Cynically Sentimental

First, for international readers—yes, this is The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists, re-titled for the USA (a few voices were apparently also replaced).  The original title comes from one of the source novels by Gideon Defoe, but was apparently deemed too twee for Yank audiences.  Band of Misfits was sufficiently vague and “funny” to pass muster with the marketing braintrust, apparently.

The Pirates! is an Aardman production, best-known for the Wallace and Gromit series (and Chicken Run, and last year’s Arthur Christmas—which somehow made $46 million in the USA despite what appeared to me to be minimal marketing—and “Shaun the Sheep,” etc., etc.).  I’m a huge fan of Wallace and Gromit, and the cast of The Pirates! shares the same tombstone-toothed, googly-eyed gormless design and attitude…which is good.  There is some stunt voice-casting (Jeremy Piven? Salma Hayek? Lenny Henry? Meh…) but these are all subsidiary roles and to be fair the actors play it straight.  The main voices are supplied by Hugh Grant, David Tennant, Martin Freeman, and Imelda Staunton, and the important thing is that none of the characters even vaguely resembles the voice actor playing the role (for instance, Martin Freeman’s character, Number Two aka the Pirate with a Scarf, looks like a little like Screech from “Saved by the Bell”).  This suggests the filmmakers were more interested in creating actual characters rather than taking the lazy way out and merely making animated caricatures of celebrities.

The Pirates! tells the story of the boastful, good-natured, nicely-bearded Pirate Captain and his similarly descriptively-named crew (the Pirate with a Scarf, the Surprisingly Curvaceous Pirate, the Pirate with Gout, the Albino Pirate, etc.), and the Captain’s quest to win the prestigious Pirate of the Year award.  A chance encounter with Charles Darwin—who covets the Pirate Captain’s pet dodo bird—takes the crew to London, where they run afoul of pirate-hating Queen Victoria.  

The Pirates! runs well under 90 minutes, and even though it was adapted from two novels, doesn’t seem unduly rushed or episodic.  The set-up is long and carefully planned, the London sections are solidly crafted, and the big action climax is amusing and effective.  There’s no padding and no true slow spots.  There are countless quirky little bits of humour— some so understated as to be practically invisible—clever sight gags, slapstick, anachronisms, and consistently amusing characterisations.

  The chief problem with the film is that—despite the aforementioned dollops of eccentric humour, like “Ham Nite!” and a guest appearance by the Elephant Man—it feels almost too smooth and bowdlerised.  While adults can certainly enjoy it (this adult did, although my tastes aren’t too mature, haha), The Pirates! seems pitched at a wider and more youthful audience than, say, Wallace and Gromit.  I don’t know, I could be wrong, perhaps W&G is wildly popular with children, but those films seem to have—if not an edge, exactly—at least a slightly more sophisticated level of humour than The Pirates!  I don’t like to characterise this as a flaw, because the movie is still pleasant enough, but I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was watching a film that had been carefully crafted to appeal to a lower common denominator (and reading about a last-minute change to eliminate a leprosy joke did nothing to reassure me: I understand political correctness and the wish to not offend anyone, ever, but it’s symptomatic of how essentially harmless the movie is).  But harmless doesn’t mean charmless, and The Pirates! is certainly charming.

Aardman returned to their trademark clay animation with The Pirates! after switching to computer animation in recent years (although the clay animation is “supplemented” with computer work, and there is even some clever “drawn” animation—or computer animation made to look like traditional drawn animation—of nautical charts).  The look of the film is splendid, with lavish and intricate designs, although the 3-D process means there are far too many scenes of things rushing at and being thrust towards the camera (surprisingly, although there is a flying scene—an unwritten requirement for all 3-D films—it’s rather truncated).  The music score is curious—while it features anachronistic pop songs (for all of the dialogue references to sea shanties, we don’t hear any of those), the music chosen (The Clash, The Pogues, etc.) is likely to be unknown to the youthful component of the film’s audience.  Heck, at least it’s not Justin Beiber or hip-hop or dubstep…

Mild fun overall, with a few inspired sections that rise to a higher level of humour, The Pirates! can’t compare with the best of Wallace & Gromit, but it’s far from a wash-out. 

            Given the choice between being rich or famous, I’d choose rich.  But rich and famous would be nice.  Admit it, you feel that way, too.  Too few of us are getting rich from the Internet, but achieving fame?  It depends upon how strictly you define “fame,” but the vast majority of people who blog, have personal (vs. business) websites, participate in discussion boards and chatrooms, post comments on other sites, make YouTube videos, and yes, even those uncounted millions who use Facebook all crave attention.  The Internet is for narcissists.  How many of us haven’t day-dreamed of being “noticed” online, and having that lead to a personal relationship, a job, or (at the very least) validation of one’s existence.

            I’m as guilty of this as the next person.  Though my original websites, created back in the mid-1990s, were largely impersonal and informative, I was always pleased when someone used the e-mail link to contact me with comments or questions.  Curiously, at least in the early days, I discovered the academic world was more familiar with (and impressed with) my printed work, and it was the common man (and to a certain extent, the popular media) who discovered me via the Internet.  This dichotomy still exists to some extent, although it’s not quite as monolithic.  For one thing, more scholarly work is available online these days, and virtually everyone has some sort of web presence by which their research and publication can be reviewed, and through which they can be contacted.  (As an aside, when a media outlet needs a quote or comment, slightly more than half the time they reach me through my university teaching job, the discovery of which may or may not be web-sourced).  So while I’m far from “famous,” I’ve reaped a few professional benefits from my web presence, and when I can, I try to respond to inquiries, make suggestions, and otherwise be a good netizen.  After all, why bother to have a website or a blog if you aren’t interested in establishing a dialogue with people?  (Caveat emptor: this applies to personal sites. When commerce rears its ugly head, all bets are off.)

            Social media, as opposed to stand-alone, single-topic websites, has never been a major factor in my web life.  I had brief flings with MySpace, LiveJournal and Facebook; the first because for my research I needed to contact people using that site, the second and third for personal reasons.  However, I didn’t grow up with social media and am not really comfortable with the “social” aspects and the concept of online friends who would (ostensibly) be interested in details of my daily life.  I’ve never kept a diary or journal (electronic or otherwise), and if I did, I’m not sure I’d want it to be public, or even accessible to my so-called friends.  Certainly, you can have Fb friends who are your real-life friends, and some of them may be geographically distant, so this is a way to keep them informed without having to, you know, actually talk to them or write to them individually, but…I guess I just don’t have that many friends…*sob* 

            It’s true, I do have a Twitter feed which began as a sort of daily personal chronicle of my emotional status, and I still post rather frequently about my life (though I try to keep it a little lighter, more witty, less whiny), but I’ve gradually moved towards more “work”-oriented tweets (including notifications when I make a new blog post or YouTube video).  I suppose I should completely dispense with the self-deprecating “my life is so sad…how sad is it? Let me tell you…” stuff and stick to quips and film-oriented tweets, but…to hell with that!  I’ll write whatever I want! 

             Furthermore, most of my “followers” probably don’t read my tweets anyway, and since I don’t really reciprocally follow anyone, I’m sure it’s only inertia that prevents them from dropping me, not a particular affection for my world-view as expressed in 140 characters or less.  I view Twitter primarily as a sort of intellectual exercise for myself (and since I’m slightly obsessive and superstitious, I try to tweet regularly), but I confess (a) I wouldn’t sit down and write 140 characters each morning in a diary that no one else would ever read, and (b) I’d be pleased to have hundreds of followers hanging on my every word.  To achieve that, of course, you either need to be famous in the first place or work to make your tweets hilarious and/or profound, and then promote the hell out of yourself online; I don’t qualify for the first and am too lazy for the second. 

            Then there are my blogs, one of which you’re reading right now.  Cynically Sentimental has evolved from a sort of catch-all site into my movie-review blog, although occasionally you’ll get an essay (like this one) on something else, and very rarely I’ll throw in a photo.  For the most part, however, this is where I review current releases and the odd older film that strikes my fancy (excluding Mexican cinema, which is covered in The Mexican Film Bulletin, *shameless plug*).  I devote more time and effort to this blog than it really deserves: I try to say I write these reviews to record my thoughts and reactions, but I (not so) secretly relish the thought that someone, somewhere is reading them!  Considering I can’t even see half my alleged “followers”—thanks, Tumblr, for never fixing this or any of the other problems with your software—and of the ones I can see, most of them are clearly bots, this is a rather quixotic quest for recognition.  Admittedly, I do “promote” my blogs in half-assed fashion (though, frankly, Internet film criticism is so prevalent that no one really needs to read yet another individual’s personal opinions, even if that person is as erudite and insightful and witty as I, haha).

            This particular blog post is a belated followup to my Christmas message, in which I indicated I was going to create a new blog.  And I did!  Compelling Imagery was originally conceived as primarily a Tumblr  photo-blog, one of millions that post and re-post vintage photos, art, cartoons, and such.  However, over the past several years I’ve become more interested in deconstruction of popular culture, and so rather than merely upload or link cute, funny, outré, or otherwise “interesting” visual artifacts (I even have a folder on my hard drive labeled “Interesting Art”), I’ve been putting up a single image—usually a movie poster, magazine cover, or similar pop culture image designed to convince the viewer to do something (even if it’s as simple as “buy this comic book” or “see this movie”)—and then deconstructing the art, text, context, history, and so forth.  I’ve found this extremely interesting, have learned quite a bit, and feel I’m sharpening my critical eye and writing skills. 

           I’d like to think these mini-essays are entertaining and slightly informative, so should anyone care to drop by (*passive-aggressive self-promotion*), here’s the link:

http://mexcine2.tumblr.com/

            Warning: it bothers me when I find a new blog or movie-review site and then the author doesn’t update it as often as I’d like.  I know this is often an unreasonable expectation on my part, but when I’m searching for something to read during lunch at my desk, I want new content, damnit!  Compelling Imagery actually does require a fair amount of work on my part, and it’s relatively low on my “daily priority” list, but I hope to update at least bi-weekly starting in May, life-matters permitting. 

            PS: more film reviews here, soon!  Cabin in the Woods, The Pirates! Band of Misfits, etc.

            Lord, I feel my brow sinking lower and lower.  I liked The Three Stooges (2012). Coming so soon after my positive review of Battleship, you might be forgiven for wondering if I’ve recently suffered a blow to the head, delivered perhaps by a sledgehammer? Well, I’m not apologising for my guilty pleasures, though, even if my reputation as an “intellectual” suffers…

            Sure, I’m a Stooges fan from childhood.   I don’t attend conventions or run a website or collect memorabilia, but I wager I’ve seen the majority of their short films multiple times and know a lot of the shtick by heart.  So, while not a fanboy, I suppose I am included in the target audience for The Three Stooges (as opposed to 21 Jump Street or The Hangover, which I enjoyed but were intended for slightly…alright, substantially…younger viewers).

            There has been some discussion about the meta-aspect of The Three Stooges.  “They aren’t playing roles, like ‘Sherlock Holmes’ or ‘Superman,’ they’re playing real people!”  Actually, not so much.  If you think Moe Howard, Larry Fine, and Curly Howard were the same as the characters they played on screen, think again (Moe and Larry even changed their iconic hairstyles when they were off-camera).  So this is really no different than having a new James Bond, Tarzan, or Batman, except that the original Three Stooges were consistently personified by the same three actors (who also created the roles).  So this is a bit like another actor imitating Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade, rather than putting his own spin on the role.

            Of course, one of the amazing things about The Three Stooges is that the performers do this amazingly well, and don’t look like wax images from Madame Tussaud’s come to life.  Chris Diamantopoulos takes top honours in appearance, voice, and mannerisms as faux-Moe, while Will Sasso (Curly) and Sean Hayes (Larry) are fine, but slightly off-model at times (Sasso doesn’t look as child-like as the original Curly, and Hayes is also missing just that certain Larry-something), though not enough to cause any serious issues for the viewer.  I cannot imagine what this movie would have been like with more familiar faces in the parts (Jim Carrey? Sean Penn? Benicio del Toro?  Yikes!). 

            What about the film itself?  The plot is hackneyed but self-aware of this: the Stooges grow up in an orphanage and (because of course no one would adopt them), as adults become the home’s bumbling caretakers. The orphanage is slated for closure unless $830,000 can be raised in one month, so the cloistered Stooges venture into the real world to obtain the necessary funds.  Hilarity ensues.  Although necessary for plot purposes, the “young Stooges” sequences aren’t that entertaining and run on too long, and the second half of the movie lags when Moe goes off on his own to appear on the “Jersey Beach People” show (as one of the nuns from the orphanage calls it).  However, The Three Stooges is generally quite amusing, faithful to its source, and reasonably inventive in a derivative way.

            The best sequence is the one that is the most faithful to the original model—the Stooges attempt to repair the chapel bell at the orphanage.  Caught sleeping by their nemesis, Sister Mary Mengele (Larry David, who literally seethes with hatred for the Stooges in his scenes), the Stooges are unceremoniously dumped out of bed and sent up on the roof to fix the bell.  This lets them reprise wonderful gags, dialogue, and character-driven humour (yes, Curly dulls a chainsaw with his skull, Larry misreads a “DO NOT REMOVE” sign as a “doughnut remover,” exasperated Moe gets and gives slaps and punches) and also unintentionally deliver some physical punishment to Sister Mary Mengele (standing in for Bud Jamison, Vernon Dent, Dick Curtis, et al.).  This is classic Stooge stuff: violent slapstick directed mostly at themselves and an unpleasant authority figure, some good dialogue, and the group dynamic firmly established (Moe as the irascible boss, dim-bulb Larry, alternately belligerent and accomodating Curly).  I confess, I laughed out loud several times in this sequence, and I’m not usually a laugh-out-louder.

            There are other inspired scenes and bits, some of them familiar and others new (I actually smiled at the “I-phone/eye-phone” joke that can be seen in the trailer), but none of these sustain such a high level of both Stooge-ness and humour as the aforementioned section.  In one interesting but artificial and illogical scene, Moe, Larry, and Curly unwittingly perform a “routine” (slaps, pokes, etc., all nicely choreographed) on a theatre stage, which leads to Moe’s subsequent reality-TV stardom.

              It’s curious that the Farrelly brothers (who are impersonated in a final coda by a pair of impossibly handsome fellows) elected to spread the humour around, giving villains Sofia Vergara and Craig Bierko a fair amount of  “solo” footage. They’re alright, but they’re not Moe, Larry, or Curly.  And just so we wouldn’t forget this was a Farrelly brothers movie, there are three scenes of crude humour involving bodily functions and the like, which are really out of place.  I suppose fart-jokes and nut-shots are the slapstick of the 21st century. [It might also be noted that a closeup of bikini-nun Kate Upton which featured prominently in the trailer has been excised in the movie itself, although she can be seen wearing this costume in some long-shots.  A little trade-off to appease the Church?]  There are also a couple of gratuitously painful-looking scenes that to a certain extent violate the “no lasting harm” nature of classic Stooge violence.

            The performances—Stooges aside—are satisfactory and fit the Stooge-universe: smarmy villains, pompous society people, unpleasant authority figures.  The film does spend a bit too much time on the cute orphans (though in a funny scene, their attempt to charm Sister Mary Mengele with a group song is abruptly truncated) and there is really too much plot and too few Stooge set-pieces.  The production values are fine, with—shockingly—little obvious CGI or other “cheats” for the numerous stunts (most of which seem to have been performed “live,” although a few are deliberately fake-looking, to evoke the style of the trio’s classic comedy shorts).

            How does the 1930s-40s style of humour of The Three Stooges translate to 2012?  Surprisingly well.  I’m not unbiased of course, but I enjoyed this and applaud the Farrelly brothers for making a faithful pastiche of the original, and (largely) resisting the temptation to contemporise the humour in an effort to be up-to-date.  It’s not a great film but it made me laugh a few times, smile a few times, and leave the cinema in a more cheerful mood than when I’d arrived.  So that counts for something.  

          Like many, I initially ridiculed the concept of a film based on a low-tech board game like “Battleship,” but I’m not too proud to admit I was completely and utterly wrong.  Battleship (2012) is a really entertaining action film that delivers a massive dose of no-brainer fun.  It’s not profound or life-altering, but the two hours fly by (well, the first 10 or 15 minutes could have been trimmed a bit), the script is clever and far-fetched in turns, the production design and special effects are sturdy, and the performances are fine.  There are definite flaws, but I can honestly say I wasn’t bothered by them while watching the movie—aside from the weak introduction of the protagonist, the only time I winced was during the U.S.S. Missouri montage, which is accompanied by a silly rock tune (whereas the rest of the film largely eschewed this sort of pandering).  Otherwise, no pain.  

          Scientists send a “Hello Neighbour!” message out into deep space, and what do you know, somebody (or something, dun dun DUN) hears us!  Meanwhile, inveterate screw-up Alex Hopper (Taylor “forget about John Carter” Kitsch) is dragooned into the Navy by his older brother, who hopes the seagoing life will make a man of him.  It does, but only to the extent that Alex falls in love with the admiral’s daughter: he’s still a screw-up and is scheduled to be booted out of the service.  This involuntary separation is put on hold when five alien spacecraft plunge into Earth’s atmosphere and land off Hawaii (well, one crashes in Hong Kong).  The aliens throw up a force-field around Hawaii, planning to use the same deep-space radio device to contact their home world with a message possibly reading “Earth is weak, send more spaceships!”  It’s up to the handful of warships trapped in the area—soon reduced to one destroyer—to foil the armour-clad ETs’  attempt to phone home.

          Battleship rushes along like a baby carriage bumping down the Odessa steps.  The aliens have superior weapons, but not too superior (one of them looks like a high-tech version of the Flying Guillotine from the old martial arts movies), and the Navy manages to get in a few good counter-punches.  Things blow up real good, and while most of the characterisation is gotten out of the way in the opening sequences, the major players demonstrate some personality, even while dodging shrapnel and bursts of flame.  The plot is basically a skimpy framework upon which to hang the action sequences—not much is explained and some giant leaps of faith have to be made by the audience (I won’t go into the biggest one, since it’s sort of a spoiler), but this isn’t an offensively stupid movie.

         The film’s representation of the aliens is interesting, if not wholly original or logical.  Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I perceived homages to Fifties science fiction movies like Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (the alien helmet thing) and even The Mysterians (the spaceship design), but there are also familiar bits which (perhaps coincidentally) reminded me of Transformers: Dark of the Moon and Battle: Los Angeles.  The aliens themselves somewhat resemble lizard-men with spiky goatees.  

         Battleship, in a rather unusual (if not unique) twist, gives us some footage from the aliens’ point of view—threats and/or legitimate targets are seen as red on their (Terminator-like) displays, while harmless children and others glow green, and are thus spared extermination.  Furthermore, the aliens originally only attack when provoked, and even their later offensive actions appear to be strategic in nature (destroying helicopters on the ground, wrecking a stretch of highway).  Unfortunately, this leads to confusion on a larger scale: are the aliens hostile or not?  If not, why did they come here?  

          The movie doesn’t explain it in any sort of detail, but an alternate reading would explain everything that happens: the aliens got our message and sent a small fleet of ships to visit us, a diplomatic mission perhaps.  One of the ships, apparently their communications’ craft, crashed on landing (wrecking Hong Kong).  The aliens have to defend themselves against the hostile “natives” of Earth (causing as little harm as possible), until such time as they can send a message to their home planet asking to be rescued.  Instead, we wipe them out.  Oops.  I guess Klaatu and Gort didn’t pass along the message that we Earthlings are paranoid and liable to lash out at visitors from space.

          Taylor Kitsch plays Alex Hopper as a sort of sincere but dazed knucklehead thrust into command by the simple expedient of having all the more senior officers killed.  He manages to overcome his klutzy nature long enough to save the Earth, while still remaining a sort of doofy screw-up.  Liam Neeson has little do (he’s stuck outside the force field) but he’s alright as the stereotypical gruff admiral, and Rhianna is adequate in the Michelle Rodriguez tough-girl role (she’s not bad, but she doesn’t exactly have a lot of acting to do).  Brooklyn Decker (as the admiral’s daughter who loves Alex) and real-life military veteran Gregory D. Gadson are shuttled off into a sub-plot: they’re trapped on the island where the communications array is located, and while neither one of them is much of an actor (Decker is at least a pro, Gadson is not), they’re both satisfactory.  

         There isn’t much more to say about Battleship.  Its PG-13 rating means we don’t see many casualties (Hopper’s brother is the only non-anonymous character who dies, and we don’t even see that—ships blow up and sink but it’s all very bloodless and antiseptic) and profanities are truncated.  The script, as mentioned earlier, works in a few clever bits, including a sequence which actually simulates the “Battleship” board game, amazingly enough…and it works!  [Aside from this bit, there’s no connection between the game and the film, no reason the movie had to be called Battleship at all, except for the marketing hook. Aliens Attack Hawaii! or Space Invasion Scout Force vs. the Navy would have been more accurate titles.] There is also some actual naval lore (dropping the anchor to spin the ship around to fire a broadside, for example), and a rousing final battle sequence which delivers the goods.  

          Battleship is not intellectually challenging or emotionally engaging, but it’s loud, fast, fun, and it doesn’t cheat or insult the audience.  It is what it is, without pretense.  

           My only regret?  I don’t know how the screenwriters could resist, but no one actually says “You sunk my battleship!”

            “Political” films aren’t always about politics.  Last year we had Red State and The Ides of March: one, a thriller with a certain ideological slant and the other a drama about the political process, but no particular point of view, left or right.  God Bless America (or, as the filmmakers would have it, god bless america), is the ideological sort of movie, although it’s more about culture than politics.

            Some have characterised GBA (oh, how I love it when a film title can be abbreviated so succinctly) as liberal or left-wing, and while a number of the targets of protagonists Frank and Roxy’s wrath are conservatives, the basic concept of the “decline of American civilisation” is shared by both ends of the political spectrum (even if the exact details of that decline may vary according to one’s political orientation).  Furthermore, at least one early scene—Frank is summarily dismissed from his job on sexual harassment charges—feels like a calculated swipe at the “liberal agenda.”  In fact, one might suggest that by making its protagonists allegedly-liberal serial-killers, GBA is actually taking the side of conservatives.  It’s always fun to have a film whose ambiguous meaning promotes discussion (=arguments), isn’t it?

            God Bless America was written and directed by Bobcat Goldthwaite, a comedian and TV director best known (to me) for his whiney voice and his directorial debut, the marvelously odd Shakes the Clown (1991).  In GBA, Goldthwaite incorporates elements of previous “irate killer” movies (Falling Down, for instance); the premise also reminds me of the memorable short story by Jack Ritchie, “All the Rude People,” which also deals with a mortally-ill man who kills “mean people.”  However, Goldthwaite then adds absurdist black humour to the mix, which results in an uneven tone.      

            Frank Murdock (Joel Murray, one of those actors whose name won’t ring a bell but whose face is recognisable from numerous TV and film roles) lives a sad, sad life: he’s divorced (and his spoiled daughter doesn’t want to visit him), lives in painfully close proximity to a boorish, selfish young couple and their howling infant, spends his evenings drinking and watching the vast wasteland of television, loses his job because a female co-worker takes offense at his friendly gestures, then learns his migraine headaches are actually the symptoms of a deadly, inoperable brain tumour.  

            Overwhelmed with disgust at the state of the nation—“Why have a civilisation any more if we are no longer interested in being civilised?”—Frank contemplates suicide but instead goes on a cross-country murder spree, accompanied by nihilistic teenager Roxy (Tara Lynne Barr, who also looks familiar but has relatively few professional credits).  Their victims include reality TV “stars,” teens who talk on cell phones in the cinema, angry right-wing broadcasters, gay-hating church-goers (shades of Red State), et al.

            This all plays out in an unrealistic, at times even slapstick manner.  There are serious undertones—and even wholly serious scenes—but this isn’t a grim drama in the Falling Down or Red State mode.  The killings themselves are depicted in restrained fashion and in a surprisingly ambivalent tone: GBA doesn’t demonise the victims (for the most part) as anything more than mean, selfish, stupid, rude, and annoying people.  Frank and Roxy aren’t hunting drug dealers or child rapists or even corrupt public officials, they’re shooting people who take up two parking spaces with a single car.  The audience doesn’t necessarily sympathise with the victims, but few if any of them appear to deserve to die just for bad manners and a poor attitude.

            Interspersed with the murder scenes are a series of polemic monologues and dialogues delivered by Frank and/or Frank and Roxy.  These vary in effectiveness.  Some are genuinely angry and justifiable rants about trash television and radio, pointless celebrity, people who are selfish and feel entitled, and so on.  Others, however, are merely silly complaints about stupid people who give “high-fives,” or irrelevant asides, such as a long speech extolling Alice Cooper as a musical visionary.

            There are some things which really do work, however.  The relationship between Frank and Roxy is far more nuanced and effective than, for example, the similar pairing of middle-aged-vigilante-and-hot-teen-girl in Super.  Roxy is brash and assertive but repeatedly seeks Frank’s emotional approval, leading to a certain degree of sexual tension between them.  Their scenes together are extremely well-written and –performed, even if they are also the setting for many long-winded diatribes about how screwed up things are in America.

            The pastiches of trash TV and radio are spot-on: Glenn Beck, TMZ, and American Idol (very slightly disguised) are targets of particular venom, without resorting to much, if any, exaggeration (as if it would even be possible to be much more outrageous than reality).  Indeed, while GBA occasionally piles on to make its point—the “Frank’s Bad Day” that begins the movie shoe-horns so much misery and bad luck into a short period of time that it’s almost deliberately ludicrous—the specific events depicted are not unbelievable at all. 

            GBA is loaded with witty, quotable lines, so Goldthwaite can be forgiven if some of these happen to appear in the middle of a Frank-rant that’s otherwise a deadly serious, bitter attack on the selfishness and stupidity of the American people.  For instance, Frank refers to his neighbour’s wailing child as “some kind of nocturnal civil defense air raid siren that goes off every… night like it’s Pearl Harbor,” and Roxy suggests they target Diablo Cody, author of Juno—“she’s the only stripper who suffers from too much self-esteem.”  The movie also contains an anti-Glee joke, making two in recent films (the other was in 21 Jump Street)—for some reason it’s cool to just not like that show, I suppose.

            As noted earlier, God Bless America doesn’t take a clear partisan political stance.  “Culture Wars” is a buzzword (buzzterm, buzzphrase?) often bruited about and generally construed as the conflict between traditional (= conservative) and liberal values, applied to hot-button topics like abortion and gun control.  GBA only touches on these sort of issues in passing, and there is no consistent ideological agenda evident in the movie.  Even Roxy—who represents the ultra-liberal viewpoint—makes many frivolous suggestions about what sort of people they should kill (Twihards, “people who use the term edgy”), while older and more conservative Frank hates everyone who is “mean,” from faux-Westboro Church anti-gay protestors (another link to Red State) to a self-absorbed teenage girl on a reality TV series.

          In one scene, Frank shoots a Glenn Beckian TV host because he’s “mean” and “rude,”  stating “I [even] agree with you on some [political] things.”  After killing the man (“He just wishes everyone would act nice.  I, on the other hand, think your politics are shit.” BANG!) , an outraged Roxy asks Frank, “what part of his politics do you agree with?” and Frank replies, “less gun control, of course.”  This illustrates the deliberately ambiguous nature of GBA’s politics, with Roxy playing the radical-left, tree-hugging, feminist who refers to a “court-appointed hillbilly president” (George W. Bush) and “big oil companies,” and Frank as the advocate of reasoned discourse who accepts at least some of a victim’s political beliefs, with the whole sequence capped by a one-liner that defuses the ideological and moral ramifications of what just happened.

            God Bless America is well-produced and slickly assembled.  The only two performances that matter are those of Murray and Barr, who are excellent.  Everyone else is either a shrieking caricature (which is fine) or does a workmanlike job in the straight roles.  Familiar faces crop up in cameos, including Goldthwaite’s former stand-up partner Tom (voice of Spongebob Squarepants) Kenny, Larry Miller, Frank (MS3TK) Conniff, and Geoff Pierson (who co-starred in TV’s “Unhappily Ever After” with Goldthwaite in the 1990s).

            As a result of its divergent tones, GBA is much less powerful as a drama than it would have been if it were more focused and consistent, and it’s not absurd or outrageous or bizarre enough to be a truly offensive and amusing black comedy.  This is not to say there aren’t many enjoyable moments, because there are, but by taking the middle road—or actually, by constantly swerving back and forth from one road to the other—both the message and the overall entertainment value are somewhat diluted. It’s one of those “it could have been better, if just…” movies.  Still, God Bless America is fascinating to watch and talk about afterwards with friends, and Goldthwaite deserves credit for being brave enough to make such a personal, risky film.

            When I saw Intruders was to be given a “limited” release (33 cinemas) in the USA, I shook my head in a knowing, resigned manner.  “No one will go to see this! It’s a low-key supernatural movie with no stars—sorry, Clive Owen, you’re a good actor but we Yanks don’t know who you are—plus half of the dialogue is Spanish with English sub-titles!”  I’m sorry to say it seems I was correct in my assessment, inasmuch as the film’s first weekend’s per-screen gross (according to boxofficemojo.com) was a paltry $1,200 or so. 

            What’s the point of a “limited” release, then?  Even if little money is spent on promotion (and it seems very little was for Intruders), and even if the advent of digital projection means the expense of striking 35mm film prints has been greatly reduced or even eliminated, what positive benefits accrue to the film company?  In some cases, theatrical release is required in order for the movie to qualify for awards like the Oscars (not an issue with Intruders, surely), and in others a “limited” release is intended to drum up word of mouth (and test the water) before a wider, national release (again, something probably not in the cards for Intruders).  One suspects Intruders is being shown in cinemas to get it reviewed (useful in future promotion) and to avoid the imprimatur of it being a “direct to DVD” release, even though DVD and other ancillary markets is where it will certainly wind up (note: it’s been out internationally since fall 2011 and seems to have done moderately well in Spain).

            Intruders is not a shabby, cheap, or badly-made film by any means, but it has almost literally no commercial “hooks.”  It’s a restrained supernatural-psychological thriller with no stars and no exploitable elements. It doesn’t have the “name” lead or the spooky bombast of another recent laid-back ghost story, The Woman in Black.  If you’d substituted Mel Gibson for Clive Owen in Intruders, you might have been able to sell it (and no one would’ve  noticed the change except the producer who had to sign the salary checks—Owen looks and acts enough like Gibson in this movie to be his twin brother), or jazz it up to be something like Insidious and it might have drawn adequate crowds.  Of course, then it wouldn’t be the same film, would it?

            Enough of the doom-saying with regards to the box-office potential of Intruders—what about an evaluation of the film itself?  Glad you asked!  It’s not bad, although the final twist (which I shan’t reveal) is confusing rather than clever (on the positive side, it at least didn’t infuriate me), and it explains but doesn’t mitigate some of the movie’s structural flaws. [It’s a little like saying “I’m sorry I was grumpy the whole time on that 8-hour road trip we just took, but I had a terrible headache.”  Yeah, that’s tough and I understand, but the road trip was still 8 hours of unpleasantness.]

            Young Spanish boy Juan writes a short story about “Hollowface,” a sort of bogey-man, but leaves it unfinished.  That night, he interrupts a cloaked figure who’s strangling his mother; the creature (who seems to have supernatural physical abilities) pursues the boy but fails to catch him.  The boy and his mother seek help from a friendly priest as Hollowface returns and threatens them on subsequent nights, finally deciding to leave the city in an attempt to escape the deadly persecution…

            Meanwhile, in England, construction worker John is happily married and has a 12-year-old daughter, Mia.  Mia finds a small box hidden in the hollow of a tree; inside the box is an old, hand-written story about Hollowface.  Sure enough, the cloaked monster appears that night and attacks her, but is driven off by John’s intervention.  Thinking it’s a creepy pervert who broke in and tried to molest his nubile young daughter, John and his wife have a security system installed.  This doesn’t deter stubborn ‘ol Hollowface, who comes back (or, as Mia says—to herself—“he’s already in the house”) and attacks Mia, only to be chased away once more by John.  Yet the surveillance tapes show only Mia and John struggling against…air?  What’s up with that?  Since the authorities don’t believe in supernatural stalkers, they diagnose folie à deux (a shared psychosis between father and daughter), and John is ordered to move out of the house so his craziness won’t contaminate Mia any more, or something.  But, but…Mia is in danger!?  What’s a father to do?

            Intruders was directed by Spanish director Juan Carlos Fresnadillo (for the record, this is a US-UK-Spanish co-production), who seems to be a very stylish and assured filmmaker (I haven’t seen any of his previous work) but style can only carry you so far when one is working from a seriously flawed screenplay by two other guys, who seem determined to be “clever” rather than to provide a solid basis for a well-rounded film.

            The two plot threads are an interesting contrast: the Spanish scenes are set in an urban environment, the protagonists are a boy and his single mother (plus the handsome young priest), whereas the English section is suburban-rural, Mia lives happily with both mum and dad (and has doting grandparents who live in some sort of country mansion, apparently), and the “outside help” consulted after Hollowface’s appearances includes the police, a security firm, and child psychologists, but no priests (or even the village vicar, eh guv’nor?), handsome or otherwise.

             However, until the end, there is little link between the two stories. Without revealing the final twist (hint: it’s not “I see dead people” nor “It was all a dream!”), it seems Intruders might have gone in a different, more linear narrative direction, with Juan and Mia serving as sort of unconscious pen-pals, each one writing a new episode in the Hollowface saga, only to have their fiction play out for real in the other child’s life.  [Hey! That wouldn’t be half bad!   *scribbles down idea for Intruders 2 screenplay, jealously guards it against piracy*]  Instead, the movie jumps back and forth between Spain and England without much rhyme or reason, and though the connection is explained in the denouement, it (as noted above) doesn’t make up for the time we’ve spent being confused and irritated by the two seemingly unrelated sub-plots we’ve been watching for the first 90+ minutes. 

            The production values are fine, with especially nice locations and evocative photography.  The acting is also satisfactory, though as noted above, Clive Owen is very Mel Gibson-y here.  His wife is played by Dutch actress Carice van Houten who has an odd and unnecessary (but nice, don’t get me wrong) nude scene which seems to have been included simply to get an “R” rating (there’s nothing else which would justify this restriction).  I thought I recognised Ella Purnell, who plays Mia—she was in Never Let Me Go (2010), playing Keira Knightley’s character at a young age, so perhaps that’s where I saw her—and she’s quite natural and believable in her role.  Of note is an amusing cameo by Héctor Alterio in the Spanish scenes: he plays a crusty old priest who warns young Father Antonio not to get involved with Juan and his mother, claiming they’re both crazy and need a psychiatrist rather than an exorcist.

            Intruders is entertaining enough in a painless, low-key way: it holds one’s attention throughout and while the ending might produce some head-scratching and confused stares, it doesn’t leave one feeling (seriously) cheated.  However, Intruders is mostly just disposable and forgettable.

21 Jump Street is in many ways the anti-The Hunger Games.  True, one can’t (and shouldn’t) objectively judge one to be “better” than the other since their goals are very different.  Although both films are aimed at an audience considerably younger than yours truly, 21 Jump Street in general skews a bit older (given its “R” rating) and “maler.” The Hunger Games is a “serious” drama with action sequences, while 21 Jump Street is a raucous comedy with action sequences.  The Hunger Games is based on a popular young-adult novel, 21 Jump Street on a mostly-forgotten, long-defunct television show from the 1980s.  Although the core audiences for each picture may well abhor the other film, both movies can be enjoyed on their own merits.  Alright, so I laughed more at 21 Jump Street, but The Hunger Games has Jennifer Lawrence. *sigh*

Like many (though not all) comedies, 21 Jump Street won’t support a “close reading” type of review.  There’s simply not that much to analyse, idea-wise.  Discussing, for example, the movie’s basic “theme” of friendship between two young men with different—although complementary—personalities and abilities would be to give this aspect of the movie greater weight than it deserves (or to which it aspires, frankly).  Yes, the relationship between pudgy ex-nerd Schmidt and muscular ex-jock Jenko is depicted sincerely and effectively, and it drives a lot of the plot, but it’s not…that…special or unique.  The strengths of 21 Jump Street are the characters, situations, dialogue, and performances, not what it tells us about male bonding.

Schmidt and Jenko, inept rookie cops, are banished to the Jump Street squad, which uses young-looking police officers as undercover agents in high schools.  Angry Black Captain Dickson, in one of the film’s numerous clever meta-humour bits, admits that recycling old ideas from the 1980s proves how foolish and intellectually bankrupt the city administration (= Hollywood) is.  He assigns the two newcomers to discover who’s supplying a dangerous designer drug to students.  Incompetent to a fault (at least they’re consistent), Schmidt and Jenko mix up their fake identities on day one, so that schlubby Schmidt becomes part of the “in crowd,” and dim-bulb Jenko gets stuck with the (outrageously stereotyped) nerds.  However, after an hour and forty-five minutes of bumbling, everything works out for the best.

21 Jump Street derives much of its humour from the frantic behaviour of its two likeable protagonists, who argue with each other, shout obscenities, run around in panic mode, stumble over things, nearly have their covers blown, and so forth, rather than from traditional “comedic” situations.  Schmidt dressed as Peter Pan “flying” over the stage while fighting with Jenko is the sort of slapstick that evokes a smile but not guffaws.  Similarly, a running gag spoofing random movie explosions is amusing but the payoff is pleasant rather than hysterical.  The “fish out of water” culture-clash aspect of two 20-somethings sent back to high school lasts about 10 minutes and is afterwards ignored almost completely (though this does yield a few good lines and even an interesting observation about how quickly society’s use of technology changes—Schmidt calls a fellow student on her cell phone, only to be told that talking on the phone is for “old people,” and teenagers all text each other these days).  

Then what are the funniest parts of 21 Jump Street?  Random lines and dialogue exchanges, surprisingly.  Like when the high school principal says “A kid died the other day from drugs, and nobody—including me—is doing anything about it.”  Or when Schmidt’s under-study has to assume the role of Peter Pan in the school musical and says “Oh, gosh, I’ve been in character for months now!” Or the drama teacher’s discussion of his illustrious stage career (not), or Coach Walters’ juvenile comments during the play.  Certainly, a fair percentage of these jokes (well, not really jokes, but “laugh lines”) fall flat—I’ve said it before, using the f-word in all of its permutations is not automatically funny (the context has to be right)—but enough of them are memorably clever and amusing to tilt the balance in the film’s favour.

Working against this is the movie’s excessive length (as noted, about an hour and 45 minutes).  Schmidt and Jenko don’t arrive at the high school until more than 20 minutes have elapsed—far too much time is spent on (a) a prologue showing their actual high school experience; (b) their reunion at the police academy; (c) their failure to arrest some drug dealers; and (d) their initiation into the Jump Street squad.  These are all important elements of the plot, but front-loading these sequences and playing them out in such detail means the real plot takes far too long to get underway.  The rest of 21 Jump Street is also padded—it’s not necessarily that too many extraneous scenes are included (there are a few, such as Schmidt’s participation in a school track meet, which could have easily been snipped) but rather that the major set-pieces (a car chase, a party, the prom, another car chase) are prolonged beyond their effective and necessary length.  It’s as if the filmmakers were having such fun that they couldn’t bear to cut anything out.  Hey, save something for the sequel, guys.

The performances are uniformly good, though Jonah Hill and Channing Tatum don’t need to go much beyond their standard screen personas.  Rob Riggle is quite funny as Mr. Walters, Ellie Kemper is effective as a teacher with a flaming crush on her hunky “student” Jenko, and Brie Larson—who reminds me of someone, I can’t think of who—does a good job as Schmidt’s love interest.  Amusing cameos by some “21 Jump Street” television veterans are a plus (one is just a walk-on, but the other two are really very surprising and funny).

Technical credits are fine.  The directorial team of Phil Lord and Chris Miller previously did the animated feature Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, yet they seem completely comfortable with the switch to live action (it didn’t seem to bother Brad Bird when he did Mission Impossible 4 either).  

21 Jump Street was not really much “competition” for The Hunger Games at the box-office (full disclosure—I saw 21 Jump Street first, but reviewed The Hunger Games earlier because it was a “hot property”): the latter film had a much broader base to draw upon, given its status as pre-sold literary property, its less-restrictive rating, and its broader, more serious theme and genre.  Nonetheless, 21 Jump Street works fine on the “R-rated comedy” level, and is solid entertainment.