The Terminator franchise has been living on borrowed time since 2003. As in the series, judgement day was inevitable.
T3 could be the definition of an unnecessary sequel. It arrived in theaters 12 years after T2, a blockbuster success widely lauded as one of the best science fiction and action films ever made. Its star was in his fifties, far past his prime. James Cameron was not involved; director Jonathan Mostow only had a few films to his name. It was a money grab.
Strangely, it ended up being far better than it had any right to be. The action sequences were excellent - I dare anyone to think of a car chase in the 00's better than the Champion crane scene. And the film ended with the ballsy choice of John Connor failing to prevent Judgement Day.
History repeated itself yet again with Fox's Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles, which blithely reset continuity so that the third movie didn't exist. Once more, what appeared at first glance to be a cash-in ended up a hugely entertaining and surprisingly deep story with solid action sequences.
Enter Terminator Salvation, which ignored the series and picked up where T3 left off. Nobody would accuse McG of being a director on the level of James Cameron but he was a step up from Mostow in terms of name recognition. With Arnold Schwarzenegger's Terminator model no longer the focus, John Connor became the main character - a buff John Connor played by Batman himself, Christian Bale.
Reviews were lukewarm at best. They caused me to put off watching the film until it came out on DVD, but they couldn't get me to ignore it entirely. After all, the series had proven me wrong twice before.
Unfortunately, Terminator Salvation is devoid of everything that had previously made the franchise fun to watch.
There have always been four primary, inter-related issues at stake for the protagonists in the bulk of the Terminator franchise:
1. There is an unstoppable killing machine after us. Dying sucks, so we'd better run and/or hide.
2. We need to figure out how to kill it. The Terminator won't quit until we are dead; therefore, we must destroy it. Unfortunately, it's really hard to kill a Terminator.
3. We need to stop Judgement Day. Because the apocalypse sucks more than dying does.
4. John Connor must live. If Judgement Day does happen, John Connor must be alive so he can lead the human Resistance.
Terminator Salvation diminishes these stakes or removes them entirely. Judgement Day has happened and Skynet is everywhere. Terminators remain hard to kill, but the models aren't as advanced. Even if John's father, Kyle Reese, were to die before he traveled to the 1980's to impregnate Sarah Connor, it's hard to imagine John Connor vanishing into thin air. The franchise has played fast and loose with time travel so often that it's fair to say anything goes. Thus, the Terminator franchise turns what was once a chase or cat-and-mouse series into a standard action film, and a far less interesting one at that.
Now some words on the cast. Terminator Salvation's male leads, as of today, also starred in the second- and third-highest grossing films in US history. But Christian Bale wasn't the main draw in The Dark Knight, it was Heath Ledger. The Batman franchise has never put much stock in Bruce Wayne; the actor needs to look plausible as a millionaire and have a gruff voice. That's why Michael Keaton is believable as the Caped Crusader and why Wired called voice actor Kevin Conroy the best Batman of all time. Similarly, Sam Worthington's talents had no bearing on Avatar. In their most profitable roles, Bale and Worthington aren't just playing other people, they're playing other people whose alter egos outshine themselves. This is a longwinded way of saying that Bale and Worthington have no charisma.
Oh, and Worthington can't keep from slipping out of his American accent.
The John Connor of T2 was a little brat. Nick Stahl's John Connor didn't look like an action hero at all, and T:SCC's Connor was a reluctant, even unwilling savior. Christian Bale just yells a lot and looks intense.
Furthermore, the future of the first Terminator movie looked appropriately dark and grungy (it helped that the film was made on a surprisingly low budget) and the Resistance was a ragtag group of survivors. The future of Terminator Salvation takes placed in a bleached-out Mad Max-ian California and the Resistance operates like an uncoordinated but well-equipped paramilitary group with a puzzling hierarchical structure or lack thereof.
I shall be merciful for a second. Terminator Salvation has some excellent practical effects, and in terms of lackluster 2009 action films, it's not as bad as X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Its biggest crime is its mediocrity. But dammit, this is a franchise that I've come to expect something out of. People lauded Bryan Singer's take on X-Men for using pop culture sci-fi to explore thematically rich concepts. Well, I feel like I've just seen the Terminator series' version of X-Men: The Last Stand. And now that Lionsgate has purchased the rights, I'm afraid that my days of being surprised by the franchise have come to an end.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
A Man for New Seasons - Spartacus: Blood and Sand
I hold a soft spot in my heart for lowest common denominator TV shows. For instance, the recent Conveyor Belt of Love, which presented 30 pieces of man candy on a conveyor belt to five (mostly) shallow women. If it's not picked up as a series, I'll be crushed. In fact, most of my televised guilty pleasures are crappy dating shows (Next, elimiDATE, Who Wants to Marry My Dad?).
Lack of imagination is the precise reason that I watched the first episode of Starz' new series Spartacus: Blood and Sand. It steals Gladiator's plot, 300's visual style, Deadwood's profanity, and True Blood's proclivity for nudity in order to make a show that's only slightly original. Perhaps later episodes will see Spartacus mature into its own concept, but the pilot sticks to well-trod territory.
In fact, the show might not even mature, period. 300 trumped the ideals of liberty and decried servitude, although the movie made no philosophical argument deeper than "isn't violence awesome?" Spartacus merely sees it fit to give the audience pumped-up action scenes and full frontal nudity. Yes, Spartacus isn't afraid to show some bush, although one gets the feeling that Viva Blanca's Iliythia is a tad, er, well manicured, even for the daughter of a Roman Senator.
It should be said, though, that Spartacus' pilot works surprisingly well as self-contained episode while introducing the characters and setting up the plot. Thracian Spartacus (Andy Whitfield) pledges allegiance to Rome as an auxiliary to their army in order to protect his village, he deserts when Roman commander Glaber (Craig Parker) reneges on his deal to defend Thrace, but the Romans eventually capture him and his wife. She's absconded to who knows where; he's sent to be gladiator fodder but his underdog victory in a 1-on-4 fight earns him a spot in gladiator training.
The only real star in Spartacus is Lucy Lawless, and it's only other actor of note is John Hannah (Rachel Weisz's ne'er-do-well brother in The Mummy). Whether they'll be able to do anything with the material remains to be seen. Most of the other actors - especially Whitfield - just need to scowl and look good while wearing little or no clothing. Parker isn't very menacing as Glaber, nor does he look particularly Romanesque. The show requires Blanca to look hot and bitchy as Glaber's wife, and she's pretty good at that.
Fortunately, skilled actors aren't necessary for trashy, campy goodness. As long as the series' post-production team is liberal with the digital blood, the fights remain unnecessarily violent, the characters have devious agendas, the dialogue is overwrought, and there are three sex scenes per episode, scenery chewing will be the cherry on top. Shockingly, critics who have seen later episodes claim that the writers eventually place an emphasis on plot - and they don't screw it up either.
I don't get Starz but the fine folks of Netflix are streaming the first episode on their website. I can only hope that they'll provide the rest of the season too, because Spartacus could be the perfect mindless entertainment to help me survive the winter.
Lack of imagination is the precise reason that I watched the first episode of Starz' new series Spartacus: Blood and Sand. It steals Gladiator's plot, 300's visual style, Deadwood's profanity, and True Blood's proclivity for nudity in order to make a show that's only slightly original. Perhaps later episodes will see Spartacus mature into its own concept, but the pilot sticks to well-trod territory.
In fact, the show might not even mature, period. 300 trumped the ideals of liberty and decried servitude, although the movie made no philosophical argument deeper than "isn't violence awesome?" Spartacus merely sees it fit to give the audience pumped-up action scenes and full frontal nudity. Yes, Spartacus isn't afraid to show some bush, although one gets the feeling that Viva Blanca's Iliythia is a tad, er, well manicured, even for the daughter of a Roman Senator.
It should be said, though, that Spartacus' pilot works surprisingly well as self-contained episode while introducing the characters and setting up the plot. Thracian Spartacus (Andy Whitfield) pledges allegiance to Rome as an auxiliary to their army in order to protect his village, he deserts when Roman commander Glaber (Craig Parker) reneges on his deal to defend Thrace, but the Romans eventually capture him and his wife. She's absconded to who knows where; he's sent to be gladiator fodder but his underdog victory in a 1-on-4 fight earns him a spot in gladiator training.
The only real star in Spartacus is Lucy Lawless, and it's only other actor of note is John Hannah (Rachel Weisz's ne'er-do-well brother in The Mummy). Whether they'll be able to do anything with the material remains to be seen. Most of the other actors - especially Whitfield - just need to scowl and look good while wearing little or no clothing. Parker isn't very menacing as Glaber, nor does he look particularly Romanesque. The show requires Blanca to look hot and bitchy as Glaber's wife, and she's pretty good at that.
Fortunately, skilled actors aren't necessary for trashy, campy goodness. As long as the series' post-production team is liberal with the digital blood, the fights remain unnecessarily violent, the characters have devious agendas, the dialogue is overwrought, and there are three sex scenes per episode, scenery chewing will be the cherry on top. Shockingly, critics who have seen later episodes claim that the writers eventually place an emphasis on plot - and they don't screw it up either.
I don't get Starz but the fine folks of Netflix are streaming the first episode on their website. I can only hope that they'll provide the rest of the season too, because Spartacus could be the perfect mindless entertainment to help me survive the winter.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Let's talk about how lifeless Caligula is.
I don't think anyone watches Caligula because they actually want to watch Caligula. If you want to watch an epic about Rome featuring noted British thespians, you'll watch I, Claudius. If you want to watch porn, you'll download it off the Internet. Caligula promises the least of both worlds.
Even its reputation as a cult film has little to offer. Plan 9 From Outer Space has been re-appropriated as a comedy. Cannibal Holocaust is test of endurance. Caligula, however, is best known for being just plain bad.
Roger Ebert's review of it is one of his zero star classics and is itself a case study in why we watch bad cinema. "The human being is a most curious animal." he writes, "often ready to indulge himself in his base Inclinations, but frequently reluctant to trust his better Instincts. Surely people know, going in, that 'Caligula' is worthless. Surely they know there are other movies in town that are infinitely better. Yet here they are at 'Caligula.' It is very sad." Of course, these words merely add to the film's legend. The first time I read this review, I must have been in middle school. My father had an old copy of an Ebert movie guide in his office, and I'd read the reviews when I had nothing better to do. This, kids, is what budding cinephiles did in the days before widespread Internet access. I didn't know at the time that a decade later, I'd have seen movies at the Davis Theater, the exact same one that Ebert saw Caligula in. I've spent the bulk of my life watching movies in shiny new suburban gigaplexes. It's comforting, in a sense, to know that I've walked through the same lobby where a patron called Caligula "the worst piece of shit I have ever seen."
Netflix has added quite the stable of films to their "watch instantly" section lately, including a sizeable chunk of the Criterion Collection. These are films that Ebert gave the highest of accolades to in that old book of reviews. I can't remember them. But I remember Caligula. And when it's presented via Netflix as a sunk cost, it's too enticing to pass up.
Plainly speaking, Caligula shows the title character's ascent to Emperor of Rome, and his subsequent downfall and assassination. What draws viewers in is the mix of epic historical drama mixed with wall-to-wall nudity and, depending on which version you see, explicit pornography (Caligula is the Blade Runner of trash cinema; a comparatively tame version clocks in at around 102 minutes, the uncensored version is an hour longer, and multiple edits exist in between). Both the screenwriter and director disowned it. The producer was Penthouse founder Bob Guccione. Production problems were endemic. How could anyone not want to watch this?
And yet, despite both aesthetic and carnal appeal, Caligula is, pun oh-so intended, flaccid. With precious few exceptions, the film fails on every level imaginable.
- The plot is impossible to follow, which could be explained by the fact that...
- The editor seemingly took a hatchet to the footage. Partially excusable because I assume he had to chop away huge swaths of sexually explicit scenes that were laced together with the plot.
- This means, of course, that the nudity is completely devoid of any eroticism, sensuality, or even good old smuttiness. In turn, I doubt the sex scenes were any good to begin with.
- The violence is similarly danced around. The film could at least have the common courtesy of grossing me out.
- Speaking of violence, the filmmakers expect me to believe that Romans actually executed people by running them over with a multi-story high lawn mower. I'm not making that up.
- The sets are lavish and impressive, but cavernous. Outdoor scenes excluded, Caligula always feels like it was shot on a soundstage.
- The only actor of note not wasted in his role is Malcolm McDowell, if only because he overacts like hell, God bless him.
- The only actress of note is Helen Mirren. She's as smoking hot as her role is thankless.
- The direction is melodramatic at best.
But, you counter, surely the film meant to present how unappealing Rome's decadence was. Unfortunately, it's not unappealing due to the depravity on display, it's unappealing because it's not interesting and it's staged with only a patina of competence. Caligula almost transcends itself in its final scene. Caligula's inner circle, realizing that he's gone irreparably mad, gruesomely murder him and his family. They immediately pronounce his uncle Emperor, and peons wash the blood off the marble staircase. The editing neuters its full impact but these few minutes have more magnetism than the rest of the film combined. It's brutally poetic. One imagines a work that could truly capture the spirit of an ancient civilization, where the depravity wasn't sanitized softcore porn or laughable camp but an honest look at how a mighty empire destroyed itself from within. That film will never be made.
Caligula is unquestionably a bad movie. But I'll remember it more vividly than I'll remember, say, Sherlock Holmes. And there will always be the intrigue of that unedited version, tempting me to watch it even though I know it can't possibly be worthwhile. Great art is hard to find, but the bottom of the barrel never fails to provide the thrill of the chase.
Even its reputation as a cult film has little to offer. Plan 9 From Outer Space has been re-appropriated as a comedy. Cannibal Holocaust is test of endurance. Caligula, however, is best known for being just plain bad.
Roger Ebert's review of it is one of his zero star classics and is itself a case study in why we watch bad cinema. "The human being is a most curious animal." he writes, "often ready to indulge himself in his base Inclinations, but frequently reluctant to trust his better Instincts. Surely people know, going in, that 'Caligula' is worthless. Surely they know there are other movies in town that are infinitely better. Yet here they are at 'Caligula.' It is very sad." Of course, these words merely add to the film's legend. The first time I read this review, I must have been in middle school. My father had an old copy of an Ebert movie guide in his office, and I'd read the reviews when I had nothing better to do. This, kids, is what budding cinephiles did in the days before widespread Internet access. I didn't know at the time that a decade later, I'd have seen movies at the Davis Theater, the exact same one that Ebert saw Caligula in. I've spent the bulk of my life watching movies in shiny new suburban gigaplexes. It's comforting, in a sense, to know that I've walked through the same lobby where a patron called Caligula "the worst piece of shit I have ever seen."
Netflix has added quite the stable of films to their "watch instantly" section lately, including a sizeable chunk of the Criterion Collection. These are films that Ebert gave the highest of accolades to in that old book of reviews. I can't remember them. But I remember Caligula. And when it's presented via Netflix as a sunk cost, it's too enticing to pass up.
Plainly speaking, Caligula shows the title character's ascent to Emperor of Rome, and his subsequent downfall and assassination. What draws viewers in is the mix of epic historical drama mixed with wall-to-wall nudity and, depending on which version you see, explicit pornography (Caligula is the Blade Runner of trash cinema; a comparatively tame version clocks in at around 102 minutes, the uncensored version is an hour longer, and multiple edits exist in between). Both the screenwriter and director disowned it. The producer was Penthouse founder Bob Guccione. Production problems were endemic. How could anyone not want to watch this?
And yet, despite both aesthetic and carnal appeal, Caligula is, pun oh-so intended, flaccid. With precious few exceptions, the film fails on every level imaginable.
- The plot is impossible to follow, which could be explained by the fact that...
- The editor seemingly took a hatchet to the footage. Partially excusable because I assume he had to chop away huge swaths of sexually explicit scenes that were laced together with the plot.
- This means, of course, that the nudity is completely devoid of any eroticism, sensuality, or even good old smuttiness. In turn, I doubt the sex scenes were any good to begin with.
- The violence is similarly danced around. The film could at least have the common courtesy of grossing me out.
- Speaking of violence, the filmmakers expect me to believe that Romans actually executed people by running them over with a multi-story high lawn mower. I'm not making that up.
- The sets are lavish and impressive, but cavernous. Outdoor scenes excluded, Caligula always feels like it was shot on a soundstage.
- The only actor of note not wasted in his role is Malcolm McDowell, if only because he overacts like hell, God bless him.
- The only actress of note is Helen Mirren. She's as smoking hot as her role is thankless.
- The direction is melodramatic at best.
But, you counter, surely the film meant to present how unappealing Rome's decadence was. Unfortunately, it's not unappealing due to the depravity on display, it's unappealing because it's not interesting and it's staged with only a patina of competence. Caligula almost transcends itself in its final scene. Caligula's inner circle, realizing that he's gone irreparably mad, gruesomely murder him and his family. They immediately pronounce his uncle Emperor, and peons wash the blood off the marble staircase. The editing neuters its full impact but these few minutes have more magnetism than the rest of the film combined. It's brutally poetic. One imagines a work that could truly capture the spirit of an ancient civilization, where the depravity wasn't sanitized softcore porn or laughable camp but an honest look at how a mighty empire destroyed itself from within. That film will never be made.
Caligula is unquestionably a bad movie. But I'll remember it more vividly than I'll remember, say, Sherlock Holmes. And there will always be the intrigue of that unedited version, tempting me to watch it even though I know it can't possibly be worthwhile. Great art is hard to find, but the bottom of the barrel never fails to provide the thrill of the chase.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Twiveblogging update
So, here's the deal. I finished reading Twilight before the end of the 2009. It's a really fast read (shocker), which makes chapter-by-chapter recaps somewhat laborious. When you can knock out a chapter or two each day just on your lunch break and the train ride home it's easy to fall behind, even when writing about one chapter each day.
Writing about Twilight is also highly subject to the law of diminishing marginal returns. The rising action isn't a steady climb so much as a plateau followed by a sharp incline. After a while there's only so much you can write about Bella learning more about Edward while falling more deeply in love with him/describing him in excruciatingly fawning detail. And that's essentially the entire middle portion of the book.
The most enjoyable part of Twilight isn't it's plotting, anyway. It's the constant stream of adjectives used to describe how perfect Edward is, or how Meyer's writing never seems quite right, or how Bella becomes more insufferable by the page. God knows there's little going on thematically to write about. Twilight is all about the experience of reading it, just as it's more fun to make fun of a bad movie with your friends while watching it than it is to describe that movie to them afterwards.
And yet, to stop writing about it at this point would be giving up.
I feel that I must continue. Quicker than before, summarizing a few chapters each in a post, perhaps. For while Twilight may not be fascinating page-by-page, there is still plenty to talk about.
Writing about Twilight is also highly subject to the law of diminishing marginal returns. The rising action isn't a steady climb so much as a plateau followed by a sharp incline. After a while there's only so much you can write about Bella learning more about Edward while falling more deeply in love with him/describing him in excruciatingly fawning detail. And that's essentially the entire middle portion of the book.
The most enjoyable part of Twilight isn't it's plotting, anyway. It's the constant stream of adjectives used to describe how perfect Edward is, or how Meyer's writing never seems quite right, or how Bella becomes more insufferable by the page. God knows there's little going on thematically to write about. Twilight is all about the experience of reading it, just as it's more fun to make fun of a bad movie with your friends while watching it than it is to describe that movie to them afterwards.
And yet, to stop writing about it at this point would be giving up.
I feel that I must continue. Quicker than before, summarizing a few chapters each in a post, perhaps. For while Twilight may not be fascinating page-by-page, there is still plenty to talk about.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Best films of the 00's: the entirely non-comprehensive top 13
28 Weeks Later
About a Boy
Children of Men
The Incredibles
Into the Wild
Lord of the Rings trilogy
Memento
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Spellbound
United 93
Wall-E
Yes, thirteen. Ten is a somewhat arbitrary number and this is a somewhat arbitrary list. The problem with lists that have such a broad span is that there are several movies from the first half of the aughts that I can't remember well enough to accurately rank. I know that I enjoyed Chicken Run, City of God, The Corporation, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Finding Nemo, Kill Bill, and Ocean's Eleven, but how well would they hold up? About a Boy has become something of a sentimental favorite because I watch it every Christmas, perhaps if I watched the others as often I wouldn't have to guess. I thought The Mist was an exceptional thriller but I watched it more recently than Signs, which at the time I thought was one of the best films of its year. On the flip side, United 93 is a movie that (for obvious reasons) I have no desire to watch again. The easiest solution would be a sizable honorable mentions list, but you need to draw a line somewhere. There's an odd combination of memory and gut instinct that goes into creating a list like this, so consider it totally non-committal.
About a Boy
Children of Men
The Incredibles
Into the Wild
Lord of the Rings trilogy
Memento
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Spellbound
United 93
Wall-E
Yes, thirteen. Ten is a somewhat arbitrary number and this is a somewhat arbitrary list. The problem with lists that have such a broad span is that there are several movies from the first half of the aughts that I can't remember well enough to accurately rank. I know that I enjoyed Chicken Run, City of God, The Corporation, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Finding Nemo, Kill Bill, and Ocean's Eleven, but how well would they hold up? About a Boy has become something of a sentimental favorite because I watch it every Christmas, perhaps if I watched the others as often I wouldn't have to guess. I thought The Mist was an exceptional thriller but I watched it more recently than Signs, which at the time I thought was one of the best films of its year. On the flip side, United 93 is a movie that (for obvious reasons) I have no desire to watch again. The easiest solution would be a sizable honorable mentions list, but you need to draw a line somewhere. There's an odd combination of memory and gut instinct that goes into creating a list like this, so consider it totally non-committal.
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