Film Review - G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra

Let me preface this review with a story. When I was about three years old, my parents took me to the cinema with my siblings to see E.T. This was back when E.T. still had guns in it. I have a distinct memory of this being the first time I ever went to the cinema. Also distinct is the memory of becoming so upset by the film that my father had to take me outside to avoid disturbing the other audience members.

To my knowledge, this is the only time I have ever walked out of a movie. (Let the record show however that I later reconciled with E.T. and have since seen it through to the end.) For me, it's almost a point of pride that I do not walk out of films. The problem is, I'm not sure why this is. It's hardly a beneficial strategy when the film is remarkably bad... Do I think I'm staying to get my full money's worth? Or am I so optimistic that I think any film, no matter how bad it is, could potentially turn into Citizen Kane in the final ten minutes?

Whatever the reason, my principles were stretched to the limit this evening as I attended a preview screening of G.I. Joe, the summer blockbuster from director Stephen Sommers. (Who? You know, that guy... I think he did something good a while back, didn't he? Let me check IMdB... Oh. He did Van Helsing. Well, that explains much.)

With that as a hell of a jumping-off point, the problems here are many. Nominally, the cast has some talent; Adewale Akinuoye-Abgaje, Christopher Eccleston, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Jonathan Pryce and Dennis Quaid all pick up a pay-check here. I hope they can sleep at night in their luxury condos and soft, feathery sports cars. But they play against the likes of Sienna Miller, Channing Tatum, Darth Maul, a gay ninja who looks like Gok Wan, and a Wayans brother.

The film's plot, if I may call it that, resembles the free-play of a ritalin-addled child showered with miniature war machines from the Hasbro Corporation. Plot-holes appear that you could drive a mobile command unit through. The film-makers demonstrate such total regard for reality that they invent a new language used in Scotland called "Celtic" and change the laws of physics so that ice will sink if blown up with bombs.

Bottom line: over-loud, visually obnoxious, too violent (in my opinion) for the child audience it's obviously aimed at, ludicrously written - much like the toy, this film has a plastic appearance and is lacking in the genitals department. Yes, I have never walked out of a movie (I sat through Guy Ritchie's Revolver for christ sake!), but had there been fewer people sitting in my row, I surely would have run for the hills to avoid any more of this travesty of celluloid.

And finally, at the risk of being repetitive, here's how I will most fondly remember everyone's favourite militaristic toy franchise... Go Joe!

George Lucas and the Raped Childhoods of Millions

Last night I went to see Indiana Jones and the Principality of the Pointless Plot-device. And well, if Lucas raped my childhood with the Star Wars prequels, then maybe he only indecently assaulted it with this pile of dreck. 

Yeah, I would characterise this more as Lucas coming over to visit, missing his last train, and bedding down on the couch only to furtively sneak into my childhood's bedroom at 3am to give it a quick fondle, then realising my childhood is actually getting on a bit in years and he doesn't really fancy it anymore, returning to the couch to sleep it off and waking up next morning with a hangover, remembering nothing. Lucas will go on with his life, making films and TV shows, earning millions on merchandising rights, while my childhood is forever scarred with shame and self-loathing, probably ending up turning to drugs, then prostitution and, ultimately, suicide.

I hope you're happy, Lucas.

Okay, so maybe I'm going overboard comparing a film to the horrors of child abuse, but it can't be far off. For those of us who grew up with the original movies in the 80's, The Kingdom of the Crystalline Cranium is a big disappointment. It's overlong, underwritten, tedious and filled to the brim with CGI rather than the practical stunts and effects of the originals which Spielberg had promised. Most attempts at humour fall flat on their face. Also, and most egregiously, its subject matter is completely incongruous with the established canon.

The film deals with (SPOILER ALERT) aliens. What is it with aliens these days? The Indie franchise is the second major worldwide institution this month to ponder extraterrestrial life despite a prior obsession with religious nonsense... 

All the same, it's still in the top 4 Indiana Jones movies of all time. Though it comes a distant fourth behind the racist overtones of Temple of Doom. 

Spoiler Alert: There WAS Blood (and some oil)

Not strictly a review, and I'm aware I'm late to jump on the bandwagon with this, but I feel I need to share my thoughts on There Will Be Blood and hopefully persuade one or two people who haven't already seen it to go and see it now this instant.

Now, I met someone recently who told me that Paul Thomas Anderson was her favourite director of all time. "What do you think of him?" she asked me and, in a rare moment of sincerity, I told her that I had issues with Anderson (or PTA as I believe he sometimes goes by). I mean, favourite director of all time? Surely he's no match for a Kubrick or a Hitchcock or, dare I say it, a Lucas? And my issues with PTA run deeper even than that; I once took a girl on a date to the cinema to see Punch Drunk Love. It was our last, and I choose to attribute that dissatisfactory outcome directly to the quality of the film, rather than my own numerous personal failings pertaining to intimate relationships. Furthermore, I have, despite several attempts, not yet succeeded in seeing Magnolia all the way to the end (but I do enjoy the Tom Cruise scenes).

So with that in mind, I decided to see There Will Be Blood not for the much-touted experimental nature of the film, but for the Oscar-winning performance by Day Lewis as Daniel Plainview, the oilman consumed by ambition, self-destructive tendencies and ten-pin bowling.

And I was blown away. Not only by Day Lewis, for whom no adequate superlative has yet been invented, but by everything. There is nothing wrong with this film. It is flawless. It is a meisterwerk of the highest calibre. Kubrick, now somewhere in the Italian quarter of Heaven (you know, over by St. Peter's Pizzaria), is at this moment strumming bitterly on his harp and asking himself why he never made this movie while he was alive. Go and see it now.

Review - Redacted

Redacted is the latest discharge from Brian de Palma, director of no fewer than seven films in my DVD collection, including the 1989 feature Casualties of War. That film told the story of US soldiers in Vietnam who, frustrated by the constant tension of war, abduct, rape and murder a Vietnamese girl, with Michael J. Fox in a career performance as the single dissenting voice in the squad.

Redacted is Casualties of War meets Iraq's Most Horrifying Home Videos. Except it's nowhere near as provocative as Casualties of War, while being cornier than your average installment of You've Been Framed. De Palma uses a documentary style to retell the story of American boys gone wild overseas (based this time upon real events, although heavily dramatised); everything we see is cobbled together from camcorder video, Iraqi newscasts, security camera footage and a fictional French war documentary entitled Barrage (Checkpoint). Which gives the endeavour a made-for-TV feel. Indeed, the production was co-financed by HDNet TV and looks like it was filmed entirely digitally.

Now I'm quite fond of quirky little independents like Tape being shot on DV. And equally fond of big budget efforts like Collateral being shot on digital. So long, and this is crucial, so long as they're done well. This really isn't. Not to say that it's totally without merit, but this just feels like de Palma's clumsy attempt at bringing his earlier work right up to date for the YouTube generation. Not entirely sure why though.

While I'm on about the war, Nick Broomfield dealt with another true-life Iraq War atrocity in the far superior Battle for Haditha, which is on Channel 4 this evening at 9pm. Check it out.

Mini-Review Corner - The Arts...

It's Superbowel Sunday (sic) and since I am allergic to all things with balls (myself notwithstanding) and have no interest in the outcome of the New England Barebacks vs the Cleveland Steamers (or whoever it may be), I thought I might take the time to give some short reviews of the entertainment materials lately to pass into my brain-sphere.

Cinema

Juno is the latest from the director of Thank You for Smoking and son of the guy who did Ghostbusters, Jason Reitman. Now, Thank You for Smoking was good, but felt somehow derivative and wasn't quite as funny as I thought it could have been. That said, it did show a lot of potential.

And Juno fulfills that potential. With sharp dialogue and a great cast, it has just about everything his previous film had, but somehow hangs together better. The unlikely central relationship of (the both excellent) Ellen Page and Michael Cera is sweet without resorting to mawkish sentimentality. The supporting cast is perfectly populated with the always watchable likes of JK Simmons and Jason Bateman. And the soundtrack is so good that I may even venture out into the world of real-life shops to get the CD. All in all, three and a half thumbs up.

Literature

The Road by Cormac McCarthy is the author's latest, an obvious reflection on having children late in life. (Obvious that is when you learn he has an eight year old kid and he's in his mid-sevnties. Dirty oul'flah.) Set in a post apocalyptic America where a nuclear winter has done away with most plant and animal life, and the majority of surviving humans have turned to tribalism and roasting babies on spits, the novel tells the story of a man and his young son making their way south to where (they hope) the weather will be more clement and people more neighbourly.

This book, while unrelentingly bleak and thoroughly depressing, is nonetheless utterly compelling and could easily be read in a single sitting. (I just used too many words containing "ing".)  An excellent novel about the fragility of humanity and the importance of holding onto it. Expect the movie adaptation to be a whole lot more upbeat.

Music

"Hey look at this," said my friend Sheila, pointing at a poster in Lemon Jelly. "Thomas Kitt, that must be David Kitt's cousin or something, right?"

"Could be," says I.

"I don't believe it, his new album is called Kitt Happens. That's so corny."

"Yeah," I agree.

"We could have thought of a better name."

"What, like Kitt-Head?"

"Yeah," she laughs, "or Full of Kitt."

"Or This is Some Bad-ass Kitt."

She laughs again. "Aw, we're so witty."

"Yeah," I agree.

*Sigh.* Then we left.

And Finally...

Another gem from maverick filmmaker and YouTuber Willonzo. In his own words, this is ART, mother-lickers!!