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. 

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.

Mini-review - The Second Plane

About ten years ago I picked up an old copy of London Fields. Then I put it down again, somehow finding the sexual content distasteful. Weird. It's not like I was a prude or anything. Maybe I should take another look at it. Anyway, that's been my only experience with Martin Amis up until this week when I read The Second Plane.

And it's good. 

What, I said it was a mini-review. Okay, fine. This is a collection of articles published in UK papers (and the odd short story) linked by the theme of 911, or more accurately, the theme of the rise of Islamism. 

Amis has a few interesting things to say with a couple of puzzling tangents, such as a somewhat childish rant about the "pitiful contrivance" of the Americanism 911 (for September 11th, in case you weren't familiar). I mean, text-speak deserves such a response, but 911? It's the one thing the Bush administration gave the world that's of much use. (I mean the abbreviation, not the attack. Because that almost certainly wasn't the work of the Bush junta.)

Amis mentions his shock on returning to Britain after some time away that political centrism had shifted far to the left. Which I found interesting as we've been long aware of a similar shift in the US, where the centre has tipped to the right. Anyway, now that I've imparted that little gem, I'll wrap up. Like I said, it's good. What, more? Okay, a collection of pieces forming an engrossing diatribe against the violence of extreme religionism. Better?

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!!