2012

Directed by: Roland Emmerich

Written by: Roland Emmerich, Harald Kloser

With the Mayan calendar fast approaching its end in 2012, it was inevitable that the film industry would try to capitalize on people's fears of mortality. In this case, disaster film expert director Roland Emmerich was picked to put together perhaps the ultimate catastrophe movie.

The end of the world-as-we-know-it begins when a solar flare sets off some kind of chain reaction which will cause the earth's crust to shift dramatically. International governments (including the American president played by Danny Glover) decide not to tell, but instead begin a secret project to attempt to save the human race. Meanwhile, most normal people (including John Cusack cast, oddly enough, as a chauffeur) begin to notice that weather disasters, such as tornadoes and earthquakes, are happening more frequently and with more intensity. Eventually, the civilized world begins to crumble as a chosen few desperately try to reach the international safe-haven in China.

There is a lot that goes wrong in this movie (and I'm not talking about the disasters), but let's start with the good.

Woody Harrelson. Woody Harrelson plays a back-woods government-conspiracy fearing lunatic radio broadcaster who tips off John Cusack's character that there may be more going on than meets the eye. Harrelson's character is by far the most fun and interesting, and it's unfortunate that he ends up with so little screen time.

Now on to what's wrong with this film - everything else!

To begin, the movie is entirely too long. Coming in at over two and a half hours, the movie is unnecessarily bloated and drags on far to long at many points. Some suggestions on how to cut? Start with the absurdly large cast. There are too many characters that the film tries to follow, and by the end the audience doesn't really care about any of them. For example, the entire subplot about the Russian billionaire's mistress having an affair with his pilot could be cut - it adds nothing to the film whatsoever, but consumes at least ten minutes of screen time. The same with the subplot about the scientist from India - not sure what he's doing in the movie at all.

Now, usually, when one goes to see a disaster movie, they expect to see some whopping special effects. Usually. Apparently Emmerich (who otherwise has a pretty good track record) missed the memo on this one. The special effects were underwhelming and unimpressive, and, after a while, repetitive. There are only so many "giant earthquakes toppling skyscrapers" sequences that a person can see before they lose their meaning. (One highlight, though, was the scene in which Cusack's car is being chased by a collapsing LA freeway - instant classic moment!)

The movie seemed to overlap and repeat itself too many times. It's easy to lose track of how many times someone says "It's happening sooner than expected" (or something along those lines). And there are three - literally three - scenes at an airport in which a plane has to take off in the midst of disaster on the runway. Sure, they happened at different airports, but a little variety in the disaster drama might have gone a long way.

Typically, I enjoy these types of movies for what they are. But in this case, I'd just had enough by the end of the movie. I'd only recommend this movie if you can't see any of Emmerich's other epic disaster movies. For what they're worth, "The Day After Tomorrow" and "Independence Day" give a much better bang-to-buck return. Sorry "2012" - maybe you'll be more exciting next year, but I'm not holding my breath.

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

It's hard to describe David Mitchell's writing without falling into hyperbole. I will simply say that I think that he is one of the greatest living novelists in the English language, and leave it at that. His most recent book, "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet" demonstrates the creative and imaginative power of his writing, even when his work is grounded some minor details of history.

The title character - Jacob de Zoet - is a young man assigned to help weed out corruption in Dejima, the exclusive trading post the Dutch hold in Japan. He originally joined the Trading Company while saving money to woo his lady-love back in Europe, but when faced with the grim realities of institutionalized corruption, he essentially becomes marooned in Dejima. Meanwhile, a Japanese midwife, whom he has developed feelings for, mysteriously disappears into a secret monastery. Trying to stay true to his original idealism is tough, especially when faced with cultural isolation, finding out the horrible secret of the local monastery, and - oh - a British warship demanding the unconditional surrender of the trading post.

It's hard to get into the intricacies of what makes Mitchell's novel so great without ruining what are a lot of great plot twists. Of course, this leads me to the first thing that makes this novel so great: the plot. Each of the three parts of the book are distinct from one another in terms of style and structure, but all are woven together through the characters.

--The first section of the novel follows Jacob de Zoet exclusively as he acclimates to the daily grind in Dejima. Being so far from his homeland, Jacob struggles to remain true to his idealistic ambitions: he is tempted by the potential profits from joining the corruption he intends to stop, and he dances near infidelity as he falls for the lovely, if scarred, Japanese midwife. This second ends as Jacob watches the Orito (the midwife) carried away, seemingly against her will, to a secretive local monastery.

--The second second section shifts entirely away from Jacob's story and focuses instead on Uzaemon, a translator, and his doomed attempt to rescue Orito when he finds out the monastery's horrible cultish precepts. Rather than the interior character study of the first section, the second part of the book is more action driven.

--The third section bounces around from character to character. At one point, it's even told from the perspective of one of the servants in Dejima. It is about halfway through this section that the intricate web that Mitchell has woven begins to come together, although the presence of a British warship threatens to blow the whole business to splinters.

Mitchell is a master of the little and not-so-little details and textual features that raise his novel to the highest levels of literature. One that comes to mind, is the constant presence of the stone strategy game Go. Understanding the game of Go - in which players place black and white stones on a grid to try to out-maneuver and capture enemy pieces - is critical to unlocking so much of the novel's complexity. One of the key characters, Lord Abbott Enomoto - leader of the monastery - is repeatedly seen playing Go. Meanwhile, he, and the other political figures in Nagasaki, are playing a game of Go with each other, constantly trying to "capture" political influence on one another. Uzeamon plays, and loses, when he attempts to "capture" Orito back from Enomoto. Jacob and Penhaligon (captain of the British vessel) play a deadly game of Go in the final confrontation. Some of these moments of strategy and tactics are interpersonal, while some are played out on a much larger scale. There's also the fact that the pieces in Go are black and white - suggesting a contrast between good and evil - which implies a lot when that is applied to the characters and situations in the book that relate back to Go.

The shifting perspectives in the novel, although superficially spice up the novel, support the underlying meaning of the novel, as well. As the plot becomes more chaotic and intense, the point of view shifts more and more often. This would be simple enough to increase the dramatic effect, but Mitchell uses it to also enhance the reading experience. At some points, through free indirect discourse, the reader is aware of what certain characters are thinking. But, at other points, the reader is left completely in the dark. At one point, jumping between two separate locations - the perspective shifts just before a critical moment, leaving the reader and the characters wondering why something happened. (I have to be a little vague here or it will essentially ruin the climax.)

On top of all this, Mitchell's attention to historical detail in this novel is well documented. To start, the presence of Dejima in Nagasaki as Europe's only trading post with an otherwise culturally isolated Japan is based in history. The British siege of Dejima, part of the novel's dramatic rising action and climax, is also based relatively accurately on a historical event. It has been reported that Mitchell lost whole days of writing while doing research for a single sentence about a minute historical detail. (The example of this recorded on Wikipedia is Mitchell trying to determine whether a character would have used shaving cream or not.)

To sum it all up (which I should have probably done long before now): "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet" is a masterful piece of fiction which somehow (perhaps uniquely) balances between historical fiction and postmodern playfulness. I highly recommend it with the caveat that although the first chapters may seem dry, there are details contained therein which are critical to later sequences in the book. For those interested, based on my own somewhat limited reading, this is possibly Mitchell's most accessible book, and may be a good place to start.

Good luck, and happy reading! Seriously - enjoy this book because rarely does a reader find a book of this caliber. I'm relatively confident in my feeling that David Mitchell's work will prove to be some of the more lasting pieces of this age and era of literature. My words of recommendation here pale in comparison to Mitchell's work itself. (There goes that hyperbole again...)

The Graveyard Book

The most common description of Neil Gaiman's "The Graveyard Book" goes something like this: "An adaptation of Kipling's "The Jungle Book" set in a graveyard." And rightfully so. The fact is, that's what the book is. But this book is so much more than that, so I'm glad we got that out of the way and can move on without much more fuss.

Here's a quick plot summary, mainly because I feel guilty analyzing the book without some type of background: The book follows the life of a young boy named Bod (short for Nobody) who, through strange circumstances which would spoil the book, ends up being raised in a graveyard. Of course, if the setting is a graveyard, then his adoptive parents must be ghosts and his guardian Silas is - well, we're not quite sure what Silas is, but it's heavily inferred that he's a vampire. Bod manages to grow up as part of both the world of the living and the world of the dead. Eventually, though, Bod's two world's collide.

Reading this book, I was amazed by the simplicity of the text itself at the surface level. It's simply enjoyable to read. The first page hooked me every subsequent page kept me engaged on multiple levels. I haven't read a "can't put it down" book like this in quite a while. I grew to love the characters and was needed to find out what happened to them next. Emotionally, there are a few touching moments - which is surprising given the novel's grim material.

Gaiman allows the reader (though Bod) to explore the world of the dead, creating his own mythology by synthesizing and adapting older paradigms. For example, it's clearly suggested that Silas is a vampire (doesn't go out during the day, technically undead, etc), but I'm not sure that the word "vampire" is ever actually used. This, then, allows Gaiman the freedom to give his characters his own twist while also grounding the story in a basic mythology. I was especially interested in the different types of graveyard haunts there are in the book, from the typical ghosts, to the undefined undead characters such as Silas and Miss Lupescu (a werewolf), to the ghouls beyond the Ghoul Gate, to the unblessed dead who - for various reasons - were buried without blessings or headstones. Each group could and could not do certain things, based on their status. Essentially, Gaiman created a class structure for the afterlife. How those classes interact, then, provides much of the entertainment of the book

In a perhaps a-typical structure, most of the novel is not driven by a single plot. Rather, it's a series of adventures connected by the protagonist and his unusual background. This model, though, allows Bod to grow as a character on his own and in his own interesting way. It's not until about halfway into the novel that the plot - how Bod came to live in the graveyard and it's implications - begins to take shape. After that, though, the novel becomes much more action driven and less character driven. Both halves, for being so different in form, manage to compliment each other masterfully.

The critical reception for the book has been (as far as I can tell) unanimously positive. And I have to agree. A few overly sensitive folks have pointed to the opening as being ultra-violent - which it is. The only defense, though, is that the violence happens off the page - we find out about the results of the violence, but there are no gruesome descriptions of harm being done. (It's similar to the famous ear-cutting sequence in "Reservoir Dogs" - everyone seems to remember an ear being removed, but a close viewing of that scene reveals that the audience never actually sees an ear being cut off.)

One critical response from a friend pointed to the ending - and whether or not Bod should have had any choice in what happens (he doesn't) - as a point of contention. I have to politely disagree, though, that Bod should have had any choice. The book is about growing-up (and I'm trying to avoid the pesky coming-of-age cliche here), and, as far as I can remember, no one had any choice in whether or not they grew up. One of the striking features of Gaiman's book is that, despite most of his characters being inhuman in form, they are incredibly human in their nature. As we grow up, we must come to terms with who we are and leave the fantasies behind. This process can be painful, and the outcome uncertain. And when we've grown attached to someone - as the reader has grown attached to Bod and his surrogate family - it can be especially challenging. But we don't have a choice, it has to be done, and we can only look to the future. That's why Bod has no choice at the end - it's not personal, it's life.

I highly, highly recommend this book. Go get it. Right now. It'll be completely worth it.

Thor

Director: Kenneth Branagh

Written by:

-Screenplay: Ashley Miller, Zach Stentz, Don Payne

-Story: J. Michael Straczynski, Mark Protosevich

Being totally upfront (as I always am, sometimes to a fault), I grew up absolutely loving the "Thor" comic books. I've always been fascinated with this hero-as-mythical-god character and his adventures. I've also easily been able to ignore the strange contradiction of an ancient Norse god somehow speaking Elizabethan english. But, to my point - I'm not sure that this review is completely unbiased. I don't care, but I thought you should know.

In the film, Thor (Chris Hemsworth) is banished from the kingdom of Asgard and has his powers stripped from him. Thor spends the rest of the movie trying to regain his powers. Unfortunately, without Thor in Asgard to keep his brother Loki in check, Loki has seized power and is up to his typical antics.

I absolutely loved this film. It managed to efficiently capture the energy and spirit of the comic books while also forging a new path for the character. Thor himself is exactly how I've imagined him for my nearly two decades of reading him. Loki is just as nasty as always, although I don't feel he received enough screen time to develop into the truly nasty villain that he should be. Even Natalie Portman's portrayal of Jane Foster was not as bad as I had imagined (although I'll never forgive her for what she did to the "Star Wars" prequels).

The visual effects were amazing, if a bit over-the-top. Asgard was visually stunning, although the CGI limited how many panoramic shots were seen, limiting most of the Asgard sequences to only a few locations. The Destroyer (unnamed in the film, for some odd reason) is terrifying in its destructive simplicity and managed to convincingly destroy basically an entire New Mexico town. My only fear, though, is that the effects are so grand that they won't translate well onto the small screen - but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Most impressive was how well balanced I felt the film was between comic book surrealism and a basic adventure story. The battle with the Destroyer is a perfect example - the little New Mexico town had a great sense of verisimilitude, but the battle itself was straight out of a comic. It didn't feel too far out of this world as to disrupt my sense of disbelief, but it clearly wasn't realistic either.

There were definitely some pacing issues in the story. The movie spends quite a long time establishing and developing characters before anything meaningful happens in the plot. I suppose some of that fat could have been cut while still maintaining the core vision of the story, although the epic scope of the film might have been diminished.

Go see this movie now!

Easy A

Directed by: Will Gluck

Written by: Burt V. Royal

I must be totally up-front in admitting that this movie exceeded my expectations. That being said, my expectations were exceptionally low. Still, "Easy A" had its charms and moments which lifted it somewhat above the usual junk I had mistaken it for.

The movie begins with Olive (Emma Stone) accidentally telling a little white lie about her own promiscuity. When Marianne (Amanda Bynes) the leader of the campus Christian group hears, she turns it from a lie into a full-blown rumor which goes viral around the school. Olive decides to ride the rumor out, though, by taking on the public persona of an absolute whore. Meanwhile, behind closed doors, she's actually taking gift-card payments from her classmates to merely say that she's sleeping with them. Of course, as the lies begin to pile on top of each other, Olive's public and private lives begin to spiral out of control.

The film prominently features Olive wearing big red "A's" on her outfits in reference to Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter." Unfortunately, that's about as far as the literary and artistic merits of the movie go.

Too much of the movie felt aimless, directionless, and purposeless. This is especially evident via many of the supporting characers. For example, Thomas Hayden Church and Lisa Kudrow play a teacher-counselor pair working at the same school. Yet neither of their roles take on any importance, and they seem more like background furniture than relevant factors in the story. The same goes for Stanley Tucci, who plays Olive's father - I'm not quite sure what purpose his character served other than to deliver a few witty lines. I won't even mention the total waste of Malcom McDowell as the principal. Perhaps the most vibrant character is Marianne (Bynes), although that may have simply been because she is more of a caricature and less of a believable character.

For a straight-forward high-school comedy, though, this movie plays its cards pretty well. It admirably manages to balance a rather risque premise without lowering itself to using raunchy humor. There's a sub-plot about the boy Olive really likes, even though she's afraid to approach him given her reputation, and it comes across effectively - cute without being overly sweet.

I can't say I totally enjoyed this movie, but I can say that I didn't hate it, which is much better than I expected.

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

Directed by: John Huston

Written by: John Huston (screenplay); B. Traven (novel)

A few weeks ago, I dragged The Wifey to our local theatre's Classic Film Wednesday presentation of "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre." When I was growing up, my dad always pointed to this movie as one of his favorites, though I never quite found the time to see it. Going through a VHS buying binge during college - with local stores clearing out used VHS tapes for as low as a dollar - I picked up a copy, watched it, and immediately fell in love with it.

As the movie begins, Fred C. Dobbs (Bogart) and his friend Bob Curtin (Holt) are American tramps living down-and-out in Tampico, Mexico. After being swindled one too many times, they downheartedly start hoping for just enough money to slip through the rest of their lives. One night at a flophouse, they encounter Howard (Huston), an old miner who promises them modest riches of gold for a few months of hard work. Although their ambitions begin small, as the gold piles up, leading to greed and paranoia between the small mining crew...

Humphrey Bogart's performance as Dobbs is masterful without being overpowering, which is especially impressive considering the attention the role calls to itself. But it is the supporting cast - Tim Holt and Walter Huston - which really carry the film. Holt brings an honesty, bordering on naivete, to his character's hard-work ethic. Huston's ability to remain ambiguous and non-committal at key moments in the film help the audience feel the stress that Dobbs is feeling, fueling his paranoia. And no one who has heard Huston's dry cackle, conspicuously used at significant moments of the film, can ever forget it.

There are also some great subtle moments used to hammer home important concepts. For example, early in the movie, Bogart gets a shave, a haircut, and some clean clothes. Yet, out in the wilderness, as his madness grows, he begins to pay less and less attention to his hygiene. His clothes become stained and his beard grows ragged. There's also some early foreshadowing of Dobb's descent into greed, as he repeatedly begs the same man for money for a meal which he then spends somewhat wastefully.

If there is any complaint about the movie, it's simply that it suffers from a distinct lack of modern pacing. Considering the film's length, not much actually happens. What the movie lacks in terms of plot development, though, it makes up for in character study. The audience is hypnotized by Dobb's madness, wondering how far he will go to keep his gold (which, without spoiling anything, is pretty far).

I won't get into this film being a pretty strong moral allegory against the selfish greed that sometimes rises in capitalism, as represented by Dobbs. It's there if you look for it, although I'll admit it would be a bit of a stretch.

"The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" is a wonderful example of how well were made back during the golden age of film. Without massive special effects or tons of star power (although Bogart brought plenty himself), the overall film is incredibly effective. I highly recommend it, although you do need to make sure you have plenty of time set aside - it's long.

The Thing

Every once in a while - though probably more often than I'd like to admit - I get the urge to see a good horror movie. Nothing to keep me up at night, mind you. Just a good fright. The last time I got that itch, John Carpenter's "The Thing," scratched it perfectly.

The premise of the movie is simple enough: The team at a (dubiously) scientific research outpost in Antarctica finds itself infiltrated by an alien life-form which can replicate itself into nearly any body - human or animal. One by one, the team members - led by helicopter pilot MacReady (Kurt Russell) become survivors, trying to keep the alien from getting leaving Antarctica and decimating the earth's population.

This movie has some pretty amazing moments of suspense. The scene in which the survivors have to submit to a blood test managed to keep the tension incredibly high with relatively little dialogue or action. The climactic attempt to destroy the monster managed to keep me near the edge of my seat (not "on" the edge, though), considering that most of the tropes used were basically cliche.

My favorite moment, though, is right at the end. I love the fact that the conclusion of the movie is left wonderfully ambiguous. Two survivors remain, each suggesting that the other may be the monster in disguise. Yet, without the necessary equipment, they are each powerless to stop the other or prove themselves innocent. They, like the viewer, are left to wonder whether or not humanity is safe. For a brief moment, just before the credits roll, the viewer and the characters have the exact same perspective.

The special-effects in this movie are gruesome and gory, although the stop-motion creature sequences seem a bit waxy and choppy. I think the creature would have been more terrifying if director John Carpenter had taken a cue from Ridley Scott's work in "Alien": a monster is often most terrifying when you have no idea what it looks like or how it kills. Seeing so much of the best so early in the film trivialized it. The Thing became tangible and limited, while much of what makes a creature horrible is that, when left vague and abstract, it can become almost anything capable of limitless terror.

From the primitive premise, clunky dialogue, straight acting, and absurdly huge special effects, this movie has "B film" written all over it. But the synergy of all those parts manages to elevate it to a "B+ film" - or even an "A- film" when watched in just the right mood.

Director: John Carpenter

Written by: John W. Campbell Jr. (story), Bill Lancaster (screenplay)