THREE! It's the MAGIC number!

I have a theory. Admittedly it may require some explaining, and may not be entirely accurate, but bear with me.

Since a young age I have been obsessive about films – I used to spend Saturday afternoons sat going through the TV guide circling films that I’d heard were good, or that sounded good, and would then set the video recorder overnight and watch them the following evening after school. I never got much homework done but I sure learned a lot about cinema. In doing so I started noticing certain patterns in certain filmmakers’ works, way before I had heard anything about auteur theory, and in particular with the works of what we might call ‘great’ filmmakers.

Yet here’s my point: there are certain filmmakers who fit into that ‘great’ bracket, directors who have made undeniably classic, 5-star films. Then there are those good filmmakers, whose films are of consistent quality, or have at least made decent enough movies for you to have heard of them (if you’re interested the official term for these is metteurs en scene). My theory is that when it comes to those directors we consider great, it really is a matter of quantity over quality.

It seems that in order to be considered truly great, to be spoken of in the same breath as Spielberg and Hitchcock, you have to have made at least 3 undeniably classic films. 1 could be a fluke, 2 makes you on the cusp of brilliance, but you will always be slightly behind those who have reached the magic number.

Let’s look at a few examples: Spielberg and Hitchcock virtually go without saying as almost any 3 of their films will do. But for the sake of argument, and off the top of my head, let’s go for Jaws, E.T. & Schindler’s List, and Psycho, Rear Window & The Birds. Lucas has THX-1138, American Graffiti & Star Wars, and Peter Jackson gets in just on the strength of the Lord of the Rings trilogy alone. Similarly, Scorsese has Raging Bull, Taxi Driver & Goodfellas while his fellow Movie Brat alumnus Coppola has Apocalypse Now and at least 2 Godfather films.

Yet another stalwart of the ‘70s Movie Brat boom was William Friedkin, whose Exorcist and French Connection films are undeniable classics, and yet he remains stuck in limbo with just those 2, never quite making it into the higher class by not managing to repeat his success since. This is an argument that could just as easily be levelled at Coppola, but of course he has 3 and is therefore ‘in’.

It’s an exclusive club, one that requires time effort and not a few mistakes before entry is allowed (Spielberg, Hitchcock and Lucas have all made films of questionable quality as well as some of the greatest films ever made). Jackson is probably the latest entrant, while others would argue for Tarantino or Tim Burton yet both of those are more down to personal preference. Tarantino for example can only lay claim to 2 in Reservoir Dogs & Pulp Fiction, while some would claim the same status for Jackie Brown or Kill Bill. Burton has Edward Scissorhands & Batman, yet while maintaining a top-class oeuvre, he too is victim to subjectivity regarding the greatness of his others.

Even some of those we might consider shoo-ins had to work hard their entire life to get in, never really knowing whether they were there or not. You could argue that Orson Welles deserves his place on the strength of Citizen Kane alone, but Touch of Evil is undeniably his second. His third however remains questionable: both The Magnificent Ambersons & Lady From Shanghai have a case for being classic works each, but both were taken from Welles’ creative control by the studios and so remain flawed masterpieces.

I would love to be proven wrong on this, to be shown a director considered an absolute genius without having to have reached the magic number – after all, no one would be unhappy with another great director out there – but thus far I have not been. Only time will tell...

Underrated Classics: THE STAR WARS PREQUELS!

What is the only possible way to make a lightsaber cooler? Putting two lightsabers together into some kind of uber-lightsaber you say? Why, what a coincidence...

Regular readers may know that I, along with millions of others, hold a special place in my heart for those most derided of recent films. They have been blamed for the abundance of CGI in today’ modern movies, besmirching the spotless legacy of a legendary series of films, and of destroying the childhoods of grieving adults the world over. I am speaking of course about the Star Wars prequels, and all of this is absolute nonsense.

I grew up with Star Wars just as much as those who saw the original trilogy on its original theatrical run did. I was obsessed: I had as many toys as possible when you don’t even have pocket money to spend, I would watch them endlessly, could recite dialogue on cue, and pretended that the stick in my garden was a lightsaber and that my dog was Darth Vader. Those of you who say “you don’t know what it was like”, think again: I promise you, I absolutely do.

So when The Phantom Menace came storming out of nowhere one day, my entire world was set alight. I still remember the trailer being shown on GMTV while I ate my breakfast before going to school – I taped it, and watched it 4 more times before telling everyone in school about it, and then watching it over and over again when I got home. At the age of 12, this was the greatest thing to ever happen, and so when the day finally came to sit in a darkened room and see the “a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...” on the big screen finally, there was no possible way I was going to do anything other than fall in love with whatever I saw. Just as many ‘purists’ did in the ‘70s and ‘80s...

Far from besmirching the Star Wars legacy, the prequel trilogy added a depth and complexity missing from the originals, while expanding the beloved universe and introducing a new generation to its delights. The thing that so rile the purists are those aspects that explain away the mysteries of the originals, such as the origins of the Force, or the Luke/Leia/Vader background. When the stories in people’s heads do not match what the canonical story is revealed to be, people will naturally be disappointed.

Don’t get me wrong – I do not think that the new films are better than the older ones. However, I do feel that not only do they stand alone as fantastic pieces of epic entertainment, they add greatly to a full appreciation of the Star Wars universe. The Obi-Wan/Darth Vader lightsaber battle in New Hope becomes less two old men fighting each other awkwardly because no one had directed them about how to do it properly, and more about the relationship between them. We have seen how close they once were, that they were virtually brothers and now, one old and the other broken, they face each other again, in a telling contrast to their last meeting. Alec Guiness’s knowing smile towards Luke becomes far more powerful, and his death is appreciated for the sacrifice that it is.

Furthermore, to dismiss the prequels is to dismiss some of the stand-out movie moments of the past decade: the blast doors opening to reveal Darth Maul’s hooded figure, the Duel of the Fates and Love Among the Stars themes, the electrifying podrace, Anakin’s vengeful massacres of the Sandpeople and the younglings, Yoda’s use of the force to draw his lightsaber before bouncing around like a deadly demon, the clash of Anakin and Obi-Wan’s weapons set against the violent eruptions of the lava planet. Even the smaller moments, those most derided by its detractors, are still supremely quotable and enduringly loved: Darth Maul’s falling into two pieces, arms flailing, Yoda’s “fear is the path to the dark side” speech, the momentary pause before the newly-suited Vader takes his first iconic breath...

If you don’t appreciate all things Star Wars (including the ace new Clone Wars animated series), then you are not a Star Wars fan. Excluding the Holiday Special  of course, that’s best left to rot...

Underrated Classics: SUPERMAN RETURNS!

Some films I can understand people’s criticisms of – the Star Wars prequels, for example, clearly have their faults but I love them nonetheless. Yet some films really, truly fit into the bracket of Underrated Classics, and Superman Returns is one.

The criticisms levelled at Bryan Singer’s brilliant Superman reinvention range from nonsensical to pathetic fanboy whinings: “not enough action”, “Superman shouldn’t have a son” and “Lois Lane isn’t a mom!” Yet each of these are the kind of reactions that come from expectations that could never be met, or from those who expected an action-packed thrill ride from start to finish.

The thing is, Superman was a character stuck in movie limbo for many years before he Returned, floundering in the wake of Superman IV, one of the worst sequels ever made. Even comics sales had begun to drop, the Man of Steel falling prey to a public feasting on action-packed X- and Spider-Men. Subsequently, rather than retread his X-Men footsteps, Singer decided to approach the heroic symbol of America in a more personal, thoughtful manner. The result is an intimate portrait of comics’ greatest hero, and a beautiful reflection of America’s hopes and dreams.

It isn’t often that a film’s greatest pleasure comes from its cinematography, but rarely has a film ever looked so gorgeous. Red and blue seep through the screen as though everything is wonderfully backlit, with Metropolis never looking more like the idealised New York it was always intended to be. Combine this with John Ottman’s hugely atmospheric score and just sitting back and letting everything wash over you would result in a pretty wonderful film, but it has even more up its red, yellow and blue sleeve.

It’s fairly difficult for anyone to come up with an original development for an invincible man. Pitting Spider-Man against a difficult-to-kill enemy results in fairly decent tension and excitement, but Superman’s weaknesses have to be underneath his impenetrable exterior. His heart is his most human element, and as such is the most interesting to see hurt. This isn’t about what Lex Luthor can do to destroy Superman physically – instead, it is about how a person whose only known role was to act as the ultimate hero for all of humanity suddenly finds that perhaps he is not needed. His long-term love interest is now a family woman, and his desperate attempt to investigate reports that Krypton may still be out there somewhere inadvertently leads to his arch enemy walking free. Superman is a broken man, and a character who suddenly has far more depth and complexity than a secret identity to protect and a feisty reporter to drool over. Singer instead asks us to look inside the Man of Steel as he begins to look inside himself, and the result is as satisfyingly rewarding as any special-effects laden blockbuster of recent years.

Surprisingly, very few people seem to be in agreement with me on this film. While Ang Lee’s much-derided Hulk has since been somewhat reappraised, Bryan Singer’s masterpiece is simply looked upon as a disappointing attempt at relaunching the franchise. On the contrary, not only is Superman Returns a cleverer, more entertaining film than Hulk, it has led Superman into a far more interesting direction than many other superheroes. Zak Snyder’s Man of Steel, overseen by the genius of Chris Nolan is at least guaranteed to look good, and will hopefully develop in the same way as the Bat franchise.  Yet it is a return that would be hard to imagine if it weren’t for Superman’s dazzlingly complex return – a film more subtle than most Oscar-winning dramas and super-hero action extravaganzas combined.

Pirates! Adventure! The only way for minor film to find booty!

Many of you may not have seen some of the best films of the last few years in the cinema. Both Moon and Let The Right One In are starling pieces of filmmaking that no one saw in the cinema: slow, atmospheric, emotionally affecting and daring different to virtually everything else. Unfortunately, it is exactly this kind of unique movie that the multiplexes we all frequent are completely uninterested in showing. Trying to find a screening of a critically acclaimed, internationally lauded Swedish vampire film amongst the plethora of god-awful rom-coms and horror remakes was like searching for a true vampire fan at a Twilight convention. 

Similarly, my journey to find a screening of Moon ended up taking me an entire day, having to make my way into central London in order to see it in a small independent cinema in one of its twice-daily screenings.

Yet whenever we go to the cinema, we are bombarded with anti-piracy adverts: “piracy is a crime”, “love films, hate piracy”, “you wouldn’t shoot a policeman...”, etc. The money spinners of Hollywood are so desperate for every penny they can squeeze out of you that they even warn those of us who do legitimately pay to see movies of just how bad those naughty people who do download them are. However, such a view seems to me entirely misguided: Hollywood’s preaching to the converted seems very much like the music industry’s refusal to recognise that those who illegally download their music are also the same people who put the most money back into the system, who buy just as much music legally if they like what they hear illegally, and are far more likely to become fans of the artists themselves, eventually leading to their buying up merchandise and live tickets, which brings in far more money that sales of the actual music anyway. Similarly, I have given more money than anyone else I know to the Hollywood system and to the film industry in general, whether that be through DVDs, cinema tickets, or merchandise, and yet I admit to occasionally downloading the odd film.

Why? Not because I don’t feel that the makers don’t deserve my money, nor because I have some sort of agenda against the entertainment industry as a whole.  Instead, it is virtually the only way I am able to see certain movies. Independents, documentaries, and TV series’ are either not shown in easily accessible places in the UK, or else come to our shores months after their release elsewhere and after the wonderful world of the Internets has spoiled everything for us. It seems to me to make absolutely no sense, either logically or business-wise, to not release these films as available to download at the same time as their release in cinemas.

The major objection from many is that it will be the death of cinema (something levelled at the development of television and the home video market, with very little effect.) the fact is, people will always go to the cinema: we don’t need adverts to tell us that “It’s the experience that counts.” Instead, by releasing independent or small features in a minor number of cinemas, what studio could possibly hope to make much money? There is a reason the success of such releases is measured by its per-screen average rather than its total gross. Yet if say this month’s Juan of the Dead were to be released as a pay-for download online at the same time, what would be the harm? Just as many people would go to see it at the cinema for the experience, but those of us who wish to view films that have garnered decent reviews or interesting word-of-mouth would be able to actually see them, something we are more than willing to pay good money for. If however such things are available for us to see online, in a slightly dodgy pirated form, and it is the only way we can see them, then that is of course what we will do.

Dear movie bosses everywhere: legitimise and charge for movie downloads of smaller films at the same time as their release in cinemas. You will thank me in the end, hopefully with some of that mountain of money that will be heading your way...

Underrated classics: THE PRESTIGE!

As reinventions go, Christopher Nolan’s Batman rising from the garishly multi-coloured ashes of Joel Schumacher’s not-so-dark knight to become the second most successful movie ever made is probably somewhere near the top. It’s a difficult thing to step out of the shadow of, but Nolan is not the kind of man to rest on his laurels. In fact, many were surprised at his attachment to 2005’s Batman Begins, a superhero film, what with his background in dark psychological thrillers like Memento and Insomnia. However, this new angle of psychosis and fear is exactly what the Batman franchise needed to reignite its potential, eventually culminating in 2008’s masterpiece The Dark Knight.

Yet to me, a film that ended up grossing over $1 billion dollars is not Nolan’s crowning achievement. Nor is Inception. Nestled between Batman outings lies Nolan’s best work, and one of the most underrated films of the past 10 years – a story of fear, love, devotion and obsession told with Kubrick-like precision and with Spielbergian wonder.

The very plot of The Prestige is enough to pique the interest of most – two Victorian-era stage magicians (Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale) live out a fierce personal rivalry, each obsessed with finding out the method for the greatest magic trick ever produced: The Transported Man. Yet this is not simply a period drama with impressive illusions. Nolan takes Christopher Priest’s source novel and rips it back to its bare essentials, exploring how the obsessions of Jackman’s Robert Angier and Bale’s Alfred Borden destroy not only the lives of everyone around them, but their very souls in the process.

Stage magic is an art, as Michael Caine’s opening voiceover intones. A trick is split into 3 parts or acts, much like a film, known as the Pledge, the Turn and the Prestige - “it’s not enough to make something disappear... you have to bring it back”. Therein lies the skill, in showing the audience that the woman wasn’t really sawn in half, and which is followed by wonder and applause. It is only after multiple viewings that it becomes apparent, but Nolan structures his film similarly. We see the character’s ordinary lives and relationships, and the beginnings of their hatred for one another in act one, followed by the development of two different versions of The Transported Man in act two. But it is the reveal of act three, the Prestige of a film wound with all the clockwork precision of a successful magic trick, that leads to true wonder and astonishment. Not until then do we realise how deep both Angier and Borden’s obsessions ran, taking over every aspect, every minute of their lives, leaving the audience to wonder if what they have just learned is possible. Can two people become so obsessed with outdoing the other that they would have allowed their souls to become so twisted and fragmented? Why would they do such a thing? Angier’s answer is simple and powerful: “it was the look on their faces”.

Wonder, true astonishment, has become something as elusive as real magic. Angier, Borden and Nolan understand and embrace this: if you can fool your audience, even for a second, then it was all worth it. I have seen this film many times with many different people, and so far none have even tried to figure out the ending. It is a mystery that you want to know the answer to as soon as Borden asks “Are you watching closely?” over the film’s ominous 5 second opening shot, but of course you aren’t really looking. Nolan understands how to surprise us (did any of you see the end of Memento coming? Or the fact that Liam Neeson was in fact Ra’s Al Ghul? The whole of Inception?)  and unlike many modern filmmakers is able to understand the subtlety that requires.  Everything about a film must be crafted and fine-tuned to produce a desired effect from an audience – witness the opening bank job of The Dark Knight, where the crooks end up killing each other until the only one left is revealed as some who believes that “whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you... stranger”. The reveal of that scene is unexpected, the Joker’s cold malice evident as the robbers kill each other according to his plan without them even knowing it. His scars and make-up are truly shocking and disturbing, in enormous close up as he grotesquely lick his lips, we are truly marvelling at the wonder of cinema at that moment.

Yet where The Dark Knight has its moments of wonder, The Prestige leaves you with a feeling that you have just experienced something special, maybe even real magic. It is very rare for a modern film to provide such character depth and complexity, explore themes of obsession and sacrifice so clearly and passionately, and to be so brilliantly constructed as to reflect the main conceit of the film itself, as well as just being plain cool at the same time. It’s about magicians. It’s Batman vs. Wolverine. It’s got Scarlett Johansson. In a corset.

Unfortunately, it is nearly impossible to provide a more detailed analysis of the complexity and richness of The Prestige without completely ruining the ending, and this is an ending that you will not see coming (in fact, many of the people I have spoken to still can’t quite believe it). The Prestige is a magic trick in the form of a film, a true undiscovered gem and one that deserves to be found by as wide an audience as Nolan’s last film was. Obsession to an art is something that many people struggle to understand, but by the final scene Nolan has made it undeniably clear: it’s for the looks on our faces.

Underrated Classics: SPEED RACER!

I am the first to admit that I was completely underwhelmed by everything I had seen and heard about Speed Racer before its release. It just seemed like one of those films that had a lot of studio hype around it, but that just seemed to have nothing of quality going for it. I don’t mind a brainless action blockbuster, but the sickly-sweet look of the film and its clear overreliance on CGI in every still image and trailer just didn’t appeal to me. To be honest, I’m fairly certain the only people it did appeal to were fans of the cartoon, which most people my age and non-Japanese had never even heard of.

Although it did hold a certain fascination. Much like John Carter this year, it’s always interesting to watch the development of a film that seems doomed to failure from the get-go. After all, it was the new Wachowski brothers movie, and they had done great things in the past. Well, one great thing. The Matrix is of course the film they will always be remembered for, and subsequently the film that all their other attempts will be measured by, but I implore you, even if you think you have absolutely no interest in a kid’s film about car racing, to watch Speed Racer.

Very rarely is it possible to really let yourself go in a film and just enjoy every second of it, but Speed Racer manages this effortlessly. The screen explodes with sound and colour and crazy camera movements, odd patterns and whirlwind car races. It is impossible to not get sucked in to the completely unfettered joy of the world, as though you were inside your favourite childhood cartoon and loving every second of it.

This is Speed Racer’s greatest asset. By immersing you so completely, every slightly lame joke and slapstick punch is suddenly far funnier than it would have been in every other film because it just feels so right – John Goodman saying “more like a Non-ja” (seriously, watch it) would otherwise be laughable, but here it’s hilarious. Clichéd and overblown villains are suitably threatening and outlandish, and even Christina Ricci’s dangerously styled and creepily non-movable hair starts to look attractive and kind of cool.

It is really the feel of Speed Racer that makes it great, which is something that critics almost always overlook and marketing can never convey. Everyone from Emile Hirsch to Matthew Fox plays it completely straight, but only in the way  you would expect cartoon characters to, revelling in the energetic fantasy of the world they are in but also clearly aware of its absurdity. It has been criticised for being somewhat hyperactive in its colours and cinematography, but that is clearly the point – no other film that I know of has managed to maintain such high energy levels throughout without leaving the viewer completely exhausted by the midway point.

But crucially, and perhaps even artistically, this plays a vital role in the films central character – the races. I am really not a car kind of guy, but the races of Speed Racer are astonishingly thrilling. The cinematography and dynamic visuals make it like Wacky Races on LSD made by the guys who did The Matrix, which is of course absolutely awesome. There are around 4 separate racing scenes, yet after each one you find yourself really hoping that that there’s more – you want to be back in the driver’s seat with Speed, or in the stands nervously biting your nails with his watching family, or in Trixie’s helicopter, or frankly anywhere just so long as you don’t have to leave just yet, as though you are nervously awaiting the moment your mum says its time to come off the swings and go home.

Such creative flair, such energy, such joy and such gorgeous visuals deserve to be witnessed by everyone, not just the few who saw it in the cinema. It has since been largely forgotten, tragically relegated to discount bins in supermarkets and quietly glossed over by the Matrix­-loving fanboys, but please seek it out, and if possible on Blu-ray or on an upscaling DVD player – there is no better looking film out there. Even the closing credits song is great, although I will admit – the younger brother and his monkey are annoying, but there’s so many other things going on you really won’t care.

HEAVY RAIN! Interactive entertainment! The future is coming!

When playing the Playstation 3 title Heavy Rain, the first trophy you unlock simply by beginning the game is entitled ‘Thank you for supporting interactive media’. If you know little or nothing about the game, you may be forgiven for wondering what on earth interactive media is. Is it a game? Is it a film? The truth is, it’s both. And it’s neither. And it’s probably the future of entertainment.

Your average film consists of three acts, following any number of major characters, through whatever plot twists and narrative events the writer deems necessary. On top of that, there are many layers of artistry then applied in the very making of the film: the mise-en-scene determined by the director and cinematographer, the design by the production manager, and the performances of the cast to name but a few. Yet as wonderful, mesmerising and magical as the possibilities of film are, there is always the central issue that it is someone else’s story, that you are simply watching what someone else wants you to watch. You will always be taken along for the ride, as wonderful as that ride may be.

Video games have a somewhat similar issue. They are, in the end, scripted stories in which you play a part. Even the biggest sandbox role-players ultimately end pretty much the same way with each playthrough, with very little variation in between.

Heavy Rain on the other hand is ‘interactive entertainment’. Having experienced it, I wouldn’t begrudge anyone who declares it better than any film they have ever seen or any game they have ever played.

After the initial 2 hour drag through the control tutorials and the basic set up of the situations of the main characters, you begin to find yourself immersed in a way virtually indescribable to anyone who hasn’t experienced it. The beauty of the ‘game’ is the knowledge that any of the characters can die at any moment, and that your decisions will greatly affect the outcome of the game. If you go away and play Heavy Rain now, I guarantee that your story will be markedly different to mine – there will be entire sections you won’t have played (or, if you prefer, scenes you won’t have seen) , and in turn entire section I won’t have played. By the end, three of your guys may be dead, or just one, or maybe none of them. The killer could have been arrested or killed, and the kidnapped child may be dead or alive. In fact, the identity of the arresting officer/avenger will be entirely different, again depending on the choices you make. Will you cut off your finger to get a clue to your son’s whereabouts? Will you let the grieving mother tag along on your investigation? Will you save her from drowning in a car, at the risk of you dying yourself?

This is what makes interactive media the future of entertainment. Since stories began, we have been asking ourselves ‘what would I do in that situation?’ In Seven, would you have shot Kevin Spacey? Would you have split from the Fellowship, or stayed under the protection of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli? Would you have bothered saving Private Ryan? Here, these decisions are yours to make, and your consequences to deal with. It helps that the overall story is fantastically written (I understand the irony of noting the freedom of choice in this and then praising the scripting, but until quantum computing reaches its zenith there will always have to be a set number of outcomes within any given story), and that you care about not only the characters you control but those around them. Never have I had to pause a game before and think ‘OK, should I shoot him or not?’ For Modern Warfare fans, the real morality and emotional weight of actually shooting someone may come as a real shock, especially when you have to live with the consequences. And I’m still pissed my stupid FBI guy got killed in a car crusher, but that’s another point entirely...

Run and hide! FANBOYS ATTACK!

Nerds are a hard bunch to please. With the hardcore fanboy and internet forum troll, nothing is either OK or satisfactory: it is either the greatest thing since Star Trek II, or else a childhood-destroying monster that haunts their dreams and caused the deaths of their grandparents.

As everyone knows, virtually every huge blockbuster being released at the moment has its origins in some kind of comic book. Gone are the days when being a 22 year old fanzine collector got you beaten up – even gangster wannabes now proudly sport Superman hats or Marvel hoodies, or Batman belt-buckles so heavy their jeans end up around their ankles. Just looking at the grosses for Spider-Man or The Dark Knight will tell you that nerd culture is now a huge business, and as such movies find themselves pandering to the kind of demographic who are willing to part with £1000 for a life-size stormtrooper outfit from Forbidden Planet.

From an objective point of view, it makes perfect business sense to do this. If you want your movie to make as much money as possible, release some screenshots of The Lizard in The Amazing Spider-Man or leak to AintItCool that Cumberbatch is playing Khan in the nest Star Trek film, and just sit back and watch the internet forums explode with “this is so leet/this is tre suxorz” bitch-slapping. It can only end up well for you: everyone will pay to see the film, just so they can then keep up with the forum comments on it – after all, no self-respecting nerd would be caught dead being behind on the current pop-culture talk.

Many, many people went to see Transformers 3: Dark of the Moon. Many of those many people will have been hugely disappointed by it, but of course that didn’t stop those people from paying to see it in the first place, thereby guaranteeing Michael Bay license to make another car-crash-in-your-head orgy of dull robot violence. And yet, those same people will no doubt do exactly the same again when Transformers 4 comes out, because no-one wants to be the person who hasn’t seen it yet and who can’t join in conversations about it.

Yet now, Dark of the Moon has found itself in the unlucky bracket of nerd-hated movies – the pit of oblivion from which no amount of critical praise or reappraisal can rescue it, following the equally-despised Revenge of the Fallen. When nerds decide they hate a film, no one is going to shout them down, whether they be right or not. Critical consensus or general audience reaction doesn’t matter to these people: what matters is that it wasn’t the film they had in their head, and as such deserved nothing but hatred and mockery. In a way, their loud ranting doesn’t matter: the Star Wars prequels have made a ton of money anyway, who cares if they were no good? But this is ignoring the influence of the nerd voice – its sheer power to eventually define the general opinion of a movie is staggering, and may end up killing your once money-grabbing franchise. I may try to defend Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull or Superman Returns in my ‘Underrated Classics’ posts, but I am under no illusions that I am going to change the fan consensus that these films were bad. Any good reaction or critical plaudits that may have been lent to the films have since disappeared under a mountain of bile and hatred (just look at the Rotten Tomatoes ‘certified fresh rating of 77% for Crystal Skull) which causes even people who liked the films to eventually do so secretly, for fear of being shouted down by loudmouth fanboys who seem unable to comprehend that a person’s reaction to a film may actually be a subjective experience. Numerous franchises have found themselves shackled with the weight of the fanboy reaction, blocking any further attempts at their continuation (Superman and Hulk spring to mind...).

This is a crowd that can never be fully appeased, and as such is not worth worrying about the reaction of. Whether they are determined to hate it or not, a new Superman film will make huge amounts of money simply because nerds love to vent their spleens. In attempting to pander to their wishes by putting Sandman, Venom AND Hobgoblin in one movie, you simply end up ruining a perfectly good franchise, whereas sticking to your guns and following the story-and-character route ends up in The Dark Knight being the third most successful film of all time... 

Underrated classics: INDIANA JONES & THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL!

A new Spielberg film is almost always met with a rapturous critical reception and a huge box-office gross – this is a man who has made one flop in his nearly 40 year career – and 2008’s Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was no exception. If it weren’t for the juggernaut of The Dark Knight it would have been the highest grossing movie of the year, and retains a 77% positive review score on Rotten Tomatoes. Yet ask most people what they thought of Indy 4 and their reaction is generally one of derision or scorn: ‘Indiana Jones shouldn’t have aliens’, ‘Harrison Ford is too old’, ‘ It had too many special effects’, ‘It wasn’t as good as the others’. People have begun to apply the kind of hatred to it that they do to the Star Wars prequels. I am therefore here to defend my hero and this enormously misunderstood film.

Indiana Jones has never been about anything more than entertainment. No films deliver more on that front than the original Indy trilogy, and no one can deny the enormous entertainment factor of Crystal Skull. The opening chase alone rivals Temple of Doom’s for thrills: Area 51, Indy forced to locate a mysterious crate in that warehouse, Irina Spalko’s icy menace and Mac’s treachery, a brilliant truck chase (all done with entirely practical effects, by the way), a rocket sled, AND a nuclear explosion. With Indiana Jones. Entertainment doesn’t get much better.

Yet what Spielberg attempted to do with this instalment was reach out beyond the boundaries of entertaining, to approach Indy as an expression of what concerns him currently, as any great filmmaker does with any great film. Initial concern over Harrison Ford’s ability to play the part at his age was quickly assuaged (he cracks the whip as well as he always did), but he is perhaps slightly more creaky that he once was. Indy isn’t as sharp, he’s more vulnerable, and he questions whether he in fact may be getting too old for this after all. Rather than ignoring Ford’s increased age, and pretending that he is as spry as he was in 1989, Spielberg wisely uses this as the bases for the film itself.

Indy is a ‘40s action hero. He fights Nazi’s and finds religious artefacts. Yet the world moves on, and as many older people including Lucas and Spielberg find, it can be hard to move with it. Indy is now out of his element, in his twilight years and yet still trying to cling to his heyday – witness the Doomtown sequence, the brilliant image of Indy lost and confused in a pristine plastic ‘50s world, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Similarly, the politics of the world move on too. The Nazi’s are no longer the bad guys in the 1950s, for the onset of the Cold War had brought new threats to Western shores: Communism, and the atomic bomb. Fear and irrationality prevailed for decades to come, with people terrified by the threat of invasion and destruction – the McCarthy hearings and the Cuban Missile Crisis were just around the corner. Yet these concerns are unfamiliar to Indy – he was comfortable with the black-and-white of the evil Nazis, and the greatest threat to him yet comes not from evil enemies, but from the twisted politics and suspicion of the Cold War. The scene in which Indy is interrogated by FBI agents following his escape from the bomb, and his subsequent suspension from his teaching job, is an interesting parallel to the explanatory scene from Raiders: “Frankly Dr. Jones we’re suspicious of Professor Ravenwood, being mentioned so prominently in a Nazi cable...” is in that scene quickly quashed by Brody’s simple “Oh Rubbish, Ravenwood’s no Nazi”, and the matter is quickly dismissed. Yet the politics of McCarthy era America cause even the word of an army General to not be enough to sate suspicions of Indy, and this air of suspicion and mystery pervades the entire film.

Even the powers of the Crystal Skull itself are relevant. No longer are Indy’s MacGuffins simply artefacts of great power that can be misused – the Holy Grail or the Ark of the Covenant would be just as desirable to those wanting to misuse their power today – but the Skull’s psychic powers tap into the fears of 1950s society. With technological advances racing out of control, numerous films of the time tapped into this atmosphere: the fluoride and ‘bodily fluids’ of Dr Strangelove and the prevalence of the sci-fi B movie.

This I feel is where people’s dislike for the film largely comes. The style of the original trilogy is very much of the 1940s adventure serial genre, a homage to which Indy was originaly conceived as. Yet the ‘50s cinema was very different – lots of bright colours and shiny surfaces, and most importantly lots of aliens. The B-movie is what we now associate with ‘50s cinema, and by placing Crystal Skull’s plot in this era, the style must change to fit in too. That is exactly why aliens are relevant to Indy, just as relevant as any religious artefact he may rescue is.

The Indiana Jones movies are films about films, about embracing the thrills of the screen and paying dues to those that have come before. Given time, I feel that Crystal Skull shall begin to be accepted as the truly great film that it is, and especially as the truly great Indy film that it is, in much the same way that I feel the Star Wars prequels will be. Those of us who grew up with both the original and new trilogy adore them all, but those older and more jaded viewers refuse to accept any new addition to their cannon. This unwillingness to embrace everything about the new Indy rather than search for what is familiar and declare that the best part (everyone says the motorcycle chase was great, but the flying saucer the worst) is what keeps it a disappointment in many people’s minds. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull embraces its B-movieness, as well as its protagonist’s age and its new settings and themes, and remains much more entertaining than virtually every other film out there. Plus, what’s a good B-movie without a flying saucer?

Underrated classics: THE TERMINAL!

Steven Spielberg is not really a director many would class as underrated, and with good reason. The most successful filmmaker the world has ever known has made some of the greatest films in history, and garnered huge amounts of awards and critical acclaim. Yet his talents in one particular field remain wholly underappreciated: comedy.

This largely stems from the few weak links in Spielberg’s normally stellar back catalogue. His few unsuccessful films, both in terms of gross and acclaim, are undoubtedly 1941, Always, and Hook. Each of these is in some way most overtly comedic (with the possible exception of Always, which is just dull), and yet represent his few failings. Where 1941 excels is in madcap mayhem, the sheer amount of destruction and special effects simply used in silly ways is commendable at the least, but crucially lacks laughs. Similarly, Hook tends to only be funny if you’re the kind of age where paint food fights and repeated use of the word ‘barf’ are considered the height of hilarity.

Yet The Terminal remains one of Spielberg’s overlooked gems. One of his latest films, his development in his handling of comedy has clearly matured over time – this was his first film after the joyous romp of Catch Me If You Can for instance, and retains that sense of innocent humour in the central characters. The plot concerns Tom Hank’s Victor Navorski becoming stranded in New York’s JFK airport following a coup in his fictional Eastern Bloc country while he is in mid-air. Subsequently, he finds himself unable to leave the confines of the International Transit Lounge, and becomes a folk hero to many who pass through its doors while remaining a menace to the director of the airport (Stanley Tucci).

The film could pass as a brilliant piece simply on artistic intent alone. The terminal itself is a perfectly designed encapsulation of capitalism at work, a mass of Burger Kings and Borders and designer clothing stores residing alongside the airport chapel. Victor has to scrounge the money from the airport baggage carts just to be able to afford a burger, and otherwise makes do with a sandwich of complimentary crackers and condiments. He sleeps wherever he can, largely in the as yet unfinished part of the departure lounge, and represents a fantastic metaphor for the plight of immigrant workers in modern day America. Victor is a good man, a skilled worker and a loving individual who refuses to bow to the pressures of authority and beurocracy that trap him there, and ultimately wins over those around him.

Yet for once Spielberg doesn’t forget to have a laugh. Hanks pitches Navorski perfectly, a mix of sympathetic and foolish but always kind-hearted, and with a laughable yet passable accent. Virtually every line is as quotable as the best Spaced episodes, and have the added bonus of being done in a faux-Russian accent (“You want to get eat to bite?”). Similarly the supporting cast not only represent the average working class American or immigrant, as well as the problems that come with those, but remain both hilarious and touching. As Gupta the Indian janitor  spins plates and juggles at inappropriate times, we feel that he is not a comic relief character but rather a fully rounded individual. Indeed, one of the most touching moments of the film occurs when he stops a plane with his mop and declares defiantly “I am going home!” He also hates Tuesdays...

Admittedly the film is not without its weaker moments – it’s slightly too long, and the love story proves more distracting than anything, but even that adds the furthering of the theme of communication and connection in the modern world. The recent George Clooney/Jason Reitman film Up In The Air is essentially The Terminal without the laughs, sharing as it does the same themes and preoccupations but never quite reaching the joyous heights of Spielberg’s underrated masterpiece. Go and seek it out and you will thank me for introducing you to a wonderful comedy by a master of any genre he lays his finger on.

Underrated Classics: APOCALYPTO!

Not being Catholic or a woman, I’m not particularly a Mel Gibson fan. The Lethal Weapons always seemed slightly too dated to be considered amongst the likes of Die Hard, and Braveheart sucks, not to mention the fact that The Passion of the Christ raises far too many issues to cover here, very few of which are good.

It’s comes as something as a surprise then to find myself recommending Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto as an underrated classic. Many of you may not have seen it (I hadn’t until recently), and yet it fully deserves to be among the pantheon of the greatest films of the past few years.

What other recent huge-budget blockbuster has featured babies being thrown against trees, opens with a boar being horribly speared, has a woman giving birth in a pit, and is entirely in a Mayan dialect? This is what makes Apocalypto brilliant – its bravery.

Frankly, it’s a surprise that it got made at all, for it must have had some extremely confident backers and distributers. And thank goodness they were, because the individuality of the film is evident from the outset. The story concerns the last days of the Mayan civilization, an eminently violent and spectacular society whose leaders feel that their decline can be halted by human sacrifice. Jaguar Paw, a young man captured for sacrifices, must escape his fate and rescue his pregnant wife and child before the rains come. Gibson’s artistry is beyond doubt – the richness of the gold-plated Mayan temples and the chaos of the slave marketplace juxtaposed with the simple life of hunting and spirituality of village life. We see simple folk doing simple things – passing on relics to family members, playing jokes on each other, settling down to a quiet night in the huts – which adds a depth of character that films like Gladiator miss. There is a real sense that this is a real world in which people lived, a real society about to come to an end, and one that is brought to life in as authentic a way as possible.

This being a Mel Gibson film, there are huge amounts of uncomfortable violence. The human sacrifices in particular, with live victims having their hearts torn out and their heads chopped off, are for once in a Gibson film completely necessary – this was a violent an primitive society, based around superstition and completion, and such brutality only adds to the sense of wonder in what at times feels almost like a very, very old documentary.

Yet what Gibson manages to achieve so successfully is a real sense of pace and tension lacking from his earlier efforts. The jungle through which Jaguar Paw is hunted is both his home and his worst enemy, switching wildly between the two. Subsequently, we never quite know whether he is in mortal danger or whether it is his pursuers that need to watch out. The film opens at a breakneck pace with a boar hunt through the jungle, a definite signal of things to come. Apocalypto could even be seen as a Mayan version of The Fugitive – excellently cranked tension, complete with waterfall scene, eventually released in satisfyingly brutal fashion. As the Mayan civilization’s doom looms large over the final scene, there is a real sense of tragedy, of a time and a people long forgotten to history, crushed under the weight of Western invading forces, reduced to barely a memory and some crumbling relics.

What Apocalypto achieves so breathtakingly is to remind us of where we came from, of how diverse the human condition has been over the millennia. Within the ancient cultures that we read about there were real human stories of tragedy, love and family, all lost to the mists of time, and yet so akin to ourselves. That this is all achieved in so hugely entertaining and spectacular a fashion by the man who won an Oscar for the film in which he spend most his time with his face painted and flashing his arse is nothing short of mind-blowing.

Foreign Marketing!

Most of you out there in the general reading public will have seen Transformers 3. Most of you would have been horribly disappointed with it, probably knew you would be before you went to see it, and then said “well, it was alright” when talking about it after. This is a common occurrence every summer, when the big tent-pole pictures arrive at the multiplexes, but please don’t misunderstand me – I am most definitely not one of those “Hollywood blockbusters are brainless, worthless nonsense” critics. In fact, I’m proud to call myself something of a Hollywood whore – I would much rather watch Pirates of the Caribbean  than The Seventh Seal, and in future posts I’m sure I will explain just why I feel it holds as much if not more artistic merit than Bergman’s best.

During the same summer blockbuster period, an excellent Danish thriller by the name of Flame & Citroen was around too, but you probably didn’t see it. Not that I blame you – I probably wouldn’t have seen it either if it weren’t for a special screening that I was invited too. I’m not even annoyed that most cinemas don’t show foreign films – they have to make their money somehow.

Yet a lot of you will have seen Pan’s Labyrinth, and possibly other popular foreign film of the past few years, like Let The Right One In or The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. It’s not that these films are better than the other foreign cinema output around, it’s just that they were better marketed. How? That’s the issue.

The British general public dislikes foreigners. This may appear to be a crass generalisation, and to be sure there are millions who do not buy into such a profile, but the majority of the British public see anything foreign - be it the EU, the Euro, different customs, languages or cultures - to be, if not something to be wary of, then certainly something they would prefer to avoid. It is a mountain that any internationally released film not in the English language will always have to climb, and is one very rarely conquered. In recent years for example, the most successful foreign films in Britain have been those that attempt to disguise their foreignness: the trailers for Pan’s Labyrinth, The Orphanage or House of Flying Daggers do not contain anyone speaking at all, thereby removing the deterrent of subtitles (another ignorant predisposition of a large proportion of the British public that has to be overcome if a film wants to be seen). The buzz around Let The Right One In for example gave a high British gross for the film, partially due to the critical acclaim it received at festivals, but also because was not marketed as a foreign film, thereby resulting in more casual filmgoers attending.

It works both ways too. A British film that a large percentage of British people would go to see would almost certainly struggle in an international market if it did not sell itself as something far more wide-ranging – just look at how the States responded to The Full Monty or Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Wererabbit. Distributors need to realise this if they want to emulate the success of certain films, and they of course need to tap into the nerd market – get good word of mouth going around a film and thanks to this internet world we live in, it’s guaranteed to at least have a few people seeing it. Which is far more than a subtitled black-and-white film about Slovakian pensioners would have got if it were simply advertised as that.