Best of the Decade (Jake) (cont.) (Essay)

5. The Departed (2006): Just because it's predictable list material does not mean it should go uncredited. My favorite Scorsese film to date, The Departed was brilliantly written and played, as suspenseful as it was hilarious. This film, in my eyes, an instant classic, deserves to be studied alongside Chinatown and The Godfather as one of thee most layered, even if preposterously so, crime thrillers in cinema. Why this film was important: Won Scorsese the Oscar, finally; gave a nod to Hong Kong cinema (the film was based off of Alan Mak and Wai-keung Lau's 2002 Infernal Affairs) in a huge way.

Best of the Decade (Jake) (cont.) (Essay)

NOTE: Screw the two at a time.

8. Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance (2002): The first film in Chan-wook Park's “revenge trilogy” (best known for its second film, Old Boy), Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance was a powerful representation of vengeance in its most cruel and unfortunate state. The satisfying and invigorating vengeance of Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill series was no where to be found, as Park blended right and wrong into one and pitted his characters against one another despite the good intentions each of them lived by. When his dying sister needs a kidney transplant, deaf Ryu resorts to kidnapping his former boss's daughter and holding her for ransom; a series of misfortunes and heinous retributions ensue. The quiet of the film played key to the intensity of Mr. Vengeance, whose tragic story was alone enough to make it one of the best of the decade. Park's trilogy turned the world's gaze toward Korean film, and Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance was a leading example of the amazing talent going little noticed in the region. Why this film was important: For me, Park's film solidified my yearning for foreign film, setting in motion a desire to experience further unknowns, little-knowns or distant films. For everyone else, it was simply one of the most affecting films of the decade.

Best of the Decade (Nate) (Essay)

Note: Like my sibling’s list, mine is made up of representatives of genre, mainly to avoid one genre taking up the whole list. My eye also tends to center on technical breakthroughs and life-changing event films. I’ve also tried to stay away from films that everyone has on their lists, and I’ve succeeded for the most part.

10. Wet Hot American Summer (David Wain, 2001)


David Wain’s first feature, is, at first glance, a normal comedy. But on second (and third, fourth, and fifth), it’s actually the best comedy of the decade and up there on the all-time list. Wall-to-wall wackyness is all there is to be found, with new jokes and gags to be discovered on every viewing. Unlike many many other comedies, there’s no relationship B-story drama or anything else getting in the way of the funny. There’s also not much motivation behind the jokes other than they’re funny. What this movie did for me on a personal level was negate everything I learned in film school (everything in movies has meaning), and inspire me to make movies in the same vain. This concept, only-there-for-funny, unfortunately went over the heads of my film professors.

Best of the Decade (Jake) (Essay)

NOTE: The following list is an effort to quantify and order the films of the recent decade. Most of the films I have chosen are figure-heads of their respective "type," but I did not disregard a film merely because another of its "kind" already made the list (at least not on more than one occasion). Half of this list is predictable and, yes, down-right boring: at this point we know what was good and what deserves recognition at least if its just that, a nod of the head. However, I've chosen the few that stand out and emphasized them in an attempt to keep things at least somewhat interesting. I will be posting my top 10 two at a time for the next few days, followed by some notable mentions and other random awards of the decade. Enjoy.

10. Children of Men (2006): Alfonso Cuarón's modern sci-fi masterpiece was a shock to the system, a social justice film as subversive in its technique as it was open about its message. Why this film was important: Re-educated us on how to make a sci-fi film: one without monsters or aliens or futuristic weaponry or psychological gimmicks; showcased for folks like Spielberg that technique and story are at the heart of making quality, AND entertaining, cinema.

Reitman Interview (cont.) (Essay)

On casting for Up in the Air:

I asked Reitman if he casted people like Jason Bateman (again) and Zach Galifianakis in order to draw the college-humor crowd, in order to expand his viewership beyond white-haired women in shalls. To this Reitman reacted strongly, saying he had casted Galifianakis long before The Hangover debuted, long before college-America knew of the actor/comedian. He said he likes writing for/casting people he genuinely likes and genuinely wants to work for, and expressed his frustration with the archetype that was created for Galifianakis, one that he does not fit in Up in the Air. It seemed he was saying Galifianakis' assumed character type was a detriment to his part in Up in the Air, rather than something positive he purposely set out to accomplish (as I had thought). Where audiences may expect Galifianakis to “say something stupid,” he said, they are instead met with a more or less sympathetic and straightforward character [who is only a part of the film for 60 seconds or so—JB].

The Star Trek Movies: An Undertaking, Part 1 (Essay)

Star Trek: the final nerd frontier. These are the-okay enough of that, you can see where this is going.

Yes, Star Trek. That quintessential nerd franchise. When most people imagine a stereotypical nerd, I’m betting a short, stout, bespectacled figure dressed in a puke green uniform standing in line with others much like him waiting for an autograph from the guy who stood third from the right in that one shot from that one episode he wasn’t even alive to see in its original run. I am not one of these people. Yes, when I was younger I enjoyed “The Next Generation” a great deal, and it probably had something to do with Generations being released when I was ten. But I’m not a Trekkie by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve only ever seen one episode of the original series. Which is why I’m not talking about the series, I’ll be talking about the movies. Specifically the movies based on the original series. That is, the first through the sixth and the eleventh, which was released in May this year. This will be an outsider’s perspective. I don’t pretend to know everything about them. After all, I’ve never seen the series upon which they were based. Nor have I read the books about the lore or studied the blueprints of the ships. I’ve seen the movies. Things were revealed to me I didn’t previously know and I’d like to discuss it. So let’s boldly go where many many many have gone before shall we?

Up in the Air and Jason Reitman (Essay)

NOTE: This is an article I wrote for my college newspaper after talking with Jason Reitman at the Grand Hotel in Minneapolis a few weeks back. Further, less formal/cohesive posts will soon follow detailing other things that came up in the interview I found interesting. My review of Up in the Air is also forthcoming.

For someone who makes films for a living, it might sound disconcerting that Jason Reitman finds no answers in the language of the big screen—only questions.

“I don't think there are answers,” Reitman said, his knack for philosophical discussion as apparent as it is in his films. “The only thing I'm fairly confident in is that life is infinitely complicated.”

Coming off of the success of cult comedy Thank You For Smoking and international film sweetheart Juno, Reitman's new picture, Up in the Air, which he both wrote and directed, aims to pose equally challenging questions about love, home, belonging and self in a similarly entertaining, non-aggressive, comical manner.

A story about a man who travels two-thirds of the year for his career, played by George Clooney, Up in the Air is as personal a film to Reitman as it could get.

“I really cherish my time in the air,” he said after rattling off more than two-dozen cities he's traveled to in promotion of the film.

Starting as a commercial director and transitioning into feature productions, he said he's always been accustomed to traveling, and that the detached, stringless lifestyle represented by the main character is something he can very much relate to.

Based off of a novel of the same name by Walter Kirn, Up in the Air is an adaptation that Reitman tried to keep as close to the original as the new medium would allow, taking into account the differences between the two.

The Fourth Kind (Review)

I admit it: I fell for The Fourth Kind, hook, line and sinker. If you know nothing about it and have any desire to see The Fourth Kind, stop reading and do so, or suffer a meaningless, giggle-inducing 98 minutes.

Written and directed by film-industry newcomer Olatunde Osunsanmi, The Fourth Kind is a sloppy, over-the-top sci-fi thriller only forgivable when viewers go blind to the hoax it revolves around. In this way it is a peculiar film, defined almost entirely by viewer knowledge of its subject matter, which, when minimal, yields an enthralling and terrifying experience, but, when sufficient, turns shrieks into laughter and gaping mouths of disbelief into gaping mouths in service to a yawn.

The film poses as a dramatization of actual case studies backed by real video footage and audio recordings, many of which are shown throughout. This is the hook.

As the film begins, actress Milla Jovovich speaks directly to the audience outing herself as a performer in the film, and purports to be playing a character based on a real woman, Dr. Abbey Tyler, who is also featured via a filmed interview intermittently. This is the line.

The Box (Review)

The year is 1976, an innocent age in which an unmarked package is nothing to worry about, and half of Frank Langella walks around being mysterious. It's a time when conspiracy lurks around every corner, when no one can be trusted; it's the time a terrible movie occupies. It's The Box.

Adapted from a short story by Richard Matheson (I Am Legend), The Box is a science fiction, fantasy, mystery, thriller, conspiracy, romance, horror film with so many plot points and references that it caves in on itself, revealing in its wake the dusty remains of Cameron Diaz trying to act sincere.

When couple Norma and Arthur Lewis (Cameron Diaz and James Marsden) are visited by the deformed Arlington Steward (Frank Langella) who offers them cold hard cash in return for the couple's cooperation in killing an unknown person, a series of off-the-wall events involving hypnotic, somnabulant peeping-Toms, government cover-ups and other-worldly magical nonsense are set off.

Michael Jackson's This Is It (Review)

It's not enough to say Michael Jackson was eccentric. Michael Jackson, at least in his later years, was a caricature of himself, a part he perpetuates even in death in Michael Jackson's This Is It.

This Is It was previously going to be Jackson's final tour, a production that would match Jackson's life in size and scope, sparing no expense in creating a memorable farewell to music for the man that practically invented it. After Jackson's untimely death, however, the superstar's concert co-director, Kenny Ortega, was left with a massive pool of unused talent and effort and hours of stock rehearsal interviews and footage. Thus was born This Is It, a documentary meets musical that is more a tribute film than anything else.

Ortega is a middle-aged Jackson fan-boy who kisses the ground MJ walks on throughout the film. In many scenes, Ortega gushes over the musical icon while treating him like a child at the same time, an attitude that is oddly fitting when dealing with the Peter Pan wannabe.

Growing Older Through Film (Discussion)

Lately I've recognized a bounty of films that deal with aging—childhood, growing up, etc. Is it just my own heightened sensitivity to this subject or is it true that numerous films dealing with growing older have clustered together? OR, has it always been the case that filmmakers are interested in aging and that a vast number of films tackle this issue, sometimes without us noticing it?

Where The Wild Things Are, the Toy Story re-releases and Away We Go are examples that come to my immediate attention, but there have been many others recently. Although I happen to like this popular theme, it just seems more used than ever before (yes, I know Toy Story is not technically a 2009 movie—but it's coincidental). But, I do think that I personally seem to tend to these films, as many that deal with aging and childhood are animated, films meant (sadly? ironically? rightfully?) for a young audience, a genre that has always been one of my favorites.

It's easiest to answer this question in the light of my third option above, but I think that does not do justice to the subject at hand. Yes, of course, filmmakers, artists and humankind in general is and always has been interested in mortality and the innocence of childhood and the sentimentality involved in growing away from such innocence and carelessness and downright fun. But, I think now more than ever do we see films tackling this issue, and I think this goes beyond the obvious. Maybe it's that the world is getting older, we, as a civilization, are feeling our age. This could be a stretch, but stick with me on this one.

In earlier times, perhaps even as early as 30, 40 years ago, we, as a global society, looked to the future and saw something grand. The alienating times of post WWII and the Cold War forced people to look to the future with positivity: It's gotta be better than this! But nowadays, I think we've grown tired, we feel old. Movies feel old. I feel old. Maybe dramatic, yes, but like I said, there is something to it.

The bright side is this: movies on childhood are some of the best, and it's a genre that I wouldn't trade for just about any other. And most of the time, movies like Where The Wild Things Are and Toy Story don't just make us nostalgic and teary-eyed, they make us happy to remember, or be aware of, the innocence, the fun, we all once had, and can continue to have throughout our lives. So I guess it's a good thing that we have these films, and a plethora of them, because, and I don't know about you, I don't want to forget to have fun.

Paranormal Activity (Review)

With a tense, grinding build-up that lasts the majority of the film, Paranormal Activity shows a patience that few thrillers can manage to compete with. The jump-starting fright phenomenon is slow to begin, but when the lights start to illuminate the theatre, there's no denying that this film will keep you up at night.

The film follows young couple Katie and Micah as they attempt to capture on tape evidence of the paranormal presence that has supposedly followed Katie throughout her life. Produced for around $15,000, the entire film is shot through Micah's portable camera he goes nowhere without.

Paranormal Activity is a combination of The Blair Witch Project (1999) and Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Kairo (2001), mixing a low-budget, documentary style with the chills of ghosts, demons and poltergeist. The film's realism is what drives it, as those who are blind going into the film question throughout: Did this actually happen?

Paranormal Activity, unlike many of its horror/thriller rivals of the day, is more concerned with quality than quantity. Katie and Micah are full, three-dimensional characters whose personalities effect the plot instead of vice versa. Who they are and how they manage as a couple effects how they deal with being terrorized by the thing they can't explain.

Much like Blair Witch, Paranormal Activity makes the camera its own character. As its being hauled around, peaked around corners and subject to what the couple does not see while they sleep, the audience begins to feel like the kid that's forced to go first into the haunted house. In this way, viewers actually play a role through the eye of the camera, making the film that much more real and that much more terrifying.

The quality is also in the pacing: the film stacks up the tension bit by bit, letting the audience relax on occasion between night scenes, but is relentlessly warning of the further terror to come. When the couple isn't dealing directly with demonic possession, they are slowing piecing together information and discussing their next move, a progression that only further adds to the suspense.

The only problem with this structure is its repetitiveness. The audience is in constant wait of a climax, which bodes well for a thrilling ride, but frustrates when that climax doesn't come when expected. This becomes a distraction late in the film as viewers lie in wait for something “big” to happen, constantly questioning when the movie will pick up.

It's refreshing to see a horror movie return to its genre's roots, focusing on what's “horrific” about how humans view the world rather than what in the world scares us. How Micah sees his role as a human being in relation to what exists around him becomes the truly terrifying subject of the film. The fact that we are not always in control—of our loved ones, of ourselves and of the other beings of this world—is what scares us the most in Paranormal Activity.

Nary a cheesy or laughable moment exists throughout the couple's experience, as queues from shows such as “Most Haunted” and “Ghost Hunters” are seemingly replicated in depicting a truly eerie demonic presence. The sounds of the house prove to be one of the scariest elements of the film—the repeated thud of footsteps on the stairwell becomes a trademark of the evil in pursuit of Katie. Even the always-present whir of the camera—what might be called the film's only soundtrack—is enough to push viewers down into their seats.

The ending, which supposedly was altered upon Steven Spielberg's suggestion, in my opinion, could have been done differently, but still serves justice to the overall picture. The lack of credits is another way Paranormal Activity feeds the realism, a trick first time writer-director Oren Peli was smart to use.

With a calculated, intelligent script and an uncanny knack for realism, Paranormal Activity is the best scare cinema has had to offer in a long time. The film's unbelievably low production cost coupled with its break-neck shooting time (reportedly 7 days) proves that good movies rely on the fundamentals of film making, not the size of its star's salary.

John Ford's Unspoken Law (Essay)

WARNING: Very formal, Read at your own risk.

In John Ford's My Darling Clementine (1946), two forms of law exist: expressed law and implied law. Expressed law is governmental law, written law that formally dictates how society in the grandest sense should operate. Implied law, a less clear but more heavily respected and represented form of governance throughout Clementine, is treated differently by different people, but in general reflects an unspoken code of honor, one that may be upheld by vengeful and sometimes seemingly underhanded tactics.

The newly appointed marshal of Tombstone, Wyatt Earp, uses his form of implied law, which includes strong-arming and an eye-for-an-eye ideal, to exert Ford's sentimental view of justice over a city out of control. Earp's ironclad reverse-bullying technique employed in a scene opposite the Clanton brothers (00:31-00:36) and his treatment of Chihuahua, the sympathetic tramp, in an earlier scene (00:17-00:21) define the marshal's sense justice as inevitable and brutal, but personal and forgiving—the kind of justice that Ford maintains is the only answer to a world in conflict.

The Clanton family, a father and four sons, is depicted as a sinister group from an early point in the film. In the very first scene, father Clanton offers to buy Earp's cattle herd for what is expressed as a cheap offer, illustrating both his greed and willingness to swindle others. The tension between the Clantons and the marshal reaches a boiling point later in the film, when Earp goes on the hunt for a visiting actor, Granville Thorndyke, who has gone missing, and finds him shortly thereafter amongst the Clantons at a bar. The scene illustrates Earp's sense of implied law when it comes to violence. Violence, to him, is an instinctive means to solving disputes, and an especially necessary reaction to violence from another source. The only way in which to deal with thugs (i.e. the Clanton brothers) is to teach them with violence. As Earp moves to return the actor, one Clanton grabs Thorndyke and makes a move for his gun. Earp quickly smashes the man in the face with his pistol and shoots at a second Clanton who also reaches for his weapon. This decisive act of violence is committed with the utmost confidence and sense of righteousness, as if Earp already knew he was going to have to exert violent rule over this family.

Like Ford's angel of America, Earp was crafted with the perfect sense of the strict implied law—how to react when someone threatens you—which serves as a cure-all to what plagues society. As the tension settles, father Clanton offers a short apology, which Earp answers with, “Sure, I figured they were just having themselves some fun” (00:35). He then leaves, making no arrest or collecting no one's weapon, accepting in how justice has been served in his brutal display of violence. In Earp's actions, the film advocates for a sense of personality within the law, the idea that each crime is personal and must be dealt with between the involved parties, but mediated by someone with the perfect ideology of right and wrong. In this case, Earp decides best how to solve the problem as both marshal and as a personally effected party, resulting in the best way to cleanse the society of thugs: violence.

In how he deals with the trouble-making Chihuahua, Earp continues to define and enforce implied law, which, in its practice, is represented by the film as the best way (or at least the most effective way) to deliver the city from evil. Earp's willingness to act outside of expressed law to meet a justified end is, the film argues, what makes him fit to “save” society. When Chihuahua helps another man cheat in poker against Earp, the marshal drags her outside. Chihuahua refuses to listen to his threats and slaps him in the face, to which Earp responds by dunking her in a trough (00:20). Once again, Earp does not arrest her or even see that she returns home for the night, instead he reacts brashly and childishly, but he effectively shows her what kind of law he abides by and what he intends on doing to those who land on the other side of it. The personal vendetta he holds with those who break the law, especially when the case involves him personally, is most evident in this scene. It is this subjectivity in practicing the law—specifically in Earp's case alone—that the film advocates.

Without one who understands not only right from wrong, but more importantly, how to deal with those who do not know right from wrong, society is doomed. Earp's form of tough-love governance is the answer to cleansing the entire city, just as he soaks Chihuahua with no hesitation. What motivates Earp to treat Chihuahua in such a way is developed earlier in the scene, when she tries the marshal's character, first with flirtation and sex, then with a hidden threat, a suggestion through song that she knows about his missing cattle and slain brother (00:17). Earp, in his ability to resist both temptations and to recognize where justice needs to be righteously exacted (it is suggested that previous marshals have gone through the same test and failed), is the clear candidate for the city's savior and the model of civilization's (inside and outside the film) path to decency and goodness.

My Darling Clementine depicts Wyatt Earp as a man not above the law, but a man among “certain gifted persons in a society...who carry the law with them” (Mast and Kawin 302). His subjective view of how society should run, the film argues, is the only way in which evil can be detached from good, and disposed of accordingly. Whether it's by violence or mere unexpected recognition and coequal punishment, the film charges that the way Earp does away with wrongdoing is indeed our own solution—as citizens of today—to a happier, healthier, more united civilization.

Works Cited

Mast, Gerald, and Bruce Kawin. A Short History of the Movies. New York: Pearson Education, Inc., 2008.

My Darling Clementine. Dir. John Ford. Perf. Henry Fonda, Victor Mature, Cathy Downs and Linda Darnell. 1946. DVD. 20^th Century Fox Home Entertainment, 2007.

Couples Retreat (Review)

While Couples Retreat shows a genuine effort to be a funny movie that tackles serious issues about marriage and relationships, the end result is an ultimately familiar and flaccid, albeit amusing, attempt at meaningful comedy.

Couples Retreat stars Vince Vaughn as the same character he has been playing for 10 years. Dave is abrasive and overbearing, dealing out the fast-talking one-liners like carrots at a fat camp, but only in an effort to mask his heart of gold.

Dave and a group of his friends, four couples in all, go on a trip to Eden, an island getaway intended for couples that need to rekindle their love. When they arrive they realize that the “couples skillbuilding,” what only one couple, Cynthia (Kristen Bell) and Jason (Jason Bateman), has come to experience, is required for all. Wackiness ensues.

Each couple is representative of one form of a relationship: one that isn't ready and won't work, one that has dried up and lacks togetherness, one that has forgotten faithfulness and communication and one that is over-regulated and out of sync. However convenient it is to see each form laid out clearly for all to see, by stereotyping relationships the film contradicts its own meaning.

By systematically categorizing the problems couples face, the film upends the theory it promotes throughout: each couple is individual by nature, and must deal with their problems in different ways. The couples of the film, despite their accuracy in resembling some real-world relationships, are flat; they lack the nuance we relate with deep relationships, thus making it hard to truly attach oneself to the characters.

The acting is what one would anticipate from the troupe of comedy regulars, yet the material given to them allowed little to work with. Even the charm of Jason Bateman, who has been in every film made since 2006 (how does he find the time to be in so many movies?!), cannot spice up this film's average flavor.

Vaughn, who co-wrote the film with Jon Favreau and Dana Fox, brands the film with his unmistakable style of comedy. Much like a conversation with a relative, the film incites viewers to simply smile and nod until its over. Some lines prove giggle-worthy, but beyond that expect sex jokes that fall flat by the truckload.

Obviously judging from the aforementioned criticisms, Couples Retreat is not a great film, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's terrible. It's average, mundane, run-of-the-mill—it's the Burger King of movies. Yes, you'd rather have MacDonald's, but at least it's something.

Couples Retreat is too easy. It's a cop-out. The shallow characters and basic story structure is fine for something one could turn on and fall asleep to on a Saturday afternoon (the definition of a Vince Vaughn movie), but it will not be the crown jewel of your collection when it comes out on DVD.

The Invention of Lying (Review)

It's no surprise that Ricky Gervais would come out with a movie about lying. The English comic, who brought us shows such as “The Office” and “Extras,” has made a career out of showing us the awkward underbelly of society in its efforts to hide, distort and wish away the truth.

The Invention of Lying plays with the same idea, but in expected Gervais fashion, the film grounds itself in a sentimentality that challenges viewers to question how we judge the world and what we deem to be and not to be.

Where the potential for comedy thrives in the idea of one liar in a world of truth, the social setting is not one primed for side-splitting antics.

The film is set on an earth where lying does not exist. In fact, fabrication of any sort is out of the picture, and society's only concerns are with what it defines as the truth. Fat people, people without jobs, poor people—they're all seen as “losers” (a term that comes up many times throughout the film) who have little potential to succeed and therefore become invisible to those who are rich, attractive, powerful or talented.

Twenty minutes into the film, it is clear that the world of the “truth” is quite depressing. This is not just for the fact that what people say to each other is harsh and blunt (what makes up for most of the comedy of the film), but it's that everything coming out of people's mouths is a negative—a put down, a sad piece of their lives, a pessimistic, self-hating mantra that works to bring down the audience instead of make us laugh.

Society's inability to fabricate seems coupled with their inability to care. That's not to say that merely niceties and forced complements are absent: care in any form is hard to come by.

In one scene, Mark Bellison (Gervais) visits his mom after being insulted and rejected by his previous night's date and tells her he suspects that he may lose his job. He expresses how he has little hope for the future, that he has no money, no prospects and little to look forward to, and she shrugs him off.

“Things could be worse,” she says. “We could be homeless.”

This of course is followed by Bellison getting evicted, which pushes him to the end of his wits.

About midway through the film, after Bellison discovers lying, the narrative takes an odd turn and begins to give its own take on Christianity and the Ten Commandments when Bellison tells the world of how there is a “man in the sky” who dictates what happens to people when they die.

In dangerous criticism of Christianity and religion in general, The Invention of Lying depicts a society that relies too heavily on what others think and say and believe, and relates how that attitude reflects our own culture's misuse of what started as a mere story, a fabrication, of what governs our existence.

In a telling scene near the end of the film, Bellsion is accosted from behind and, upon requesting an admittance of fault, is met with further disrespect and rejection of compassion. Despite the fact that this society knows now to be good and kind and understanding, its view of the world has not changed in the least.

This allegorical backdrop is the film's most interesting aspect, as the cheeky, improv-style comedy and awkward romance fail to deliver. It's disappointing to see Gervais, who shared writing and directing credit with Matthew Robinson, not live up to what we're all used to even surrounded by a star-studded cast with cameos by Jason Bateman (Extract), John Hodgman (“The Daily Show”), Tina Fey (“30 Rock”), Edward Norton (everything) and Christopher Guest (This Is Spinal Tap).

The Invention of Lying is the result of a good idea warped and faded, with its situational comedy too dreary to be funny, but not enough so to come out the other end as a more dramatic, yet entertaining, creation.

Pandorum (Review)

Pandorum, directed by Christian Alvart, is the latest telling of a sci-fi soap-opera. Two sole men wake up aboard an enormous spacecraft with no recollection of their mission, and even littler knowledge as to where the rest of the crew went. As it plays out, Pandorum feels more like a video game than a film, as it provides exhilarating action sequences and skilled camera work, but lacks on character development and dialogue.

The film starts with a timeline of humankind's landmarks in space exploration with the corresponding population of the earth. The last date is 2174, the year our protagonists' ship is sent out into space; earth's population is more than 20 billion.

In this early scene, space is humankind's refuge, our chance to start anew. Space, despite its ominous presence, is a lifeline. Throughout the rest of the film, Alvart and screenwriter Travis Milloy upend this ideology, proving to a horrific measure how unforgiving space can be and how much we should cherish the place we are.

Pandorum exhibits a plethora of innate human fears, each of which space and the spacecraft, which serves as the film's only physical setting for nearly the entirety, prey upon throughout the film.

Viewers are tossed quickly into the nightmarish fray, as Bower (Ben Foster), our protagonist, violently wakes out of cryo-sleep half-covered in ice. He screams wildly in vein as the camera pulls away from his frozen pod to reveal only darkness.

This is an early example of Alvart's ability to relay a feeling of terror; he does not back us into the experience, he plunges in.

A key component to horror film making is setting a tone, and Pandorum does this well. The combination of freezing temperatures, still darkness and silence warn audiences of one thing: lifelessness.

Viewers are not called upon to simply watch these opening events take place, but we are forced to live them. The camera's sporadic movement inside the pod as Bower struggles to escape lends to a sense of panic, a subjectivity that will remain throughout the film.

Soon Bower is released and helps one more crew member, Payton (Dennis Quaid), Bower's commanding officer, wake up. The rest of the film follows Bower as he journeys through the ship in search of the engine room, where the ship's reactor must be manually reset in order to avoid certain death.

Along with isolation, Alvart introduces claustrophobia in an early scene in which Bower crawls through the ship's vents. This incremental introduction of challenges and terrors is simple, but effective.

As the vent becomes tighter and tighter, darker and darker, Bower begins to panic once more. His claustrophobia becomes the audience's, as the camera is pushed in on by piping and darkness.

With only the threat of a cold room and a tight squeeze, these two opening sequences illustrate how simple it is to instill a sense of horror through film making; this opening is a refreshing reminder that film can create horror as long an ideology of fear is present.

The rest of the film, I'm disappointed to say, does not continue along the same path as it starts. Following the two opening sequences, much of the horror comes from freakish, humanoid monsters that hunt Bower.

Adding monsters to an already frightening experience only dulls the suspense the film works to achieve in the first place. As Bower and company run away from and do battle with the beasties, it felt strange to not be holding a controller in my hand.

One particular scene near the end of the film is laughable in how close it resembles a video game in pacing and composition.

Developed as the leader of the monsters, the strongest creature corners one of Bower's friends who finds himself unarmed. In the classic “boss battle” format, the two square off head-to-head from opposite sides of the shot (think Mortal Kombat) ... but not before the monster throws his foe a weapon, as a true gentleman should.

The overall story arc is underdeveloped and poorly delivered, but remains to hold on to viewers' attentions to the very end—an end that is halfway unique and halfway predictable, but, oddly, wholly satisfying.

Pandorum will not be the sleeper hit of the year that it very well could have been, given a less central reliance on cliché sci-fi monsters and more character background and development. However, for those seeking cheap thrills with an attempted backbone, you can't go wrong.

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell (Review)

The introduction to Tucker Max's web site states, “My name is Tucker Max, and I am an asshole.” I couldn't have said it better myself.

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell is an adaptation of Tucker Max's book by the same title, which showcases Max's unbridled recklessness in the face of all that is decent and good. The blogger phenom spends his time drinking, having sex and mixing the two together to come up with the most unbelievable (but supposedly true) stories any shallow, college-aged boy—that's right, “boy”—would envy not being a part of ... and now he's made a movie.

The film follows three friends, Dan, Drew and Tucker Max as they set out to have the craziest bachelor party possible a la The Hangover, but where the latter succeeded in its uncharacteristic plot structure and uproariously funny dialogue, Hell force-feeds viewers cheap, quippy jokes in its portrayal of who must be the saddest men on Earth.

Featuring non-stop beer, a Halo-centered plot device and enough naked women to rival Hugh Hefner's roster of girlfriends, Hell plays like a 13-year-old's wet dream—needless to say it doesn't appeal to anyone seeking any sort of depth beyond a feigned attempt at character development.

As the film drags on, it becomes apparent that Max is a self-driven meathead who is willing to abandon and recklessly disregard the well-being of his friends in the search of a good story. However, as the film parades as an attack on the bigoted, chauvinistic tendencies of modern young, white men represented by Max, it bolsters just the opposite in doing so.

No real consequences come in response to Max and company's actions, which, telling in the film's true motives (be they conscious or not), are glorified throughout.

Tucker Max, who co-wrote the film with Nils Parker, definitely has a knack for storytelling ... but this doesn't mean it's a good story. What I'm guessing started as a truly entertaining tale told to a gang of university beer pong experts does not translate well to the big screen. In a world where absolutely anything can happen, drinking and strippers fail to amaze.

The film's production qualities are some of the lowest of any wide-release movies of late. The acting, aside from unknown Matt Czuchry (Tucker Max), ranges from bad to sickly, as it seems many of the characters were played by the rejects of the most recent high school production of “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

The dialogue is equally atrocious. What might have read as clever and sharp, sounds overworked, unrealistic and, despite consisting primarily of vulgarity and “yo momma”-esque comebacks, pretentious. Think Juno on crack.

Hell, like many films created with the college crowd in mind, has every right to tout its high level offensiveness, but in no way does the number of people a movie can turn off constitute a success of any degree. Usually offensive material suggests an underlying theme, a carefully interwoven social allegory, commentary on the state in which we live—Max's film contains none. Hell is a pointless, circular, self-congratulating mess, as shallow and dry as the lonely, sex-addicted man it revolves around.

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell is the opposite of what a comedy should be. It's shameful anecdotes on drinking and women, the abuse of which Max observes as males' “destiny as men,” are advocated for under the guise of satire, making the film feel more like a white-power rally than anything else. O, and in answer to the title, no: they didn't serve any at the theatre.

Taro the Dragon Boy (Essay)

(Tatsu no ko Tarô)

Released 1979 (Japan); January 31, 2006 (US DVD)

Studio: Toei Animation Company

Directed by: Kiriro Urayama, Peter Fernandez (English cut)

Sticking to the theme of lifelong favorites from my childhood, especially those that feature dragons, I thought Taro would be a most fitting, if not completely unknown, addition. Easily as hard to find as Flight of Dragons, Taro doesn’t even have a Wiki page, so I will have to use my limited knowledge of Japanese folklore if I want to go in depth explaining the stories behind the story.

I should point out I have never watched the original Japanese dub of the movie. Apparently the English cut is vastly different. It doesn’t change the story but apparently lots of the dialogue is changed and in the US version there’s a lot more songs (well, one song sung a few times) that I guess they don’t use in the original. The songs were one of the reasons I liked it so much and why it’s so memorable for me (unlike the previous two films, Taro has never left my memory). Someday I probably will watch the Japanese version, but will quickly go back to the American one shortly after. I’m keeping the magic of my childhood alive.


Taro is the story of a young boy who has been orphaned. He lives in a poor village in the mountains with his grandmother. The people of the village spend their days trying to grow millet in their infertile lands. “Grow a thousand grains from one, grown ten thousand grains from two,” is their mantra. Taro is a lazy boy, who, even though he’s young and strong, spends most of his days asleep rather than helping the community or playing with the other boys. This causes the boys to give Taro the nickname “dragon boy”. Why, I do not know. My guess is it was a rumor that grew out of control. A rumor, Taro learns, is true.

One day Taro asks his grandmother about his mother. She tells him that yes, he is the son of a dragon, and that his mother gave her eyes to feed him when he was a baby (to substitute for milk), and blinded, flew to a lake high in the mountains. Taro promptly vows to find his mother and sets out the next day to do just that.

As per usual in adventure films, Taro meets all kinds of amazing characters on his way. Aya is a girl from the neighboring mountain, who plays the flute beautifully. The Wizard Tengu (who appears sometimes in Japanese fairy tales), wrestles Taro and gives him the strength of ten men, something that comes in handy when he meets the Red and Black Demons. Taro also is briefly employed by a farmer woman, who claims a dragon lives in the pond by her house. When this is proven a lie, Taro takes his pay for his work. The woman laughs and offers him all he can carry, which turns out is the entire crop. Taro begins then to redeem himself by doling out portions of the rice crop to other poor villagers throughout the mountains.


Eventually Taro reaches the lake, and finds his mother in one of the most tearful reunions ever in film. He learns the full story of how she became a dragon in the first place (punishment for selfishness), which cements Taro’s good deeds as self-redeeming. But he wasn’t done thinking of the people of the valley. He notices the lake could be drained which would get water to all the people and make their lands more fertile and they wouldn’t be so poor and hungry. The film climaxes with Taro and his dragon mother draining the lake in epic fashion.

Now when it comes to family dynamics in film, the father-son relationship is probably the most often represented. There’s a fair amount of mother-daughter, and even a few father-daughter. But the one least represented is the mother-son relationship. This is probably a reason the movie is so important to me. My mom was stay-at-home until after my brother was born so I’d spend a lot of time with her, reading books, going to the park, and watching movies. Movies like Taro. And invariably I’d end up walking around singing the song and carried the “dragon boy” nickname around for a while. So that’s a reason I hold it so dearly.

Something else I noticed when watching it shortly after I bought the DVD. Taro, along with other animated films I grew up with, allowed me to accept pretty much anything fantastical without questioning it (in stories at least, because I recognize them as stories *cough* creation stories *cough*). For example, when Taro defeats the Black Demon, he frees a horse the demon had captive. Later in the movie, the horse can fly. I never thought twice about this until my dad was like, “oh, yeah, that makes sense, flying horse.” Well, Aya explains the horse has gotten its strength back and now is its normal self and can fly again. This is a perfect explanation in the realm of this story, and it never occurred to me at age 3, 13, or 23 to question it.


Taro was also the first anime I ever saw, so the seeds of that love were planted quite early. You may also have noticed how absolutely beautiful the artwork is in the movie. That I think is something amazing: it’s not an "A" movie quality-wise by pretty much any standards, yet the art is still gorgeous.

I don’t expect anyone will be clamoring to tell me this is one they watched years ago and forgot, so I will say that you should do yourself a favor and seek Taro out.

9 (Review)

Back in 2005, Shane Acker created an 11 minute short called “9.” Now four years later, Acker is back and he brought some Hollywood friends along this time. Produced by Tim Burton, 9 takes an otherwise blasé and mundane story about a fore-coming apocalypse produced by Machine v. Man warfare and dresses it up in CGI clothing.

Instead of following a band of last remaining humans, the film puts a rag-tag group of...rag dolls at the center of the narrative, following a repetitive formula the whole way through. 1) A machine threat is produced. 2) Our heroes defeat the threat. 3) They talk. Rinse and repeat.

The charm of the silent original has faded away leaving behind a husk of its former self, stuffed to its ears in production values unable to stand on their own.

Many of the film's artistic choices are entirely too reminiscent of other films. The machines look as if they were cut directly from The Matrix and spliced in with a CGI retool. Some shots are shockingly resemblant of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, especially one particular crane shot that features two main characters in the forefront and a set of ominous towers in deep focus.

The anti-technology sentiments may well have been ripped right out of The Terminator and I, Robot. Technology is bad, especially in the hands of bad people; audiences have been spoon-fed this message since the term “sci-fi” was first coined.

Those complaints aside, aesthetically, 9 is attractive and pleasing. Acker's designs are superb; the different self-made monsters that the machines build leave the viewer curious as to what will come next. These ingenious designs—taking after various intimidating animals—save the film from drowning in its formulaic narrative.

Overall, 9 felt confused with what kind of movie it wanted to be: intense, sci-fi horror, or family-friendly cartoon. While most scenes are suspenseful and compositionally disheartening, the ending is much more Disney than the original short (and less satisfying).

9 is a huge disappointment. What could have been an interesting and dark stand-out picture was torn in two between the box office and artistic integrity. The only remaining qualities of its former rendition—a haunting soundtrack and unique character design—luckily saves it from the Dreamworks graveyard of CGI film.