Sunday, May 6, 2012

Summer's Shiny Objects Sound the Death Knell For Filmgoer Dignity

I'm not going to pretend that I have no blood on my hands regarding the pervasion of shiny objects that adorn our film landscape and clog up the studio coffers preventing good films from being made. I just paid for The Avengers. A fun and well made movie but a shiny object on many levels. But for me at least, Battleship represents the worst of shiny objects, Hollywood at its most greedy and cynical. There is no doubt in my mind that this very film premise was literally a joke in the back rooms of real movie executives 15 years ago. All those parody films from SNL, Mad TV and booze-soaked parties are actually being made as big budget films now. There is no parody anymore. This is real.

At least when 1996's Independence Day came out, it took a time-worn premise of alien invasion and melded it with the theatrics of Star Wars and patriotism of Top Gun. Like the Indiana Jones films, it took the premises of other genres and created its own take on it, effectively inventing a new kind of summer action film (that has been copied many times since).

Battleshit (no, that's not a typo) is filmmaking at its most utter laziest. Studios have long been guilty of harvesting known properties that they either own previously or license from. It's that 'safe bet' that they can pitch to their corporate overloads, since we haven't been in the days of filmmaker owned studios since the early 1980. But at least The Avengers is based on stories that have characters. There is a history there that is being translated through actors and live action. Hell, I will even go slightly out on the limb and defend the craptastic Transformers movies, taken from cartoon toy commercials in the 1980s, as at LEAST deriving from characters with names. Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, etc. The shiny objects have a voice and a history.

But Battleshit? I mean, where do I begin? Let's just state the hilarious obvious: it's a board game with pegs and plastic ships. There are no characters, there are no stories. They just looked at the toys lying around their office or their licensed partner's offices and said, "What's plastic grid with round red and white dots on it? Screw it. Let's make a movie about that. Here's $150 million." Was this whole project a dare by some drunk execs out on the town seeing who would actually greenlight a movie out of the dumbest premise?

Regardless, it's a tentpole for a studio, and it's laughable. And sad and pathetic. Worse, there are likely good scripts out there sitting in dustbins. Films that would have had a shot at consideration 15 years ago, hell maybe 10 years ago even, but will never be made now. All that development and production money going to Hasbro's toy collection. And all because the once great Universal Studios is a shadow of its former self, a loathed stepchild handed down from corporation after corporation, trying to please its masters by vomiting out anything that maybe will make money. (And now I hear they're even rebooting their horrific Van Helsing, a nail in their classic monster coffin if ever there was one.)

I'm very glad that there are no WWII heroes left who will likely see Battleshit. Remember when Hollywood would make war movies? We are so cushioned now from real movies about real war that we rely on videogame Calls of Duties and alien invasions to stir any notion of what soldiers do. It's really a pathetic trend. One could make the argument that our mighty military no longer has real-life villains worthy of Tom Cruise and Will Smith to fight in their jets and submarines, but studios don't even try because they know their audience is so dumbed-down now, so schooled on video games and CGI battles, that it's pointless to bother. Leave that stuff to HBO. This modern audience prefers the XBox version of war. Hell, I don't think we'd even get a Tony Scott film like Crimson Tide or John McTiernan's The Hunt For Red October greenlit again. The suits would balk at the lack of aliens and giant robots. And cardboard heroes. There was a time when summer gave us the depth of leading men like Sean Connery and Denzel Washington. Now we get Shia LeBeouf and Taylor Kitsch.

With each film like Battleshit that does makes money, film loses its sense of artistry, and yeah, we're all culpable to some agree. True film snobs want to blame three decades of Luca$ and $pielberg dominance for the soul-sucking of cinema, furthered by their proteges, the Bays, Emmerichs and Ratners of the world. But now, it just seems really, really worse since the appearance of Jar-Jar Binks 13 years ago. We're just setting ourselves up for the inevitable critical mass needed for Mike Judge's Idiocracy to come to fruition. Next up, "ASS: THE MOVIE". Just a big ass on screen. Farting and launching CGI missiles.

Monday, February 27, 2012

Oscars 2012: Everything Old is New Again But Will Be Just Plain Old Soon ... Again

The Mung Hour sucks. Nothing for a year? This site is Terrence Malick's career. Long stretches of nothing in between blips of bloated, overrated, nonsensical, intellectual masturbation. And 'intellectual' is being kind.

Sunday night, Hollywood celebrated how better things were yesterday. They hired a former host to lord over previous winners who honored mainly old and unknown people who created films about their grandparents' childhoods. Hard to tell if that huge sucking sound was the absence of youth in the Kodak Theater or Tom Cruise, holding a straw to the souls of every audience member, replenishing his life force like the Vorvon on Buck Rogers. You all know that Tom Cruise is really 94 years old, right?


After last year's pants-fillingly poor hosting duet, what the telecast needed was A Few Good Mensch. Or just one. What Billy Crystal is to the Oscars, James Franco is to pot. An old, reliable ally. After thanking Michael Keaton for lending him his Pacific Heights hairpiece, Crystal flew into the Kodak Theater in an FX extravaganza shot on an HD P2 card, not celluloid. Suck it, Kodak. Actually, out of the 84 jokes Crystal lobbed at the destitute camera and film company tonight, that's the one thing he didn't say. Seeing the nine-time Oscars host back in the saddle (please GOD, no City Slickers 3 because of that last word) was like seeing your old roommate pop up on Facebook. Great to share some laughs and greater that to see he's more bloated and corpulent than you are. 

But enough one-armed pushups. On to the show itself.

Gwyneth Paltrow - right on "ssshedule". Sweetheart, drop the UK shit. Tom Hanks needs to shout at her in his best Woody voice, "You--are--an AMERICAN!" She's like one of those former classmates you see at Christmas break after one term at Texas A&M sounding like J.R. Ewing. Do you think Gwyneth and Madonna have 4pm tea together and try to out-Brit the other? "Ohhh bullocks, I left my kid's nappies in the boot of the bumper," as their servants gag themselves on their fingers and piss into their cups when they're not looking.

Emma Stone, meet Ben Stiller. Ben Stiller, meet Emma Stone's kneecaps. Is Emma really a stilt-walker, or was Stiller outed tonight as Billy Barty's grandson? 

Ludovic Bource, the Frenchman who won for The Artist’s score “has no formal training in composition.” That’s just what the other four accomplished composers want to hear in the auditorium after they lost to the guy. Why not add, "and he composed the film's music on his son's Leapster after a six-pack of Miller Lite while watching Pawn Stars."



Sorry, Cameron Diaz fans. The hot chick from The Mask now looks like one of the Joker's Smylex gas victims from Batman.


"If I had them, I'd lick them." Hey Billy, Tilda Swinton called. She wants her bumper sticker back. 

We all wanted Gary Oldman to win Best Actor. Not because he deserved it, but because it would be awesome if he got up and said, "I want to thank everyone." (Everyone, Gary?) "EVVVERRYYYONNE!!!"
 
Glenn Close has inherited Nick Nolte’s Burt Reynolds I-Can’t-Believe-I-Got-Fucked-Out-of-An Oscar crown. There really is nothing more pure to witness in life than an actress's forced smile after losing to her rival more times than Shaq choked at the foul line.

Speaking of Nolte, it was obvious the thought in his head as he lost was, "Three Pink’s chili dogs and a four beers probably wasn't the smartest thing to force down prior to taking my seat. That's ... gonna stain.”

Congratulations, Monsieur Dejardin for your Best Actor win. Somewhere in Italy, Roberto Benini is humping a couch in your honor.