On the Z in World War Z

Horror fans have one very specific rule about how they want their cinematic zombies; they want them played by real people with old-fashioned make up. This could be why the tense and enjoyable I Am Legend (2007) suffered: CGI zombies.

Like I Am Legend, World War Z is an adaptation of a well-regarded graphic novel. Unlike I Am Legend, its problems in production were well publicised. After some test footage, makers of World War Z realised that their computed generated zombies were not welcome. This was followed by a statement claiming that they had adopted the Jaws (1975) concept: save the reveal till the end. A statement that only illuminated the problems they’d been having. The results, one would expect, would be messy.

As it happens, amongst the remakes, sequels, prequels, spin off etc, this adaptation is the most entertaining blockbuster of the summer so far. Whatever problems they were facing have been salvaged and while the result may not be a horror film it is a very effective thriller – with zombies.  The zombies are computer generated when en masse, but the close ups (few and far between) are real actors and undeniably creepy.

Director Marc Forster has created some fantastic set pieces as the story globe trots from Israel to Cardiff. Added to this is an intelligent and fresh take on the zombie legend and a strong central performance from Brad Pitt, playing his ex-UN investigator raw rather than warrior. From start to end World War Z is tense and, for someone who is not a zombie enthusiast, contains zombies that carry a fast, aggressive threat.   

On Love and Before Midnight

It is true that, amongst the noise and destruction that arrives in cinemas every summer, films such as Richard Linklater’s Before Midnight are welcome respites. However, it is equally accurate to say that regardless of its release date, Before Midnight would stand as a near perfect film and a conclusion (possibly) to an unlikely, near perfect trilogy.

Before Midnight reunites us with Celine and Jesse in their early 40s, following their first introduction as 20 something’s in 1995’s Before Sunrise and then Before Sunset (2004), which picked up with them in their early 30s. Each chapter of this romantic tripartite locates the capricious couple in a different romantic locale, only once allowing one half of the romance the benefit of home (Before Sunset concludes in Celine’s Parisian apartment). These (mostly) neutral settings provide a fair battleground as Jesse and Celine navigate the tumultuous path to romantic contentment.

Yet, what separates these films from other films that explore relationships is that Linklater and his co-writers and actors, Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy recognise and investigate the individual, inimitable nature of romance. Many films attempt to attach rules and patterns to their romantic narratives, as if there is a paradigm of love that is universally adhered to. By creating a pseudo-shared experience, such films feel they connect with the audience and in many cases they do. Many relationships will be able to relate to the narratives of romantic films and romantic comedies (a genre which Before Midnight flirts with). But this is a paradox and a false investment on the part of the audience. The nature of love, of romance is that each experience is unique; no two people together are the same.

Before Midnight (and its first two chapters) is very aware of this and the result is perhaps the most honest collection of films about love to come out of American cinema. 

On the Latent Content of Man of Steel

As the superhero cycle thunders forward it is perhaps surprising that the archetypal superhero is only just now receiving the film that will apparently kick start the franchise (The Superman of 2006 did not set the standard financially or critically). This time a super team has been drafted in: a director with graphic novel credentials (Zack Snyder, 300 (2006), Watchman (2009), a writer with the same (David S. Goyer, The Dark Knight Trilogy) and a director acting as a producer to over see the whole thing (Christopher Nolan, The Dark Knight Trilogy). This super team has created a superhero film that, while being aesthetically appealing and providing a slightly more gritty Superman film, is all too familiar. Like many of these Marvel / DC films Man of Steel is, as Jose Arroyo says analogous to theme park rides for the audience experience they elicit. This does not negate their place amongst serious cinema study, but it does mean that the latent content of these films requires a little more digging and Man of Steel is no exception. Slavoj Zizek, who wrote about the politics of Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy, exemplifies such a study with great skill.  

The most interesting aspect of Superman has always been his alien status in a country that has a less than exemplary record for illegal immigration. Man of Steel does attempt to tell that story, but it struggles to find its way out of the mass, indecipherable carnage that having too much money encourages (another interesting angle might be to explore the mass casualties that result from Superman and Zod throwing each other around). It is absolutely reasonable to believe that giving these directors less money would result in more imaginative and better film making.

As an illegal alien Superman is accepted as long as he abides by the status quo. For example, living in Middle America with a traditional farming family. Whenever aspects of his Krypton personality emerge, people are frightened and he is told to keep his true self a secret. Even when he chooses Superman as his identity (appeasing the government and highlighting his patriotism with a red, white and blue outfit), he is still feared. The only way Superman can earn some peace is by assuring the military he is as American as they are; the ultimate immigration test. Be one of us, or leave us is the message.

Add to this the metaphor of Superman as a Christ figure and you find some right wing messages lying underneath the bombastic jingoism. Superman’s biological father states early on, when his mother fears his death on Earth that it is impossible, as he’ll be a god to them. He goes onto state to the boy himself, “You will give the people an ideal to strive towards. They will race behind you, they will stumble, they will fall. But in time, they will join you in the sun. In time, you will help them accomplish wonders.” And join him they do, as he offers them salvation and protection, if only they trust him. At one point Superman even seeks counsel from a Priest, who gazes on him with awe.

These messages, of the Christian hegemony and expected acquiescence towards American immigration are hard to ignore when creating a Superman story. And even harder is for a filmmaker to bring these issues to the fore rather than bend to the demand for action that summer cinema demands. 

On Much Ado About Nothing

As Shakespeare adaptations go, Much Ado About Nothing is up there with Romeo and Juliet for being mined by directors. Joss Whedon’s monochrome version brings the story into present day, relocating the action into a large Americanised household. Updating the location, along with the black and white are the film’s major plus point. Whedon creates a beautiful film and, through what is surely a detailed knowledge of the text, blends the past with the contemporary with skill.

What would be even more refreshing would be if Whedon (and any future directors looking to adapt the Bard) had brought the dialogue into the 21^st Century. Shakespeare’s language is poetic, but it is there for anyone to read and still remains esoteric. Therefore, an adaptation that had as keen an eye for the settings (as Whedon does) as well as for language would be welcome. 

On Behind the Candelabra

Steven Soderbergh may be retired from film, but thankfully he’s moved into TV and his output remains undiminished. Here is a man capable of telling any story, able to always find the best shot and draw out incredible performances.

An audience member with no knowledge of Liberace will be drawn into this tale of the American dream in Vegas. Matt Damon’s Scott is the small town boy who makes good – earns fame without possessing the talent to do so, a comment on the fast fame path that many reality TV shows promote. While Liberace offers the contrast; he possess a rare talent, yet is a dying breed. Douglas imbues his Liberace with a great sense of mortality while at the same time shows a man still able to own a room.

There is much to admire to in Soderbergh’s made for HBO film and most of these attributes can be found in the several Soderbergh reviews here, but what rises Behind the Candelabra is the two central performances, which are award worthy.  

On The Iceman

With an aesthetic that is evocative of the New York 70s movies of Scorsese and Friedkin, The Iceman is welcome in this respect. This extends to the acting, which is absorbing and natural.

Despite being about a fascinating character, The Iceman has problems all over, at the heart of which lies the issue of telling the wrong story. What we are given feels like a highlights reel of Kuklinski and lacks the contextual detail that makes him, on screen at least, a real person. This could possibly be because this is a character piece that requires methodical character building, not a series of audience friendly set pieces of violence, action or ‘quotable’ dialogue.

The more fascinating story (which may be lost in the editing) is that of how Kuklinski became the man he is and how the police went about investigating a series of mass killings of which the perpetrator remained unknown. These two features are touched on, but too briefly to matter. The Iceman Tapes: Conversations with a Killer (1992), available on YouTube offers a more thorough story of this captivating man.

On Gender, the Gothic and Byzantium

As a sub genre of horror, the history of vampires in film has been mercurial. The metaphors that arise through the act of vampirism tie this capriciousness directly into issues of gender.

Neil Jordan is no stranger to exploring questions of gender within a mythological narrative. His adaptation of Angela Carter’s The Company of Wolves brings to the screen Carter’s version of Little Red Riding Hood; a symbolic and erotic tale with a young girl at the centre. Jordan carried this theme into Interview with the Vampire (1994) with another young girl at the heart of the story.

This gothic tale, again channelling the red riding image, offers two fascinating representations of women and provides a further connotation of the title. The female characters (Clara and Eleanor) exist as profane vampires against the brotherhood, emblematic of a monastic cult and while being feminine and sexual are also predatory and cunning. Just like Red Riding Hood in Carter’s short story, Eleanor is a walking contradiction, able to channel the self-consciousness of a 16-year-old girl 150 years older than the majority of her contemporaries as well as bringing to the surface the power that comes with such age and knowledge.

Jordan does not shy away from the gory and offers some conventions of the vampiric, while reinventing others. The film remains firmly rooted in the gothic, lit by the neon of cheap seaside resorts. A comment on the disrepute that operates underneath this contemporary Gothicism. This is the most knowing and original vampire film since Let The Right One In (2008).

On The Reluctant Fundamentalist

Based on Mohsin Hamid’s 2007 novel, this adaptation succeeds by not feeling tied to the novel. The novel adopts a point of view framework, offering us the story through Changez in the same way Kafka’s K is the omniscient narrator in The Trial. Director Mira Nair realises the limits of such a structure on film (a reason why The Great Gatsby suffered in Lurhmann’s film) and expands the universe. Therefore, The Reluctant Fundamentalist becomes not only an intelligent, slow burning political thriller, but a film with an authentically evocative mise en scene. While Changez remains the film’s narrator and his ideologies and how we are meant to interpret them is key to the story, Nair fleshes out the ridiculously named Bobby Lincoln (is there a more nationalistic American name?) and allows us to see the, albeit briefly, the feelings of the secondary characters. The Reluctant Fundamentalist is a film worthy of a larger audience, but is unfortunately, being a thriller of ideologies, is likely to lose out to more conventional thrillers. 

On Fast & Furious 6

Back in 2001 Rob Cohen directed The Fast and the Furious. This was fun and clearly directed with an awareness of film and audiences. If this could be said of this latest instalment it might not be the confusion that it is and consequently one of the worst films of the year.

The fault lies not with the actors, but with the massive inconsistencies in writing and directing. The film seems to be made along the lines of, if it sounds/looks good throw it in. The result is a mess that is more painful than pleasurable to watch. 

On W H Auden and Mud

In 1937 W H Auden’s poem, As I Walked Out One Evening was published. Auden’s elegy, describing the ballad and counter-ballad of lovers and time respectively opens and closes with images of a brimming river. Within this aqueous framing Auden explores themes of love, its perpetuity, time and nature.

Jeff Nichols’ Mud, while likely not consciously channelling Auden, explores parallel themes and has as essential to its narrative a river that similarly opens and closes this slice of Americana. Mud follows two young Arkansas boys whose discovery of a speedboat lodged in a tree pulls them into the world of the eponymous drifter.

Mud is a both a romantic (he is desperately and blindly in love with a woman who does not reciprocate) and a streetwise orphan and in these way he imparts something of himself into both of his young followers.

The ophidian dangers that lurk in the waterways ensure time is a constant concern. A snakebite can cause death within twenty minutes with the nearest clinic an hour away. The young boys must always make sure they return home in time to avoid suspicion and Mud, an outlaw, must plan his escape with precision. In these ways time, as in As I Walked Out One Evening is master of Mud and Ellis and their desire for a love everlasting. As in Auden’s poem time is triumphant. Both characters lose what they held so dear and in their own ways are forced, by time, to face different fates.

Yet amongst this battle between love and time is the brimming river. Both Mud and Ellis live off the riches the river provides and both are forced to leave it (Ellis for the city, Mud for the ocean). But it is here, in the symbolism of the river that Mud shares its strongest theme with As I Walked Out On Evening. Auden uses the river to conclude his lament with a positive image; the river brims, a sign of life and nature. Neither love nor time (both man made constructions) is everlasting, but nature is and will outlive them both and paradoxically, this becomes a positive image for humanity. They may have lost the love that once defined their lives and time may have reminded them who is in charge, but we feel that Mud and Ellis will be okay, even if we’re never told so.

On The Great Gatsby

There is much about F Scott Fiztgerald’s The Great Gatsby, first published in 1926 that must appeal to filmmakers. This is evident in that this most current version is the fourth cinematic adaptation (there are made for TV adaptations also). An opportunity to represent the glamorous locales and explore what are some vapid characters must be hard to resist, especially when it is packaged in Fitzgerald’s languid and opulent writing.

At the same time The Great Gatsby poses a significant problem for a filmmaker which happens to also be the same reason that makes it a good novel; the narration. Told through the eyes of Nick Carraway, a tedious and inconsequential person, (the closest Fitzgerald could get to ‘us’) who stands on the shoulders of the newly rich and old money to appear tall. Within the novel, Carraway provides a gateway to a representation of the American Dream that is at times of Steinbeck, yet as far from his dustbowl narratives as you could get. The entirety of the novel is through Carraway’s eyes and his internalised emotions offer the commentary.

For a filmmaker wishing to stay faithful to the text (which Luhrmann has mostly done), this means a voiceover and offering most of the screen time to a character not even the fifth most interesting in his own story. Herein lies the problem. The voiceover is didactic rather than revealing and Carraway stands around for much of the film like an awkward third wheel, which is what he is, but on screen (and in 3D) this is all too obvious.

Luhrmann has made a visually arresting film, which is, in 3D a little sickening as we race around the gaudy Gatsby parties. Unlike Carraway we never feel fully invited into this world. It is as if Lurhamann has hoped that by replicating Fitzgerald’s text the effect of the novel will transpose on to the film. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

However, this is not Luhrmann’s film. It will not be remembered for his CGI recreation of the 1920s; his CGI flights through New York City or his CGI car rides. Instead this is DiCaprio’s film as here he once again proves why he is the successor to DeNiro (DeNiro has also appeared in a Fitzgerald adaptation of The Last Tycoon). DiCaprio embodies Gatsby in such a way that demonstrates an acute knowledge of the source text as well as an awareness of the medium he’s working in. The moments between his Gatsby and Carey Mulligan’s Daisy are captivating and there are moments of utter magic as they loudly express their desires without saying a word. The Great Gatsby is not the adaptation audiences were likely hoping for. If seen, it must be seen at the cinema and if remembered it will be so for marking the further rise of its lead actor.  

On Missing Ingredients in Star Trek Into Darkness

How do you find the missing ingredient in a film that is undeniably fun? At a little over two hours long, Star Trek Into Darkness moves at such a quick pace that it feels only an hour. The film grabs a hold of you and imposes itself through a series of action set pieces and melodramatic scenes all tinged with knowing humour; knowing of its genre.

Yet something feels like it is missing, something that the first of the reboot, Star Trek (2009) had, and that is two fold. The narrative appears to lack a middle third. There is an overlong set up and a loud and spectacular final third, yet the middle is rushed and this could account for the incongruous seeming running time.

Additionally, as good as Benedict Cumberbatch is a Khan, the duality of his motives falls harder on the side of empathy than anger. Whereas Nero in the first film had understandable motives, his actions towards Starfleet were firmly immoral. Conversely, Khan is exacting vengeance upon a corrupt and despotic leader of Starfleet. This is hard to ignore and consequently it is hard to root for Kirk and his Enterprise crew. However, none of this negates from the pure enjoyable spectacle that Into Darkness is. It just means that it does not sit quite well afterwards. 

On the Curiosity of Bernie

A new Richard Linklater film is always a moment to saviour and we may be spoilt this year with the conclusion to perhaps the most honest love story captured on film with Beyond Midnight finishing off the Ethan Hawke / Julie Delpy three decade love affair.

Before that we have Bernie, a curious film, remarkably based on a true story. It is best to arrive to Bernie knowing as little as possible and be swept along by its fantastic performances and ability to capture with real vividness the essence of a place.

What can be mentioned without ruining the effect is that Bernie is mostly told through the use of to camera interviews, which is an interesting choice, but not necessarily a beneficial one. The reason behind this is clear at the beginning, but its use becomes less effective as the film progresses and by the mid point, we are yearning for more dramatic scenes. As a piece of work it feels more descriptive than analytical and instead of really knowing Bernie, we know what people think of Bernie, which creates a false representation (a paradox for the medium).

Despite this it still stands out from other recent offerings and is worth seeing for its performances alone. 

On the End of a Hero with Iron Man 3

To evaluate the success of Iron Man 3 or analyse its attributes as a film seems superfluous. It will likely prove a huge box office success in the same manner Iron Man and Iron Man 2 were. As a film it is indistinguishable from other Marvel films in its structure and three-part narrative. There are moments of fun and tension, but the sense of déjà-vu is inescapable.

What is significant and far more worthy of mention regarding this film is its dénouement, which suggests the end of Iron Man as an independent film series. If true it is a brave move and one in the right direction. Superhero films continue to be massive financial success. This in turn leads to less and less creativity in film as producers and studios are unwilling to invest in more daring, less certain projects. To remove one of the most profitable characters from the superhero cycle could suggest the end of the superhero cycle (and all genres have a cycle, with the exception maybe of horror) is nearing.

Yet optimism quickly abates, as Iron Man will appear in The Avengers 2, soon to appear and break box office records everywhere. Even earlier will be Thor 2 and can the Hulk be far behind? Certainly we know of more Spider-Man films and Man of Steel, like Thor 2 will be appearing this year. Rumours of further Marvel collaborations are rumoured, as is a Justice League film. So, if this were the final third of the cycle of superhero films, it will be a lengthy final third and like all over long films, packed with moments of tedium.