IMMORTALS (2011)

Even taking into account the continued dominance of The Hunger Games in the public consciousness, some observers were suprised by the weak box-office showing of Wrath of the Titans, the sequel to the 2010 version of Clash of the Titans, during its opening weekend. Perhaps people were under the impression that they'd already seen the sequel to the Clash remake last fall when Tarsem Singh's fantasia hit theaters. Between the impression made by the 2010 Clash, best remembered for "Release the Kraken!" and the likely response to the pseudo sequel that was Immortals -- it even had Titans in it! -- I can understand why few people would want to see another sequel.

Over the course of an epic bender, King Hyperion of the Herculoids, or was it Heracleans (Mickey Rourke) has managed to conquer much of the known world, putting the "Hellenics" to flight or to the sword. Apparently this all started because he wanted a bow -- the Epirus Bow, a bitchin' weapon from the long-ago war of immortals. Legend says that the victors of that war dubbed themselves "gods," while labelling the losers "titans," as if "titan" was some sort of insult. From that account, you'd think there was no real difference between the two except that one side won and the other lost. In fact, the gods are buff, rangy he-men led by Zeus (Luke Evans), with their own Warrior Smurfette in the form of Athena (Isabel Lucas), while the titans are sort of like elves with a rage virus. Zeus put them in a cage inside Mt. Tartarus, but because the Epirus Bow is such an awesome weapon Hyperion is sure that it would free them, presuming that the bow fires arrows of some sort. It could only go great with his terrifying Fanged Rabbit helmet. Only he doesn't know where it is. Maybe a Virgin Oracle would know, but they tend to stick together and talk in their own special language and kill a fool who lays hands on them. Being a wise king, Hyperion has others lay hands on them. Those who survive end up only with the three amigas of the real A-No. 1 Virgin Oracle, Phaedra (Frieda Pinto), who escapes to look for a hero. Hyperion eventually shoves the women into a bull-shaped oven, possibly planning to snack on them later.

Phaedra sort of knows who she's looking for. Theseus (Henry Cavill) is a bastard and a child of rape, a tall, strapping, barefoot peasant who drew a high number in the refugee lottery for his village now that Hyperion's army is closing in. That means he gets to see Hyperion sack the town and cut his poor mom's throat in a fit of pique. "Witness hell," the king mutters.  Before long, Hyperion, Phaedra and the obligatory irreverent rogue (Stephen Dorff) are free and on the run, with the gods rooting them on. That's all they can do with Zeus pulling some prime-directive crap on them. He got to hang out with Theseus disguised as John Hurt for who knows how long, but the boy now needs to prove himself so no god better help him out. See, this isn't a ripoff of Clash of the Titans at all! In that movie, Zeus wants to help Perseus but the sullen lout won't let him. Here, the gods want to help -- heck, I imagine each one of them would like to smite Hyperion so he doesn't -- how shall I put this? -- unleash their (im)mortal enemies -- but Zeus himself won't let them. See? It's different! How different? Maybe Poseidon can get away with killing a bunch of Herculoids with a cannonball dive from the clouds into the oily sea, and maybe Zeus can't say no to his little girl Athena, but when one of the other gods lends a hand to our hero, Zeus puts him through a wall and the sucker is f'n dead! If that's how he runs things, bring on the Titans. And Hyperion, thinking "No fair!" despite Zeus's best efforts, intends to speed that day.

In the course of his adventures Theseus fights "The Beast," a big dude with a bull mask. This had to happen, so I'm told, because some dudes 3,000 years ago or so said that Theseus fought a guy with a bull head. Theseus supposedly did some other stuff like found the city of Athens, but the filmmakers could only verify the fight with the "Minotaur" and so felt obliged to include a version of it in their story. Anyway, Theseus finds the Epirus Bown embedded in a big rock, but then he loses it to the Herculoids. How awesome is this weapon? It does plus-all-the-dice-in-your-house damage to anything its self-generating light arrows touch, especially city walls. Our hero magnificently fails to prevent Hyperion from freeing the Titans, at which point Zeus summons the gang to layeth the smacketh down on those skittering, swarmimg, adorably mindless immortals. Theseus's revenge bout with Hyperion is but a sideshow to the war of the gods for which this film was once going to be named. For someone who on appearances hasn't slept in weeks, Hyperion is pretty good with his hands and has the edge on our hero until Theseus makes what those in the professional wrestling business call the "Superman comeback." But with Zeus about to bring a mountain down on the Titans, which begs the question why he didn't do that in the first place, will Theseus get a chance to fulfill his destiny? Given the global success of the film, we may yet find out.

The Clash of the Titans remake was a wretched affair, but Immortals makes it look like the Iliad. The problem this time isn't the utter unpleasantness of the hero -- Cavill is reasonably earnest and plausible in his role -- but the garish idiocy of the entire project. It was put in the hands of a director with a "visionary" reputation who here seems incapable of directing actors or action. The tableau is his favorite mode of presentation, adding to the overall atmosphere of suffocating fakeness. The picture may have gone over big in theatrical 3-D, but rarely has an aspiring epic seemed so lacking in essential dimensions. It reminded me of the collages of magazine clippings that might decorate the walls of a high-school art class. Immortals is one of the ugliest films I've seen in a long time, and it gets extra ugly points for thinking it's pretty. And yet it almost certainly wasn't the worst film of 2011 - not with such stuff as Green Lantern and Red Riding Hood in the running. And if its existence has actually contributed to strangling the Titans series in its cradle, I suppose it deserves at least one compliment.

On the Big Screen: IRON MAN 2 (2010)

As a longtime comic book reader, I'm used to picking up a monthly title and finding myself in medias res. Buying a single issue and getting a self-contained story is pretty rare these days. Even if you get one, the issue is usually so thick with subplots carried over from previous installments or foreshadowing of future events that a casual reader might get frustrated when he's expected to be hooked into buying future issues. I don't think this is a good idea, but I've grown accustomed to the convention to the point that it doesn't bug me too much. So I was prepared for the narrative approach of Jon Favreau's new film, which is not merely the sequel to his own Iron Man but chapter three (following The Incredible Hulk) of a larger story that doesn't have a formal title yet, and for which at least three more chapters are planned, not counting the possibility of Iron Man 3. Of course, in those innocent days of 2008 most people didn't know that Iron Man was chapter one of anything but its own franchise until after the end credits. Two years later the sense that there's something basically incomplete about the new film is inescapable, since Samuel L. Jackson is parading around with his eyepatch and his ridiculous jacket in the main body of the film. And he exposes the fundamental cheesiness of the, for want of any other name, "Avengers Initiative" concept with his performance. Because he isn't giving a performance in the sense of playing a character. He's simply doing "Samuel L. Jackson," and while that may be the only way he can stand up to Robert Downey Jr, the blatancy of his cliched presence makes it hard to regard the "Avengers" thing as anything but a corporate mandate that compromises the integrity of anything it touches. This subplot (or metaplot) is hardly advanced in Iron Man 2, so that Jackson's interventions fill the film with dead rather than hot air. They add to the impression that there's too much going on for Favreau and writer Justin Theroux to wrangle into proper narrative shape.

But don't you suppose that Tony Stark has an eventful life and many enemies? If you do, then you shouldn't be surprised if things seem to hit him from several directions at once. Iron Man 2 actually does have a narrative structure; it's built on the magnetism of Tony Stark, his knack for attracting trouble and disaster to himself. It seems to lack focus because we're still used to superhero movies being focused on a supervillain or an extraordinary threat. But the Iron Man films are star vehicles in a way, arguably, that no other superhero film has been before. The drama of the new installment is to see how he copes with all the crap coming his way. Let's see: a crazy Russian genius is out to kill him, not knowing that Tony's own technology is doing the job pretty well; the federal government (or specifically one powerful Senator) wants him to turn over the Iron Man technology, and will use Tony's somehow-transformed pal Jim Rhodes to do it; his business rival Justin Hammer is tight with the Senator and the military, and later recruits the crazy Russian to his side; and Pepper Potts is jealous of Tony's new personal assistant "Natalie Rushman" and more exasperated than ever, despite his promoting her to CEO, at his reckless behavior. It's not for you to make sense of it all; your job is to watch Robert Downey roll with the punches and throw some of his own.

Favreau's Iron Man films are a breath of fresh air in the superhero genre because they dare speak the truth that even the best Batman films, for instance, sidestep: the main reason the hero does what he does is because he can. And in this case the hero openly enjoys doing it. But what you might expect to come off as insufferable arrogance comes across as honesty instead. Neither the man nor the mask is a put-on or a penance. Tony Stark is not just an alter ego; he is the hero of the movie, and Iron Man is just a suit he wears. That's why this film can get away with having him in the suit relatively rarely -- and they could actually have done without at least one suit scene this time. These films are also unique to the genre for embracing a political context, even if the politics of the sequel are dubious or muddled. Parts of Iron Man 2 sound like Ayn Rand with a sense of humor, but it's unclear whether Stark has recanted some or all of his "privatized world peace" viewpoint by the film's close. In any event, Tea Partiers are likely to dig this movie, but don't hold that against it.

Iron Man 2 has plenty of flaws. Its best action sequence, the Russian's attack on Stark at the Grand Prix of Monaco, comes way too early in the movie, and none of the CGI armor wars that follow can match that scene's flair and inventiveness. The scene I would have gotten rid of is a rock-em sock-em slugfest between a drunken Stark and Rhodes in stolen armor. I expected someone's helmet to come flying off to end it, but they did nothing that clever in the whole fight. In fact, the only other really good action sequence is "Natalie's" demolition of a dozen or so security guards, humorously intercut with actor Favreau's desperate combat with a single flunky. Scarlett Johansson is welcome to return in future Marvel movies. There does seem to be an inherent limit to creative fighting for armored characters. Meanwhile, both villains were underwhelming. Mickey Rourke as the Russian is built up as the main menace, but has to yield the floor for the middle third of the picture to Sam Rockwell's flamboyant idiocy in the role of Justin Hammer. Rockwell is far over the top here. He made me think of Dana Carvey doing Gary Oldman; too infantile to be threatening, though I grant that the film's comedic nature doesn't require a very high threat level. Rourke is a menacing physical presence, but his character is just a collection of quirks (e.g. fond of birds) and the actor is slightly unconvincing as a Stark-level technical genius. He seems more like someone who, instructed by Rockwell figuratively to "take a dump on Tony Stark's front lawn," might obey him literally. Finally, the film just stops instead of having a proper ending, probably because Marvel insists that the real ending is what comes after the credits roll, the now-traditional extra scene that sets up more Avengers continuity. I won't spoil it but I will say it's not really worth waiting for as long as you know what the next films are on the Marvel schedule.

But I liked the film because there's still some novelty to Favreau's approach and mainly because of Downey's dominant performance -- though Gwyneth Paltrow as Pepper really picks up the fast-talking romantic-comedy pace this time as well. I paid my eight bucks to see him play Tony Stark and I was not disappointed. Maybe I've reached the point where I'll tolerate a lot for his sake (I liked Sherlock Holmes too, some will recall), but I found Iron Man 2 easy to tolerate. I'm less demanding here than others may be, and I'm not going to go out of my way to defend it from its critics -- I think I've been critical enough myself to give people who aren't comic-book or Downey fans warning. Both Iron Man films are among the better superhero movies, but I worry that the Avengers imperative can only compromise the integrity of future films and the Favreau-Downey conception of Tony Stark. For all I know, this might be the last good Iron Man movie, so let me savor it a while.

On The Big Screen: THE WRESTLER (2008)

Mickey Rourke took home another award last night, the BAFTA for Best Actor this time. He looks pretty much unstoppable now, unless a groundswell lifts Sean Penn past him by Oscar time. Penn wouldn't be an unworthy winner, as his work in Milk was remarkable, but I saw The Wrestler yesterday, and in my mind the competition is over.

Darren Aronofsky's film of Robert D. Siegel's screenplay is clear-eyed when other hands might have made a tearjerker out of the story. It has a strong finishing kick, and it pulled away for me once it became clear that Rourke's character was not going to be redeemed. The Wrestler is consistent with Aronofsky's merciless vision as expressed in Pi and Requiem For A Dream. It is also a film of its time, attuned to a certain historic moment -- or at least it seems so now. That's because it isn't so much a satire or denunciation of professional wrestling as it is a pre-emptive strike against nostalgia for the 1980s.


Robin "Randy 'the Ram' Robinson" Radzinski is a creature of the 1980s, and still seems to live there. His personal soundtrack is all hair bands, and he wears his own hair long in a manner many current grapplers still prefer. He still has a primitive Nintendo system in his trailer so he can play an ancient video game in which he starred. He still sells VHS tapes of his glory days at fan fests. He actively dislikes the 1990s, as embodied by the music and attitude of Kurt Cobain. The 80s, by contrast, were all about having fun, and as Randy asks, "What's wrong with having fun?" Those were his years on top of the business, climaxed by his famous match with The Ayatollah, which will be restaged at the movie's climax. We are invited to see Randy (as he prefers to be called most of the time) as an embodiment of the 80s and a consequence of its excesses. Since I don't love the 80s, I may be biased toward this interpretation, but I stand by it.

What Randy the Ram really is is problematic, especially for himself. He doesn't care to be called "Robin" or "Mr. Radzinski," and is chagrined at having to wear a "Robin" nameplate while working the deli counter at a grocery store. On the other hand, he feels an even greater humiliation when someone recognizes him as "that wrestler from the 80s" on the job. It's okay to be Randy the Ram in the ring or the locker room or at a signing event, but not when your decline and decrepitude can't be denied amid the shelter of peers or fans. He can only be himself in the ring or among his peers. In this way, the Ram is reminiscent of all the ruined wrestlers in real life who came to believe their own hype, who had to believe that they were the heroes or heels they portrayed in the squared circle. Randy isn't as self-deluding as some real-life counterparts, and for much of the picture he seems clear-headed about his plight. He doesn't put on airs, he doesn't seem to be a jerk, and he's friendly toward just about everyone. That leaves you wondering why he fell from grace in the first place. As a onetime wrestling fan I could fill in the blanks myself, but other viewers might wonder whether Randy had only caught some bad break during the 90s. It's not until fairly late, once the real plot of the film has kicked in, that we understand Randy's problems.


Recovering from a heart attack and bypass surgery following an authentically brutal "extreme" wrestling match, Randy faces the medical necessity of retiring from wrestling. At this point, despite his tentative friendship with Cassidy the stripper, Randy realizes that he's alone in life, and feels a need to reconnect with his estranged daughter and repent for his neglectful ways. At the same time, he starts to signal that he wants more of a relationship with Cassidy. He fails at both ventures.

Cassidy is a parallel or mirror character to Randy. Her real name is Pam, and she prefers to be known that way outside the strip club. She has a kid, too, younger than Randy's, and she's still young enough herself to envision a future and a career beyond stripping. She warms toward Randy but governs herself according to a stripper version of the wrestlers' kayfabe code: no relationships with customers. It doesn't matter than she's considering quitting stripping, which would make Randy no longer a customer. The fact that he has been a customer seems like an insurmountable obstacle for a long while. Pam is on the brink of overcoming this scruple when Randy returns to his own business, triggered by his daughter's definitive rejection of him. That resulted when he gives into temptation in a way, we must deduce, that he has done all too often before. An offer of casual sex at a bar turns to drugs and more booze, and Randy misses a delicately planned dinner date with the nearly-reconciled daughter. Randy's humilation at the grocery store and a bridge-burning tantrum closely follow. Already rebuffed by Pam, Randy has nothing left, he believes, but the ring and the fans. He makes a comeback despite doctor's orders, telling Pam that "I only ever got hurt out there" -- in the outside, real world. Pam finally experiences a role reversal, becoming the spectator while someone she's started to care for becomes a mere performer, a "piece of meat" in his own earlier words. And instead of seeing Randy in his true glory, as he imagines it, she's horrified and flees the building. Noticing her absence, the Ram seems to sigh as he climbs up for what may prove a literal finishing move, as if her action confirmed the correctness of his course.

Randy the Ram and Cassidy, -- or would it be Robin and Pam, incognito, -- or maybe Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei on location? Identity is a problem in THE WRESTLER
(photo from http://www.exclusivelymarisa.com/ )

The Wrestler ends in a kind of suspense. We'll never know if Randy died in the ring that night, or hours later when the painkillers kicked in, or weeks or months later. But we do know that Randy has signed a kind of death sentence, if only for Robin Radzinski, and that the Ram, for as long as he survives, will only be the shell of a man. He is a loser, a "fuckup" as his daughter says, who by his own admission deserves to be alone. He has given up and opted once and for all for the escapism of the ring. That viewers don't end up despising him and then simply dismissing the movie is Mickey Rourke's triumph. He makes Randy likable without compromising the qualities that doom him. He establishes the potential remaining within Randy that makes his failures tragic. But if we're going to throw awards his way, how about sparing one for Marisa Tomei. Once upon a time she got one of those "new talent" supporting actress Oscars that rarely seem justified in retrospect. Now she's paid some dues, and shows it, and if she wins this time I won't dispute that she earned it.

I'm willing to put The Wrestler on my own list of the five best U.S. films of last year. It shouldn't surprise you, then, to learn that I deplore the Academy's failure to nominate the film for Best Picture, or Aronofsky for Best Director, or Siegel for Original Screenplay. It may not be fair to the four films nominated that I haven't seen, but I can't imagine that they're better, and having seen Milk and liked it, I know it isn't better. But the Academy often works this way, which is why people come up with alternative Oscars. I suspect, however, that one of those won't be necessary in the Best Actor category.

Mickey Rourke at "Work"?

The latest word on Mickey Rourke's wrestling future comes from a spokesman who says that the actor will not take on Chris Jericho at this year's Wrestlemania. The new statement says that Rourke is entirely focused on his acting career -- but why would that exclude professional wrestling? I note that Rourke himself apparently can't be trusted to make this statement. Meanwhile, I wonder whether the whole news of yesterday was what wrestlers call a "work," but if it was, what was the point? For that matter, what if today's statement is a work? We could be getting into Andy Kaufman territory if everyone isn't careful. This story may not be over.

That's Exploitation! Starring Mickey Rourke

Will Rourke take a dive for real? That depends on how you define reality,
brother!

Academy Award-nominated actor Mickey Rourke is no longer "The Wrestler," but "a wrestler." He is going to enter the ring at World Wrestling Entertainment's 25th anniversary Wrestlemania extravaganza against WWE superstar Chris Jericho. A feud has been manufactured for the two men, who have exchanged charges of disrespect. Rourke threatens to toss Jericho like a salad, and given how wrestling works when guest celebrities are involved, such an outcome is likely.

Somehow I'm not surprised by this development. The only aspect of it that does surprise me is that Rourke will wrestle under his own name rather than as "Randy the Ram." The alternative was not inconceivable, as Samuel L. Jackson once appeared on Monday Night Raw in the character of Shaft in order to promote that movie. Further back in time, a man in a Robocop suit appeared as the actual character to intervene in a match in another promotion. Professional wrestling is where much of the old movie ballyhoo and showmanship still survives -- but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone because of that. Meanwhile, Rourke's fans ought to worry that this might be his "Norbit" moment that costs him the Oscar. Time will tell.