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Avengers: Endgame
Avengers: Endgame is epic, grand, enthralling entertainment. It is a film painted on the grandest of canvasses, yet one that maintains a fine eye for detail. It combines planetary scale spectacle with intimate moments, mixes tragedy with comedy and provides a fitting climax to a staggering saga. Along the way, directors Joe and Anthony Russo perform the remarkable feat of paying fan service that also serves the story. Fan service is a much-maligned practice: seen as kowtowing to audiences, it smacks of not respecting the story and compromising the artistic vision. But is the purpose of the story and artistic vision, at least in the case of popular entertainment, not to serve the audience? The difficulty of paying fan service is that it is a shot in the dark, since it is hard to know what audiences actually want and attempting to predict this can end in an incoherent product. Arguably, the Marvel Cinematic Universe has been performing this balancing act over the past eleven years and twenty-two films, nodding to comic book and movie fans along the way. For the most part, it has been successful, with a steady feed that develops the franchise into greater complexity, yet without becoming too clever and convoluted for its own good.
With Endgame, the Russos marshal these potentially disparate elements, including a mass of familiar characters, a multitude of storylines that intersect, loop back, replay and turn in surprising directions, and a variety of tones. The managing of tone is especially impressive, as Endgame follows on from the tragic finale of Infinity War, one of the boldest ever conclusions of a blockbuster. The opening portion of the film depicts our surviving heroes – including Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) and Thor (Chris Hemsworth) – living with the trauma of their devastating losses, each of them dealing with their particular trauma in a different way. From this melancholic position, a quest emerges possible redemption, the film echoing mythic quest narratives like The Lord of the Rings, before moving into multiple parallel narrative strands, and creative and at times overwhelming set pieces.
No emotion is left untapped in this supreme super-powered saga. Laughs, tears, thrills, spills, affection, boo hiss villainy, punch the air moments of sheer joy – all are here in abundance. It is especially impressive that there are narrative elements that become more problematic the more you think about them, but during the film they are of little consequence because of the viewer’s emotional engagement. Those who have invested in the Marvel Cinematic Universe will find themselves amply rewarded, and those with a passing interest are still likely to find much to enthrall them. While there is more of the MCU to come, Endgame serves as a fitting finale to the previous eleven years, and one of the finest examples of its genre to date.
Ready Player One
Thrilling filmmaking blends a coming of age drama with adolescent relationships and more pop culture references than you can shake a registered trademark at. This is the smorgasbord of Steven Spielberg’s latest blockbuster, an immersive and bombastically brilliant adaptation of Ernest Cline’s novel, scripted by Cline himself along with Zak Penn. In 2045, the world is a dystopia future with nothing to look forward to except the OASIS, a virtual reality environment where one can do and be anything. Within the OASIS, designer James Halliday (Mark Rylance) has hidden three keys that enable the finder to control the entire virtual world and become incalculably wealthy. Gamers of all types, from the corporate ‘Sixers’ of Innovative Online Industries (IOI) to the enigmatic Art3mis (Olivia Cooke) and our protagonist Wade Watson/Parzival (Tye Sheridan) compete in extraordinary events where literally anything can and does happen. Motor races feature Back to the Future’s Delorean roaring alongside Tron’s light cycle and the Batmobile, while a Tyrannosaurus Rex and King Kong take swipes at them. Zero gravity discos merge Saturday Night Fever with Aliens; battles to rival The Lord of the Rings sweep across distant planets, where the Iron Giant battles with Mechagodzilla and there is cause to shout ‘It’s fucking Chucky!’ In a bravura sequence, Spielberg pays homage to his mentor Stanley Kubrick with a prolonged sojourn into The Shining. In the midst of this eye-popping Nerdvana, Ready Player One tells a fairly traditional story where a young hero comes of age, learns the value of friendship and connections in the real world (including first love), while evading the nefarious machinations of corporate scumbag Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn).
What is especially pleasing about Ready Player One is that it demonstrates Spielberg experimenting and delivering with new technology. Previous efforts with motion capture including The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn and The BFG were interesting but lacked a sense of immersion. Here, Spielberg and production designer Adam Stockhausen as well as various effects houses including Digital Domain and Industrial Light and Magic have crafted a world of virtual environments and extraordinary avatars to match and in some cases exceed, well, Avatar. Long takes propel the viewer through incredible vistas that are uncanny in the best sense – different yet also familiar. The action sequences have a visceral thrill despite their virtual nature, the viewer never forgetting that their surroundings exist in a digital framework but experiencing the rush much like the characters. That is Ready Player One’s greatest achievement: with a cinematic marketplace stuffed with familiarity, the film manages to take a plethora of archetypes and trademarks and deliver something that feels wholly fresh and thoroughly exhilarating. For this, it deserves the highest applause.
Warcraft: The Beginning
DISCLAIMER: I have no knowledge of the source text beyond its existence and this review only relates to the film.
Swords! Sorcery! SPLAT! Thus goes Duncan Jones’ adaptation of Blizzard Entertainment’s fantasy video game franchise. Swords clash; sorcery of distinct colours flies back and forth; narrative, characters, editing, cinematography and themes are bundled together and hit the screen with an orc-sized SPLAT! The film consists of the splashes of this splat, different narrative strands blurting along while characters wrestle grim-facedly with clichéd motivations. Jones stages some handsome set pieces, and he and co-writer Charles Leavitt make a decent stab at balancing the different sides of the conflict as an orc horde invades the world of Azeroth. But while it is interesting to have orcs as well as humans grappling with the demands of family and community, and the film has a pleasing gender balance, Warcraft lacks the scope and depth to engage with its characters or topics in any meaningful way. This is largely due to the lack of a central narrative thrust beyond the outbreak of war. Inevitable comparisons with The Lord of the Rings highlight the importance of that saga’s central thrust of Frodo’s journey with the War of the Ring as a backdrop, whereas here the outbreak of war is the central thrust without political machinations or personal motivations. The end result has some interesting visuals and moments that recall Jones’ earlier work, but ultimately Warcraft: The Beginning is a mess, albeit stylish in its SPLAT!
Oscar Views – Part One
It’s a wonderful night for Oscar! Or at least it should be on February 28th. As the 88th Annual Academy Awards approach, it’s time for me to look over the various categories and offer Vincent’s View on the nominees and likely winners.
I decline to arrogantly presume that I know best and say what the Academy got wrong. I don’t necessarily agree with the nominees and, were I a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, I would have voted differently. I had my own favourites last year but that’s simply my view – the assembled results of nearly 7000 people do not pale in comparison to my almighty judgement, or indeed anyone’s. What interests me is what the particular nominees say about tastes and trends about Oscar nominees, now and historically.
Beginning with the nominees for Best Picture, they are a rather surprising bunch. I have written before on the kind of film that tends to win Best Picture and the commonalities among nominees. The cliché is that biopics win Oscars, but more broadly historical films win Oscars. Historical films attract awards, presumably because the AMPAS members (not to mention other institutions) respond to the apparent gravitas of “history.” Furthermore, films “based on a true story” do well, as few things offer more “importance” than “truth.”
With that in mind, consider the eight nominees for Best Picture:
Brooklyn
Room
If the nominees were still restricted to five, I believe that the nominated films would be Bridge of Spies (based on real events), Brooklyn (literary adaptation), The Revenant (literary adaptation, based on real events), Spotlight (based on real events) and either Room (literary adaptation) or The Big Short (literary adaptation, based on real events). In addition, all of them are concerned with ideas of “America,” a common theme of Best Picture winners from Wings (1928) to Patton (1970) to Unforgiven (1992). The six films here are concerned with, respectively, the Cold War, the immigrant experience, frontierism, church and community, family, financial disaster. All of the key nominees present aspects of America in relief and highlight them to the world. Cinema has long been an important form of US propaganda, so it is unsurprising that the Academy reward films that effectively advertise the USA. And if the advertisements are about less than savoury events, like Spotlight and The Big Short, this shows a degree of self-reflection and introspection somewhat lacking in US foreign policy and election campaigning.
Spotlight
Two of the nominees are, however, anomalous: The Martian and Mad Max: Fury Road. I saw both films and enjoyed them very much, but to see them nominated for Best Picture is actually staggering. Both are science fiction films (space travel, post-apocalyptic), which makes them part of a very rare group. The only other sci-fi films to be nominated for Best Picture are Star Wars (1977), Avatar (2009), Inception (2010) and Gravity (2013), so to have two such films nominated in one year is quite extraordinary. Furthermore, Mad Max: Fury Road is an action movie and a sequel, only the fifth to ever be nominated after The Godfather Parts II and III, and The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and The Return of the King. So for the first time, a sci-fi sequel is up for Best Picture! This is actually radical and groundbreaking for the Academy, and perhaps signals a possible shift in its members’ typically conservative tastes.
The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies
The quality of the final instalment of the Middle Earth saga is divided along the same lines as its title. When focusing on the small, such as individual characters, themes and set pieces, it is effective. When the scope widens, most obviously with the eponymous battle, the film becomes meandering and fails to fully capture the scale of the battle or indeed the stakes over which it is being fought. This is disappointing and surprising as the Battle of Helm’s Deep in The Two Towers and the Battle of the Pellennor Fields in The Return of the King both demonstrated Peter Jackson’s talent for truly epic battle sequences. But whereas those sequences provided a sense of danger, escalation and, perhaps most importantly, scale, the Five Armies in this film are largely anonymous masses, spread out in long shots and then encountered all too briefly in close-up. Similarly, Jackson fails to deliver the dramatic crosscutting that he did in The Two Towers between Helm’s Deep, Isengard and Osgiliath. Although there is crosscutting here between the various armies, too little time is spent on each clash, making this the shortest film in the entire saga, and also the most lacking in dramatic heft.
However, amidst the rather superficial large scale scenes, there are many smaller sequences that are effective. Various individual set pieces are enthralling, such as Smaug’s (Benedict Cumberbatch) assault on Laketown, the duel between Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) and Azog the Defiler (Manu Bennett) as well as an escalating fight as orc Bolg battles Kili (Aidan Turner), Tauriel (Evangeline Lily) and Legolas (Orlando Bloom). Best of all is Saruman (Christopher Lee), Elrond (Hugh Weaving) and Galadriel (Cate Blanchett) taking on the Nazgul and Sauron (Cumberbatch) in a dazzling clash of swords and magic. To see the most powerful figures in Middle Earth truly wielding their power recalls the dizzying heights of Jackson’s own power. Nor are the film’s better moments confined to combat: Thorin’s descent into madness is depicted with careful nuance and evocative sound, while scenes focused upon the titular Hobbit emphasise both Bilbo Baggins’ down-to-earth view of the awful events around him, and the perfect casting of Martin Freeman in the role. Personal favourite: Bilbo sheepishly admits his besting of Thranduil’s (Lee Pace) guards. Individual moments like this in The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies are very effective. It is all the more disappointing, therefore, that the film ultimately adds up to less than the sum of its parts.
Guilty Pleasure / Noble Sin
I have always found the concept of ‘guilty pleasure’ rather strange, because I find guilt and pleasure to be mutually exclusive feelings. If I feel guilty, there is no pleasure, so if I start to feel guilty about something pleasurable the pleasure is removed. That’s just me, because for plenty of others the two feelings are clearly compatible. As far as films are concerned (I write about those, in case you didn’t know), I used to refer to Last Man Standing as a guilty pleasure and then realised I felt no guilt about it (nor should I). In discussions, the following films have been described as guilty pleasures:
Sharknado
Mega-Shark VS Giant Octopus
Dinoshark
The Room
The Devil Wears Prada
The Hangover
Predator
Total Recall
Conan The Barbarian
Sleepless in Seattle
Legally Blonde and Legally Blonde 2
Cutie Honey
Commando (that came up a lot)
Battle: Los Angeles
Stardust
Love Actually
A Knight’s Tale
Frozen
Independence Day
Battleship
I Spit On Your Grave
The dictionary definition of ‘guilty pleasure’ is ‘something, such as a film, television programme, or piece of music, that one enjoys despite feeling that it is NOT generally held in high regard’. Therefore, if you regard something as a guilty pleasure then there is a belief (which you may or may not share) that there is something wrong or bad about the text in question, so you feel guilty about taking pleasure in it, and furthermore this guilt can itself be pleasurable. Exactly what makes these films guilty pleasures will vary, depending on one’s perception of what they ‘should’ like or admire.
Sin City (2005) and Sin City: A Dame To Kill For (2014) (hereafter referred to jointly as Sin City), is a franchise that could be considered a guilty pleasure because of its stylish design but (apparent) lack of substance. When Sin City premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 2005, critics described it as stylish but empty, and one review endorsed the second film with the caveat that ‘the stories are still about as deep as a shallow grave’. However, Sin City also highlights pleasure directly associated with its sinful characters and actions. ‘Sin’ is obviously a key element in Sin City, demonstrated both by its title (a bastardisation of its setting, Basin City) and creator Frank Miller’s emphasis upon ‘sinful’ behaviour including sex, violence, corruption, gambling, drinking, smoking, etc. All the major characters throw themselves (in some cases, literally) into ‘sinful’ situations, and the reader/viewer is invited along for the ride. The invitation is apparent in the graphic novels through constant alignment with particular ‘sinful’ anti-heroes whose internal monologues pervade the panels and gutters of the book, allowing the reader direct access to the protagonists’ views. This monologue becomes voiceover in the film adaptations, with the authority and alignment between viewer and character that this particular device creates, even though the alignment is with characters that embrace violence and vice with gleeful abandon. Glee is key, as Sin City takes pleasure in its abandonment of ‘polite’, ‘proper’ behaviour. This pleasure is apparent in the text’s excessive violence and sexuality: practically every woman appears in a state of undress (inviting obvious charges of sexism, to which I shall return); injuries are extremely gory; characters perform superhuman violent feats, such as crashing through the windscreens of moving cars, leaping off tall buildings without harm and (literally) cutting people to pieces.
Violent entertainment has been pleasurable for centuries, not simply because we are bloodthirsty but also because it is safe. Much like a rollercoaster, thrills on the screen are exhilarating but there is no risk of us suffering physical injury. But the excessive ‘sin’ of Sin City goes further, inviting not only pleasure but also something noble about in the abandonment of social niceties. Crucially, these are contemporary social niceties, the niceties of modernity and western capitalism. Although the setting, stylistics, hard-boiled dialogue and constant voiceover owe much to film noir, there are more primitive yet classical themes running through the streets of Sin City. The character Marv (Mickey Rourke) espouses a desire for violent revenge that would not be out of place in Jacobean tragedy, even if the vocabulary and syntax are distant from Shakespeare or Webster:
I’ll stare the bastard in the face as he screams to God, and I’ll laugh harder when he whimpers like a baby. And when his eyes go dead, the hell I send him to will seem like heaven after what I’ve done to him.
Marv is a recurring character across the various stories of Sin City, both on page and screen, and the narrative’s alignment with him encourages audience identification with his murderous intentions and deeds.
Similar alignment is made with Dwight McCarthy (Clive Owen), who takes significant pleasure in ‘The Big Fat Kill’ along with Gail (Rosario Dawson) and the rest of the girls (prostitutes) of Old Town, while in ‘A Dame To Kill For’ Dwight (now played by Josh Brolin) has no qualms about murdering Damien Lord (Martin Csokas) in order to save Damien’s wife Ava (Eva Green). Similarly, John Hartigan (Bruce Willis) murders several gangsters in defence of Nancy Callaghan (Jessica Alba), including Roark Jnr (Nick Stahl), the titular ‘That Yellow Bastard’. The anti-heroes of Sin City lack restraint but not honour or compassion, and their attitudes towards women reinforce this. One review describes Sin City as ‘an unreconstructed, man’s man’s world where the guys are either sickly or borderline sicko and the girls are classic noir femme fatales – – both in distress and deadly. Getting sniffy about sexism in Sin City would be like complaining about spaceships in Star Wars’. The sexism is not just (un)dressing but integral to the old-fashioned milieu of the protagonists and their fictional world – anti-heroes driven by antiquated chivalry in a world without honour. Hartigan, Dwight and Marv are knights out-of-time – Dwight pronounces Marv as being ‘born in the wrong century’ while Marv describes his quest of vengeance for Goldie’s death as ‘the bad old days’. A scene in which Marv learns that his adversary is Cardinal Roark (Rutger Hauer) features a giant statue of Roark, reminiscent of towering effigies in The Lord of the Rings (2001-03) and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989). This iconography echoes epics, as does the casting of Clive Owen, who previously starred as the eponymous knight/monarch in King Arthur (2004). This is the noble sin of Sin City – the anti-heroes are modern day knights who defy law and convention in pursuit of their own sense of what is right. Furthermore, their adversaries are far worse – child molesters, cannibals and corrupt politicians who use murder and intimidation to maintain their power. But although Sin City takes glee in this medieval nobility, it does not simply valorise it.
Dwight’s devotion to Ava in ‘A Dame To Kill For’ is foolish and ultimately misguided, but he demonstrates similar devotion when he pursues Jackie Boy (Benicio Del Toro) and his gang so as to stop them hurting anyone. As it turns out, the ladies of Old Town don’t need his help, because they are more than capable of handling a carload of drunken louts. Although Dwight proves helpful later on, the prostitutes clearly do not need male protection, which highlights the antiquated nature of the men’s attitude. Similarly, Nancy only gets into danger when Hartigan comes to save her – had he stayed in prison Roark would never have found her. In order to protect her, Hartigan ultimately kills himself, and the subsequent story features Nancy going steadily mad, disfiguring herself and risking life and limb to take revenge on Senator Roark (Powers Boothe). As fun as ‘sinful’ behaviour may be, the cost is also on display, emphasised by the gory injuries and eventual deaths of Hartigan and Marv. Nor are these deaths resisted – Hartigan describes his death for Nancy’s life as a ‘fair trade’, while at his execution Marv says ‘it’s about damn time’. While these deaths are heroic sacrifices and pyrrhic victories, the demise of the anti-heroes reinforces the sense that they are out of time and their endeavours absurd. But that is part of the fun – in an era with no place for chivalry, what is sinful is also noble, demonstrating the lack of distinction between the two. The tagline for the second film is THERE IS NO JUSTICE WITHOUT SIN, and how true this is. The ‘sinful’ activities of Frank Miller’s characters are also acts of justice, highlighting the guilty pleasure of noble sin.
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is a superb film. It is intelligently written by Mark Bomback, Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver, skilfully directed by Matt Reeves (who effectively uses several of the techniques that worked to great effect in Cloverfield and Let Me In), well acted by a talented cast, beautifully shot by Michael Seresin and features truly astonishing visual effects by Weta Digital. The best compliment that can be offered to the effects is that they do not look like effects – at various moments one could swear there was actually a chimpanzee or orang-utan on screen or, at the very least, a performer in a physical suit rather a digital one. And what performers: Andy Serkis rises above Gollum, Kong and his previous performance as Caesar to deliver an astounding portrayal of familial devotion, loyalty, power and violence.
These themes are also central to The Godfather saga, which DOTPOA echoes in its exploration of family tensions and seemingly inevitable violence. We see two communities in conflict, with aggressive survivalists on either side: Dreyfus (Gary Oldman) among the humans and Koba (Toby Kebbell) among the apes, both of whom see only danger in the Other. Equally, there are diplomats who want the two communities to co-exist: Malcolm (Jason Clarke) for the humans and Caesar for the apes. These protagonists are all devoted to their families, Caesar and Malcolm fiercely protective of their respective mates and offspring. Similarly, Caesar, Koba and Dreyfus all give impassioned speeches to unite and motivate their communities. Great loyalty exists (initially) between Caesar and Koba as well as their fellow founders Maurice (Karin Konoval) and Rocket (Terry Notary), as it does between Dreyfus and Malcolm. But each side vies for power in the post-simian flu world of the film, their pursuits fuelled by fear and hatred of the Other, and the film effectively explores the tensions and violence bred by this fear.
The detail of the physical and digital mise-en-scene (supported by on-location performance capture) effectively creates a difficult world to survive in, and this makes the suspicion of the apes and the desperation of the humans palatable. As a result, we are drawn into the escalating tensions until they erupt with terrifying violence. Rather than being a welcome release however, the battle sequences are presented as tragic. Once again, this is reminiscent of The Godfather, which features the steady damnation of Michael Corleone as he gives terrible orders. In DOTPOTA, we see the decline and eventual destruction of two civilised societies, a tragic loss of peace and harmony that the apes had and the humans could have had. Strikingly, the apes become more aggressive and destructive as they become more like humans, increasingly speaking with words rather than sign language and using technology (mainly guns and fire). The swift collapse of the two societies is unmitigated Elizabethan tragedy, DOTPOTA resonating as much with King Lear or Hamlet as previous entries in the POTA franchise as well as other post-apocalyptic dramas such as The Road (John Hillcoat, 2009) and The Book of Eli (the Hughes Brothers, 2010) (which also featured Gary Oldman). It is the grimmest of blockbusters, beginning with the collapse of human civilisation in its startling opening animation, and ending with the first skirmish in (presumably) the War of the Planet of the Apes.
Noah
Noah is a powerful mythological film that echoes The Lord of the Rings more than Ben-Hur. Its world is fantastical yet gritty and, in places, bloody, but it is never reverential, as co-writer and director Darren Aronofsky delivers a tale that need not have any direct biblical reference. The story of Noah is biblical, but it is also universal, as cultures from around the world feature myths of water and flood. Noah succeeds because it emphasises the universality of its premise and delivers a thoroughly human story, as families and communities face extraordinary conditions and respond in different ways. In doing so, the film raises interesting questions about faith, especially the forms it takes and its impact. In his best performance in years, Russell Crowe shines in a role that veers from brooding to jovial, psychotic to endearing, while Aronofsky delivers both epic scale and intimate detail, ensuring that the viewer is thoroughly engulfed in his cinematic deluge.
3D or Not 3D, That is the Question – Part II
Two late releases of 2012 were both touted as making great use of 3D. The first was The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, the last hugely anticipated and hyped film of the year. Not only would this be a 3D release, Peter Jackson had filmed his return to Middle Earth in 48 frames per second, which would (apparently) create a more vivid, living image. In an interview, Jackson explained that 48 FPS turned the cinema screen into a window, through which one could look into the other world of the film, feeling oneself there in the vividness of the image. By contrast, one review of An Unexpected Journey described it as like looking at an HD television, which rather diminished the cinema experience.
To save money, I saw The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey in 2D, at 24 FPS. My simple response: we’re back! I loved it – the level of detail applied to every aspect of Middle Earth was superb. The Hobbit is a more homely tale than The Lord of the Rings, and more time is spent in Bag End, with the young Bilbo (Martin Freeman) bustling about with his crockery and preparing supper. Once Gandalf (Ian McKellen) and the dwarves arrive, the party is a prolonged affair that feels hectic yet comfortable and homely. This was a group of people I’d be happy to sit down to dinner with.
Despite the length of the scene, and the film as a whole, Jackson paces the action well, moving smoothly from set piece to set piece. An Unexpected Journey could be criticised for having a plot that consists entirely of set pieces, but when that it is the plot of the novel it is hard to see the film being different. And what set pieces, from the prologue featuring the coming of Smaug and the exodus of the Dwarves, to a dangerous walk along narrow mountains paths as living mountains batter each other to pieces; from the desperate dash and spell-casting of Radagast (Sylvester McCoy) in Mirkwood to the helter-skelter running battle through the halls of the Goblin King; and the climatic battle with the Orcs of Azog the Defiler (Man Bennett) aboard their Wargs at the edge of a precipice, on a toppling tree, which is on fire. The one scene I could have done without featured the three trolls, but since they are referenced and even appear in The Fellowship of the Ring, I understand why it had to be included.
Perhaps the most effective set piece, however, is a battle of wits rather than swords, in the form of Bilbo’s game of riddles with Gollum (Andy Serkis). Gollum’s first appearance acknowledges the viewer’s familiarity with what has previously been seen in The Lord of the Rings, as he is heard before he appears, muttering and hacking, and it takes time before he is revealed in his entirety. The game of riddles is a smooth, engaging sequence, allowing both performers space to express their situations – in Bilbo’s case fear and increasing desperation; for Gollum, eagerness and increasing frustration. The scene segues perfectly into a chase, and despite the relative unimportance of the Ring to the overall plot of The Hobbit, it still receives emphasis befitting the viewer’s familiarity with the magical object, as well as Bilbo’s important choice when he has Gollum at his mercy.
The best element of An Unexpected Journey is its eponymous character, as Martin Freeman delivers one of the most engaging performances of the year. More varied than Gandalf, less doom-laden than Frodo, Bilbo stands out from the other characters of the Tolkien-verse by the possession of a sense of humour. The Lord of the Rings can be criticised for being rather dour, but The Hobbit had several moments that were laugh out loud funny (personal favourite: comedy faint). Similarly, whereas the Fellowship was quickly assembled and the drama focused upon it falling apart, much of the drama in An Unexpected Journey is concerned with Bilbo proving himself to his travelling companions, especially Thorin (Richard Armitage). Described as an amalgamation of Aragorn and Boromir, Thorin is the grim-faced and troubled hero, and the antagonistic development of his relationship with Bilbo gives the film real heart. The moment at which the reluctant hobbit and the obsessed dwarf reconcile is moving and heart-warming, and helps to set up what is to come. For The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, we can expect a united company encountering further dangers.
Everything that worked about An Unexpected Journey worked because of an intelligent script by Jackson and his co-writers Phyllida Boyens, Fran Walsh and Guillermo Del Toro, Weta’s superb production design, bravura performances from all concerned, and Jackson’s fluid direction that easily slips between different plot points and gives attention to different characters, drawing the viewer into this magical world. There were a couple of points when I wondered how it would look in 3D, and whether 48 FPS would add anything to the experience. Perhaps it would, but that enhancement would not be integral to what was on screen. The high definition digital filming does make a different, as that itself creates a more detailed image than film can provide. Digital film has been growing ever more prevalent, especially since Michael Mann gave LA a digital noir look in Collateral. Mann’s own Miami Vice and Public Enemies made further use of HD digital film, and more recently Roger Deakins’ digital cinematography was one of the most striking elements of Sam Mendes’ Skyfall. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey looks gorgeous in HD, as we see the fine lines of the actors’ features, the individual blades of grass in the Shire, the leaves of Mirkwood and the intricate details of Elvish architecture in Rivendell. Digital film adds a vibrancy and immediacy to the cinema image, which we can have at home as well thanks to Blu-Ray and HD TV, so I am all for this particular development in the cinematic art form. 3D would be fine if it didn’t cost extra, but without it, I don’t think I’m missing much.
Why do I like “Avatar”?
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As a piece of entertainment, Avatar is probably the greatest cinematic thrill I have ever had. Other films that created similar experiences would be The Matrix, for much the same reasons, all three of Raimi’s Spider-Man films, and Ang Lee’s Hulk. These express the pure, raw, undiluted, visceral experiential thrill of cinema, which is one of the fundamental reasons I adore this art form over all others – when done properly, cinema can transport you. Indeed, transportation is important, particularly in science fiction in which world-building is key. In a recent poll of Greatest Science Fiction Films of All Time, I voted for Avatar because, more than any other sci-fi film, I felt it took me to another world (the poll was won, unsurprisingly, by Blade Runner). It was a world I could feel, believe in and care about, which is key to the film’s environmental ideology. To quote Carol Kaesuk Yoon of the New York Times, Avatar “has recreated what is the heart of biology: the naked, heart-stopping wonder of really seeing the living world” [Kaesuk Yoon, Carol (January 19, 2010). “Luminous 3-D Jungle Is a Biologist’s Dream”. The New York Times: p. D-1].
In addition to a visceral thrill, I genuinely find watching Avatar to be a spiritual experience, which is rare for me. I would identify my top five films of all time as emotional, intellectual and spiritual experiences, the others being Titanic, perhaps unsurprisingly, Gladiator, The Lord of the Rings, and Heat. These films touch me on multiple levels, and when I encounter disparaging responses, I am both aggrieved and saddened that others do not share the positive experience that I have: “It’s fantastic, I want you to feel fantastic as well, you don’t, you’re being mean, stop it, etc”. It’s not that I’m right and you’re wrong (although…), it is that I want more people to be happy.
I think a key reason I don’t understand the problems that some other people have with the film, and even find the criticisms offensive, is that plot, characters and dialogue are not major concerns for me. I understand that the plot is prosaic and can be seen as “baggy” or “clunky”, but that is not a problem for me. Indeed, the extended version works better for me because there is so much more of Pandora, its flora and fauna, as well as the culture of the Na’Vi to enjoy. One of the key pleasures of re-watching films for me is the accumulation of detail, and the visual detail and attention to detail is a marvelous creation that I revel in. Is Avatar‘s plot formulaic and predictable? Yes, and I have absolutely no problem with that. And as we know, familiarity is a key ingredient in popular story-telling.
I honestly do not have any problem with the supposed “bad” dialogue in this film, nor Titanic or John Carter that are also berated for their dialogue. What makes dialogue by James Cameron “bad” and that of David Mamet or Quentin Tarantino (or indeed Michael Mann) “good”? The standards to which dialogue “should” be held have never been made clear to me, it seems like some piece of cultural knowledge I never acquired.
As for the characters, they are means to an end – what matters to me is what is going on and who it is happening to is largely unimportant, especially because I feel involved. Rather than being distanced from the film by grumbling over the lack of characterisation in Jake Sully (which I do not deny), I find myself within the experience and concerned with what will happen next and, indeed, what I would do. This is immersion (in however many dimensions), which film, at its best, can accomplish. I understand and share the pleasure of in-depth characterisation, but I do not see it as a requirement for high quality – they are one method of textual pleasure, much like 3D, special effects, music, shaky cam, cuts or fades, etc. In the case of Avatar, I also think there is something very deliberate and effective in making the characters archetypes, as I believe the film creates a contemporary myth and mythic characters work best as archetypes. Indeed, the character of Jake Sully is himself an avatar for the contemporary audience that are disengaged from the world and must learn to re-connect. This is the spiritual aspect of the film that is so easily missed – the film does not preach for a return to the woods and nature, it is entirely metaphorical and urging people to reconnect with our world, through a re-invigoration of cinema. There isn’t a lot of characterisation because it would be completely unnecessary and indeed a hindrance to the myth/metaphor.
Furthermore, while I can understand that many find Avatar preachy and didactic, I have no problem being lectured on an issue I absolutely agree with and believe should be expounded, the issue of conservation and anti-environmental exploitation. I also loathe cynicism, so the cynical response that somehow Avatar’s message is invalidated by it being a hugely successful commercial product raises my hackles. This position has no evidence, it appears to be no more than an assumption, and that arrogance bothers me as well. Indeed, research has shown that some reacted very positively to the film, reducing their carbon footprint and attempting a re-engagement with their environment. Good for them. And others would rather refuse to accept that a piece of wildly successful commercial entertainment could have a socially positive, therapeutic effect. What does it take for these people?
As for the accusations of racism, I find them problematic when they come exclusively from middle-class (predominantly white) academics. If indigenous people were shown the film and found it offensive, I’d credit that, but instead, people of the Amazon, Iraqis and Palestinians as well as environmentalists have spoken of their identification with the Na’Vi, which appears to contradict the critical/academic response. It’s fine to be offended on behalf of others, indeed that is a crucial aspect of social justice, but if those for whom you are offended are not, does it not make sense to support their position? The presentation of the Na’Vi is idealised, which is perhaps a stereotypical view of indigenous peoples, but when the presentation is positive, and detailed, and not simply explained away in terms of their beliefs just being their beliefs but demonstrated as something tangible and, for lack of a better term, real, that hardly seems racist: “It’s not racist to try to save humankind by targeting your efforts directly on transformation of the consciousness and practices of those currently doing most of the destroying” (Rupert Read, “Avatar: A call to save the future”, Radical Anthropology).
Academia has an unfortunate tendency towards cynicism and not accepting potentially positive suggestions, seeming instead desirous of vague criticisms about the status quo. An interesting comparison is Fight Club, that is a direct assault on consumerism through an aggressive narrative and visual style. Fight Club was a box office flop that became a cult favourite – Avatar reached a far wider audience and has sparked constructive political activism. This, surely, is something to be applauded.
Vincent's Views 