Film Criticism

Lucy Review

July 30, 2015 by JD Hansel

This film seems to be, at least to some extent, emulating 2001: A Space Odyssey, so I’ll give it the same criticism I’d give to Kubrick: “If you’re going to contribute to the discussion of human evolution, all I ask is that you please use complete sentences.” Notice how that last sentence of mine was quite full, risking being overcrowded, but at least it got its whole point across in the best way possible. That is what I like. I like it when ideas are fully explicated, and it should show that the writer has cooked up some good food for thought, rather than just gesturing in the general direction of a kitchen saying, “make your own.” Don’t get me wrong – I’m perfectly capable of coming up with my own ideas, and inventing stories to describe them, but when a filmmaker concocts an idea only halfway with the intention of leaving the explaining to me, I get stuck with all of the tedious labor. This just makes the creator seem lazy. The key problem with Lucy is that it serves as a great prompt for someone to fully explicate its ideas in a more creative and interesting story, but a truly great film would have a hypothesis at its core, not a prompt.

Now I suppose I must explain what I mean when I say a prompt or a hypothesis. A prompt (according to my mental movie dictionary) says, “Here’s a thing that could happen.” A hypothesis says, “If this happened, here are some of the implications and conflicts that could arise.” This is the difference between “What if a teenager got a time machine?” and “If a teenager got a time machine, what would happen if he accidentally kept his parents from falling in love?” I wonder if the old adage “show, don’t tell” has taught filmmakers to show ideas rather than exploring their implications. The way that Lucy explores the idea of a person gaining access to 100% of the mind consists of the following: Dr. Exposition (Morgan Freeman) runs through a checklist of what would happen at a given percentage of access to the brain, in spite of the fact that he has no way of knowing this since it’s all guesswork, and then Lucy coincidentally displays that behavior at the exact same time. There are missed opportunities for good storytelling at every corner: the drama of her parents losing their daughter, the comedy of watching her clumsily try to use powers she hasn’t mastered, the sadness of the loss of her friendships, the confusion of figuring out where the powers came from, the arguments about what to do with the knowledge she has, the irony of a girl who flunked math suddenly being an expert, the heartbreak of her growing apart from her lover… okay, I got that last one from Her, but it would still work, if the writer had given her a decent boyfriend. Alas, the film is mostly interested in going through a laundry list of special effects, and the plots are secondary. Here’s the bizarre part: this movie held my interest.

I didn’t care all that much about Lucy as a character because the film puts a roadblock at any potential route to empathy. At the beginning of the film, she’s clearly not the type of person anyone with half a brain would want to befriend, and we haven’t learned enough about her to empathize yet. Then, she progressively becomes less and less human throughout the “story,” thus placing her in the mental category of “non-person,” and we humans have a hard time remembering to care about anything in that category. To make plot all the more futile, conflict is practically non-existent since there is no appropriate adversary for an omnipotent goddess, and it’s a given that she will inevitably succeed unharmed. My enjoyment of the film is relying almost entirely on my relationship with the director, who keeps tossing interesting ideas and visuals my way for me to enjoy. Sometimes he gets so pretentious it’s laughable, but I must admit that I was pretty entertained on the whole, and the film even passed my Pause Test. It tries to substitute drama with intensity, and it kind of pulls off this trick by being concise.

So, in the end, it may not be a brilliant masterpiece, but it keeps the viewer curious about what’s coming next, and it satisfies the curiosity adequately, making for a good cinematic experience.

Austin Powers Review

July 22, 2015 by JD Hansel

Some of us are blessed, at one point or another in life, with a special kind of friendship. It’s a magical thing when one can plan a get-together without actually planning anything but getting together, secure in the knowledge that it’ll be a fun time no matter what happens. With certain special friends, one could even sprawl out on the lawn and watch the grass die for hours, and yet it would still be a delight. This is my only explanation for how a film as pointless Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery can be so enjoyable.

At the heart of the picture is a bunch of lovable characters. In spite of the shortcomings that could make a person of Austin’s intelligence unlikable, it’s clear that Austin doesn’t know any better than to be… well, Austin. He may be a moron, but he clearly means well, and he strives to do good work (often with success). Dr. Evil still has an innocence about him because, much like Dr. Doofenshmirtz, he does what he feels he’s supposed to be doing. He’s playing the role in life that he truly believes he’s meant to play, and he tries his best, although he’s constantly conquered by a fool. The Charles Schulz concept of empathy generated by being “more acquainted with losing than winning” applies here. Evil’s son also seems to mean well, but is just confused. This film even found a way to make the flat protagonist from Cabaret likable, and that is no small feat. In spite of the number of scenes that do not really move the plot along, we would watch these characters in any number of situations, regardless of whether or not we were getting a proper story.

This actually may challenge a theory of mine to which I have been quite devoted: “People don’t go to a movie theater to watch a film, but to experience a story.” I now suspect I must amend that to include, “and/or explore ideas,” but might that be redundant? After all, at the heart of a story is the exploration of an idea, namely showing what would happen if a particular character were put in a peculiar situation, with a narrative built to explicate the idea. That, I think, is the root of all storytelling, and perhaps it is because of that that we can forgive a scene or two that would conventionally be forbidden from a screenwriting standpoint (e.g. showing Dr. Evil and his son in a support group, which has no relevance to the plot whatsoever). I may go so far as to say that the deliberate ignorance of conventional storytelling (as seen in the Monty Python films) is not only forgivable, but has a disorderly and chaotic quality that only adds to the comedy.

So, in short, while I don’t think I laughed aloud as much as I would have hoped, I do think this movie has an irresistible joyful quality about it. It is a celebration of freedom, of heroism, and of the 1960s. It is very visually appealing and stylistically crafted. The soundtrack is not only perfect for the story, but would be great to have in my music collection. Its leading lady does a stupendous job at portraying the type of competent and intelligent woman that is most desirable for stories in this age of film. Another thing to note is that I actually had seen the third film in the series many years ago, and although I did not remember it well, I’ve been surprised by just how much I enjoy seeing these characters again and going back to this whimsical world of bizarre lunacy. It may not have been a huge laugh for me, and I may not have related to the characters as much as I would like in order to really care about them, but I must confess that the film is undeniably quite well done, baby.

History of the World – Part I Review

July 21, 2015 by JD Hansel

I absolutely love it when a film has such a strong creative essence that it immediately relays its muses to me, who inspire me to express the experience in a review (in much the same way that a songwriter might be overcome by the need to play the expression of his/her passion). At those moments, the essence of the film appears before me as a dream awaiting a poet’s articulation. Other films, however, leave me scratching my head (and leave my muses shrugging) as I try to figure out what to make of whatever I’ve just seen. These are the moments that make me look at Roger Ebert with jealousy, knowing that he could nearly always express exactly how he felt about a movie, no matter the film’s complexity. Unfortunately, History of the World – Part 1 is a puzzler for me, since I really want to love the film, but I just don’t think I do.

The film has its moments that hit home and are very strong, but it has a lot of moments that simply don’t do it for me. Unfortunately, the movie can’t decide whether it’s comprised of comedy sketches, vignettes, or (not very) short films. This inconsistency in length means that many scenes leave me thinking, “that’s it?” while others make me cry, “it’s still going?” I think that consistency – or, better yet, a narrative (or some focused structure) to tie everything together – would do the film some good. That being said, I love the “Inquisition” number, and I’m more moved by Mel’s take on 2001: A Space Odyssey than I am by the actual Kubrick film.

I generally wouldn’t hold a vignette-based film to my Pausibility Test (I measure a film by how content I am with pausing it and coming back to it in a few weeks) because the nature of such a film has built-in stopping points, which makes pausing natural. The problem with this film, however, is that I was content with pausing the movie mid-segment, and I suspect that’s because of the characters. Ebert helped clarify this for me by pointing out that we are presented with cardboard cut-outs of Jews, monks, etc., but there is not much detail added to make them funny or interesting. Instead, our interest in each character is dependent on the performers. While I didn’t necessarily “have a blast” watching the movie, I cannot be as hard on it as Ebert because I suspect that many scenes from it will stick with me for the rest of my life.

Carrie (2013) Review

July 17, 2015 by JD Hansel

I have extremely high standards for the handling of this particular story, even though I haven’t read the book, or even seen the 1976 classic. What I have seen is a theatrical production of the musical based on the book, which was performed a couple years ago at a nearby community college. That performance was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and it is that show, along with the Broadway production of The Lion King and the StarKid musical Twisted, which makes me fear that I may never be moved by a film in the way I have been moved by musicals on stage. I now must compare a film with a rating of 48% on Rotten Tomatoes with one of the most moving moments of my life.

Amazingly, this movie was just what the story needed.

In all honesty, here is what went through my mind as I watched it: from the moment Carrie drops into her school’s swimming pool, we are plunged into a pool of fiery pressure, where we must quietly wade as the gates of Hell creak in the distance. We know it’s only a matter of time before Hell breaks loose, so we watch anxiously to see which flame will be the one to push open the gates, allowing the fire to consume us all. But that’s not the scary part; the horror is in our powerlessness to do a thing about it.

So what is this fire? That’s simple.

High school.

I have absolutely no interest in the average horror film, which tries to make what’s on the screen terrifying. I have no patience for a film that flashes scary images on screen or makes me anxious about a fictitious terror. (I already have to deal with plenty of fear in my real life, so I don’t need anymore of it in my entertainment unless it’s really worth it.) What excites me is a film that makes me detest reality and fear life itself. To do this, one must capture the essence of powerlessness, and high school is the perfect setting for achieving such a thing. The scenes that show the inadequacy of the school principal, the misguided punishments enforced by the gym teacher, the subtle mockery provided by the English teacher, and the overall inability of the school system to handle abused students are the ones that have a lasting sting and send shivers.

The scenes with Carrie’s mother truly strike fear and rage into my heart, since I know that similar households could easily exist perpetually without anyone ever raising an eyebrow. The portrayal of the mother, in my view, is spot on, making me cringe and nearly scream. It is that particular character that stirred me up in a way few other characters in film have before, particularly with her relentless superstitious attribution, forcing the world to meet her particular worldview just so that she can process it. That is perhaps the most despicable element of religion, and it brings to mind the philosophical question of Sam Harris’, “If someone doesn’t value logic, what logical argument could you provide to show the importance of logic?” The line in this movie that really sticks out to me is when Carrie retorts some of her mother’s nonsense by saying, “That’s not even in the Bible! It doesn’t say that anywhere!” There are thousands, or maybe millions, who similarly display vehement dedication to their own imaginary edition of the Bible that happens to conform perfectly to their worldview, and this film is a delightfully horrifying reminder.

This story can be, when done right, a masterpiece in cynicism and disgust. I think it ought to be contrasted to Disney’s Tomorrowland, largely because Carrie‘s strength is Tomorrowland‘s weakness – the resemblance to reality. When one considers the much beloved 1976 Carrie movie, which I must confess I analyze based on the trailer alone, it seems to have a surreal, theatrical, otherworldly style. Generally, this is the style I greatly prefer in film, and I think that the ’70s film has shots in it with an an outstandingly fantastic look . . . just not for this story. I can’t look at a very ’70s movie about a girl with a goofy accent and take it seriously, especially if it goes so far as to cast John Travolta as the highschool hunk, which just sounds like a parody of ’70s movies (although casting Ansel Elgort may be the modern equivalent). Frankly, the trailer to the 1976 film makes me laugh, which is exactly what should not happen. This story must be portrayed as close to reality as possible, which does not become the issue it did with Tomorrowland since it’s so obviously a fantasy story.

The movie has the same Tomorrowland-like goal of shouting its message to the world, but it does so by bluntly displaying our society’s detestable ugliness. This, in turn, makes it beautiful. As a visual experience, it’s just fine (even though it’s not my style). As a story though, it is stunningly gorgeous, with a build up that screeches with the scraping of Hell’s gates pushing against the floor in fractions of a centimeter, expelling “nails on a blackboard” from the phrasebook, only to reach an immensely satisfying conclusion to drive its point home. It boldly declares to everyone, “Your world is so miserably broken that only so much as one little tweak to the laws of nature could end hundreds of lives and destroy cities.

“Fix it.”

Film Me Up Episode #1: Respectful Filmmaking

July 10, 2015 by JD Hansel

Around Thanksgiving of 2014, we recorded this experiment, which we called “Film Me Up.” The idea was to give us a platform for discussing our thoughts on film in a way others could see listen and respond, and the topic of this episode was whether or not it’s okay to disrespect the audience. (Disrespecting, of course, means the same thing in film as it does in face-to-face communication: ignoring, excluding, stereotyping, deceiving, mocking, pandering, cheating, or harassing.)

Now, we’ve finally finished the video and are excited to share it with you! Enjoy!

Inside Out Review

June 28, 2015 by JD Hansel

(CONTAINS SPOILERS)

PureFlix is – and I expect always shall be – my archenemy, but Pixar sure does come close.

Pixar seems to exist only to irk me specifically more than anyone else on the planet, and it has a few tricks for doing this that serve as “the Pixar old standbys.” To me, a movie that tries to tug on the heartstrings too soon is like a guy who gropes a woman’s bum in the first minute of a blind date. It is blatantly violating, and yet Pixar gets away with it constantly. Both Pixar and Disney have become notorious for killing off characters seemingly solely because they don’t know how else to hold our attention, or they think we’ll feel unsatisfied with our Disney experience if we don’t meet a certain tear quota. I think it is largely because of Pixar that killing off a character in a children’s movie is no longer an act of courage, but ironically of cowardice, fearing that the audience cannot be emotionally moved enough by the characters without a death involved. They also have one of the fundamental principles of storytelling backwards: anyone who’s taken a high-school-level class in journalism ought to know that empathy with a character is used to make the audience care about a situation, so to use a situation to try to make people empathize with a character is taking the horns by the bull. Yet, somehow, projects under Lasseter’s thumb frequently use emotional, tragic circumstances in an attempt to make us care about a character – in lieu of simply writing a character that’s interesting from the get-go regardless of circumstances.

Above all, Pixar is notorious for an awe of “The Aw.” “The Aw” can refer to either the sound a canned sitcom audience makes when a character is sad, or the sound that a stereotypical (or perhaps typical) preteen girl makes when brought joy by immense cuteness and sentimentality. As a proud skeptical cynic, I find that watching Pixar with a crowd is comparable to being a punk rocker at a Carpenters concert – the urge to puke is overpowering. Sometimes watching Pixar makes me feel more like being in a very strict religious school, except the intense dogma has been replaced with intense sappiness that is inflicted upon me. Now, the studio that lives to make us cry – a prime directive I find mildly immoral and satanic – has the audacity to make a film about the importance of sadness.

So why in the name of Bing Bong do I love this movie?

Well, it was pleasant, impressive, and simply fun in every way from start to finish, and actually seemed to be aimed right at me for a change. The film is the most imaginative commentary on the human mind I have ever seen, only closely followed by Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex. As a big believer in the notion that the replacement of practical effects, puppetry, hand-drawn animation, and painted sets with CGI has largely been to the detriment of film, and I do think the film could have benefited from being a 2D or puppet film instead. I must recognize, however, that this is probably the best all-CGI film I’ve seen in terms of visuals, so it’s certainly on par with The Lego Movie in at least one regard. The way the human mind is imagined in this film is just so clever that one wants to spend forever wandering about this world, much like in The Wizard of Oz.

I also consider Inside Out to be Oz-like in terms of story structure, and unlike some films, this pulls off an Oz storyline without seeming weak or unoriginal for a second. I think every screenwriter should study Inside Out as an example of how to write a nearly perfect screenplay. It’s a very interesting premise to begin with, and the execution of the idea satisfies by exploring all of the areas of the mind that one would hope to see explored. Pixar’s take on dreams was spot on, it’s take on memories was clever, and its joke about facts and opinions was absolutely brilliant. Somehow this script is mostly a series of wonderfully clever jokes, but they never get in the way of the plot. The characters were all delightful, and the casting was superb. I liked essentially every character in this movie – even Sadness.

This, of course, leads to my thoughts on both the portrayal of Sadness, and the use of sadness. The role of Sadness essentially seems to be adding weight and significance to important people, places, and things in our lives by revealing how painful it would be to lose them. This is just a modification of the age-old contrast excuse: bad must exist in order for good to have meaning. Pardon me for getting philosophical, but I’m not a fan of this argument since knowledge of bad would actually be all that is required for good to have meaning, and no actual, existent bad is necessary in any form. This means that sadness is still an unnecessary emotion if one has a sufficient amount of knowledge, understanding, perspective, and good reasoning. While Inside Out’s solution to the Sadness problem is not perfect, I do think it is acceptable, but I personally would have emphasized the important role sadness has in empathy. This brings us to Bing Bong.

Somehow they found a way to incorporate death, and it’s in the most bizarre way, especially when one considers that people can recollect things that they’ve long forgotten, so a mere mention of Bing Bong from Riley’s mom could resurrect him. Still, the decision to kill of Bing Bong is an odd one simply because it’s not really necessary, which just makes it feel like an excuse to get the audience crying. I suppose that he was, by the end of the movie, just dead weight, but he could have stuck around. The cleverness of using his wagon to get back up over the Cliffs of Insanity made that scene powerful and impressive enough as it was, and the wagon had no need to stall. This is, however, nitpicking.

Amazingly, nitpicking is all I can do to criticize it. This comes so amazingly close to the perfect screenplay that I am just as impressed as I’d hoped I would be. I am so happy that Pixar finally made a hilarious, charming, and imaginative movie that’s right up my alley. At last I can congratulate Lassiter, Docter, and the rest of the Pixar team for a job well done.