that fucking trailer

< 60-second-HATE >

So the latest salvo in the ongoing onslaught of DC's superhero movies got fired this weekend, and if the fans can have their say so can I. Yes, it's cool that we've got some parademons in there, and the Mother Box, and they actually made Cyborg look like an interesting character, and Momoa looks hot, and yeah yeah yeah

But we're subjected to the same on-the-nose needle drops on the soundtrack, the same listless looking action, the same drabid-awful-looking dull bluish gray color on everything when this thing, given the revitalizing focus on team-based action, should be exploding across the spectrum.

And I was ready to just write this off as another superhero movie that simply held nothing for me until we got to this choice bit of dialogue.

AQUAMAN: So what's your superpower?
BATMAN: I'm rich.

NO NO NO FUCKING NO YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER

This is the trademark tone-deafness of auteur Zack Snyder creeping in. This is this franchise's ongoing cordial dialogue with, and reinforcement of, the absolute worst in the American status quo. This is Batman-as-Donald-Trump, and we're supposed to cheer this bullshit. This is an absence of understanding that Batman holds his own among magicians, among aliens, among gods not through the pricetag on his toys through sheer force of will. The corrected dialogue follows:

AQUAMAN: So what's your superpower?
BATMAN:

That's it. That's the fucking line. That line became a meme for a reason. That's all the goddamn Batman ever has to say to justify his presence to anybody. But the cheap laugh (if that) provoked by "I'm rich" is a tacit understanding that money = power, that the money spent on this thing is what makes it great.

And I'm tired of that shit.

So in closing, and this is the last I'll say about this: Fuck this movie. Fuck Zack Snyder. Fuck DC "Entertainment". Fuck superhero movies in general. And while we're at it, fuck you.

< /60-second-HATE >

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY

I really should just recuse myself from conversations about Guardians of the Galaxy - I'm in a frustrating position where Marvel is churning out movies I'd have adored as a kid, or even a youngish adult. But I can't bring myself to savor them, or even care much about them. And though I won't deny that I've had emotional experiences while watching many of those movies (including Guardians, it should be said), those emotions fly away as soon as I'm out of the theatre. But I went to see Guardians opening weekend, mainly because if I was going to find out what happened in it I wanted to go to the source, rather than have it spoiled for me on line. This outweighed any actual enthusiasm I had for the movie, which immediately put us at a disadvantage with each other.

In the act of watching it, I was engaged. After the earthbound, thriller-style heroics of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the dropkicking of the Marvel franchise into colorful/boldly realized space opera is a smart decision. It's great to look at, but has a decent emotional core, with Chris Pratt likeable indeed as nominal team-core Star-Lord. His reconnection with his deceased mother toward the climax is one of Marvel's most bracing cinematic moments. There's plenty to enjoy there, and of course the thing has found a huge, probably record-breaking audience.

But dammit, all these little things kept nudging me out of it. Rocket Raccoon is an irresistible conceit, but the character himself, though resourceful and clever, is quippy without being funny, and comes across as merely bitchy. (This is a common trait to many live-action Marvel characters - it singlehandedly drove me away from the Agents of SHIELD TV show.) Michael Rooker is believably gruff as alien tough guy Yondu Udonta, but in his climactic action sequence outsources his badassery to the flying knife he whistles to. Villain Ronan the Accuser cuts a great visual figure, but rings hollow. The "outsiders find family with one another" trope was already hashed out in The Avengers, and I'm tired of the geek-stroking inherent in the subtext.

And the fucking 70s pop tunes all over the soundtrack - I like that Star-Lord's prized possession is a mixtape from his mother, but I kept wondering why a woman who had undergone the incredible experience of parenting a child with an alien would have such pedestrian taste in music. It's a commercially sound decision to go with more familiar, crowd-pleasing tunes here than, say, the progressive rock the story screams for, and many have mentioned the tunes as one of their favorite things about it. But the juxtaposition of Earth's pop music with high-flying space action is not new, and has worked better elsewhere. And I'll take Sammy Hagar's title track from the Heavy Metal soundtrack to anything from Guardians.

So why even write about it? I'm not going to convince anyone that they're wrong to love this movie (and wouldn't dream of trying). Maybe I'm just trying to figure out why these movies do so much for so many, yet find no purchase with me. Maybe I'm as irresistibly drawn to sounding off about it on line as I was to seeing it. Or maybe there's some subliminal illuminati shit in Marvel movies that I'm immune to. That scenario makes just as much sense as me willingly looking a gift horse in the mouth. Who knows? No conclusion here, just an aging comic book-loving cinephile talking to himself. You're a gem for reading this far. Thank you. Sincerely.

DARK SHADOWS (2012)

Cursed to become a vampire by a jilted lover, nobleman Barnabas Collins is unearthed two centuries later (in 1972) to find the world almost completely changed. His beloved home, Collinwood Manor, remains barely standing, presided over by the remnants of his family. Barnabas moves to restore his family to its former glory, even as he is haunted by the spectre of at least one lost love...

I lamented previously about the foul taste left by the trailer for this, the latest Tim Burton/Johnny Depp collaboration. I couldn't understand how a film by two avowed fans of the original series could be as off-puttingly goofy as the trailer suggested it would be. Reviews of critics and reports from friends suggested that my fears were well-founded. And yet even weeks after the thing opened I remained curious about it, and figured I'd have to see it for myself. I went with my girlfriend, a woman who's picked up my DARK SHADOWS habit, who held out hope that there was something of substance within the film. I harbored my doubts even after the solid prologue, bracing myself for the film to go off the rails.

But it never did. The credits roll as Victoria Winters travels to Collinsport to take her new job as governess to Collinwood Manor (the event that opened the original series - indeed, it was a dream of this image that led Dan Curtis to conceive the show). The Moody Blues' "Nights in White Satin" is an obvious choice to score this, but it works. The choices Burton (and writers John August and Seth Grahame-Smith) makes in introducing the Collins clan, from the still-proud elegance Michelle Pfeiffer brings to Elizabeth Collins Stoddard to young David Collins' startling resemblance to the young Damien Thorn, also work, demonstrating an understanding of what makes the characters compelling but necessarily going beyond simple rehash.

There is humor in the film, yes. And some if it is so gaudy that it seems to have been tacked on after the fact (and yes, I refer to the scenes that figure in the trailer). My girlfriend was convinced that these scenes were shot at studio insistence, and though one cannot ignore Burton's previous lapses into mood-breaking cutesiness (and there have been several), the gothic tone is so lovingly realized throughout the film that these scenes are hard to explain any other way. Especially alongside moments of sly humor that are realized more solidly, and are genuinely funny. One such moment finds Barnabas cursing a bright (and prominently framed) McDonald's sign. "Mephistopheles!" he hisses, a clever subversion of such direct product placement that showcases a wit absent in the film's goofier moments.

It is as compromised as Orson Welles' MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, which is not to say that it is as brilliant as that film remains. Some choices can not be laid down to studio interference. Eva Green holds all of the physical characteristics of Tim Burton's favorite leading ladies, but she doesn't bring to Angelique the knowingly freaky grace and eldritch power that would have made her a formidable villain (Burton's former muse Lisa Marie MUST have had the role at some point in their history). Still other characters are clumsily misplaced - Jonny Lee Miller's Roger Collins is too one-dimensional to ever be effective and is quickly written out; Victoria's backstory is rushed through; and there are a couple of character 360s that exist solely to provide the final conflict some oomph.

But even through all of these setbacks, these mistakes, these interferences, there is plenty to latch onto. Johnny Depp's haunted, irreverent grace. More crucially, the dedication of Barnabas to his family, which here, as always, keeps him from being the monster he fundamentally is (fan confession: the first extended scene between Barnabas and Elizabeth was exactly what I wanted/needed from this movie, and Depp and Pfeiffer just nail it). Pfeiffer's wounded strength, and the way Burton films her on Collinwood's main staircase. The lone tree on Widow's Hill, and the watery tragedy beneath. The curious, but keenly felt, kinship between Barnabas and David. The gentle lapse of familial duty into unconditional love. These and many other moments are realized with reverence, and eagerly shared by Burton, Depp, and company. As challenging as it is to see through all of the haze and meddling, there is real love for the source material here. The suits signed off on it, but generous eyes and heart reveal that they didn't quite kill it. Collinwood remains. This fan cried. And the Collinses endure.

humbug, indeed.

So a couple of weeks ago your proprietor, having arrived early for a movie at a multiplex, found himself in front of one of those pre-show Hollywood commercial blocks offering a look behind the scenes of forthcoming movies. So it was with some dread that I got a gander at some of the footage from Robert Zemeckis' forthcoming CGI realization of Dickens' A CHRISTMAS CAROL. The footage included Jim Carrey (in the gosh-darned-nice mode that I don't think we've seen him in since he was plugging THE MAJESTIC a few years back) talking about playing all of the lead roles, and how this lushly-achieved production was going to give life to an ultimate vision of the Dickens tale, how it would be exactly the story that Dickens wrote.

Now I'm not against smart retellings of classics, and even understand and laud the deployment of a multifaceted talent as Carrey as Scrooge and the various ghosts. But I have to say that my immediate thought was that Dickens would probably be startled to see that he had written Scrooge getting hit in the groin. Just a throwaway notion that I let go...

...until I saw an actual trailer for the movie in which, sure enough, Scrooge is flown all over London, and finds himself sliding crotch-first through a rack of icicles.

Though I'm normally averse to seeing the word Disney over the title of whatever property they've assimilated, I laud them for the truth in advertising in calling the film DISNEY'S A CHRISTMAS CAROL. Because clearly it sure as hell ain't Dickens'.

No links or pics in this post because I don't want to promote the film. Frankly, come Friday, it'll be damn near unavoidable anyway.