re selfish jerks? Will the aging Mothra be able to summon enough fury to kick the crap out of the big radioactive lizard one last time? Will Reporter Jiro Nakamura (Yu Fujiki) be able to stop eating eggs long enough to cover any of this unfolding chaos?

As previously mentioned, the basic plot and several additional elements of Godzilla vs Mothra definitely owe a debt to King Kong. Mothra Island is similar to the primitive Kong Island, complete with natives doing mysterious rituals, while the “captive egg” and surrounding media circus aspect are pretty easy to peg. Mothra Island is a pretty great location, to be honest, full of strange bleached bones, hypnotic chanting and tropical beauty. It makes a nice contrast to the mainland locations and provides for some nice contrast between the more primitive islanders and the modernized city folks, especially the brash young reporter. The scene where the fairies sing the song to Mothra is hauntingly beautiful, evoking a smoky, mysterious atmosphere that would seem to be at home in either a dark night club or a giant moth’s place of residence.

There are also plenty of genuinely funny moments sprinkled throughout the film, whether the ongoing joke of Jiro’s constant egg eating (this never got old for me) or the His Girl Friday (1940)-esque banter between Sakai and Nakanishi. I also like the surprisingly dark edge that Kenji Sahara brings to the proceedings as the genuinely dangerous Torahata: he doesn’t come across as goofy which provides a nice counterbalance to Tajima’s more bafoonish performance as Kumayama. The rest of the cast is pretty good, with Takarada proving a capable hero and director Ishiro Honda’s direction is typically assured throughout. If I had any complaints, really, it would have to be that the climatic battle between Godzilla and the larvae gets to be kind of tedious: it seems like we watch them spray silk on Godzilla for at least a few weeks, if not longer, and this gives the otherwise kinetic film a rather deflated ending.  Nonetheless, there’s a reason that Godzilla vs Mothra tends to be one of the most widely recognized and liked Godzilla films: it’s a fast, fun romp that’s light on big concepts but heavy on well-filmed destruction.

On the other end of the spectrum from Godzilla vs Mothra, we have Godzilla vs Monster Zero. Here, the P.T. Barnum influence from the first has been replaced by a more daffy, 1960’s swingin’-cocktail kind of sci-fi, the kind perfectly exemplified by Mario Bava’s pioneering Planet of the Vampires. The emphasis here is on strange alien worlds, as the Earth makes contact with a mysterious planet dubbed Planet X. Heroic astronauts Glenn (Nick Adams) and Fuji (Godzilla vs Mothra’s Akira Takarada) are the first earthlings to make contact with the Xers and they find the aliens to be cordial, technologically advanced and in need of a bit of help. It seems that the tyrannical, three-headed dragon Ghidorah (known as Monster Zero to the Xers) rules the surface of their planet, forcing the Xers to live underground. If the humans will be so kind as to lend the Xers Godzilla and Rodan, they’ll be able to use the monsters (known to them as Monsters One and Two) to chase Monster Zero away, allowing them to reclaim the surface. In exchange, the Xers will give Earth a formula for a medicine that will cure all know ailments. Too good to be true, eh?

The plot thickens as nerdy inventor Tetsuo Teri (Akira Kubo), who just happens to be dating astronaut Fuji’s sister, Haruno (Keiko Sawai), runs into some strangeness with the noise-emitting device that he just sold to an educational toy company. The company rep, Miss Namikawa (Kumi Mizuno), seems to be stonewalling Tetsuo: she’s also dating Glenn, which makes everyone’s private lives as intricately intertwined as an Escher drawing. When Glenn and Fuji see the supposedly benevolent Controller of Planet X (Yoshio Tsuchiya) on Earth, they begin to think things are a little fishy. And they are, of course, although no one realizes this until Godzilla and Rodan have already been sent to Planet X, where the Controller turns around and threatens Earth with the combined might of Monsters Zero, One and Two. If Earth doesn’t agree to become a colony of Planet X, the whole place will be destroyed by the radio-wave-controlled monsters. It’s up to Glenn, Fuji and Tetsuo to figure out a way to thwart the Xers and save the people of Earth from three very pissed-off monsters.

As a huge fan of Mario Bava (Planet of the Vampires is easily one of my favorite sci-fi films), I absolutely love the “Bava-lite” atmosphere that can be found all over Godzilla vs Monster Zero. From the coolly retro space-suits and electronics to the vivid glowing elevators that bring people to the surface of Planet X, the film is a marvel of set design and is pure eye-candy from beginning to end. Toss in some pretty great monster designs (in particular, Ghidorah looks absolutely terrifying during his initial appearance) and you have what definitely has to be one of the best-looking Godzilla films. As with Godzilla vs Mothra, the performances are universally solid, although they tend to be a bit pulpier and hammier than the previous film (in particular, Glenn is a real jewel, prone to plenty of great lines like “You rats! You dirty, stinking rats!”). Takarada turns in another self-assured lead performance, although his Fuji is an even bigger shithead than Sakai was.

The colonialism subplot is an interesting one, especially during the scene where the people of Earth begin to choose sides: pro-X or anti-X. Rather than being buried in the subtext, the colonialism aspect is pushed right to the forefront, making this a film that’s as much about overcoming an oppressive outside force as it is about subduing Godzilla. In fact, Godzilla and Rodan (incidental damages notwithstanding) definitely function more as anti-heroes than straight-up bad guys, with the denizens of Planet X taking the “black hat” role. It’s another interesting aspect of the film that seems to distance it from other Godzilla films a bit, making it seem a little more “mature” even as the sci-fi aspects become more outlandish and pronounced. As with Godzilla vs Mothra, Ishiro Honda’s direction is self-assured and there are several standout moments: in particular, the scene where Godzilla and Rodan are raised from their respective watery resting places is quite a sight to behold.

As with Godzilla vs Mothra, there are minor quibbles to be found throughout the film. Some of the stereotypical ’50s sci-fi stuff can get more than a little cheesy, for example, and Godzilla had an unfortunate tendency to do a “Super Bowl Shuffle”-type endzone dance whenever he was victorious that positively drove me up the wall. That being said, Godzilla vs Monster Zero is a fun, fairly unique and reasonably exciting entry in the Godzilla canon. For the hell of it, put this on a double-bill with Bava’s Planet of the Vampires sometime and tell me there’s not some kind of weird synergy going on there.

5/30/14 (Part One): Beware the Melty Man

Tags

'70s films, '70s-era, 1970's cinema, Alex Rebar, All Buy Mice Elf Film Festival, astronauts, B-movies, body horror, Burr DeBenning, cannibalism, cinema, drive-in fare, film reviews, films, horror, horror films, horror movie, Jonathan Demme, melting people, Movies, Myron Healey, Rick Baker, sci-fi, science-fiction, special effects, special-effects extravaganza, Steve West, Ted Nelson, The Incredible Melting Man, William Sachs, writer-director

While iconic villains are a vital component to horror films (particularly franchises), they’re also one of the most difficult aspects of a film to nail. Despite the exponential increase in the sheer number of horror films, we haven’t really added many “classic” villains to the roster since the ’80s: while characters like Laid to Rest’s (2009) ChromeSkull and Hatchet’s (2006) Victor Crowley have been in a few films, by this point, they’ve yet to achieve any sort of cultural resonance. One could argue that Leprechaun’s (1993) titular character counts, since he’s now been featured in seven different films (after all, Freddy only had a total of 9 films, including the recent reboot). As with ChromeSkull and Crowley, however, the Leprechaun never really made it to Buzz Bin status: he’s working-class but no hero. There have been many attempts to spawn a new horror icon, over the years, but very few ever end up taking off. One of the strangest of these attempts to craft a bit of zeitgeist came about in 1977 with The Incredible Melting Man, a B-movie with pretensions to immortality.

Despite some pretty impressive makeup effects by a young Rick Baker and a tagline that explicitly announced the filmmakers’ intentions (“The first new horror creature”), The Incredible Melting Man did not go on to spawn a franchise…or even a sequel, as it were. Whether audiences had a hard time associating with the gloopy titular monster or whether the (decidedly rough) production-quality put them off makes little difference. As it stands, The Incredible Melting Man is a complete failure at creating a lasting legacy but pretty successful as a goofy, gory popcorn film.

Astronaut Steve West (Alex Rebar) is part of an expedition to fly through the rings of Saturn when something goes wrong: his nose begins to bleed, things get fuzzy and he wakes up in a hospital. After removing his facial bandages, Steve notices something: he doesn’t look too hot. In fact, he seems to be rotting. This kinda ticks him off (wouldn’t it bother you?) and he pounds the table, apeman-style, before trashing the examination room. A nurse returns in time to get chased by Steve in a scene filmed with the kind of gauzy slo-mo that usually ended ’70s horror films, not began them. She crashes through a glass door (saved a second on opening it, I suppose), Steve’s right there and it’s “Good night, nurse!”

We now meet Dr. Ted Nelson (Burr DeBenning) and Dr. Loring (Lisle Wilson) as they examine the nurse’s body. Ted knows a little about this situation, since he was Steve’s friend and was involved with the Saturn mission. He’s also the most laid-back, unflappable, milquetoast “hero” of all time: the scene where he describes to Dr. Loring how his wife, Judy (Ann Sweeny), is pregnant with their third child, after two previous miscarriages, has all of the emotional impact of a colonoscopy. Any “clues” he turns up along the way will be greeted with the mild distaste that one might express when finding caterpillars on the cabbages: Ted Nelson may be the “hero” in The Incredible Melting Man but the guy would be a zero just about anywhere else.

As poor Steve stomps around the countryside, leaving gloopy handprints here, a bit of his ear there (“Oh God…it’s his ear,” exclaims Ted, in a way that practically screams “Could I possibly have a refill on my glass of water, please, if it’s not too much of a bother?”) and dead bodies everywhere, Ted is forced to get General Perry (Myron Healey) involved. Together, Ted and the General set out to stop Steve’s killing spree, albeit for different reasons: the General wants all traces of this disaster dead and gone, while Ted only wants to help out his soupy buddy. It all comes to a head at some kind of a factory, where Ted’s friendship will be stretched to the limit and Steve will have to try, if only for a moment, to regain his basic humanity.

When The Incredible Melting Man is rough, it’s really rough. The acting is rudimentary, at best, with some performances being so howlingly terrible that they achieve a kind of gonzo spectacle. Alex Rebar, in particular, is awful: were he to stay “normal” throughout the film, the movie would actually be unwatchable, although getting buried in the melting man makeup restricts his performance to strictly physical, which works wonders. While Burr DeBenning is nowhere near as terrible, he manages to possess as much energy and life as a department-store mannequin (and not the ’80s kind, either). In the world of the over-actors, the under-actor is king and DeBenning rules his roost from a godly height. The musical score is also pretty ludicrous: the final pursuit in the factory is scored by some of the cheesiest wah-wah guitar possible, along with a pathetic rip-off of John Williams Jaws theme.

Among the shoddier filmmaking aspects are some genuinely “so-bad-it’s-great” moments. My personal favorite has to be the one where Steve steps on the fisherman’s sandwich. It’s the oddest, most awkward and just plain confounding scene in the entire film (which is saying a lot): for some reason, we get a close-up of a plastic “monster” foot (think Gwar) stomping awkwardly on a sandwich, as if the “actor” accidentally tripped and was immortalized on film. Another forehead-slapper would have to be Judy’s ridiculously horny mother and step-father, who stop for a little hanky-panky and orange picking in the middle of the night and get a nasty Steve-sized surprise: not only are the actors terrible (bested only by their avatar, Alex Rebar) but the situation makes no sense whatsoever.

Far from being a complete waste of film and time, however, The Incredible Melting Man is actually quite charming, believe it or not. It will never be accused of being a good film, mind you, but it’s a pretty great B-movie. The movie is definitely cheesy (and very, very soupy) but it’s also got a surprising amount of pathos wrapped up within the idiocy. Steve West, when he’s not talking, is a tremendously sympathetic creature and not so far removed from Frankenstein’s Monster or The Wolf Man. He’s a normal man, with normal friends and a normal life, who is completely destroyed by forces outside his command. He’s turned into a monster, hunted by the very government who facilitated his transformation and has his waning sense of humanity constantly appealed to by his former best friend. Steve West is no sadistic Freddy or Wishmaster: rather, he’s a pitiable creature who seems to take no joy in his mayhem. There’s one moment that perfectly illustrates the two halves of this character: after he’s turned into a completely horrifying, shambling mess, Steve looks down into a water-filled barrel, right at his reflection. As he stares, a drop of pus, like a tear, falls into the water, rippling the image. Say what you want but it’s a powerful, subtle moment that manages to perfectly blend pathos and ick factor: in other words, it’s a picture-perfect horror movie moment.

Too much can’t be said about Rick Baker’s phenomenal special effects, which really give the film a sense of identity. While the makeup starts off a tad bit rough, we’re in glorious hardcore mode once Steve really gets to rottin’. At first, I was wondering whether the version of the film I recently watched was censored: an early shot of the dead nurse seems surprisingly tame and cut-off and there’s some weird editing going on. Once we get to the shot of the fisherman’s body, however, complete with ripped-open ribcage and a severed head, it’s pretty clear that not much hit the cutting room floor. Truth be told, The Incredible Melting Man, as befits its moniker, gets severely goopy, so much so that it begins to resemble one of those extended Family Guy vomiting scenes. If your stomach isn’t fairly cast-iron, chances are that Steve’s melted-wax look is really going to rumble your guts: make it through enough of the film, however, and it kind of fades into the background, sort of like all the nudity in Showgirls (1995). For my part, some of the most stomach-churning stuff came from scenes like the one where an unsuspecting young girl puts her hand into a nice, sticky bit of Steve slop: the thought, alone, is undeniably gross but the practical effects make it even worse. Ditto for the final melting scene, which would be echoed a decade later in the gross-out classic Street Trash (1987). While Street Trash would plumb it for laughs, The Incredible Melting Man goes straight for the heart-strings, reminding us that the disgusting pile of wet, red something on the ground used to be a pretty average (if terribly hammy) dude.

While The Incredible Melting Man may not have succeeded in adding another indelible villain to the collective conscience, it ended up being a more than worthy B-movie. It’s not hard to imagine couples going to see this at the drive-in, covering their eyes whenever Steve shambles up into the camera-eye. For folks who grew up on this kind of sensational, B-movie fare, The Incredible Melting Man should more than fit the bill for a night of nostalgia. Just be sure to keep this one away from the dinner hour: for once, this is all about truth in advertising.

4/4/14: So Close But So Very Far Away

Tags

astronauts, based on a short story, Captain Brunel, cinema, Danny Boyle, Elias Koteas, fear of the unknown, film reviews, films, flawed films, good but not great films, Goran Kostic, horror films, infections, Johnny Harris, Liew Schreiber, Marko, Mars, Mars expedition, Mars exploration, Movies, Nightmare City, Olivia Williams, outer space, Patrick Joseph Byrnes, Red Planet, resurrection, Romola Garai, Ruairi Robinson, sci-fi, space exploration, space station, stranded in space, The Last Days on Mars, Tom Cullen, Vincent Campbell, Yusra Warsama, zombies

If the human animal has one fault (and it has at least one, trust me), it would be that we can never seem to leave well-enough alone. Like the greedy dog with a bone in Aesop’s Fables, we’re constantly reaching out for just one more of anything, a little bit more of everything. Gamblers seldom walk away with they’re on top…game show contestants never take the guaranteed winnings…pressing our luck, it would seem, is just as much a human trait as breathing air. This isn’t always a bad thing, of course: without straining against the bonds of our world-view, we would never grow as a species. Sometimes, however, we have a tendency to push a little too far…peek under one dark rock too many, as it were. As the new sci-fi/horror film The Last Days on Mars demonstrates, it can sometimes be in our best interests to simply let our minds wander, denying ourselves the assurance that we know what lurks under every stone and in every nook and cranny. Sometimes, we really would rather not know.

Our film begins on the titular red planet, during the final 19 hours of a six-month mission. The assorted cosmonauts are our usual varied group of folks tossed into your average stressful situation: Vincent Campbell (Liev Shreiber) serves as our defacto protagonist, while Captain Brunel (Elias Koteas) fills the role of “gruff but fair” crew leader. Rounding out the merry bunch are Kim (Olivia Williams), Marko (Goran Kostic), Harrington (Tom Cullen), Dalby (Yusra Warsama), Rebecca Lane (Romola Garai) and Irwin (Johnny Harris). As in all sci-fi/horror films, there are some inherent tensions among the crew members, most notably between Vincent and Kim. This will, of course, allow for ample dramatic moments once the shit hits the fan. And the shit will, indeed, hit the fan.

Said fan becomes adorned when Marko heads out to, ostensibly, repair a nearby sensor. In reality, he’s decided to go check out a crater site that just may contain the first, honest-to-God, evidence of bacterial life in space. Everyone else is a little concerned by Marko’s rash decision and they should be: haven’t any of these yahoos ever seen Alien? In short order, a sudden earthquake has helped Marko shuffle off his mortal coil, leaving one dead crew member at the bottom of a newly opened hole in the ground. Captain Brunel orders that Marko’s body be recovered, despite the inherent danger of sending more crew members into imminent peril. During the recovery mission, Vincent descends into the hole and gets a good look at the new life-form, which appears to be some sort of intelligent moss. He has a panic attack, which includes flash-backs to some sort of prior trauma, and beats feet back for home base. On the way, he notices a set of footprints leading from the hole to home base…and Marko’s body is nowhere to be found.

As can be expected (unless one has never seen another sci-fi/horror film, of course), something evil has come back from the mysterious hole and is proceeding to bulldoze through the crew members, one by one. Ultimately, the film turns into a sort of live-action version of Dead Space, as Vincent and the dwindling survivors must fight back against some very violent local flora (or would it be fauna?), all with the added threat of Earth’s impending doom hovering over everything. Will Vincent save the day? Will anyone be left alive? Will we figure out just what, exactly, was in the hole?

In many ways, The Last Days on Mars is a tale of two films: one film (the much more interesting one) is another of the recent spate of “intelligent sci-fi/space exploration” films, which includes movies like Red Planet (2000), Moon (2009), Apollo 18 (2011), and Europa Report (2013). The other film is yet another zombie movie, albeit one in which they rush around and use weapons, ala Umberto Lenzi’s trashy Nightmare City (1980). Needless to say, after almost 30 years of watching horror films, I’m a little burnt out on zombie pics, particularly ones which don’t bring much new to the table. In a nutshell, this split focus becomes my biggest problem with The Last Days on Mars: the slow-paced, creepy sci-fi story is so much more interesting than the fast-paced, zombie-action film that we end up with. This is a classic example of a film having a great concept but stumbling in so many other ways.

While the film has plenty of genuinely creepy moments (the opening sequence is flawless and Vincent’s descent into the mysterious hole is thoroughly nail-biting), the tonal shift to an action film wrecks the mood. To compound the issue, the action scenes aren’t even particularly well-staged, being far too kinetic and with absolutely no sense of spectator POV or camera placement: any action sequence devolves into a mindless blur of noise and motion, communicating nothing so much as perpetual motion. Contrasting The Last Days on Mars’ action sequences with David Twohy’s far superior Pitch Black (2000), it becomes painfully obvious that the action really holds the former film back. Way back.

In a way, this is too bad because there’s a truly intriguing skeleton buried under the misshapen muscles and nerves of this fleshy beast. The overall story, about the mysterious moss, is really strong and reminded me of something out of Bradbury: the film is actually based on a short story by prolific sci-fi/horror writer Sydney J. Bounds and the source-material is great. Schreiber is a commanding presence throughout, always portraying Vincent is as real a way as possible. Over time, Schreiber has turned into quite an exceptional actor, although I do find myself wishing he would test-drive more genre fare like this. He receives able support from a decent supporting cast, although no one else really stands out (although Johnny Harris certainly tries, as the rather villainous Irwin). Likewise, the film’s look and sound design is capable but nothing special, with the exception of some nicely done shots of Mars.

Ultimately, I found myself with one nearly heretical thought after the movie was over: this would have been a much better film if Danny Boyle had made it. I normally don’t traffic in or endorse remakes but I just couldn’t shake that thought from my head. Even though I think Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) was a fabulous disaster, he seems to be much more capable of handling this type of sci-fi/horror mash-up than director Ruairi Robinson is and I can’t help but wonder what a surer hand might have made of this.

In the end, The Last Days on Mars is a thoroughly competent but flawed film. The tone was often inconsistent and weird, while the action sequences were way too spastic and clumsy. The acting was pretty good, however, and the overall story is very strong, even if it gets abandoned a bit by the film’s final third. Fans of sci-fi/horror films, particularly more recent ones, will definitely want to check this out. Don’t go in expecting another Alien (or even Red Planet, for that matter) and you should find this to be enjoyable but a little forgettable. That being said, I’m already ready for Hollywood’s next trip to the stars.

3/12/14: Like? Perhaps. Love? Not quite.

Tags

American Civil War, Angels & Airwaves, astronauts, Capt. Lee Miller, cinema, confusing, film reviews, films, Gunner Wright, history of the world, humanity, insanity, instrumental score, International Space Station, isolation, Love, movie, music-based films, outer space, sci-fi, space station, stranded in space, stylish films, William Eubank, writer-director

I watch films for a lot of different reasons but one of the simplest (and most frequently disappointing) reason is out of curiosity. Sometimes, I’ll see box art, a title or a concept that just seems too intriguing to pass up, if definitively less than “must-see.” Over the years, my curiosity has led me in the direction of some genuinely great films (Lo, Botched, Stitches, Taxidermia) and some genuinely wretched films (Shuttle, The Hamiltons, The Hunt, Primal, The Last Rites of Ransom Pride, ad infinitum), along with a slew of films that I can’t even recall watching. Recently, my curiosity finally got the better of me and I watched Love, the sci-fi film featuring a musical score by Angels & Airwaves. I suspected a vanity project but was hoping there might be something here for a non-fan. In the end, this ended up being one odd film.

At its heart, Love is actually a few different films jammed together. The most interesting (and most cohesive) is the story of an astronaut (Gunner Wright) who ends up stranded on the International Space Station by himself. There’s also some sort of documentary in here, featuring lo-fi talking head interviews with various people about such fascinating topics as making the best of bad situations, how important communication is and how environment can affect relationships. There’s a bit of high-end music videos here, as well, as certain scenes are merely silent collections of images scored by instrumental Angel’s & Airwaves songs. There’s also something about the Civil War here but that part is so confusing and disjointed that is might actually be part of the astronaut story-line: I was never quite sure. Taken separately, only one of the disparate threads (the astronaut) one is actually worth anything: mixed together, it’s a bit like someone making a stew out of lamb, spaghetti and Mylar balloons.

If the astronaut story-line mimics the essential beats of the far-superior Moon a bit too much, at least it’s aping superior source material. This portion of the film, on its own, would actually have made a pretty interesting, modest little sci-fi flick. Wright is decent as Capt. Lee Miller, although his gradual progression into insanity doesn’t quite work and his eventual residence there, consisting of shameless mugging and eye-rolling, is pretty idiotic. Aesthetically, Love owes a lot to Kubrick’s 2001, as well as newer sci-fi films like Moon. Love’s astronaut sections exist in a very sterile, antiseptic, hospital-white environment: most of this is quite beautifully shot, particularly one gorgeous section where Miller goes to repair some equipment while encircled by lights. This scene actually reminded me (favorably) of things in 2001 and my only complaint was that it didn’t have more company. Nonetheless, the astronaut portions are definitely watchable, particularly for space fans looking for an easy fix.

However, one must also sit through the pretentious interview portions, a conceit which doesn’t even bear fruit by the film’s admittedly ambitious finale. The interviews are poorly staged, tedious and only occasionally relevant to anything that we’ve seen or heard. Only slightly more relevant, though vastly more confusing, are the Civil War segments. I never fully understood their relevance, although I have a few educated guesses. My honest opinion? I think that writer/director William Eubank’s ambition far-outweighed his ability to deliver a cohesive script. Ambition is great but an ambitious miss is still a miss, no matter how you look at it.

Ultimately, Love is a wildly ambitious but, unfortunately, rather unsuccessful film. The filmmakers have great reference points and, from what I could tell, the best of intentions. The film looks pretty good, especially in the space sections, and the finale is quite thought-provoking. On the other hand, the film is wildly fractured, due to too many disparate elements and story-lines and Gunner Wright isn’t quite up to the task of carrying the astronaut portions almost solely on his shoulders. With a tighter script and more focus, Love might have actually been able to approach the realms of a lesser Moon. As it is, however, the film feels less like a musical vanity project and more like a first-time director’s attempt to get on the board. It’s a good effort but I’m guessing that we’ll see better from Eubank in the future.

 

2/25/14: Lost in Space (Oscar Bait, Part 9)

Tags

2013 Academy Awards, 86th Annual Academy Awards, Academy Award Nominee, Alfonso Cuaron, All Is Lost, astronauts, auteur theory, Best Actress nominee, Best Cinematography winner, Best Director nominee, Best Film Editing winner, Best Original Score winner, Best Picture nominee, Best Sound Editing winner, Best Sound Mixing winner, Best Visual Effects winner, Children of Men, cinema, disaster films, Ed Harris, Emmanuel Lubezki, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, George Clooney, Gravity, lost in space, marooned, Movies, multiple Oscar winner, outer space, rescue mission, Sandra Bullock, sci-fi, space shuttle, special-effects extravaganza, thriller, trapped in space

My Oscar-prep viewing for the last week of February continued with Alfonso Cuaron’s Gravity. Of all of the nominees, I was probably (initially) most excited to see this one, since I’m a huge fan of Cuaron’s previous film, the wonderfully dystopic Children of Men. After waiting seven years for a follow-up, how would Gravity stack up? And did it really earn all ten of its Oscar nominations? Read on, gentle readers…read on.

As a boy, my twin loves (above and beyond anything else that I loved) were dinosaurs and outer space. If there was a book about the subject(s), I read it. if there was a show or movie, I watched it. I’ve always been fascinated by huge, open expanses but my inability to swim has always rendered the deep-sea about as terrifying as diving into an active volcano. Space, however, was a different story. As frightening as the notion of all of that vast emptiness was, I never ceased to be fascinated and drawn to it. As time went on and I got older, my former obsession with dinosaurs gradually faded into my childhood, although I remember being fairly agog when I first saw Jurassic Park in the theater. My obsession with space, however, has never waned. If anything, I find myself more fascinated by it now then I ever was: we truly live in a glorious time for anyone who’s ever wondered about what might be “up there,” since we seem to get word of astounding new galactic discoveries on a fairly regular basis. If there’s one thing me and my boyhood self would agree on, it’s this: outer space is pretty damn amazing.

Interestingly enough, however, my lifelong love of space hasn’t really translated into a love of sci-fi films. I’ve found many, over the years, that I really enjoy and a few that I even love: 2001; Alien; The Black Hole; Event Horizon, to name a few. For the most part, however, I’m not really drawn to the space shoot-em-ups of stuff like Star Wars or Battlestar Galactica. I’m much more interested in low-key, intellectual films like Moon, Europa Report, 2001 and Solaris. Part of the appeal of space, to me, has always been the inherent mystery of it: the best sci-fi films manage to preserve this sense of mystery while still giving something to thrill along to.

Gravity could certainly be said to exist in the same company as the aforementioned “intelligent” sci-fi films, but it’s not quite the same thing. There is nothing lunk-headed or especially clumsy about the film but its heart is definitely more interested in action (sometimes so non-stop as to almost seem real-time) than it is in wonder or inquiry. There’s nothing wrong with this, mind you, but it immediately puts Gravity into a slightly different category and is one of the reasons why I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed after the whole thing was over.

Story-wise, Gravity is simplicity itself: Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) and Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) are American astronauts on a routine spacewalk when disaster strikes. The Russians have accidentally bombed one of their own satellites, which has caused deadly space debris to travel into the Americans’ vicinity. Too late to avoid the bombardment, Stone and Kowalski find themselves adrift in space, no contact with Earth and only their connecting tether keeping them from spinning away into the vastness of forever. Using every ounce of their strength, courage and cautious optimism, the two must do everything they can to make it back home, lest the far reaches of space become their frigid tomb.

In a nutshell, that’s pretty much it: just slightly over 90 minutes of Bullock trying desperately to get back home. In many respects, Gravity and All Is Lost (Redford stuck at sea on a sinking sailboat) are kindred spirits. Both are claustrophobic, quick-paced thrill rides that feature one protagonist (it’s no spoiler to say that Bullock spends the majority of the film alone), almost no supporting characters or additional actors and minimal locations. While I heartily enjoyed Gravity, I’ll have to give the edge here to All Is Lost for one very important reason: it didn’t dilute its impact with unnecessary emotional baggage. In All Is Lost, we end up knowing as little about Redford’s character as possible: he doesn’t even get a name. This isn’t to say that there’s no character information whatsoever: through a few small, subtle scenes, we find out enough about Redford’s character (wife and kids back home, well-to-do older man) to become invested in his struggle. At no time, however, does the film wring unnecessary mileage out of the emotional beats: they’re just there to humanize the character.

In Gravity, however, Ryan’s back-story directly influences her actions in the film and, at times, is used as the sole emotional ballast. For my money, this wasn’t the best way to humanize the character and, to be honest, had a bit of the opposite effect for me. At times, I found myself questioning Ryan’s actions: she would be unthinkingly swift and decisive one moment, curled in a fetal position and looking “lost” the next. While this might be a natural reaction for any normal person caught in the situation, it still had the effect of dragging down the film and injecting a maudlin, overly emotional tone that was at odds with the film’s more clinical inclinations. It’s almost as if Cuaron was unsure if the audience would be fully invested in the actual things happening to Bullock’s character (who the hell wouldn’t find being lost in space terrifying and thrilling?!), so he decided to hedge his bets by piling on a tragic back-story for her to overcome. It’s a reductive measure and, effectively, boils down Ryan’s entire experience in space to “overcoming personal adversity.” It’s equivalent to Ripley coming at the Mother Alien with the robot suit only to end up shaking hands and hugging it out. This is particularly puzzling since, aside from the too obvious back-story and some beats with Clooney’s character, there isn’t anything obvious about the actual film. This was a pretty big disappointment for me, since it seemed like a concession to what modern audiences expect from films, not what filmmakers actually intend. I keep wondering how amazing this film would have been as a non-stop, tightly-shot, A-B-C thriller and it makes the final product even more disappointing.

But, let’s be absolutely frank here: most people going to see Gravity won’t be going for the character development, the writing or anything of that nature: they’ll be going to experience a huge, eye-popping visual smorgasbord. And on that count, Gravity absolutely does not disappoint. In fact, I daresay that I really have no appropriate words to describe how utterly, sumptuously amazing the film looks. There isn’t one frame that didn’t look meticulously composed and I still have no idea whatsoever how many of the shots were achieved. As far as I can tell, Cuaron took a small crew into deep space and filmed: that’s about the best explanation I have for a lot of the film. The SFX are seamless, the space visuals are so stunning that I got teary-eyed (really) and the sound effects put you right in the thick of everything. If there’s one part of the filmmaking I didn’t care for, however, it would definitely have to be Steven Price’s intrusive, too-obvious score. Something more minimalist and  moody would have helped the film but I felt like the score tried to be too leading: I’m not a fan of hand-holding between filmmakers and the audience and the score was definitely that. As far as the technical awards and the Best Cinematography statue, however? There was simply no other film in the running after this one: even discussing other films’ effects as being equitable is absolutely ridiculous.

At the end of the day, perhaps my own unreasonable expectations led me to be disappointed by Gravity. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoyed most of the film as I was watching it (save for the overly emotional bits referenced above). I was even stunned at several points, especially that jaw-dropping opening. It was a fun, exquisitely crafted film with a rock-solid performance by Bullock (not Oscar worthy, IMHO, but damn close), a very Clooney-esque performance by George C and a totally awesome reference to my favorite scene in Jaws. It was also, unfortunately, a rather slight film, almost more of an effects exercise then anything else. I remember how much I found myself pondering and returning to Children of Men after I first saw it. After watching Gravity, my only thought was, “Damn: shoulda seen it in the theaters.” While Gravity was a good Cuaron film, it looks like I might have to wait another seven years for a great Cuaron film.