Forgetting How to Make Action Films
A reader asks: "If you are looking for movies to discuss, how about the one due out this Friday, Avatar, what looks to be a classic science fiction vehicle?"
Discuss movies? You dare to ask me to discuss movies! Prepare yourself, then, for discussion! I will discuss and discuss til my discusser is sore!
But there is not much to say about AVATAR — it looks from the commercials to be like an update of FERN GULLY, DANCES WITH WOLVES, and POCAHONTAS except without the really goodlooking Disney princess in the lead, and no singing trees.
In other words, the same old Enviro-Marxist Kill-the-Rich, Hate-the-Whites crap. You are supposed to cheer when the marines die.
(Those of you who do not think Environmentalism is merely undead Marxism lurching from the grave, read up on the Copenhagen summit. Hugo Chevez gets a standing ovation for (mis)quoting Marx and calling Capitalism the ghost haunting the corridors. The Australian minister gets booed and heckled. Meanwhile protestors outside flourishing the hammer-and-sickle emblems of international socialism are being tear-gassed by the riot police. The talk is not about polar bears and melting ice-caps, it is about looting the rich and sovietizing the world.)
I was warned not to see V FOR VENDETTA by my conservative friends, but my science fiction friends did not see any political messages in it. So I saw it. Big mistake. I can only assume my science fiction friends are blind: V FOR VENDETTA was one of the most pure expressions of Leftist political clichés I have ever seen or can imagine. Leftism is about guillotining the rich: it is about self-righteousness. It is the party of riot and anarchy. Everything Leftoid was on display here, from the defense of the Koran to the glorification of violence against the innocent to the demonization of talk radio, churchmen, drug companies, to the deification of personal choice with no context or sense to it, the delight in the collective mob-action of uniformly garbed (and unrealistically successful) peace protestors, to the beatification of sexual perversion(the token lesbian portrayed here as a beautiful and holy martyr, complete with Church-style floral chapel). The only thing missing from the movie was an abortion. They should have had V performing a back-ally abortion with his kung-fu knives on Evey, to show how evil White Males are for trying to outlaw it.
Well, I learned my lesson. My conservative friends have already warned me about FERN GULLY DANCES WITH SPACESMURFS or whatever it is called. I am not going to see it.
I saw the 3D computer toon version of Dickens’ A CHRISTMAS CAROL, and it was without doubt the worst version of this classic ever filmed, and among the worst movies I’ve ever seen. It galls me particularly, since I spent over 40 bucks for tickets for the whole family, plus popcorn slathered in butter-substitute chemicals.
Jim Carey plays Scrooge as the most cartoonishly evil version of the character imaginable, sneering and yelling and growling out lines which should have been delivered with imperturbably British condescension. He also plays the Ghost of Christmas Past, hooting and hissing out lines that should have been delivered with imperturbably British melancholy. He also plays the Ghost of Christmas Present, screaming and screaming out a forced donkey laugh to blast out lines that should have been delivered with imperturbably British jollity and good-humor. The Ghost of Christmas Present even screams out his forced stupid-sounding roars of laughter even as in a completely gratuitously gross and pointless scene, his face melts into a skeleton as he dies slowly and horribly before our eyes.
Contrast this with the George C. Scott 1984 version made for television, where Scrooge was portrayed as a real person. Instead of a twodimensionally evil and bitter miser, he is here portrayed as a merely coldhearted and aloof man who jests at Christmas. Imagine the difference between saying "Are there no workhouses? Are there no prisons? Well, then let them die and decrease the surplus population" in a tone of ringing hatred, and saying the same line with a smile and a twinkle in the eye, as if the whole matter is a joke, not something to concern a serious businessman.
Or contrast this with the stunning visuals and pitch-perfect voice acting of the 1971 animated version (illustrated by Richard Williams and voiced by none other than Alistair Sim, reprising his role from the definitive 1951 version.)
Whereas in the 2009 computer toon version, there is a scene where Scrooge in his nightshirt, having been reduced to the size of a rat, is chased (accompanied by Jim Carey’s screams) through the streets and up and down walls and rooftops of London by a haunted hearse drawn by demon horses, and (since it is a three dee movie) the miniature figure must be shown dropping in and out of stormdrains, sliding across ice, leaping always directly at the viewer. It goes on and on, and hold no excitement nor point whatever, since we all know the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Be is not here to murder Scrooge, but to enlighten him.
I give it five out of five hammers in the head for excessive stupidity.
I saw TRANSFORMERS II REVENGE OF THE FALLEN. It was perhaps the second-worst film I have ever seen—and as a sci-fi guy from the days before STAR WARS, I saw a lot of “B” movies, including Ed Wood’s PLAN NINE FROM OUTER SPACE.
It is difficult for me to list all the things wrong with the film. I could mention the scene where the protagonist’s Mom, intoxicated with drug-laced brownies, is making sexual come-ons at random strangers on his college campus. I could mention the Steppin Fetchit robots, the mechanical versions of Jar Jar Binks, so annoying that I actually cheered when one was eaten by Devastator (I mourned when the twerp broke out of the mouth of the robot the swallowed him). I could mention Playboy Bunny University, and the intrusion from another movie entirely of a Terminator bot disguised as an airbrushed busty bombshell Co-Ed, who then tries to eat the protagonist with her forty-foot-long electroblade-tongue. I could say all this. But I will content myself by saying that if I do not see another robot scrotum as long as I live, I will count my life a happy one.
How hard can it be to make a flick where giant robots bash each other? This formula only needs two elements (1) Giant Robots (2) Bash. Really, seriously, how much art and craftsmanship can it take to make a pulp sciffy crowd-pleaser?
I give it four out of five steel-toed boot-kicks to the groin for excessive stupidly and lasciviousness.
G.I. JOE RISE OF COBRA crowds close to TRANSFORMERS in sheer incompetent notgoodness. How hard is it to make a James-Bond style war flick about a bunch of Army Men fighting a group of supervillains? First they made the US Armymen into an international team from Belgium or something. The only person with an American accent was the Baroness, who is supposed to sound like Zsa-Zsa Gabor, but evil. More evil.
They did not do Zartan right; they did not do Destro right; they certainly did not do the Cobra Commander right—he is supposed to have no face and talk like Starscream from the TRANSFORMERS (see above). They did do Stormshadow right—I’ll give them that, but they did not include enough superninja awesomeness for my taste.
I think G.I. JOE RISE OF COBRA will be the only movie in history where the marines blow up chunks of ice from a glacier to have them fall on the undersea lair of the supervillain. Ice sinks in water their universe. Remember that next time you put ice cubes in a Coke.
Normally I would cheer for any movie where the Eiffel Tower is knocked over, because I am a rabid Francophobe and I wish the English would invade that darned country of snail-eaters and be done with it, but the Eiffel Tower knockover scene in TEAM AMERICA was just as good, and the acting by the puppets was less wooden.
If you want to know what a GI JOE movie should have looked like, rewatch the last fifteen minutes of YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE, where the marines break into the volcano-hidden spaceport launchpad base of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. and gun it out with hordes of thugs.
The one good point of this film was Scarlett as a kick-ass goodlooking soldiergirl armed with laser-crossbow and dressed in skintight black leather.
Let me say this: I like my action films the way I like my men—big, loud, stupid and goodlooking. I am actually going into the film looking for big, loud and stupid eye-candy, explosions, special effects, more special effects, and a few more explosions, and maybe a hawt redhead in a skintight black leather. If the redhead is murdering someone, better. If she is using an oversized hand-cannon, or acrobatic kung-fu that shows off her athletic limberness, better yet. If she quips a quippy one-liner while committing the bad-guy-i-cide, more better yet. If the hawt redhead in black leather murderizes a bad guy by blowing up the entire planet he is on, so that the whole globe is blastified into red-hot asteroids in one gnormous supertastic space kabloowie, that is best of all, and I am in hog heaven with peach pie.
See? I am easy to please. I have lowbrow tastes. My highjump bar is set so low it can double as a limbo stick. I think of HE MAN AND THE MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE starring Frank Langella as the epitome of Western Cinematic Art. So why are films like this aiming low and still missing the mark? So why can’t Hollywood make pulp sciffy any more?
(The answer, of course, is political correctness. Peaceniks cannot make war flicks, and unisexuals cannot film adventure serials, because adventure is about boyishly manly things like shooting, stabbing, igniting, or lasering various train-robbers, pirates, ninjas, Nazis, Injuns, Vikings, Bedouins, cannibals, Saracens, robots, dinosaurs, Martians, and/or legionnaires from a lost race of ancient Romans who worship an beautiful but evil undying Sorceress-Queen, or blowing up their stuff, or running over them with a monster truck.)
Not every SPX-SF popcorn flick has to be as memorable as EMPIRE STRIKES BACK. All I ask is that they not be as How-I-yearn-to-forget-them-able as REVENGE OF THE SITH.
Lest it be said that I hate every movie I see, let me list a few that I liked.
THE STONE OF DESTINY was a caper film about Scottish nationalists in 1950 stealing the mystic Stone of Destiny from where it is kept under the seat of the throne that sits in Westminster Cathedral.
This stone in ancient times spoke aloud and proclaimed the true kings of Scotland—its mythic origins reach back beyond memory. It is said to be the same stone Jacob used as a pillow at Bethel, later used as a stone in the pedestal of the ark in the Temple, brought from Syria to Egypt by King Gathelus, who then fled to Spain, brought from Spain to Ireland by a descendant of Gathelus, from Ireland, the stone moved with the invading Scots to Argyll. Kenneth I, the 36th King of Dalriada moved his capital (and the Stone) from Argyll to Scone from western Scotland around 840AD. English King Edward I (“Hammer of the Scots”) after his Scottish victories in 1296, raped the stone to Westminster Abbey in London, where a coronation throne was specially designed to house it, so that the kings of England could warm their royal buttocks on the sacred relic of Scotland while being crowned.
The story in the film concerned four youths (actually, three youths and one youthess) whose not-quite-FuManchusihly-cunning plan consisted of trying to find a motor car to carry them to Westminster, and breaking one lock on a back door. The hard part was having three young men haul the heavy stone out of the cathedral, dragging it across the floor on their coats. The other hard part was when the Copper comes by the getaway vehicle, the youth has to kiss the goodlooking redhead youthess, to convince the Bull that they are merely innocent party-goers who overdid their Christmas Cheer.
In those days, unarmed policemen finding a motorcar on the streets unattended on Christmas Eve would come by to inspect it, and if they found a youth and a youthess in each other’s arms smooching (or “snogging” as they say in GB) he would clear his throat, ask them for an explanation, and tell them to go home to their parents. In those days youths and goodlooking redhead youthesses would call the officer “sir” and treat him with the same respect one owed a schoolmarm or pastor.
Seeing the decency and order of the England that once was, I felt the way Abel no doubt felt, when taken by his parents to some hill to see from afar off the garden from which they’d been exiled, and smell, when the wind was right, ,the savor of the immortal fruits and blooms. But the passing years, like the flaming sword of a Cherubim, severs the present from the past.
In any case, not to spoil the surprise ending, but, well, here is the surprise ending: They get away with the Stone of Scone, but since one of the conspirators left his wristwatch at the scene of the crime, Scotland Yard soon catches up with the Scotts in Scotland. The title card at the end says that no charges were ever brought against the four, and the British government decided to loan the stone back to the Scotts, asking them to return it in time for the next coronation.
The other film I liked that I saw was NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM II-BATTLE FOR THE SMITHSONIUM. Despite the presence of Ben Stiller, and the absence of Dick van Dyke, this sequel to NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM contained all the same frenetic energy, humor, goodnatured fun as the original. I have always been a fan of Amelia Earhart (I named my main character in my Chaos books after her).
And (for obvious reasons) I have always wanted to steal the Wright Glider from where it hangs in the museum and take it out for a spin. In this movie, my wishes were vicariously granted. I have also daydreamed about having sailors celebrating the end of WWII kick the snot out of Egyptian spear-carriers, and having the stone statue of Lincoln rise from his throne on the mall, so those wishes were vicariously granted as well.
I also liked PAUL BLART MALL COP. The film’s title tells you everything you need to know about this one. You will be treated to a chase scene between a skateboard and on Segway. I thought it was mildly funny but more than mildly charming. Paul is the incompetent security guard who dreams of someday being a real police officer, and who has a crush on the blonde store clerkess played by Jayma Mays (who is actually a redhead). When the Mall is taken hostage by robber is his chance to prove himself a hero. Hi-jinks ensue.
You may be wonder why I am mentioning all the redheads, or, as we call them, the ‘Gingers’. Wonder not. Science (or, rather SCIENCE!) reveals that these Gingers, hidden for millennia as sleeper agents among normal humans, are actually Neanderthals.
www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/10/071025143311.htm
No doubt they are merely waiting for a signal from their master, Vandal Savage, to rise up against the homo sapiens and club us to death with the thigh bones of antelopes. We here at the Secret Vatican anti-conspiracy branch of the Holy Office of the Inquisition have been preparing an Asimovianly-loyal computer brain of vast power, known as VATICANATOR to stop the upcoming robot revolt (expected to occur in 2012, last year of the Mayan Calendar), that we have no resources for the eon-long-awaited Neanderthal retaliation, and so our vast intellects will be helpless before their primitive weapons.
There is no way to oppose goodlooking Scottish redhead Neanderthals, especially if they are fearless aviatrixes, dress in leather, and are heavily armed. I suggest preemptive surrender.
About John C Wright
John C. Wright is a practicing philosopher, a retired attorney, newspaperman, and newspaper editor, and a published author of science fiction. Once a Houyhnhnm, he was expelled from the august ranks of purely rational beings when he fell in love; but retains an honorary title.
