Hellboy II, The Dark Knight, Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk

Hellboy II: The Golden Army

That screenplay isn't so bad that it really ruins anything, but it definitely is the weakest part of the movie. The strongest? The special effects! And I don't mean the way they were awesome in T2 or anything. All the mythical creatures throughout the whole movie were great, even good enough that they pretty much justify the movie. I don't know anything about how they were done, but Del Toro pretty much know what he's doing when it comes to this. I found myself thinking, "This guy should've directed the new Star Wars movies," mainly because he manages a bunch of creatures with as much charm as any I've seen since the original Mos Eisley cantina band, and all of that stuff was mainly what distracted from the thinness of the plots in the original Star Wars films. Also, Ron Perelman is pretty much perfect as Hellboy.

And there was just enough weirdness to the story that it stayed interesting, at least. It was totally baffling how the main baddy kept just appearing in random places, like suddenly on the roof of a building that Hellboy had scaled, but the unabashed lack of concern for plausibility w/r/t the dude's whereabouts almost ended up giving him some kind of vaguely symbolic function that made it forgivable (obviously, the fact that he delivered the most heavy-handed little speech to Hellboy about "they'll never accept you" and whatever helped in this respect). And the way nobody seemed overly concerned with the agents getting pretty brutally killed by the little magic termites at the beginning placed the film in a pretty different moral universe than we're used to seeing in big action/superhero movies.

I've never read the comic book, so I don't know to what extent this is just because of the comic book, but this seemed by far the least comic-book-movie-like of the big summer comic book movies.

The Dark Knight

Not much point in mentioning that this movie was good. I do think it's interesting that the Nola's have managed to make two insanely good comic book adaptations by taking exactly the opposite tactic of everyone else making comic book adaptions--by dialing up the (perceived) realism, even to the point of letting Batman stand in the middle of a brightly lit interrogation room and not framing him to look like anything other than a guy standing there in a bizarre suit. And it's always nice to see a big budget movie that's taken obvious care with the cinematography. It's just all so... stately, and huge, and crisp. The shot from the mayor's office (I think that was it) with the view of Gotham was one of the most beautifully photographed scenes I remember seeing in a contemporary movie.

Oh, and now people who loved the movie are getting mad that people are pointing out how much of the movie mirrors the administrations responses to the war on terror. Um, really, you didn't notice? I thought it was pretty obvious and obviously intentional, and kind of a little heavy-handed. The whole total surveillance part was the dumbest part of the movie, I thought, and seemed like it was only there as some kind of a bid for topical relevance. And I thought it was a little weak the way they let themselves off of the hook by having Morgan Freeman take his big principled stand that really amounted to, "well, okay... just this once," which is ultimately not much of a principled stance. Cuz, of course, Batman does use the total surveillance to catch the Joker, and it's the only way he could've caught him, and we're supposed to believe that just because he has it self-destruct that he's "aware" of the questionable morality of it? Why not just accept the fact that the Batman you've created isn't exactly a hero to be admired? That's kind of why he's so much more interesting as a character than almost all other comic book heroes in adaptation are.

Iron Man

Quite a ways on the other side of the "pure fun" spectrum from the Batman movie. Ultimately, the movie seemed like not too much more than a setup for something else, and it's small ambition served it quite well. It was good to see the amount of work Favreau let get done by his actors, though. They're really what pull the movie along. Downey's charm is through the roof, and he and Paltrow really make the sexual tension sing, which is pretty impressive considering the not-much they had to work with scriptwise. And Jeff Bridges is just fucking scary. Why doesn't he get to do cool stuff like this more often?

The weakest part of the movie is it's own rather clumsy bid for topical relevance. Super heroes only make sense when they're fighting super-villains. When Iron Man decides to try to take on terrorism, it just doesn't make much sense, because ultimately the problem is not one that can be handled with just better and more powerful weapons. The scene when Iron Man lands in the town and there's a brief break in the fighting while all the baddies have their hostages held in front of him, I was actually kind of excited for a second because I thought I saw some kind of realization of exactly that futility coming, but then he happened to have exactly the right super-powerful weapon. Oh, well. It got around to its super-villian eventually, and then it made more sense again.

The Incredible Hulk

Nothing in this movie made any sense. It was terrible. I never understood why people hated Ang Lee's Hulk so much. It was certainly way the fuck better than this piece of garbage. I'm just not even going to bother listing off everything that was wrong with it, but while I was watching, I found myself grumpily thinking things like, "WTF? Why is it suddenly raining?"

Wall-E

Before I went, my dad told me, "It's pretty boring. Nobody talks for like the first half of it." Conversely, most reviews mentioned this exact thing as a positive, as if the movie was very experimental for doing so and successful in its experimentalism. Then later while I was driving through Wyoming this guy on NPR was talking about how they made us connect to the robot by giving him toddler-like features, with big eyes and head, short stubby arms and legs, fat torso. I thought that was all old news, like who doesn't know about those tricks? Anyway, the movie, like all Pixar movies I've seen, was thoroughly enjoyable. I especially liked the no talking parts, which felt, far from being experimental, like a throwback to Charlie Chaplin, where the humor and delight is all in the movements alone, and the fact that they were able to accomplish this in animation seems worth celebrating to me. The robots all seemed more likeable and quirky and ultimately human than the actual humans, but of course that was on purpose. My favorite robot was the little scrubber robot, and his burst of excitement, like a giant blocky exclamation point, when he jumped off the path of the little line laid out for him. Utterly delightful.

Jurassic Park

I have no idea how many times I watched this when I was a kid, but I realized while watching it I pretty much had every line memorized. I knew exactly what everyone was going to say before they said it. Of course, that's also a function of the screenplay being little more than a collection of phrases. Nobody is even close to being a character, which wouldn't be a bad thing except that the screenplay obvious thinks that it's doing a lot of things to establish characters. Basically, it's just a downright awful screenplay. I'm not even going to get into it; it's just terrible on every level.

Which is kind of too bad, because Spielberg really was at one of his peaks when he directed this. The fluid way the whole first half of the movie flows from scene to scene is really well done, and as close to being subtle as probably would be possible in a blockbuster about dinosaurs. And once it gets down to business with the monsters, the action scenes are still seriously scary. I mean, I actually felt my heartbeat elevate. And despite the fact that none of the main characters ever actually gets killed or eaten, unlike in the new Indiana Jones movie, there is a serious feeling of danger--you actually feel like the main characters are genuinely having their lives threatened. Frankly, after reading the screenplay, Spielberg should've just cut all the dialogue and decided to revive the silent film. The dialogue is so bad it actually ruins the tension a number of times.

My only other complaint about the movie is that it's a little too efficient. I guess this was before it was okay to stretch a movie very much longer than two hours, but I really think the movie could've used some more time on the island before everything went to shit. I guess that's why the score goes nuts when they first see the Brachiosaurs: Spielberg was trying to milk every possible bit of emotion out of that scene because it was the only scene in which he got to really show the wonder of the island. I just don't think it quite worked, or I mean it doesn't quite manage to make up for the fact that it's the only scene like that.

Kung Fu Panda

Something about watching kids' movies makes you, an adult person (or at least, me), watch them even more closely for the moral message, because somehow it just feels like ultimately the point of a kids' movie is it's moral message. Maybe it's because I don't really think kids are complex enough to handle a movie without a clear moral message--although I think this reveals a certain bias on my part (that I'm a little uncomfortable about being aware of) toward judging movies based on their moral message. On that level, I guess Kung Fu Panda is fine. I saw the big reveal of what the Dragon Warrior scroll was going to be coming from pretty much the second it was set up as the ultimate prize. And from a critical perspective, I'm a little curious about the fact that after getting it Po is suddenly able actually do incredible Kung Fu. And I'm a little wary about how much this movie (and, I can't help it, "movies like this," whatever that actually means) just gloss over the amount of actual hard work required to become very good at some skill. But, whatever. This movie was probably the most genuinely fun kids' movie I've seen since Spy Kids (I'd count Pixar, but Pixar movies always go for the heartstrings at some point, and I've decided arbitrarily that is grounds to exclude them from this short list). Jack Black and a lot of the visual gags are really really funny, and the action sequences are just delightful. And it's really hard not to be completely won over by a movie when, during the climactic battle, there's a little girl behind you screaming "Go Panda! Go Panda! Go Panda!"

True Stories

For about ten or so years there, David Byrne was pretty amazing. He still manages to pull off some pretty great stuff (see "Empire" from Grown Backwards) although he never has and never will match the consistency of his output from then. True Stories is almost like "The Big Country" from More Songs about Buildings and Food turned hilarious and stretched out into a feature length movie. It pulls off the same feat of being trenchantly of "the blandness of middle America" while at the same time being just as critical of the reflexive nature that criticism has for coastal people (he pulls this off, I think, by having the song/movie be from the perspective of a narrator who is obviously not from the place he's describing (and I think, though I may be projecting my actual knowledge of Byrne onto this, just as obviously from one of the coasts) and having that narrator adopt a faux-naive tone--or he seems to at once know more than he's letting on and not to know nearly as much as a he thinks he knows), but the movie/song isn't just critical. Both manage to also be kind of celebratory of the very differences they exploit to lay their criticisms. Also, they're very funny and moving. Byrne was just kind of brilliant.

Indiana Jones

Crystal Skull & Raiders of the Lost Ark

Harrison Ford is old. I used to have fantasies, back when I watched The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles every week and Harrison Ford (i.e., Han Solo/Indiana Jones) pretty much defined the masculine ideal for me, back when I first heard there were plans to make another Indiana Jones movie even though Ford would obviously be to old, that they'd make it a different kind of Indy movie, like where Jones is now an old tenured professor, way way smart and cunning and everything but just not able to keep up with all the kinetic action of his younger self, who either has to guide some younger hotshot through some ordeal or has to actually outwit instead of out-athleticize his nemesis. Instead, Crystal Skull is just one giant piece of denial of age. None of the people involved in the original are still up for this sort of thing, and yet here they are trying to do it all over again, in precisely the same way, except this time Jones actually marries the hot Ravenwood chick, happy to take on the full responsibilities of adulthood only about forty years too late, rather than leading her on and leaving her so he can have a new blond bombshell in the next flick. Crystal Skull is fun enough while you're watching it, so its not as complete a failure as the Star Wars prequels, but there's not really much at all to admire about it.

Rewatching Raiders for the first time in I-have-no-idea-how-long, I was surprised at how much there is actually to like about how it's done. It's just a flimsy a fantasy as it should be, but Spielberg really knew how to put together a movie back then, and Harrison Ford actually had the charisma to pull off his non-character. One thing I noticed: just like the original Star Wars, a lot of the strength of the story here is how it is constantly subtly implying a back story that's never quite articulated, so the viewer gets to supply a backdrop that's just as operatic as he or she wants it to be. With Star Wars, that backstory is really what captured my little imagination, even more than the story of the films themselves; they always felt to me like the final conclusion of this huge, impossibly morally complex and sweepingly dramatic, decades-long story that was never actually presented to me. Then when Lucas did decide to present that, I felt betrayed, literally feeling like, watching Revenge of the Sith, "That's not how it happened!" With Raiders, that back story is not as much the point, but it is what allows us to flesh out Jones as a character--since there's not really a whole lot of character development going on here. And how could there be? Like a full fourth of the movie is taken up with that over-the-top chase scene, then there's the opening action set piece, the fight in the bar, the fight in the streets of Cairo, etc. etc. Really, the only time in this movie Harrison Ford is anything more than a stunt man with a few lines are the scenes at the university, and all we learn about here is that he's smart and sassy and likeable. It's the off-hand references to his past, the way characters are all people he's known before and has a history with, that allow us to buy him as a real person. At least a little bit.

Of course, even still, he's not a real person at all. One of his defining lines early in the movie is when he tells Marcus he doesn't believe in "superstitious mumbo-jumbo" or something like that, w/r/t the Ark's power. Of course, at the end of the film he is presented with proof of exactly that, the type of thing--I mean, we're talking actual experiential proof of the existence and power of God, here--that would through a thinking atheist like Jones into, at the very least, a bit of personal crisis. But he's not even phased. He's just happy to get out of it alive with this hot lady from his past. So maybe in the next couple of movies he's more willing to believe that weird things happen sometimes, but he's certainly not a man who's come as close as anyone ever to seeing the face of God and surviving. He experiences all of this religious mythology (and now pseudo-new-age alien stuff) pretty much the same way we, the audience, do--as little more than excuses for some spectacularness.

So why is Crystal Skulls so much less satisfying than Raiders? First of all, I think some of it is all the CGI action pieces. In Raiders, as spectacular as it was, there was still at least something of a sense of real danger, and I have to assume that at least some of that was because they were limited to filming things that a stunt man partly had to actually do. Shia LeBouf swinging through the trees like Tarzan isn't even plausible the way that everything Jones does in Raiders is at least plausible. Plus, when the opening sequence concludes with Jones being blasted a few thousand feet inside of a refrigerator that he promptly stumbles out of, not even dazed, we know we're in a world in which Jones is now essentially indestructible. But the other thing, I think, is that Spielberg and Lucas tried to put some character development into this movie--which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, I think, except it's so shallow. In Raiders we accept that Jones is essentially impervious to character development, so it doesn't really bother us when none of it happens. Here, Jones is treated as more of a character, who's supposed to learn things and, you know, develop, which he kind of does by marrying Ravenwood at the end and kind of trying to suddenly develop fatherly feelings for LeBouf--except that this is the same Jones who, as I mentioned above, survived the presence of the Lord and now has just learned about the existence of trans-dimensional beings, and all he can think about is belatedly doing the right thing by his woman? By trying to give Jones a little depth and failing so spectacularly at it, Spielberg and Lucas force us to notice how kinda dumb and shallow Jones is as a character, and he's instantly a lot harder to love the way we love the unabashedly shallow Jones from Raiders.

Thieves' Highway

The DVD for this movie contains a ridiculously charming ten-minute interview with Jules Dassin. I watched the interview before the movie, which was maybe a mistake if I wanted to have an "unbiased" viewing or something, but it was hard not to like this movie after watching that.

The Naked City was really good, but a lot of that had to do, I think, with its central gimmick being so interesting. With Thieves' Highway, there's nothing like that that could end up being seen as a weakness. It's just a good movie, with the exception of a few scenes that seemed a little superfluous; and here the interview especially helped because it explained why those scenes ended up in the movie in the first place.

Richard Conte plays Nick Garcos, the son of a California truck driver who has just returned home at the beginning of the movie. He finds out his dad's legs were lost in a trucking accident, probably because he got screwed by a San Francisco produce mogul named Figlia. Nick vows revenge, hooks with another trucker, buys a bunch of apples and trucks them north to San Francisco, where not really everything works out quite as he'd hoped. I was thinking for a minute how it was interesting that the movie has a very noir setup, but in place of the usual criminal underworld the action all takes place in the cut-throat world of produce shipping, but then I realized that, of course, that was the point. Apparently Dassin didn't get blacklisted for nothing (I mean the whole blacklist thing was stupid, but Dassin's got his communist heart emblazoned proudly on his sleeve here). The ordinary capitalist system that leads to you finding your fruit in the supermarket is here shown to be just as underhanded and bluntly evil as the criminal underworld, full of double-crosses, exploitation, and outright physical intimidation and violence.

Which is what made the tacked climactic scenes so interesting. I mean, they just don't work if your trying to evaluate the movie from a purely aesthetic sense, since they're just not done as well as the rest of the movie and they're thematically so different. But when the cop's head is suddenly full frame and he's yelling directly at you, the viewer, "You shouldn't take the law into your own hands! That's our job!" well, that's actually really interesting, I think. It's like... well, I can't think of any really good things to say that it's like, but it's kind of awesome. It was obviously an attempt by the studio to try to undo the "damage" the rest of the movie might have done, but by making the point so clumsily and overbearingly it kind of just goes further toward undermining traditional ideas of authority. I really was annoyed when the scene happened while watching the movie, but thinking back on it I actually think it makes the movie loads better.

Also, just like in The Naked City, the villain is ultimately more compelling than any of the heroes, for whatever reason, although it's not quite so pronounced here. And the prostitute with a heart of gold gives him a run for his money. If a filmmaker wanted to see how to do subtly sexy, s/he could do worse than to watch the initial scene when she takes Nick back to her room, and when she turns away from the camera to reveal that the top buttons on the back of her blouse are undone. I've seen whole movies that were based around trying to be sexy that didn't even come close to matching that one scene.