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.

DVD Review - The Nines

Having heard about The Nines some time ago as being an innovative new horror film, I was mildly interested to see it if I got the chance. Horror these days is a genre desperately in need of more innovation and less torture. So last week when I saw it cheap on region 1 DVD on the internets, my interest was piqued. That was my first mistake. 

My second was ordering it. I suppose my third mistake, watching the thing, was at this point unavoidable. By this time my destiny was set in stone and I was committed to sitting though this numerical mess. "Y9u never kn9w when y9ur number is up," reads the tagline. This in itself almost had me dialing 999 to have the gardaí contain the disc and remove it from the building.

Written and directed by John August, acclaimed director of just about nothing at all, The Nines (or The Nin9s, if you want to be wanky about it) starts out as the story of Gary, and actor on CSI-a-like TV show Crim9 Lab (see what they did there? Yes, it's full of this kind of thing.) Gary has a bad break-up and tries some crack, ending in a conviction and lengthy period of house arrest. During which time he meets his next door neighbour, a hot momma who's obviously not what she appears to be. To go on further with regards the plot would be pointless, but I will say that it plays out like a Star Trek script from the early 90's.

So is there anything to recommend about this, or is it a complete travesty? Well, Ryan Reynolds turns in a decent performance and demonstrates versatility in a triple-role as Gary/Gavin/Gabriel. He's no Peter Sellers now, but I did buy the fact that he was meant to be three different guys (or was he...?). Then again, maybe that was more to do with him having his hair dyed three different colours. The rest of the cast is filled out adequately with nobodies and half-familiars from TV-land. There was the odd moment of genuine humour. 

Anyways, horror film? No. Supernatural thriller? No. Paranormal mystery? Not really that either. So either the thing was marketed wrong (I'm not sure how they might have tried to sell it at all really), or I just wasn't paying attention. Both eventualities are equally likely. Interesting in an experimental way, but could have easily been condensed into an Outer Limits episode and nobody would have felt as fucked over as I did when I took the disc out of the machine and threw it across the room, knocking over my housemate's ornamental picture of the Virgin Mary with the flashing blue LEDs. Avoid.

That said, August's next film might be worth checking out. If he's ever let make one. And only if he doesn't write it.