Cynically Sentimental

            Drive is a stylish, entertaining film that I should like more than I do (though I like it quite a lot).  Neo-noir trappings, existential angst, an alienated hero, shots of Los Angeles streets at night, splendidly evil bad guys, visceral violence, a strong cast…this is exactly the sort of doomed-romantic, loner-hero crime film that I enjoy, so…what’s not to like?  Alright, if you push me, I’ll single out the script, which is overly-familiar and has an outrageous coincidence as one of its main foundation pillars.  That, and an awfully annoying soundtrack which spoils numerous scenes via its trite juxtaposition of music and image. 

            Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take Drive 99 times out of 100 over the usual bland cinema fodder we’re served, but I somehow expected…more.  Clearly the film had the potential to be even better than it is, which is always a sad realisation. 

            Ryan Gosling (character unnamed, although his pal refers to him as “kid”) is a mechanic, motion picture-stunt driver, and free-lance “wheelman” for various petty crooks.  His employer Shannon (Bryan Cranston, who’s in everything these days) hopes “legitimate businessman” Bernie (Albert Brooks) will finance a race car with the kid as the driver, providing them all with a ticket out of the small-time.  The kid falls in love with his neighbour Irene (Carey Mulligan), a young waitress who’s supporting her young son while her husband serves a prison term.  It’s a quintessential film noir set-up: if you go out on a limb for a dame, you’re asking for trouble.  Irene’s hubby gets out and is pressured into participating in a robbery to pay off his debts; the kid pushes his way into the deal to keep Irene from being used as a hostage to ensure her husband’s cooperation.  But the robbery goes wrong (don’t they all?), Irene’s spouse is shot to death, and the kid is left holding the bag (fortunately, the bag contains one million dollars; unfortunately, that means he’s now a target).

            Cobbled together from a variety of disparate elements—classic film noir, Taxi Driver, nouvelle vague, ’80s film-style (Bernie, referring to his own movie producing career in that decade, saying his action films were referred to as “European”-style)—Driver (not to be confused with Walter Hill’s The Driver, although there are some similarities, including a taciturn, unnamed protagonist who drives getaway cars for a living) is expertly assembled and effectively paced.  It starts out deliberately, then the tension and violence escalate. The opening sequence is a blueprint for the rest of the film, building tension and then exploding into a final car chase. 

            The delineation of the character of the driver is similarly structured.  He’s got no back-story, few personal possessions (except a tacky satin jacket with a golden scorpion embroidered on the back), and only one friend, gimpy Shannon. A man of few words, the kid charms Irene and her son with his caring, pleasant demeanour.  He’s hurt when Irene reveals her husband’s imminent release from jail (cue one of those damn sappy songs, argh), and when a former customer imprudently accosts him in public, the anger and potential for violence hidden beneath his baby-faced facade are exposed. 

Then, to save his own life, protect Irene, and (eventually) avenge his friend Shannon, “the kid” hacks and slashes his way through a mob of sleazy villains (perhaps, in retrospect, it might have been better for his relationship with Irene if he hadn’t stomped a guy’s head to mush in an elevator while she was right there watching…I’m just saying…).  Ryan Gosling plays most of the film with a blank look on his face—ironically, late in the movie he dons a full-head mask which is only marginally more expressionless—but his harmless, calm appearance (presumably with an attitude to match) makes his character’s transition into uber-violence even more shocking. 

            Perhaps the driver gets along so well with Irene and her son Benicio because they’re also surprisingly taciturn.  None of them use two words when one word—or, more often, just a look—would suffice.  In contrast, Irene’s husband Standard, and villains Nino (Ron Perlman), Cook, and (ultimately) Bernie are positively garrulous.  Is Drive trying to give us life lessons such as “mind your own business,” “don’t fall in love,” and “keep your mouth shut?”  Admirable sentiments, all of them, and well worth remembering. 

            Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn has a few stylistic affectations, although for the most part—aside from those dumb musical interludes, gah—these are easy to take and Drive is generally a pleasure to watch. Refn likes to freeze or at least stretch time unrealistically: not to be confused with creating suspense in real time (for instance, as the driver is waiting for his “clients” to emerge from the establishments they are robbing), these sequences prolong a particular moment in time or an action (the driver and Irene kissing in an elevator, for example).  Refn also has a Scorsese/Tarantino-like penchant for sudden, explicit and disturbing violent explosions, often involving sharp objects or blunt objects, although punches, slaps, kicks and stomps are also utilised when no appropriate tool is at hand.

            The technical aspects of Drive are satisfactory, with especially nice photography, both in lighting and composition.  As much as I’ve complained about the hipster-infused soundtrack, it’s really only the hackneyed manner (could this be intentionally ironic on the filmmaker’s part?  Uh-oh, mind is blown) in which the songs are employed that bothers me.  The songs themselves aren’t horrible, nor is the underscoring elsewhere.  The performances are also fine: Drive assembled a fairly small cast of people with interesting faces and some acting talent, then gave them a script with some clever nuances of characterisation, with pleasing results.

            You know, over the course of writing this review, I’ve come to realise that I actually liked Drive somewhat more than I may have implied in the opening paragraph.  It’s a flawed work (but aren’t they all? I’ve yet to see a perfect film), and it gets by mostly on mood and style rather than thematic content, but in the final estimation, I’ve got to admit: this is a smooth and accomplished work, I enjoyed it, and I’d watch it again in a heartbeat.

“Ensemble” films, with their large casts and numerous sub-plots, have been around for years, e.g., Grand Hotel, Dinner at Eight, Earthquake, Nashville, A Wedding, and even Traffic, which (not so coincidentally) was directed by the director of Contagion, Steven Soderbergh.  Although the absence of a clearly-identified “protagonist” can be problematical—such films may thus lack an emotional centre—box-office insurance comes from providing an “all-star” cast.  Thus, even if audiences subconsciously miss having a “main” character or characters with whom to identify, they may still be willing to purchase tickets, lured by a plethora of star names and by whatever exploitative hook the picture presents as a selling point: a natural disaster, a man-made disaster, a notorious crime, a major event, a critical social problem, etc.  

Contagion meets the ensemble-film criteria—a strong cast, a multiplicity of fragmentary personal stories revolving around a central topic (a deadly epidemic)—and also suffers the usual problems of such pictures.  Who do we follow and care about?  Mitch (Matt Damon), the grieving husband who lost his wife and son and is determined to save his teenage daughter?  CDC Bureaucrat Cheever (Laurence Fishburne) whose love for his wife causes a lapse in professionalism?  CDC doctor Mears (Kate Winslet) who contracts the disease she’s investigating? WHO doctor Orantes (Marion Cotillard), held hostage in a Chinese village until a supply of the newly-discovered vaccine is delivered in exchange for her freedom? Sleazy science blogger Alan (Jude Law), who utilises people’s fear of the epidemic to become rich and famous?  And so on and so forth.  Contagion gives us a minute or two of each character’s story, then jumps elsewhere on the globe for a couple of minutes, then jumps again, and again…until we’ve made the rounds of the sub-plots and it’s time to start over with character #1. We get to know these people superficially and even care about some of them to a certain extent—the sequence in which Mitch gives his daughter a “home prom” is sweet, and when Dr. Mears falls ill it’s a real blow, she seemed to have potential to be a “main” character—but no one’s motivations or actions are examined in detail, and the film at times resembles a documentary with sporadic “dramatic re-creations” of certain key events.

It’s also ironic that, despite the globe-trotting nature of the story, relatively little is shown of the effect the epidemic is having on society across the world.  Mitch and his daughter’s sub-plot is the closest the film comes to depicting “real people” dealing with the fear, food shortages, lawlessness, and the like (although a lot is said about the enormous death toll, panic, and unrest), but for the most part the film is rather insular, concentrating mostly on scientific and bureaucratic efforts to fight the disease.

Yet, Contagion consistently holds one’s interest despite its narrative format (which, because it is so peripatetic, requires onscreen date & location titles to orient the audience) and despite the fact that not much really happens onscreen.  Mitch’s wife Beth (Gwyneth Paltrow) is “patient zero,” who spreads the illness across multiple continents, a process unraveled rather cleverly over the course of the film, which is otherwise not particularly involved in depicting medical or scientific process in any detail.  Even the bureaucratic wrangling which occupies a huge part of Contagion’s running time is vague and espouses no clear point of view: are governments in league with drug companies to exploit the epidemic and its cure for their own ends?  Who knows?  The chief proponent of this argument is Alan, exposed as a fraud himself.  The Chinese villagers holding Dr. Orantes hostage claim China (as well as various third-world nations) are being denied the vaccine for political reasons.  True? Or is there simply not enough to go around?

I suppose one could thus use Contagion as an example that films don’t have to be “about” anything, nor does viewer interest depend on (a) a linear narrative, (b) a clearly identified protagonist, (c) onscreen action, (d) in-depth characterisations, back-stories, and dramatic development, or (e) a clear point of view.  Contagion doesn’t have these things—at least not to any significant degree or in great quantity—and yet it’s surprisingly engrossing.  I don’t think I’d want a steady diet of such films (nor would I want only “serious” dramas or wacky comedies or adrenaline-rush-inducing action movies), but this one—while not a classic—is entertaining enough for a one-time viewing.

Creature isn’t a bad film, really, but what is it doing on 1,500 cinema screens in the USA?!  I have to concur with another reviewer, who marveled at this particular picture receiving a widespread theatrical release when other, far superior movies—by almost any objective standard—have not.  If any movie ever screamed “send me direct-to-DVD,” it would be Creature.  And yet, somehow, someone thought it merited exposure in cinemas.  Apparently they forgot to tell audiences, though, since the per-screen average was one of the lowest in recorded history, averaging less than six people per showing!  (I didn’t contribute to this meager attendance, watching a “screener” DVD instead)

It should be noted that the film slipped into release almost without advertising, has one of the most generic titles ever, and features no “name” stars (not even well-known TV performers or ex-stars, unless you count genre favourite Sid Haig; however, I don’t think Sid’s presence alone would sell many tickets).  These factors may go a long way towards explaining Creature’s box-office failure: despite its low budget, it’s not likely to turn a profit on its run in theatres, but may do alright when it goes to video.

So, what about the film itself?  Meh, it has good and bad points.  Good: a nice man-in-a-suit monster, no CGI trickery for this low-budget effort.  The monster strongly resembles the titular creature of The Monster of Piedras Blancas; the costume is effective, although the alligator-man creature is frustratingly reluctant to commit mayhem (at least while he’s on-screen).  Sid Haig is another plus, along with his swamp-rat henchmen, who are satisfyingly sweaty, sleazy and loony.  The opening scene begins with full-frontal nudity and concludes with some graphic gore, but the early introduction of these exploitation elements actually raises false expectations—several topless scenes appear later, but the gore never really develops.

In fact, this almost looks like a “cut” version: for instance, in one scene psycho cult leader Sid hacks off a young woman’s foot, but this occurs below the frame, so we don’t have any idea of what he’s doing until he later brandishes the severed limb.  I’m not sure why Creature—which is rated “R”—would be so squeamish about gore, unless the special effects were so unconvincing that it was deemed better not to show them. (Or perhaps—conspiracy theory here—the theatrical version was deliberately made tame so the forthcoming DVD can be ballyhooed as “the uncut edition!”)

It seems we’ve strayed into the “cons” section already, so let’s pile on!  The protagonists—six young people—run the gamut from bland to obnoxiously annoying and stupid.  Seriously, after 3 minutes, I couldn’t stand them; after 5 minutes, I hated them.  Later on, admittedly, I did mellow out a bit, and was glad the two least-objectionable characters turned out to be the “final girl/guy,” but it was touch-and-go for quite a while.  Argh, they are all so generic and yet so horrid.

The script is formulaic and the film ends with a bizarre anti-climactic non-conclusion (when the expected, long-anticipated final life-or-death confrontation between monster and hero takes place off-screen, the audience has a perfect right to demand their money back), then a trite, logically invalid “kicker.”  

However, the script, as simplistic and derivative as it is, isn’t wholly to blame.  Creature was helmed by TV director Fred Andrews, and either he forgot whatever he learned doing episodic television, or the quality of TV shows has gone downhill quite a bit since my  TV-watching days.  Creature is confusing, not only overall, but even within sequences and scenes: the laws of space, time, and logic are repeatedly violated.  ”Who is that guy?” “where did he/she come from?” “where are they going now?” “what just happened?”  Yes, you’ll ask all of those questions and more!  

Still, I had no great expectations for Creature, so my disappointment was not great.  I wasn’t bored, the film wasn’t amateurishly produced, and it didn’t offend or insult me (on the other hand, I didn’t pay to see it).  Yes, I’d have liked more sleaze and cheese (nudity and gory makeup effects, that is), and it would have been a pleasant surprise if the script, direction, and acting had been more than barely competent (credit where credit is due: the photography is rather good).  But Creature has no pretensions, it’s “just a horror movie.”  It’s not the film’s fault that it was elevated far above its true place in life (inside a DVD case) and had its many, many flaws exposed for all the world to (potentially, if not actually) see, and in 1,500 cinemas across the USA to boot. 

Who knows, the brief and record-breakingly-poor theatrical release may have even been a clever marketing ploy to bring notoriety to Creature, which would have otherwise certainly passed unobserved and ignored.   ”Now on DVD—the film that no one wanted to buy tickets to see!”  Stranger things have happened.

Calling Apollo 18 a “found footage” film is a slight misnomer, since this isn’t really a Blair Witch Project, Rec or Paranormal Activity-style movie.  The film is designed to visually resemble “real” (video) footage—shaky-cam, drop-outs, blurred scenes—but there is little or no formal attempt to make Apollo 18 seem reconstructed from such sources, as some other movies made in this style have done.

This isn’t a complaint.  Although an interesting project could be made about the recovery of “lost” footage and its subsequent assembly into a film that reveals dark secrets, Apollo 18 instead opts for a relatively linear narrative utilising images which merely look raw and unprofessional; the result is a fairly engrossing, if formally conventional work of horrific science fiction.

In the late 1970s, three astronauts are sent on a classified mission for the Defense Department (something about installing an early-warning missile defense system on the Moon).  One man (Grey) remains in orbit while his two companions, Walker and Anderson, pilot the lunar lander down to the Moon’s surface.  At first the mission goes smoothly, the equipment is set up and rock samples are collected, but soon…strange things begin to occur, unusual tracks are spotted, a Russian lander—complete with a dead cosmonaut—is discovered, interference disrupts radio communication with Earth and the orbiter, then Walker collapses while on a moon walk.  He is rescued by Anderson, who discovers his partner has suffered an odd wound caused by something that did not penetrate his spacesuit from the outside.  Not wanting to spoil the whole story, I’ll simply drop a few key words: moon rocks, alien spiders, psycho astronaut, military conspiracy, Cold War oneupmanship, expendable NASA personnel can’t come home, government cover-up.

Apollo 18 effectively conveys the fear and isolation of the astronauts: the scenes on the Moon and in the lunar lander have a sense of verisimilitude which is, ironically, greatly enhanced by the “inferior” quality of the photography.  If the film had been shot in the usual slick, glossy manner—think of Moon, for example—the impact would have been considerably less. The mission of Apollo 18 turns into a horrifying nightmare for the astronauts, and our inability to clearly see what’s going on is frustrating but at the same time adds to our unease.  Brief, fragmentary images of…something…build suspense and while there’s no final “reveal” or payoff, the film is not unsatisfying (if we’d been given a clear glimpse of the “monsters” and/or had some sort of “explanation” provided, the odds are about equal that this would have been silly or great or… meh).  Instead, a lot is left unexplained. But it seems to me the point of Apollo 18 is the feelings it evokes while one is watching, rather than a clever or controversial plot (or plot twist) to be discussed and dissected afterwards (compare this to Red State: while that film is certainly entertaining to watch, it’s even more entertaining to think about and discuss later).  

The commenters on IMDB bring up many issues which, objectively, make Apollo 18 seem rather silly and illogical in retrospect.  To mention just one: the mission is top-secret (even the astronaut’s wives were told their husbands were training in Japan) yet there is footage of an apparent press conference or documentary or something, a special “mission patch” is displayed, and (perhaps most damning) how can one “hide” the launch of a moon rocket?  

But none of these occurred to me as I was watching Apollo 18, and they wouldn’t have bothered me seriously even if they had.  And I’m not that forgiving when it comes to logical fallacies in film scripts.  However, in this particular instance I was caught up in the eerie mise-en-scene and the horror-mystery aspects of the plot, and I let the other stuff slide.  Apollo 18 produced moments of genuine suspense and unease, and a film which can generate that sort of sincere emotional reaction in its audience—as opposed to merely startling people by manufacturing cheap “scare” moments with loud noises and jump cuts—deserves a favourable nod.

The production values of Apollo 18 are adequate—the picture probably didn’t cost much to make, but it doesn’t appear cheap or shoddy (once again, the “raw footage” look covers up a lot, but that’s no sin, and the scenes on the surface of the Moon are extremely evocative of actual, archival images).  The direction (by Spanish director Gonzalo López-Gallego), editing (by Patrick Lussier, himself a director, cf Drive Angry), and photography are generally effective (with a few exceptions late in the movie, when the sense of time & location gets confusing).  

The acting is also satisfactory: basically a 3-character film (with most of the screen time devoted to Anderson and Walker on the Moon), the film thus relies heavily on the ability of its actors, and the performances by the principals are fine. Trivia note:  Apollo 18 stars a British actor, an Irish-born Canadian actor, and another Canadian actor as Yanks (the picture is a Canadian-U.S. coproduction, apparently), but nobody slips and says “aboot” or “oot” (as far as I could tell).

Overall, particularly given my trepidation regarding “yet another found footage movie,” I was pleasantly surprised by Apollo 18.  It’s not great, but it wasn’t a waste of my time either.

There aren’t too many overtly political filmmakers working in mainstream cinema today.  All films—to a greater or lesser extent, deliberately or otherwise —reflect the society within which they are created.  But directors who repeatedly and openly explore political themes are relatively rare, if only because the financing for such movies isn’t easy to come by.   Oliver Stone comes to mind, but after that, “political filmmaker” is a label not readily applied to many Hollywood (or international) “names,” including Kevin Smith—at least prior to Red State.

To be frank I haven’t seen many of Kevin Smith’s films (Clerks and Dogma, that’s it), but I’ve been…aware of his career and Red State represents a considerable departure from his previous work.  It’s not a comedy, although there are a few blackly humorous bits.  As the title suggests, it’s political, although political without being about politics.

A small Midwestern town is the home of a tiny, fundamentalist Christian church run by Abin Cooper.  He and his followers (a handful of families related to him) live in a fortified compound, emerging periodically to conduct protest demonstrations.  The basic tenet of Cooper’s church is their belief in the powerfully pernicious influence of homosexuality on the world (seems a little narrowly focused, even for a radical sect, doesn’t it?  They don’t appear to care about much else—blaming all the world’s problems from the economy to global warming on “the gays”).  Three teenage boys, lured into a trap by an Internet personal ad promising sex with a horny housewife, are captured by the Cooperites.  The teens discover the sect has been murdering gays, and they’re next (although they aren’t gay, through some convoluted reasoning they’ve become targets).  A chain of coincidence and random circumstance leads to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms besieging the compound, which is fiercely defended by Cooper and his people.  ATF agent Keenan and his men are ordered (as a result of some more extremely convoluted plot machinations) to take no prisoners from among the “domestic terrorists” falsely accused of planning a bombing.

There are still some “safe” villains we can all agree to hate—serial killers, Nazis, Satan-worshipping cults, and generic “terrorists” and “dictators”—but Red State treads close to the acceptable/unacceptable line with its group of homophobic, murderous Christian fundamentalists.  Smith hedges his bets by adding the “murderous” aspect, since that makes Cooper and his gang more than trash-talking fanatics or potentially dangerous domestic terrorists.  Still, while in real life few on the right would openly ally themselves with Cooper’s program of exterminating gays, his ultra-conservative, religiously-buttressed rhetoric is all too familiar.

The depiction of the government forces (personified by the ATF) murdering people in cold blood is also problematic.  Negatively portraying fundamentalist Christians might be considered a reflection of an ultra-liberal attitude, but depicting paramilitary government agents slaughtering people in a Waco-like scenario (although it doesn’t ultimately come to that), is that standard leftist propaganda?  Actually, “big government, fascist jack-booted thugs trampling on our rights” is a point on the spectrum where far-right and far-left thought seem to converge, oddly enough.  

What can one say about Red State’s politics, then?  Left, right, center, muddled?  None of the above?  Director Smith has said the film has “few if any redeeming characters,” but this isn’t quite the same as claiming objectivity.  An underlying theme of the film is individual rights.  Everyone has the right to live and worship as they wish…until those rights infringe upon someone else’s. Morality is a personal issue and should not be imposed from without.  Is it better that a hundred guilty men go free than one innocent person should suffer?  Is the government justified in curtailing constitutional rights to protect the nation?  Does “moral right” (in this case, religious belief) not only supersede the law of the land, but also allow believers to impose their beliefs on non-believers? 

Neither Cooper nor the U.S. government have the right to decide who should live or die.  Ironically, at least the religious “fanatics” seem sincere in their beliefs and are certainly willing to die for them, whereas the ATF official makes his decision to “take no prisoners” on a personal whim, which is far less understandable and justifiable (this is offset to a certain extent by agent Keenan’s moral decision to disobey the order, although he does so belatedly).

Again, casting Cooper and his group as homophobic killers stock-piling automatic weapons (presumably for crimes of greater magnitude) adds a layer of ambiguity: they weren’t innocent people who were peacefully minding their own business when they were viciously attacked by the government. (One might suggest that choosing conservative Christian fundamentalists as villains was a political decision itself, although realistically a film about present-day domestic radicalism has little other choice: there aren’t many violent leftist radicals still around in the USA, as far as I know, and foreign terrorists are another topic altogether.)  

Still, with the exception of Keenan and one other ATF agent, the representatives of the government are willing to follow orders and execute the “terrorists” (or anyone else, presumably including the young children in the compound).  This mindless obedience to extermination orders from above is certainly meant to evoke the Nazi model.  Yet even here Smith tosses in complications: the local sheriff fires the first shot, killing (irony!) one of the hostages as he flees the compound.  Cooper and his disciples “return” fire with a vengeance.  So neither the government representatives nor the Cooperites bear full blame for the ensuing shoot-out, and yet neither side is completely innocent, either. 

Without being didactic or wholly one-sided, Smith manages to convey his message.  Yet the script for Red State suffers from a number of logical and narrative flaws which somewhat undermine its effectiveness.  There are lapses in continuity, muddled or absent motivations, topics raised and then discarded, illogical and unbelievable actions and statements, and a concluding deus ex machina which transforms a genuinely eerie moment into a throwaway joke.  

A number of  these problems may be the result of Red State’s furious pace (after a rather leisurely build up).  There’s no time to elaborate, tie up loose ends, or give everyone a satisfactory chance to tell their story.  To be honest, very few of the gaps and gaffes are noticeable as one is watching the films, again thanks to the rapid pace but also to the overall power of the film’s drama.  Only later might you say, “hey, wait a minute, what about—?”  

Red State is technically and formally fine, the movie is slick and professional overall: the production values are adequate (despite a reportedly “low” budget), the action sequences are kinetically shot and edited, and the film is tense and suspenseful and exciting when it should be.  The acting is generally satisfactory: the performances that stand out are mostly courtesy of the veterans in the cast, who get the flashy roles—Michael Parks (really excellent as Cooper), Melissa Leo, John Goodman—although Kerry Bishé is also quite good as one of the Cooper congregation.  

Red State was “road-shown” by Kevin Smith in the old sense of the word, i.e., he traveled around the country screening it himself, rather than selling the exhibition rights to a distributor for mass (or even limited-) theatrical release.  It’s now available via video on demand, and will presumably be released on DVD (although Smith has indicated the picture will be shown in cinemas again before the end of the year, so the actors can qualify for Academy Award consideration).  There’s no indication Smith couldn’t find a distributor: he seems to enjoy discussing the film with audiences after screenings, and while he’s not going to get rich from Red State that way, he has as close to 100% control as one can get, and that certainly seems like it’d be attractive to a filmmaker.

Red State raises more questions than it answers. It doesn’t tell the viewer what to think, but rather seems designed to provoke discussion, debate, and disputation.  Smith deserves credit for not only doing this, but doing it within the context of a film which is engrossing and entertaining, not strident or biased.