Marvel's The Avengers Review

The family barbecue, and there’s your crazy recluse of an uncle, famously ill-tempered. Self-involved techno whiz kid playing with latest gadgets. Patriotic Grandpa, spry, and still sees everything through the fog of those good old days. Throw in a melodramatic stage actor fresh from the gym and a couple of queer and quirky cousins. Avengers? Assembled.

Also, superheroics.

Marvel’s The Avengers.

Written and Directed by Joss Whedon
From a Story by Joss Whedon and Zak Penn

Ponder Watchmen, the comic landmark meta-text that reverse engineered the sci-fi subgenre known as the ‘superhero’, where pulp heroes are replaced in urban settings complete with alter egos, iconic sigils, and diabolical archnemeses. If Watchmen is what’s over the precipice, then Marvel’s the Avengers is right before we fall off. It’s idealistic, unapologetic, and sidesteps the existential trappings so often bastardized* since the days of Watchmen and its counterpart, Batman : The Dark Knight Returns.

This is what we build before we break it down.

If you’ve been hibernating under a Hulk sized rock, let me expound : Marvel Studios have emulated the structure of a Comic Book Universe in their Marvel Cinematic Universe. Previous films, Iron Man, Thor and so on, have existed in a shared universe. Flirtations with crossover are finally consummated in this orgiastic spectacle of superpowered swinging.

When Norse God Loki assumes control of an alien army intent on enslaving the Earth, it’s up to paramilitary organisation S.H.I.E.L.D. to assemble the first line of defence, or as Loki calls them, ‘such lost creatures’. The plot is merely banner post, something to hold up the tireless succession of character moments, glorious, twisted, and occasionally hilarious.

We’ve loved Robert Downey as Tony Stark. Here again he deals quips like cards and no one gets away. Chris Evans is wholesome as ever as the timethrown Captain America. Indeed the entire cast are in form here, and it’s a testament to the tectonics of the screenplay that these masses of star power don’t overwhelm each other. Tom Hiddleston’s Loki gets special mention. Hauntingly sad, he’s like other classic Joss Whedon villains. He begs to be redeemed.

The word “revelation’ has been tossed around to describe Mark Ruffalo’s Bruce Banner. Fandom seems ecstatic, and, if this is the Hulk as we want him, it’s easy to see why the character’s solo outings seem to strain. This Hulk is an internalizing, if passive, character, and Ruffalo himself is a bit left of leading men. He’s shortish and scruffy, and has a professorial sort of charisma. It is perhaps the case that this character is better suited to serial forms of storytelling, a television series or a comic series.

For those of you who have lamented the shaky cam trend. Cloverfield. Chronicle. The Hunger Games. Fear not, for Joss Whedon’s camera is like the perfect employee : punctual, reliable, motivated, and prides in presentation. It doesn’t spoil much to point out that, unlike a certain other goliath of a superhero franchise, most of this action takes place in daylight.

It’s impossible to discuss the film thematically without reference to Joss Whedon’s previous work. Whedon has discussed the nature and structure of family extensively in the past (see Buffy episode 'Family' and you'll get the idea) . It’s been said that he landed this job for his ability, as demonstrated in television, to cohere disparate characters around some common goal, and from within that develop compelling relationships. If nothing else, the Avengers is the origin story for the founding of a family structure comprised of these dysfunctional characters.

Also on display, Joss Whedon’s famous feminism, as spoken through what is arguably the female lead, Scarlet Johannson’s Black Widow (he is on the board of directors for Equality Now, a woman’s advocacy organisation co-founded by his mother). She’s introduced in a very gender and genre subversive scene which immediately expands on the character’s rather wasted introduction in Iron Man 2.

Supervillain Loki believes that humanity was ‘made to be ruled’ and that we as a species crave subjugation. He’s petty, jealous and vengeful. He may be a Norse God, but he behaves rather like a singularly theistic one, and this harks back to Whedon’s publicly professed humanism. Whedon is the recipient of the Harvard Humanist Chaplaincy ‘Rushdie’ award and for good reason. Just listen to the speech Loki makes in Germany.

There are other commonalities for fandom to squeal over. This Banner is reminiscent of Oz, Buffy’s droll werewolf. The character of Hawkeye has a brainwashing experience that associates Buffy character Tara Maclay, Firefly’s River Tam, and Whedon’s oft-misfiring series Dollhouse. Plenty connections can surely be called a reach but, it is clear that whatever the studio’s involvement in the narrative, a singular authorial voice does come through, and clearly.

The advantage of a comic book universe is the development of a rich and complex mythology, which, by its nature, rewards the more devout of its attendees. The disadvantage, as we’ve seen from Marvel and DC, is that stories go on forever, become unwieldy, burdened by years of backstory, and frequently need to be rebooted to clear up continuity. In distinction to Chris Nolan’s Batman franchise, Marvel’s not keeping it closed and down to Earth. The Avengers is not a sequel to any one film, nor is it in some way standalone. Rather, it is something of a bold new cinematic experiment. The Avengers is the grand opening of a UNIVERSE.  The MARVEL UNIVERSE, with stories spanning that yonder galaxy to New York City, comprising aliens, robots, spies, gods and assassins. This is where the zeitgeist works out its issues in dazzling  comic book colour, and where our avatars fight wars in the sky that we do in our minds. This film takes us there and, through the confluence of sharp writing, clear direction and compelling performances, ensures we will stay there for many films to come.

One can only hope subsequent entries from Marvel Studios can match the standard of this game-changer.

Check it out. It’s Epic.

*Check out Tom Strong for Alan Moore’s own answer to superhero grit.

The Hunger Games Review

An adolescent heroine, a fantasy novel and a love triangle. The odds are not in our favour. But not to fret ! Put shiny vampires and mopey damsels from your mind – Twilight this ain’t.

The Hunger Games.

Directed by Gary Ross

In Panem, the aftermath of North America, where the rich and poor are divided into the Capitol and districts respectively, a male and a female are selected from each such district to participate in an annual televised event called ‘The Hunger Games’. Kids between the ages of twelve and eighteen are confined in an area of simulated wilderness. Only one may leave alive. A skilled archer named Katniss Everdeen volunteers to spare her sister, whose name is drawn first, and is thus invited to audition for the pantheon of great action heroines.

The premise implies the film with all its nail-biting do or die moments, but let’s first regard how plausible this actually is. Anyone who’s been watching Spartacus : Vengeance knows that shows of blood and death have historically been seen as acceptable popular entertainment, and if you flip from Starz to one of the networks you’ll probably see the next round of histrionic mal-educated dollies televising their divorce and hurling buckets of fried chicken at immediate relations. This farmer wants a wife. Virgins after dark, to the lions.

So the premise resonates folks, but does it deliver?

The film takes its time before the games commence, building the world and planting seeds for the inevitable sequels. The stakes are high early on, so once we’re in, we are in. All the competitors are carefully drawn, reacting in different and relatable ways to their predicament. Some hide, others hunt and form allegiances. Between the more vicious of her opponents and the harshness of the environment, Katniss is put through one gruelling challenge after another. By the end she’s pulled a bury of bunnies out the one hat, and each time you never saw it coming. You will catch yourself grinning.

Jennifer Lawrence owns the role of Katniss, haggling the fear and courage so that the heroism feels innate and earned in equal measure. This is an angular plot that moves ever forward without much time for contemplation, but in between the running and fighting she reminds us why to care. Every opportunity is seized to show us that this is not Transformers, Katniss is not Bella, and these are people trying to make the best of a bad situation. The rest of the cast is likewise keen, although one expects sequels will offer further opportunity to exhibit the depth of their characters.

Gary Ross’ camera works to follow the action, inviting us to search the screen ourselves for details. Much of the famed violence from the novels is sufficiently implied without extensive gore. His direction shines most brightly however in the depiction of the two worlds. The districts are relatable, down to earth, with limited resources and open on nature, whereas Panem is populated with unfeeling gluttonous yuppies who wear so much make-up, it’s like that time your cake shop got up and went for a walk. One feels rather like a third world labourer touring Chadstone Shopping Centre from the vantage point of a shopping trolley. Is this us? Are we superficial and materialistic, either delighting in or oblivious to the inequalities which as presented in the film, are probably analogous to that of the real world?

There is an adjunct political story, which while a mite simplistic (think V for Vendetta movie), will certainly turn the neurons some and leave them itchy after those closing credits. The district residents, moved by Katniss’ televised feats of survival, take to mounting some embryonic challenges against the regime. This is rewarding because, well, who doesn’t love a riot? Occupy Panem.

I’ve mentioned sequels twice now because regretably, without sequels, this film is rickety. Fault can mainly be found in the closing montage which, rather than exclaim the story of this film, makes laboured promises of the next one. By leaving us with moments saying, effectively ‘yes, there is victory, but peril in its wake’, the worth of the film becomes inextricably bound to the sequels, and without spoiling too much, negates the climax some. Let’s hope the inexorable sequelification of this franchise doesn’t go the way of the Matrix sequels because this first film will not survive.

Is it to be deified among the stars? Can Katniss hold her own with Ripley, Sarah Connor, Buffy and the like? Answering this requires repeat viewings, and I would absolutely endorse at least the one.

Occupy your cinema.

The Fighter Review

All bets are in and if the Golden Globes are any indication, I the critic should not stand a single round against this welterweight biopic.

The Fighter

Directed by Chuck O. Russell

Based on a true story – presumably not the one where George Clooney punches him. Google it.

Ding Ding. Okay I’ve seen it now.

Distilled from the biographies of two professional boxers, The Fighter delivers on the genre promises of a sports movie by chronicling its under dog hero to triumphant against-the-odds success. Set in the working class town of Lowell , 1993, Mark Wahlberg plays Micky Ward, a boxer trying to escape the shadow of his half-brother Dicky Eklund, an almost-champion who is regarded as the ‘pride of Lowell’. He is managed by his domineering mother and a bitchy chorus seven sisters, all of whom curse when he brings Charlene the sexy bartender home, who insists he abandon his family in favour of new trainers and management.

In a short and innocent, single-entendre summation, The Figher is the story of a boxer with too many fists in his ring.

Wahlberg is stoic as Ward, and when set against Christian Bale’s yammering and giddy Eklund, affecting comedy ensues. Amy Adams accents her obligatory love interest with good charm even in her foullest lines – and there are many. Not so much a gripe, but an observation – it is bizarre to see Christian Bale outside of a blockbuster these days, bizarre-r in a supporting role, but to see him as a balding drug-addled ADHD-afflicted has-been, seems downright insane. He brought great humanity to the character, and isn’t obliged to front franchises all the time, but one can’t help but wonder if this role shouldn’t have gone to unknown to complement the ‘found’ sense of this world.

But I digress.

Russell’s camera is decided doco-style, adding emphasis to the true-story element. A sub-plot involves a film crew documenting Bale’s character, and the footage thereof is often a resort in times of exposition. Russell plays with many post-modern meta fiddlings, including splitscreening the credits with interviews with the real Micky and Dicky. When worlds collide.

Besides the comfortable acting and improvisational camera, this film should be exalted for following by-the-book the rules of a sports movie, and from within those trappings, exploring keenly it’s characters and themes. In contrast to, for example, Clint Eastwood’s otherwise shiny Invictus, which dwelt endlessly in slow motion on that final match we all knew the outcome of, The Fighter spends a good while reconciling it’s disparate sub-plots before getting to that final fight. What results is a solid understanding of Lowell, the working class environment and problems associated with crime and drugs. We come to sympathise with even those who antagonise our hero, so when we get to that necessary title match, we need to see him win.

The Fighter is a film that is solid in performance and direction, but it’s script is a delicate tapestry of plotting that should knock you out. It is well worth the ticket that I did not have to pay for.

But you should.

Yawn. Nightmare on E --zzzz.

Arching now in the armchair with my shoes off, feet up. I am staring through a gauze of expectation onto a small screen. There at that murky middle, a covenant is established.

I will believe that the characters are not played by actors but are human beings. I will assume that all the light is as it would be without intervention, and accept that in no way do speakers play a part between the sound and my ears. All I want in return is a decent dollop of truth.

Even if that truth is a faint and desperate call for help from under a now demolished soundstage, I still want it.

Tonight is a set menu – this isn’t television. Walking down the spooky boulevard, past Boris Karloff and his monster. Ignore imitations, unscrupulous nostalgia merchants and plagiarists with permits that go by street names like ‘prequel’, or ‘reboot’. Sideshow of psychic CPR. The Exorcist will wear his Oscar on the mantlepiece but you'll notice that there are no photos of his kids – they skipped school and went straight to DVD.

Look down into the underground bar. Sam is chasing Bruce with a handheld camera. Windows have been broken. The crowd isn’t sure whether to laugh or scream but they'd better keep it down. Steven King owns the theatre upstairs and it is always open.

Pass the corner of Sci Fi lane. See stargazers recount meetings with Ridley Scott and James Cameron. Over the bridge is Romero’s excavated cemetery but… I’ve got enough here for now.

Arriving at the hotel where I will sleep. It consists of nine stories although the eighth has a permanent resident named Voorhees, and above that is a space occupied by hookers. But I’m on the first floor, opened in 1984. Closing the windows and wedding the curtains.

It’s safe to assume that, whatever the noise, it’s not anything that lives inside these walls and – all that stuff about the full moon, not true, izzit?

PREPARE for the exhileration, the trepidation, and the ickly prickly nape.

A Review

Nightmare on Elm Street

Written and Directed by Wes Craven

Released 1984.

Yawn. I’m knackered. Not sure if I’ll see the end…

The Next Day.

Note : Johnny Depp plays a not eccentric person in this movie.

Fred Krueger was lynched for the murder of twenty children after the justice system crumbled on a petty technicality. As any child-killer does after an unfair execution, Freddy returns to take revenge, targeting the teenage children of the mob. He does this in their dreams – that is to say, they go to sleep, he cuts them with razors attached to his horribly burnt finger, and the cuts manifest in reality.

Great set-up huh?

For those of you who’ve been living in a cave, bomb-shelter, or coma (or just don’t care – fair enough), ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ is already a horror/slasher classic, and deservingly so. Regard its villain, a charismatic boogeyman in stripes of blood red and bile green, bladed gloves, while still having the decency to hide his fire-scarred face in the shadow of a gentlemanly fedora. I’ll follow him into a sequel anyday.

Agreeable characterisation is also found in our protagonist, Nancy, convincingly portrayed by Heather Langenkamp. She takes us on an arc from helpless victim to resourceful heroine, that, while a little off-the-shelf, is nonetheless competent. And as a special holiday treat, the film refrains from revealing that Nancy is the protagonist until the end of the first act :

The film begins with a close-up sequence of Freddy sculpting his evil gloves, after thiswe enjoy a chase sequence – a dream. Tina is the helpless figure trying to escape in his labyrinthine boiler room lair. It is a wonderful construction that Tina is allowed to die bloodily and surprisingly at the end of the first act, so that our empathy can shuffle over to the much more worthy Nancy. Within seconds of her visit to the dreamscape Nancy is able to yell out the notion that will eventually save the day

It Is Just a Dream.

And so she takes the torch.

Craven’s camera shows restraint but gets decidedly excited when Freddy’s in the room. It plays nicely with a deliriously dated synth score. What is most striking though is the lighting, the stark contrast between the dark and gloomy nightmare world and that of the sunlit suburban streets. The dream world is that much more terrifying when set against the security of a good and honest neighbourhood.

Of course, it isn’t all that good and honest. Thematically, the film intends to open all the closets of the American Shangri-La, and put the skeletons out to decompose. Nancy’s mother, her drinking problem, her dark secret, her clinical disbelieving approach to her daughter’s problems, argue that even behind the American dream curtain, there are nightmares lurking, and they will always haunt us if we don’t face them.

Nancy’s mother tells her “you face things. It’s your nature. Your gift. And that is why, thanking good screenwriting, she survives the film. (Or almost, but that’s another grumpier paragraph). These themes of course don’t hit you over the head, but they do make you feel better about being manipulated into gasping at regular intervals.

And yes this satisfies my pompous standard of ‘truth’ and I’ll class the film as good, despite the following :

I like horror films for the portrayal of people first and stars second (try killing Johnny off in a film nowadays). I love that horror allows villains the limelight. I do not love horror for throwaway endings. Is it really that necessary for the monster to come back and negate everything that’s happened? Really?

(Apparently two endings were shot, the latter ‘twist’ ending is what made it into the film, against the will of Craven who’d leave the franchise for a while. Sigh)

A few other gripes include some logic leaps. Why, pray, does Nancy actually go to school after being used as bait to lure Rod into a police trap. And does Nancy’s dad actually believe her about Krueger, after seeing him ENVELOPED BY A BEDSHEET? Oh, and that sleep Doctor and his obligatory romanticising of dreams?

I guess technically most of the movie was just an elaborate nightmare, so I’m forgiving. It is an engaging well constructed film and a great opening to what would become a successful franchise overall. There are certainly enough chills and thrills, and you can press play in the knowledge that a small dose of pop philosophy will keep your intellect from dribbling out your nose.

Go! To the Blockbuster. If you can find one.

Itunes?