52 Perfect Movies: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

"Just what do you think you're doing, Dave?"

To a certain extent, this can be said of virtually every film included in this, the 52 Perfect Movies series--but it is especially true of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey: It almost requires no explanation at all for this film to be included here. 2001 is a work of pure, undistilled genius; a breathtaking piece of art put forth into this world by the combined intellects of Kubrick and the legendary Arthur C. Clarke, to be savored, pondered and debated for all time to come.

As science fiction epics go, it is the gold standard--an intoxicating, cerebral journey into the issues that resonate most deeply with the human race as a species, and with the human being as individual. There are no laser guns required, no Flash Gordon-esque childish gimmickry on display. This is science fiction for grown-ups, that speaks to us on a mature level, in our own time and place, rather than a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

Kubrick famously rebuked those who tried to get him to explain the much-discussed finale to the film, insisting that they had to figure it out for themselves. Perhaps he was being clever, or perhaps he actually didn't quite know himself, but I will forgive him this bit of obtuseness. Whatever it may actually mean--and I have several theories, but this is not the place for them--it is quite true that it exists on another level, beyond the intentions of Kubrick or Clarke. It, like the rest of this monumental film, is there for the viewer to experience, to digest, to absorb and make of it what he will. Art at this level owes us no easy explanation.

Taking a genre of film that had long been the province of Saturday afternoon serial matinees or chintzy post-war monster movie fare, and elevating it to a place of beauty and depth of thought and feeling rarely seen in film, 2001 is the definition of a cinematic landmark. And even if the science fiction genre never quite lived up to the promise of this film, that does not take away from its achievement.

We see Kubrick here cementing his other-wordly, sterile, appropriately alien directorial style, approaching the material with the precision of a surgeon and the uncanny depth of perception we might actually expect from an observant alien race. The man was a gift to the craft of film-making, and it's entirely possible that this fact was never so completely established as in this motion picture, a model of perfection in editing, cinematography and sound design, among many other things.

As in much of Kubrick's work, it is the bigger picture here that takes us in and holds us. Kubrick was a stylized film-maker, no doubt about it, and here he sets a pace that certainly takes its time, paradoxically whizzing across various distant epochs in time, and millions of miles of space, and yet always moving at an even keel, fascinating us with the way the story is carefully unfolded, the characters patiently revealed to us. To those weened on music video editing styles, a film like this may seem a chore indeed, and that is quite sad. Because although it moves at anything but a brisk pace, this is the kind of film that must be slowly and deliberately savored, and rewards those who do.

From the masterful scenes at the "Dawn of Man", featuring tribes of primitive ape-men so convincing that suspension of disbelief is a non-issue, to the clean, bright, deceptively calm moments during the Jupiter mission, A Space Odyssey is an unstoppable juggernaut of a movie, cruising majestically along, metaphorically towering above the viewer like the implacable monolith itself. Here at the start of what many refer to as the "modern era" of movie-making, Kubrick shows us how it's done, setting the bar extremely high--perhaps too high, really--for any who woud dare to come after him, and taking the very practice of film-making to places previously undreamt of.

Keir Dullea and Gary Lockwood are terrific as Dr. Bowman and Dr. Poole, the passengers on board the Discovery. And yet, the performance best remembered is that of Douglas Rain as the voice of the computer HAL-9000, whose tragic malfunction and spiral into madness is at the heart of what this movie is all about. Among Kubrick's fascinations was the conflict of the human against that which seeks to dehumanize or automate humanity, and nowhere in his body of work (although Full Metal Jacket comes close) is this theme so directly explored.

The concept of the foolproof, beautifully choreographed scenario slowly sent completely off-kilter into utter choas--this is another favorite idea of Kubrick's, and it's no wonder he took so thoroughly to Clarke's material, as it speaks to this concern of his quite directly. Clarke himself often said that with 2001, he wanted to raise more questions than he answered. Most devotees of the film (and actually, probably most of its detractors) would agree that he succeeded in doing just that.

The strains of Strauss' Also Spracht Zarathustra, famously used to such powerful effect in this film, almost serve to act as something of a clarion call, waking the movie-going public up to the notion that the era of the auteur film-maker had arrived; that directorial visionaries would, more than ever before, be able to create deeply personal works that directly expressed their souls, with far less outside intervention than the studio system had ever allowed. And to a lesser degree, among those who devoted themselves to genre entertainment, it demonstrated that speculative fiction in cinema could do the very same thing it had been doing for decades in literature.

When discussing greatness in film-making, from a technical point of view, 2001: A Space Odyssey is a film that will invariable be brought up, and rightfully so. It is a sumptuous delight to watch and to listen to, with its groundbreaking (and actually realistic) special effects and brilliant use of classical music, and yet it is also much more than that. It is a film that becomes more than a film. It is an experience. It is a journey, into the self, into that which is beyond ourselves. In short, it is the kind of a narrative work that comes along once in a lifetime.

NEXT UP: The Odd Couple (1968)

Inception: The Movies in Your Mind (Part 1 of 2)

Note: I try to avoid major spoilers in the following piece, but a movie like Inception relies on the little pieces to make up the big picture, so almost any information is a spoiler. 

Early in my viewing of Christopher Nolan's Inception, I wondered if it was a follow-up or high-tech remake of Nolan's debut film, Following. Beyond the confluence of two characters, both thieves, sharing a name (Cobb), there's also the idea of a voyeuristic practice (following random people / invading dreams) that has a number of rules that eventually get broken. Except it quickly became apparent that the voyeurism angle wasn't as much Nolan's concern anymore. Certainly, there's the sequence where Ariadne (Ellen Page) peeks in on Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) as he dreams of his past regrets, but it's an exception to the rule. For the most part, dreams in the film aren't the nest of uncontrolled memory and emotion, but conscious constructs formed by someone other than the dreamer, set to pull a specific response from the target. In Inception, dreams are movies.

In case you haven't seen the movie or aren't aware of the basic premise, Cobb works as an extractor. Supported by a team of fellow thieves, he performs corporate espionage by entering the dreams of his targets (CEOs and the like) to retrieve sensitive information. One failed mission turns up an unexpected benefit -- his intended mark offers him a job to plant an idea in the mind of a rival. Inception is nearly impossible, but Cobb accepts anyway, bringing Ariadne into the fold to design the multiple levels of dream needed to bring this job off.

Within the world of the film, dreams are created using the same system as movies (Cobb as director, Ariadne as writer, and various other members of the team working as actors, production managers, technicians, and moneymen). As in the movies, the most common dreams are the ones used to extract something from the audience/mark (emotion/information). More difficult are the dreams that inspire and create ideas.

Furthering the films-as-dream metaphor, each of the levels in the main dream resembles an action movie in its own right. First, there's a kidnapping caper, then a "who-can-you-trust" corporate thriller (that later turns rather Matrix-y), and finally a James Bond spy romp (complete with unusual modes of travel and guarded fortresses).

Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Ariadne (Ellen Page) explore
the world of dreams in Christopher Nolan's Inception

However, there's one quote that really encompasses my whole argument:

"You create the world of the dream. We bring the subject into that dream and fill it with their subconscious." -- Cobb to Ariadne on being a dream architect.

This has so many different layers of meaning when considering it in the context of film.

First, of course, there's the purely physical reality of film, which is nothing more than a series of still images that, when played back at a certain speed, cause our brains to fill the gaps, creating the illusion of movement.

Second, there's the normal act of viewing anything. We naturally fill in what we cannot see. A close-up does not eradicate the rest of the actor. Similarly any other characters in the scene are still "there," even if they aren't visually apparent. Rooms have four walls even if we can only see three, and they definitely have ceilings.

Third, there's the artistic language of cinematography and editing that's been in development for the past 115 years. A low-angle shot of a character indicates power, a high-angle shot indicates worthlessness. A roving, bobbing camera probably puts us in a character's POV (an assumption that Friday the 13th exploited to create suspense). Cutting between two shots creates an association between them, chronologically or thematically or emotionally.

Fourth (and somewhat related to the second), the world of any given film, like the dreams in Inception, is naturally incomplete. Even if there was a movie that followed its protagonist every single second of the day in real-time from birth until death, we still wouldn't know details like what smells surround this person, what happens to the people in his or her life after they leave the frame, or what thoughts are running through his or her head. Filmmakers do their best to represent those details that are pertinent to the story or the characters, but they are limited by the format, especially the commercially-imposed average runtime of two hours. So, as an engaged audience, we fill in the details from our own experience, our own subconscious. Office buildings smell like this, a person in this situation would be thinking that, etc. Sometimes filmmakers invite us to engage on a more conscious level, like when Quentin Tarantino never shows us what's in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. Nolan makes his own invitation with the very last shot of Inception.

Leaving that aside, though, we create our own stories. We debate character motivations and discuss sequel possibilities. We read relationships between characters that aren't explicitly stated. We write fanfiction to extend the story or to bring it more in line with our understanding of the world or to simply make it something we want it to be at the moment. Even if we never talk about it, though, on some level we all put part of ourselves into the movies we watch. It probably goes without saying that the more a film gives in terms of quality and craftsmanship, the more likely we are to become involved. That's just the nature of art.

Tune in later this week (after I see the movie again, probably) as I look at Inception's scarier areas of dreaming/cinema. 

One of those Good News, Bad News Situations

Bad: Getting a call from your apartment complex that your apartment might be flooded.

Good: Finding out that it's just a little bit of water leakage (and you don't have carpeting anyway).

Bad: The most significant damage is to your Creature from the Black Lagoon mini-poster, which is probably the first monster movie memorabilia you bought with your own money.

Amusing as Hell: The damage is that the plastic casing has filled with water, so the Gillman looks like he really is swimming (and oddly enough, the poster hasn't fallen off the wall).

"If we walk without rhythm, we won't attract the worm." - David Lynch's DUNE

At one point during Dune (1984), I forgot which David was directing. When the giant space slug slithers to the front of his special case and starts talking out of a vaginal mouth, I thought, "Yeah, this is totally Cronenberg." I didn't even realize the mental gaffe until I was preparing this brief blog post. David Cronenberg had no part in David Lynch's adaptation of the classic Frank Herbert novel and Lynch's been known to employ genital imagery from time to time (hello, Eraserhead). This has nothing to do with the rest of this post. Actually, the rest of this post has nothing to do with the rest of this post. Consider it largely a bunch of unrelated thoughts attracted by vibrations in the sand of my brain.

• Netflix Instant Watch only offers the theatrical version of Dune, which is David Lynch's, ah, preferred version. That is to say, he hasn't utterly disowned the theatrical cut, as he did with the three-hour television version. To put metaphorically, he's more apt to take a punch in the face than a kick in the balls. All available versions of the film have been tampered with to one degree or another and none seem to meet Lynch's ultimate vision (although he admits, "it's not like there's a perfect film sitting somewhere waiting to come out"). Still, I'm curious to see the longer cut, if only because it might clear up some confusion that the theatrical version must bear for being only two hours (and change) in length.
  
• It's kind of crazy how long Alicia Witt and Virginia Madsen have been working in movies. Witt was eight or nine when she filmed her part as Paul Atreides creepy little sister.
  
• I wish I had not been eating a brownie bite during the "bug juice box" bit.
  
• There's a lot of sci-fi visual gold in this movie, which largely makes up for its flaws as a story. I'm referring to the shield suits, the bluer-than-blue eyes, the sandworms (oft-imitated, never matched), and the aforementioned space slug. Still, it all feels very 80s.
  
• The ever-present thought narration gets tedious, especially since much of it communicates emotions or concerns already apparent from the thinker's facial expression.
  
• Sting says little, acts less. In one scene, he wears even less than that.
  
• Holy crap I had no idea how much random phrases and concepts from Dune (be it book or movie) had infiltrated pop culture. I always thought "the sleeper must awaken" was a Cthulhu thing. Whoops.
  
• The pain box sequence is gnarly and disturbed, even after having seen Don Coscarelli do it in Phantasm.

In conclusion, WTF:

Us Among Aliens Among Us: Avatar and District 9

I had the curious fortune to see James Cameron's Avatar and Neill Blomkamp's District 9 within days of one another. While I'm not really sure that District 9 did anything but confirm my initial opinion of Avatar, Avatar's flaws certainly deepened my appreciation of District 9. 

Avatar

I saw Avatar in 3D on a "normal" theater screen -- no IMAX for me (but the IMAX they use for feature films hardly qualifies as proper IMAX). The visuals are breathtaking, yes, but here's the thing -- you get used to them after a while. That should be a good thing, since the visuals shouldn't distract from the story. In Avatar, however, the story is so old hat, it needs blocking badly. For all intents and purposes, Avatar is a CGI-heavy remake of Dances with Wolves as seen through the lens of FernGully: The Last Rainforest, with a little Braveheart thrown in for good measure. It's the precipice of the "What You People Need is a Honky" trope, wherein the White Knight teaches the People of Color how Things Are Done.

Somewhere in Avatar's fourth or fifth act (the movie has so much rising action in its 162 minute runtime that it borders on vertiginous), after human marine Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) uses his remote-controlled alien avatar to ingratiate himself to the denizens of Pandora, a strange boredom settles in. The plot has given up all of its secrets already -- when it comes down to choosing between the evil corporation hellbent on exploiting Pandora's resources and the tribal aliens (the Na'vi) that stand in their way, Sully's obviously going to side with not-evil. Cameron's world-building and the game-changing CGI have already done their work to a point -- they impress, but they don't add emotional resonance. Yes, it's very bad that the evil corporation ruins the environment and wants to displace the Na'vi and it's very good that Sully learns important lessons about ecological unity and honor. And? So? Maybe Avatar would resonate more if the corporation wasn't so evil, if the Na'vi weren't so honorable, if Sully wasn't such an empty receptacle for the Na'vi teachings (he actually comments on his "empty head" during his introduction to the Na'vi chief).I think Cameron wants the conflict to be complex -- Giovanni Ribisi's corporate exec looks perpetually ambivalent when giving damning orders -- but it never is and therefore the plot never surprises.

There are funny moments and thrilling moments and sexy moments (when Sigourney Weaver's avatar first shows up, I found that I can be attracted to a computer graphic). There are moments of pure awe and wonder. There are moments of none-too-veiled political commentary. But that's all the Avatar's impact is -- moments. These bits and pieces impress but don't last; they don't connect to the whole (which is ironic, actually, given some of the sci-fi/ecological concepts put forward in the film).


District 9

Sunday night, I saw District 9 for the first time, my wife for the second. At the film's end, as the credits rolled up my television, my wife turned to me, buried her head in my chest, and began sobbing deeply. She didn't stop for several minutes. My feelings did not run as deeply (I apparently cry only during scenes where families are reunited and at the very end of When Harry Met Sally), but I understood. It's a depressing film, a damning one, but also a brilliant one.

Like Avatar, District 9 is about a no-good corporation's efforts to relocate an alien species and the human caught between the two sides by virtue of weird science. However, director Neill Blomkamp layers on additional complexities. Here the aliens, derogatorily called "Prawns," are refugees whose ship showed up over Johannesburg, South Africa over twenty years ago. In those two decades, they've found nothing but hate and, worse, indifference. Even though the Prawns have been forced to live in filthy slums at the edge of the city, their human neighbors feel it is not far away enough, so a new settlement (no better than a concentration camp, one character admits) has been created. The corporation MNU has moved in to enforce the Prawns' migration (and scavenge whatever alien tech they find).

The Prawns themselves have largely settled into depression, accepting their poverty, and finding their few joys in in-fighting and cat food abuse. What do they have to look forward to anyway? Whoever isn't ignoring them or hating them is exploiting them. In one corner of the Prawn settlement, a contingent of Nigerian gangsters run all manner of criminal enterprises -- weapon trafficking, interspecies prostitution, gambling, black market goods, anything that might turn a profit. MNU has taken on the resettlement contract because they are also one of the world's largest arms developers. They want to unlock the secrets of the powerful Prawn energy weapons, which only respond to Prawn DNA.

In the middle of all of this is Wikus Van De Merwe (Sharlto Copley), a South African bureaucrat who accidentally gets dosed with a Macguffin, which begins to rewrite his genetic code with Prawn DNA. The transformation would do David Cronenberg proud (it parallels Seth Brundle's in The Fly in some ways). Unlike Avatar's Sully, who can choose to exist in either the human or Na'vi worlds, Wikus is accepted by neither the humans (who see him as a guinea pig) nor the Prawns (who treat him with suspicion). District 9 also sidesteps making Wikus the Great White Hero. In fact, without Wikus's bumbling early in the film, one Prawn (given the human name of Christopher Johnson) might have carried out a two-decades-in-the-making plan to head home. Eventually Wikus does attempt to rectify his blunder, but his selfish drive to fix his own problem creates additional issues.

District 9's one significant flaw is one shared with Avatar -- the evil corporation is just too effing evil. Once MNU discovers that Wikus has been infected, they strap him down and begin a none-too-subtle mixture of medical experimentation and outright torture. Consider the stakes -- a whole bounty of alien technology that no human has ever been able to wield... until now. Why alienate (no pun intended) someone who is already sympathetic to the corporation's needs and desires? It would have been nothing for them to pretend friendship with Wikus to get what they want. Instead, they go straight for sadism and cease treating him as even vaguely human, even as he begs for compassion. No wonder he eventually sides with the Prawns, leading MNU to heavy losses in personnel, resources, and profit.

Blomkamp ends District 9 on a series of ambiguous notes, with the future of this mess uncertain. What is certain is that he's not that fond of humanity, even as he shares some understanding for why we act as we do. Without that empathy, District 9 would ring false, I think. Instead, it hurts like a motherf**ker.

Incidentally, I highly recommend my friend John Kenneth Muir's review of District 9. One of John's more infuriating traits is his ability to state my own feelings on a film with a greater depth of knowledge than I possess. I realize this is through no fault of his own -- his position just happens to line up with mine. In his analysis of District 9, John brings in comparisons both obvious (Kafka's "The Metamorphosis" and Graham Baker's film Alien Nation) and surprising (Paul Verhoeven's sci-fi satire Robocop and the video game Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2). I dug it lots.

To Sum Up

Asking the same complexities of Avatar that exist in District 9 is ridiculous. Avatar follows the Campbellian "Hero's Journey." District 9 is a tragedy with action sequences. However, Avatar's excessive runtime demands a more complex film or it wastes the viewer's time. I only have so much patience for a film that builds in predictable ways to a predictable conclusion, especially one that wants very much to be revolutionary.

The Great Unwatched: Godzilla, Mothra, and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack (2001)

Director: Shusuke Kaneko

Runtime: 105 minutes

I really do have an excuse for the sudden barrage of Godzilla movies. Classic-Horror.com is running a Godzilla week in May and I want to make sure I'm fully up to speed on kaiju flicks. Stop judging me!

Sporting what must be the longest English-language title in the entire Godzilla series, Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack (or GMK as it will appear in the rest of the review) takes a more mystical approach to kaiju, which makes a certain amount of sense, as Japan has always had a tradition of the supernatural. Here, Godzilla, while still a product of nuclear radiation, is also positioned as the living retribution of all the souls killed by the Japanese in World War II. Defending the Japanese homeland against his incursion are three Guardian Monsters: Baragon, Mothra, and making his first appearance as a full hero, King Ghidorah.

One interesting thematic thread introduced by director and co-writer Shusuke Kaneko is that Japan has largely forgotten Godzilla in the forty-seven years since the original attack (like the rest of the Millenium series, GMK is a direct sequel to 1954's Gojira that ignores the interceding films in the series). Some people believe him to be a myth, others fail to understand the destruction he brings (there's one scene where a local official becomes excited at the tourist trade that might come in if Godzilla attacked his village). Even when Godzilla does show up, the weight of the situation isn't immediately understood by all. For instance, a news helicopter team "reports" on the showdown between Godzilla and Baragon as if it were a wrestling match. However, they are repaid for their irreverence when Godzilla throws Baragon through their ride, killing them. Kaneko's message is that classic trope repeated in social studies classes the world over: those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.

Since Kaneko is using Godzilla and the other monsters as a means of social commentary, the human element is strong in GMK. The main human character, Yuri Tachibana, works for Digital Q, a low-rent video outfit that produces "docu-dramas" that sensationalize the supernatural for easy profit. Desperately to produce something of substance, Yuri gets her chance when the monster attacks begin. She dives furiously into the job of researching the monsters, then, as the final showdown begins, she risks her life to document it for future generations. Her drive to study the past and document the present gives the film a sense of hope that the cycle of history may yet be broken. Yuri also has the distinction of giving one of the few speeches in a Godzilla film that actually made me choke up a little.

The monster battles themselves are workable, but the suits seem a little cheaper than some of the others in the Millenium series. Godzilla's gone through a redesign to make him more "evil" -- he's the tallest that Godzilla has ever been, his eyes are fields of pure white and his gaping maw is brimming with razor sharp teeth. However, he also appears to have something of a pot belly, which somewhat negates his menace. Baragon's suit looks ridiculous and rubbery. King Ghidorah and Mothra come off the best here, looking classy and snazzy for the new millenium.

Worth the Purchase: It's a different sort of take on the Godzilla mythos. I kind of dug it.

--

Unrelated to this flick, I've been having some doubts about this project. While I am watching more films in my collection, it has been pointed out to me that I tend to overload myself with responsibilities. In addition to this blog and Classic-Horror.com (which is, in itself, a full-time job), I also work 40-50 hours a week in the IT industry, I work on "fanvids", and I have a fairly active social life. In the midst of all of this, I have a tendency to forget important things like keeping my apartment tidy, taking out the garbage, and cleaning my poor cat's litter box. Thank goodness I don't have spawn.

On the one hand, if I cut some of the fat from my life, I could devote more time and effort to the things that are the most important to me -- my girlfriend, my niece, my not-being-an-utter-slob. I could also raise the stakes on the quality of writing at Classic-Horror, write more biographies for our Masters section, and come up with some more in-depth features.

On the other hand, this has been a great place to stretch the writing muscles without having to run a full marathon. Plus, I'm seeing more movies than I would normally. I'm going to think about it over the next week or two. Until then, I'm not going anywhere.

PS: The Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Awards have been announced. Check 'em out.

Stats: 30/401 movies watched in twenty-seven days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: February 19, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla (2002)

Director: Masaaki Tezuka

Runtime: 88 minutes

I must be in a kaiju state of mind. Actually, I was having a really craptacular day yesterday and I needed to clean the apartment (partly as therapy, but mostly because my place would embarrass a college freshman in its squalor), so giant monster fights were good for checking in and out as I worked. One of the nice things about the so-called "Millenium series" of Godzilla films is that they tend to be standalone stories, sequels to the original 1954 film but no other Godzilla films (although they are also occasionally connected a few of the non-Godzilla films from the 1950s and 60s). Without a lot of heavy continuity to worry about, you can jump right into the story, such as it is, something you can't really say about the Heisei series of the 1990s.

I picked Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla, despite the fact that it wasn't on this month's list, because it has the second-highest rating of all Godzilla films on the IMDb, bested only by the original Gojira. It's easy to see why. I actually didn't get that much cleaning done, because I was really drawn into the story here. For one thing, they admit (as not every Godzilla movie has) that the original monster who trashed Tokyo in 1954 was definitively killed; the Big G here is an entirely different creature. In fact, the utter destruction of Original Flavor Godzilla is a plot point. The Japanese government has retrieved the skeleton and built a weaponized Godzilla robot to deal with the giant lizard threat. The mecha, named "Kiryu," is piloted by Akane (Yumiko Shaku), who is trying to prove herself after a moment of panic in an earlier battle with Godzilla caused the deaths of several of her fellow soldiers. Her second chance is made more difficult because Kiryu's bones seem have a memory -- a memory of rampage.

The effects, while cheesy, were still light years beyond the standard "suit-mation" antics of the 1960s. Godzilla's still a guy in a lizard costume, but it's a fairly intricate rig now, with extra work put in to make it look very very menacing. The monster battles are backed by CGI (kaiju movies are one area of film where CGI support is more than welcome) and although it's not completely dazzling in terms of technical prowess, it's used fairly effectively.

Action sequences are fairly kinetic for the most part, with a bare minimum of "monster standing still in order to accept attack" moments that have been hallmarks of past kaiju flicks. Tezuka doesn't let the film drown in the human element -- it spices up the non-Godzilla scenes, but he knows why we're here. We want to see giant monsters destroy things and there is plenty of that. As Godzilla movies go, this is one of the best.

Worth the Purchase: Yes.

Stats: 26/401 movies watched in twenty-three days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: February 13, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: Gojira (1954)

Part of: The Godzilla Collection (Classic Media)

Director: Ishiro Honda

Runtime: 98 minutes

I'll be doing a full write-up for this for a special Godzilla event on Classic-Horror.com in May, so I'm going to refrain from saying anything here. However, I am working on something related to the movie that I will post here a little later.

Anyway, I really enjoyed it, it's a classic of the giant monster genre, yadda yadda yadda.

Worth the Purchase: Yes.

Stats: 25/401 movies watched in twenty-two days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: February 11, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: Trancers (1985)

Part of: The Full Moon Archive Collection

Director: Charles Band

Runtime: 76 minutes

After Dollman, my girlfriend won't watch any more Full Moon action movies with me. I don't really blame her, all things told, since it was a pretty rotten film. Trancers, made some six years before, has the same concept (cop from a futuristic society comes to present-day Los Angeles to defeat sworn nemesis) and even the same star (Tim Thomerson). However, it's a vastly better movie. Why? There's almost no padding. It's just 76 minutes of action with some humor tossed in the mix for good measure. Plus, there's zombies. You really can't go wrong with zombies. Especially Santa Claus zombies. Thomerson is in his element here -- playing the tough guy for laughs, much as he did nine years earlier on the short-lived sci-fi comedy series Quark. It's weird seeing future Oscar-winner Helen Hunt as an 1980s rocker girl facing down low-budget sci-fi menaces. Mind you, this isn't remotely a good film. It's just a pretty decent way to kill 76 minutes without a lot of thought.

One note about the presentation on the DVD. Shamefully, Full Moon has chosen to present Trancers in the worst way possible. It's clearly transfered from a video master instead of the original film elements. Shame shame.

Worth the Purchase: It'd be worth more if this received a proper transfer.

Stats: 17/401 movies watched in fourteen days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: January 20, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: Wanted (2008) and Dollman (1991)

There's lessons to be learned in getting too cocky. I promised my girlfriend we'd go out last night, so I didn't get a chance to watch anything. I figure hey, I'm ahead of the game, one night won't be so bad. Today I get a call from Mom that proves me wrong; she'd just found a DVD mailed to me a few months ago that she'd forgotten about. Apparently, I'd neglected to say no to a Columbia House Director's Selection a couple months ago and so now I was the proud(?) owner of Timur Bekmambetov's Wanted. So not only did I miss a day of movie viewing, but the list just moved up a tick. Brilliant.

Anyway. On to our feature presentations for this evening.

Wanted (2008)

Director: Timur Bekmambetov

Runtime: 110 minutes

Well, that was... action-y. Wanted is a kinetic, highly visual experience largely undercut by main character Wesley Gibson (James McAvoy) and his sarcastic narration. I get that his life sucks, really I do. It just seems like a director as visually oriented as Bekmambetov clearly is could have more clearly conveyed Gibson's dilemma without leaning on the crutch of a descriptive voice-over. Gibson's snide self-loathing doesn't endear him to us and when he's picked out to be an assassin because his panic attacks are, in fact, superpowers (among other reasons), he reacts by freaking out. A lot. And it's really annoying. Of course, there's no movie if he doesn't get over it and start busting heads, but by the time he does, he has a long way to go to regaining the audience's trust.

Otherwise, the action sequences are appropriately awe-inspiring, if on the far side of ridiculous. Angelina Jolie looks like she needs a sandwich. The twist midway through is fairly easy to pick out, but if we're going to really quibble about something, let's talk about the finale. In the final showdown, one character does something monumentally idiotic, based on evidence that they've just discovered has been forged in the past. Furthermore, these forgeries have all come from the same person whose giving them said evidence now. And yet, they take this irritatingly, mind-blowingly stupid action. And the movie wants us to think that they are not only noble, but awesome. I don't buy it. No thank you.

Worth the Purchase: Well, it was kind of pretty?


Dollman (1991)

Part of: The Full Moon Archive Collection

Director: Albert Pyun

Runtime: 79 minutes

I think the best part of this movie was seeing Jackie Earle Haley, some eighteen years before he essayed the part of Rorschach in Watchmen, dropping the f-bomb every other word and squishing a tiny alien head with his hand.

I think the worst part of this movie was the rest of it.

Worth the Purchase: Nah.

Stats: 13/401 movies watched in eleven days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: January 29, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: The Stuff (1985)

Director: Larry Cohen

Runtime: 93 minutes

Didn't think I'd have time to catch one of the unwatched today, seeing as I was going to a midnight showing of Watchmen (a pretty good film, all things told, which I might review in full tomorrow). However, I tossed The Stuff in my laptop bag just in case. It turns out that when you're stuck in a movie theater for a few hours before the show even starts, it's the perfect time to watch a movie.

Larry Cohen's The Stuff is a weird little satire of consumerism by way of The Blob. Cohen clearly has a lot he wants to say, but the message gets lost in a melange of technical effects and convoluted plot movements. When the paramilitary force is introduced in the final act, you know Cohen's lost control of his movie entirely. Still, it's funny and more than a little strange and it's definitely a Cohen film, which means...

Worth the Purchase: Yes!

Stats: 11/400 movies watched in nine days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: January 17, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010