RECAP: 'Tis the Season to be Jolly!

It is that time of the year again: when you've lost all feeling in your extremities, when it is impossible to get a jot of work done in anticipation of the coming holidays, when the only reason anybody should have to get out of bed is to find a sunny spot on the balcony, when Judy is urging you to have yourself a merry little Christmas. Don't fight it; crack open that bottle of wine and get down to watching Danish and Lekha's List of Essential Christmas Films. 

This year, I'm adding Arthur Christmas to my list, which I'm told is deeper than your usual everything- horrible-till-Christmas-Eve-when-a-Christmas-miracle-happens-and-everybody-lives-happily-ever-after fare. If you want to mix things up a little, do watch this eclectic collection of free video clips and Christmas films.

Merry Christmas, folks!


Danish's One Cent:

NBC may have played Grinch this year and stolen Community from the mid season schedule, but not before the show gave us a Christmas episode for the ages- and then some. In Regional Holiday Music, Greendale's show choir director attempts to enlist the gang to perform at the Christmas pageant after the Glee club gets arrested for copyright infringement. That's right - the episode is both, a spot-on parody of Glee (we're going to Regionals everybody!!!) while simultaneously serving as a gut-bustingly funny musical in its own right. Oh wait, and it's ALSO a parody of the horror-invasion genre, as the Christmas spirit spookily latches on to the group, one by one. 

Oh Community. Don't go.

NEW YEAR'S EVE (2011)

This is only half the cast.

 After a roller-coaster year of films ranging from awesome to meh, it is only fitting that 2011 ends with a deeply introspective film about the travails of urban life; a film that showed us that even though everything around us is designed to make us feel like we’re great and unique, they have the exact opposite effect on us.

Set in New York City on New Year’s Eve (would you have guessed?), this film follows the lives of a 100 characters, who are lucky/unlucky/happy/unhappy in love, family, work, philandering, etc.

Great scripts, properly fleshed out characters and witty dialogue are so 2010.  This film has such terrible dialogue uttered by shallow, one-dimensional characters with perplexing motivations, that it cannot have been anything but deliberate. Right there is the film’s true brilliance: the courage to point out that we’re drowning in an ocean of irrelevant information. Its lacklustre script is an allegory of our shallow, one-dimensional Facebook lives, and the gag-worthy memes we wearily link to, so as not to look like the fuddy-duddy who hasn’t got with the programme.

The greatest message one can take away from this film, is that we’re all sad, lonely and desperate people in December and only Hollywood is to blame for that. Thanks to vapid romcoms and Christmas fluff like that saccharine mess called It’s a Wonderful Life (starring the highly untalented Jimmy Stewart), it has become practically compulsory to meet someone cool and quirky and spend a special holiday moment with them. And as the clock ticks on, we’re supposed to make out with any person who happened to have been around for the last couple of hours– even if they look unwashed and then convince ourselves that it wasn’t oxytocin or Hollywood indoctrination, but was a Life-Changing Moment.  We’re supposed to convince ourselves that falling in love with somebody you’re stuck with in an elevator is the real McCoy and not Stockholm Syndrome.  There hasn’t been a braver film since Sunset Boulevard to show us Hollywood’s dark underbelly. In fact, New Year’s Eve is more than a film; it is an exposé.

SPOILER ALERT: I’ll be discussing some of the plots, so don’t read ahead if you haven’t watched the movie because you are waiting for the Director’s Cut DVD.

Perhaps the second greatest message one takes away from this film, is the far-reaching effects of bad parenting.  One the one hand, we see Robert De Niro dying of a terminal illness. His only wish is to see the ball drop in Times Square because it represents all the happy times he had with his daughter before he drove her away. His daughter Hillary Swank, is a VP of the Times Square Alliance and makes it her life-ambition to make sure that ball drops at 12, because she knows her dying father will be watching.  What cold-blooded revenge!  Instead of forgiving her father and spending his last days with him by reconnecting with him, she makes sure to only spend the last 10 minutes of his life with him when they see the ball drop together. The ball drop itself is a clear allegory of his dropping the parental ball and a representation of how her life has become defined by his callous parenting. On the other hand, we see new parents Seth Meyers and Jessica Biel generously but foolishly refuse a cheque for $25,000, which could have easily gone to their child’s college fund and ensured him a future. As the camera zooms in to the baby’s (apparently innocent) face, we see a seed of resentment glimmering in his big eyes. Chilling.

The film also warns foolish romantics about the dangerous myth of serendipitous love.  Why else would they have the woman who played Carrie “Cupid has flown the co-op” Bradshaw fall in love with a lothario? On the one hand, we have Sarah Jessica Parker (a divorced mom) and Josh Duhamel (a rake) who had one conversation a year before and then decide to meet again the next year, despite not knowing each other’s names or situations. On the other hand, we have Zac Efron (a surprisingly well-connected FedEx employee with a magical bike that can avoid New Year’s Eve traffic in Manhattan) and Michelle Pfeiffer (a mousy little woman) who join forces to complete Pfeiffer’s extremely pedestrian list of resolutions. Not only is this another example of the horrible longing for love that Hollywood wants us to feel so we’ll keep buying DVDs of Miracle on 34th Street, but it is also extremely obvious that one of the four will turn out to be a serial killer and/or a secret-cam perv (possible gritty action sequel? Fingers crossed!).

A-list actors in cameo roles in a film where every main character is also a cameo role may initially strike one as incongruous. What is the purpose of having Alyssa Milano, Cary Elwes and John Lithgow in supremely inconsequential roles that could have been ably performed by set extras, you ask?  Why, it is nothing but an allegory for the groupie-culture urban society engenders, and the immense amount of peer pressure we’re under all the time. Obviously, when Alyssa, Cary and John discovered that every single Hollywood A-lister ever was in this movie and that the premier party was going to be rad, they shed every last ounce of dignity and took on two-line roles.  Not since Requiem for a Dream have we seen such a powerful (and effective) anti-drug message.

A few minor quibbles: Not enough time was spent on the highly necessary ‘War = :(' plot line. That undercurrent of racist tension so beautifully captured by Sofia Vergara and Russell Peters by portraying annoying racist caricatures would’ve received an Oscar nod, if only they had received more screen time.  The excessive amount of product placement in the film grew tiresome. But I suppose it is naive to expect a film set mostly in Times Square to not milk that hormone-injected cash cow.

THE DIRTY PICTURE (2011)

Early in  The Dirty Picture, Vidya Balan's fiesty Silk tells a detractor that he should probably keep all his conceptions about the art of cinema aside, for there are three things that the public wants to see: "Entertainment. Entertainment. Entertainment." It's a formula that the makers follow well enough, and yet - The Dirty Picture is a frustrating experience in the most heartbreaking manner possible. Here is a movie that starts off as great, with a cracker of a opening half, then suddenly loses steam and just sort of chugs half-heartedly to the end. So one part of the movie is just so good that you want to implore everyone and their dog to run to the nearest theatre - but there's the obvious reservation about what the sum of the individual parts entails. 

But let me try.

The movie's not-so-secret weapon is Vidya Balan, who gives the most astonishingly fearless performance of her career, and has an absolute blast doing it. She's helped in large part by that kicker of a script - it's essentially a barrage of one liners and marvelously bold innuendos that force you to gasp in horrified, convulsive laughter. Balan simply owns every single piece of fiery dialogue she's given, and lets her body language do the rest. Silk is a woman uninhibited in every way possible, and in one of the more courageous portrayals I've seen from a Bollywood actress, Balan flaunts her curves, her stomach that threatens to spill out of her tight jeans, her tongue languorously caressing her lips. There's a lot of flak that the actress has gotten following her acclaimed performance in Parineeta, including the oft-mooted point that she's probably best suited to the soft doe-eyed all-Indian-female role. To see her tap into something of this nature with such success is the biggest joy of The Dirty Picture. 

The other attribute that gives the first half its potency is the many ideas about cinema and the audience that the movie throws at us. A hungry Silk has 5 rupees to get something to eat - but the sight of a new movie starring her cinema idol has her scurrying to the cinema hall and devouring the joy of the movies instead. There's the constant tension between the diatribes offered by various critics and the adoring masses; there is the editor of a gossip rag who admires Silk as much as she constantly slanders her;  and in one of the most interesting scenes in the movie, a rant by Silk at an awards ceremony about who's the hypocrisy of the audience who exalts her and despises her sexuality at the same time. This final pre-intermission sequence sets you up for all kinds of exciting possibilities regarding the direction the movie might take, and I for one spent the intermission salivating at the ways in which the movie would take its ideas forward.

Unfortunately, The Dirty Picture's ambition sort of trails off there. It's interested in making the big speeches but not quite exploring the ideas behind them. It sets up romantic subplots that don't seem to go anywhere, and the riches-to-rags portion that it inevitably has to deal with is strangely unconvincing. It doesn't help that Tusshar Kappor hijacks the second half with some truly atrocious acting, and Emraan Hashmi's dormant character suddenly pushes himself into the movie in the closing twenty minutes (this includes the most abrupt sufi love song I've had to face in a while). There's an interesting narrative conceit where a character who despises our protagonist gets to relay her tale to her: but again, the character's motivations for disliking her are so poorly etched, his own anger so lazily realized, and his obvious turnaround so abrupt that it just doesn't work.  There's also a relentlessly overbearing head-thumper of a score that starts out as charming throwback to the movies The Dirty Picture is gently ribbing, but then just kind of gives you a headache. 

And that ending!!! It's - just - wrong. It feels like it's imported from a completely different story with a different sensibility, and even though I'm informed that was indeed the conclusion to the real Silk Smitha's story, I'm sorry but it just doesn't work. A movie that takes so many creative liberties otherwise cannot use the "this-is-all-biography" angle to shoehorn in something that feels so egregiously against its spirit otherwise. Tarantino for one realized this when he (spoiler alert!) decided to kill off Hitler in Inglorious Basterds' rip roaring climax.

That said, I'm still going to recommend this movie. Watch it for Vidya Balan giving the finger to a panoply of critics and discerning audiences (how meta!) and watch it for the sensational dialogue. If possible, walk out in the intermission and don't come back. 

THE IDES OF MARCH (2011)

“You can lie, you can cheat, you can start a war, you can bankrupt the country. But you can’t f*** the interns. They get you for that.”

That’s Rule #1 of Presidential elections, according to Stephen Meyers, an up-and-coming campaign manager (played by Ryan Gosling).  He’s successful, knows how the game works and is not green behind the ears. He knows that elections aren’t great, well-intentioned battles between highly competent people. It’s about hoping that the voters think the deep blue sea is worse than the devil. Everybody is a pawn on somebody’s game board.

The Ides of March charts the events preceding the American Democratic Party presidential primaries in Ohio and the valuable life lessons learnt by all the characters.  Off the bat, the most striking thing about the film is that Ryan is the new George Clooney. And George is the new Marlon Brando.  With a supporting cast (Evan Rachel Wood, Paul Giamatti, Marisa Tomei and Philip Seymour Hoffman) that played off each other brilliantly and did justice to the excellent dialogue, this film stayed true to its Thespian origin.  Rembrandt lighting and Alexandre Desplat’s moody, vintagey music between scenes gave the film an air of quiet drama.  If this extensive set-up hadn’t yielded any conspiratorial plots and skulduggery, I’d have been thoroughly disappointed (spoiler alert: I wasn’t).

While it is tempting to see this film as the story of Gosling’s loss of innocence,  there’s more to it than meets the eye.  None of the characters are what they seem.  George Clooney while coming across as the dream candidate, who has everything working for him, learns a valuable lesson in the importance of discretion. Gosling is an old hand at political intrigue, but all it took was one charismatic man to make him wonder if, perhaps there was something to the whole ‘honour’ shtick after all. Evan Rachel Wood is just a lowly intern, but she’s also the daughter of a very powerful politician. She’s mature and sexually confident, but she’s also just 20 years old. The scenes with Wood and Gosling were sizzling with chemistry– he’s the boss, she’s just an intern but she’s the one who’s leading the waltz.  I’m sure I don’t need to say anything about Giamatti and Hoffman, who despite having comparably less screen time, carved memorable characters. But be warned, Hoffman: you are in imminent danger of getting typecasted as The Foul-mouthed and Dishevelled Politico.

George Clooney plays Mike Morris, a presidential candidate whose optimism and principles are infectious. But eventually, everybody disappoints without fail; we are not built to live up to others’ expectations.  Even the most admirable will fall, and take with them the last vestige of any idealism you may have ever had.

The thing about George is that, while he’s terribly handsome, smart, has crinkly eyes, etc, he just… Clooneys around, you know? It becomes hard to separate suave and sexy George from the suave and sexy character he’s supposed to be playing, barring some memorable films like Syriana (2005) and O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000). If he’s keen on winning a Best Actor Oscar, he needs to be less suave and charm-oozy  (since the Academy is refusing to institute that Award for Best Clooney in a Motion Picture).  Fortunately, George pulls off Morris’ character very well. He’s the young, optimistic and honourable politician, reminiscent of JFK and Obama– the cool, hands-on kind of guy who’s in love with his wife. But under that charismatic veneer, he always seems too good to be true. Which, as you know, usually means that it isn’t true.

While one could find a number of minor things to quibble over, the film’s backbone is its simple plot, superb lines and the confidence with which it let the actors rather than events take centre stage.

I was somewhat disdainful of Stephen Meyer’s decisions; what else was he expecting from a politician, I remember wondering. In politics, isn’t everyday is the Ides of March? Is is a sign of how disillusioned we’ve become when we are smug (even relieved) about Mike Morris’ fallibility? If the film-makers’ aim was to show us what manner of creatures we’ve become, then by Clooney, this is a better film than I thought possible.

THE ADVENTURES OF TINTIN (2011)

If you are anything like me, you read Tintin comics in your school/neighbourhood library and have hazy but extremely fond memories of the series.  You were probably thrilled to hear that a beloved bit of your childhood was being adapted to the big screen, with the formidable Peter Jackson-Steven Spielberg duo at the helm. Peter Jackson, the man who managed to silence one of the most vociferous (and astute) fan bases with his remarkable adaptation of the greatest book ever written, and Spielberg, who is practically an institution.  If you are anything like me, do not make the mistake of watching the The Adventures of Tintin with a rabid fanboy.

For the 3 people on the planet who have not heard of this comic book series, “The Adventures of Tintin” is about an alien explorer from the planet Zargon X, come to study humanity. He disguises himself as a dog, Snowy, and gallivants about the place with his sidekick, Tintin. He solves many mysteries and catches many bad guys, occasionally with Tintin’s help. The 2011 film adaptation combines some plot points from 3 comics, and is otherwise a completely new story (the blackest of sins, I was told).

I think it’s time we struck up a dirge for 3D films. Sure, there were some spectacular animated films that made glorious use of the 3D, but they seem to have regressed to that gimmicky, pre-Avatar era. Apart from 2 or 3 scenes (a superb sea battle and Tintin dodging traffic on a busy street come to mind), I watched the entire thing without glasses. Half the exciting murders and skulduggery in the Tintin universe happen at night, and once you have the glasses on, you can’t see a damn thing.  I must also mention that Captain Haddock’s animation and motion capture was awful. No animated character has looked as creepy, since the dead-eyed zombies ofThe Polar Express (2004). The animation was otherwise top class and even incredibly lifelike in parts: qualities that one has now come to expect from Weta Digital.

Now, onto the meat of the matter: how was the film?  Eminently watchable. This was not a lets-just-render-one-book-for-the-screen-and-smirk-all-the-way-to-the bank movie. The film-makers had a loftier goal: to stay true to the spirit of the series, but with a new plot. Suspense, adventure, Thomson/Thompson pratfalls and little clues for the viewer make for a most enjoyable film. They had lots of references to the comics without ever going overboard.  One particularly enjoyable moment was when Tintin gets his caricature drawn by a street artist and the audience collectively went, “Heh. Good one”.  Sure, some of the humour was a bit over the top (Haddock fuelling a plane with his whisky breath, or buildings merrily sailing away on a flood), but this sort of slapstick humour was expected. I mean, have you read a Tintin comic lately?

Fanboys on the other hand, there’s simply no pleasing them. This is known. If you do succeed in gaining their approval, rest assured that nobody else will watch that film because it will be mired in trivia and easter eggs. They will carry on about how the masthead of the Unicorn was three inches off, or how the wrong sort of ivy was growing on Marlinspike Hall. They forget that the magic of Tintin does not lie in its self-referential in-jokes or Sakharine’s backstory; it was the good, old-fashioned, almost fantastic tales of adventure and mystery that first made you fall in love with the series. It was like a travelogue for children, who then went and sailed the seas in their imaginary ships and bathed their bedroom floors in the blood of countless mad scientists and oil sheikhs. Fanboys be damned, this film lived up to its promise.

Although, I’ll give them this much: I wouldn’t have caught half the easter eggs if it hadn’t been for excited whispers of “That’s from Blue Lotus!” and “That vase in the corner is from Something of the something else” emanating from the next seat. Oddly endearing, even if you are resisting the urge to beat them with a bag of rotten oranges.

*****

BONUS FEATURE: PARTY GAME!

“Bait the Fanboy“

You will need:

1 bottle of tequila

1-2 fanboys (must be passionate about same TV show/cartoon/comic)

1 Comfortable armchair/couch

How to play:

1. Find 1 or 2 fanboys and engage them in conversation. Within 5 minutes they will have mentioned their comic/cartoon/TV show/movie of interest.

2. Tell him/her how much you love their subject of interest. This is to lull them into a false sense of security.

3. When they’re deep into a monologue about the cultural/artistic/social significance of pg. 15 of the third volume/season, interrupt them and say, “Yeah, and I really loved the movie adaptation. It was spot on!”

4. Sit back, and let them start talking. Every time they use the following words/phrases, drink 1 shot: “outrage”, “shallow”, “disregards established canon”, “misunderstood”, “did not stay true to the spirit”, “director of the film should be drawn and quartered”. Drink two shots for every time they use the word “travesty”.

5.  Enjoy the party and remember to keep yourself well hydrated!

SUPER 8 (2011)

The movie that Super 8 most obviously evokes is Steven Spielberg’s E.T. – the idea of an alien creature coming into the lives of a group of young kids, and the ways in which the subsequent encounter alters their relationships. Considering that Spielberg is credited as producer, and the movie is directed by his much spoken about protégé, J.J. Abrams, this is not unexpected. What is surprising though, are the ways in which Super 8 manages to stand out on its own, away from the towering shadow of one of the greatest works of a master director.

What helps is that it is a homage about homage. The central group of child characters in Super 8are obsessed with the magic of the movies: there is the scene-scouting director (this is gold!), the obsessed-with-explosives SFX man, the powerful young actress, the queasy leading man, and our make-up artist protagonist. There is a wonderful moment where a film projector involuntarily interrupts an already tender scene between two characters, and the resultant projection elevates it to another level. The best scenes in this movie simply involve the kids playing off against each other, working up to creating an award-winning zombie movie with heart. Abrams is successful in supplying this movie with that very heart, and the fantastic first half gives us a lot to play with.

J.J. Abrams

The movie our young filmmakers are trying to create leads them to witness a massive train crash – where the train’s mysterious cargo escapes. Before they know it, the U.S. military is on the case, and strange occurrences start happening in the town. The dogs are missing, electronics have vanished, and soon people start following suit. There is a tremendous amount of tension built up with these early sequences, as we are left guessing about the nature of this creature.

The problem is, nothing can quite match up to what the imagination creates, and Abrams’ final revelation of the “monster” is somewhat underwhelming. Where the first half builds itself on charming character-play and thudding suspense, the second half veers into full-blown spectacle – and suffers as a result. The spectacle itself is well done, and the action sequences thrilling, but there is a somewhat discomfiting genre switch that is a bit hard to digest.

That said, Super 8 still works. This is, thanks to, in no small part, the excellent performances Abrams extracts from his young cast. Recall if you will, that E.T. featured a young Drew Barrymore; this movie has Dakota Fanning’s younger sister Elle Fanning, and in a scene that moves the characters within the movie to tears, she begins to steal the film. Our protagonist has a milder approach to his character that still remains quite endearing. Kyle Chandler as the father is not quite the sympathetic presence he was in Friday Night Lights, but I think he is partly let down by a poorly written character.

A final word on the movie-within-the-movie. Make sure you stay back for the credits; we get to watch the full version of the movie our young filmmakers have been working on. It is charming, faux-scary, and a pure blast of fun. Kind of like Super 8 itself, really.

(as published on mylaw.net)

REAL STEEL (2011)

Science, forget about flying cars and that cure for common cold and please get cracking on making robot prize fighting a reality. ROBOTS! PRIZEFIGHTING!  You'd think that sort of thing has universal appeal, but Rotten Tomatoes' verdict on Real Steel is, "Silly premise notwithstanding, this is a well-made Hollywood movie."

WHAT.

Which part of 8-ft monsters of steel beating the shit out of each other (occasionally in slow-mo) for our entertainment is a "silly" premise? I'd pay good money to make this happen. So stop douching out on us, RT.

The year is 2020 and robots have replaces humans in the boxing ring. Hugh Jackman is a small-time robot promoter (beater-upper? handler? guy who controls the remote control  for the fighter-bots?) who was once an almost-boxing champion before robots replaced him and his ilk. Troubled with financial issues and a thoughtless approach to bot-boxing, he leads a hand-to-mouth existence till his illegitimate son is foisted on him. His son turns out to have that same stubborn streak and passion for boxing as him. The kid finds an ancient robot (Atom) in a junkyard, which Jackman reluctantly enters into underground boxing matches and surprise, surprise, Atom turns out to be the Seabiscuit of boxing robots with a talent for taking a proper beating and then giving it back good. In the process, Jackman and kid do some serious father-son bonding.

I know, this whole career-oriented/macho man forced to care for a smart alec child theme is trite [The Game Plan (2007), The Pacifier (2005), Daddy Day Care (2003), Big Daddy (1999), Liar Liar (1997), Mr. Nanny (1993), Fatherhood (1993), Kindergarten Cop (1990)]. Besides, apart from the Fannings, precocious children in film are a vile, vomit-inducing group.  Which is why a normal little kid who is stubborn, curious, rude and constantly ODs on comic books and soda makes for a nice change. Also, can we take a moment to pause and reflect on that buff, aviator-rocking hunk of yumminess called Hugh Jackman?

It's not like anybody is going to read this caption anyway.

There was a long queue to do this. Worth it.

Okay, where were we?



Obviously, Real Steel didn't have the greatest character development ever seen on film, and if one were to nitpick, one could find a plot hole or five.  Hugh Jackman and son hate each other because he's just a money-grubbing rascal and then, when the climax showdown scene is 3 minutes away, he suddenly begins to care. We've seen this a dozen times. It is also pretty ridiculous when a small child uses only his powers of cuteness and sugar high to indulge in complicated robot-hot rodding (alas, if only 10 cans of Dr. Pepper could give one an epiphany). And yes, since all evidence suggesting that the robots were just machines slightly superior to your washing machine, it is highly improbable that Atom magically became self-aware, especially when they give us no reason for this to be a possibility.

I thought that little background they give us about robot-boxing was interesting. When robots initially replaced humans in boxing games, they tried to keep them as human-looking as possible, but then they realised that people didn't want to see uncanny valley residents. People wanted proper violence and lots of it, so robots started losing their human resemblance and began to mimic Transformer toys.  Atom, being an older-generation robot, still bore resemblance to humans (think Eva meets Bumblebee). But is that what really draws us to underdogs? Their human qualities?  Noisy Boy was a really cool robot and Zeus was easily the greatest robot ever created, and yet, it was Atom with his tenaciousness, robot dancing, big blue eyes (which make you wince every time he's hit) and his "human" style of bot-boxing, that ended up as the favourite. So I understand why they needed Atom to be self-aware. Otherwise, it's like asking the audience to root for a refrigerator. I just feel that the film would have worked better if they had left it a mystery: just the kid's desperate yearning for Atom to be self-aware or implied that Atom's self-awareness was just his imagination, but never actually showed us a self-aware Atom. A self-aware robot pretty much destroys the very foundation of the film and leaves too many unanswered questions. But if they had built on humanity's desire to name our ships, cars and computers, give these bits of metal and plastic emotional value and even assign them human qualities, this film  could have struck a very deep chord, without becoming silly.

All said and done, I immensely enjoyed this movie.  Perhaps it was because it wasn't just another lazy attempt to make money. Or perhaps it was the beautifully captured shadow boxing scenes. Or perhaps it was that ridiculously awesome soundtrack. But most likely it was the utter gorgeousness of Jackman's muscly forearms.