I understand the hatred for romantic comedies. I really, truly do. There’s a certain formula to them that becomes tiresome, the underlying message behind so many of them tends to be obnoxiously and cynically shallow and often misogynistic, and anytime a movie successfully combines comedy and romance it seems to be somehow removed from our perception of the genre, probably unfairly. It’s as if the label is specifically meant to designate a certain type of movie, a label restricted to dreck.
Marvel’s latest offering within its Cinematic Universe is Thor: The Dark World, marking the eighth entry into this rather ambitious attempt to apply rules normally reserved for comic books to movies. Film franchises have become commonplace by now, to the point where they’re frequently lambasted as the downfall of our cinema, innovation, civilization, etc. What Marvel is doing, though, is taking this wretched system of cynical sequels and tired remakes and doing something that, as far as I can tell, is completely new: establishing a multi-film-spanning universe with individual stories that intersect and influence each other over an indefinite period of time.
Placing a young child at the center of a movie is a good way to attract families with children to the theater. We all tend to be drawn toward characters with whom we can closely relate with, right? At the same time, child protagonists can tap into something deep within adults; we were all young at one point and, depending on how good our memories are, continue to relate to or at least learn from the way children view the world in real life as well as on the big screen.
From its inception, the Walt Disney Company has been an enterprise rife with contradictions. It’s one of the things that make it so fascinating, to me at least. It’s a part of its early desired identity, a keen interest in entertainment geared toward the young and the young at heart, and the range of emotions therein. Hence, the earliest movies like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Pinocchio followed the fairytale tradition of containing fairly dark elements that existed alongside the pervading sense of magic and wonder. The intentions of engaging children’s imaginations runs deep in Disney history, and designates a significant portion of the studio’s interest in the scary side of imagination as well as the pleasant side. It’s a noble thing to respect the range of imagination that children can exercise, but also fairly creepy.
Amongst the highest of high praise received so far by Gravity (which I see as well deserved) is that it has the potential to be a game-changer for movies. Reasons for this include its use of sound, a simple storyline for the audience to follow through, subtle but effective characterization, and some of the best use of 3D we have seen to date. One of the chief reasons its action sequences have drawn accolades is its use of what are typically referred to as “long takes,” although the label may not be entirely suitable for this film since rather than the traditional method of having to capture every aspect of a sequence in one continuous go-round, CGI allows for a little more dexterity and precision than the mayhem of getting everything right all at once. The way of achieving this effect, of giving us one long, interrupted shot with no cutting is markedly different, but the effect itself and the degree of difficulty in achieving it are likely quite similar.
Speculating about movies is kind of stupid. I find it more than just boring and relatively useless, but often it affects expectations so profoundly that the movie in question is no longer able to be taken in on its own terms, but on the terms of its marketing efforts as well as the breadth of anticipatory opinion and hope displayed throughout the internets. It’s not something I find productive, although I see the appeal of generating momentum in viewers’ hearts and minds toward the release of a project tons of people have worked really hard on. I do think, though, that the months, sometimes years of buildup to big movie events leads to the “best movie ever!” or “worst movie ever!” reactions that are more prominent and voiceable today. Big movies either live up to insane hype or disappoint high hopes.
It can be frustrating when a movie like 12 Years a Slave is rolled out in Los Angeles and New York if you live anywhere else in the world. This is an exciting time for film lovers, as the prestige movies start to hit theaters and you know that any trip to the local cinema is almost certain to produce a memorable and entertaining potentially deeply affecting experience. But for folks outside of the largest of centers where these movies tend to be released first, it also means a lot of waiting.
If the 1970s were a sort of renaissance for movies, the 1960s laid the groundwork. There was so much going on in that decade that it would be virtually impossible for a reflective medium like film to not show signs of the times. But, since movies are large undertakings that require a significant amount of time to actually make, the cultural shifts of this period in history were represented far more towards the end of the decade, particularly its final three years. When it comes to the concept of the “New Hollywood” that is most commonly identified with the work of guys like Spielberg, Coppola, and Scorsese in the 70s, its actual year of birth is probably 1967, when subversive movies finally found the converging point of a) getting made, and b) being popular enough to be a lucrative endeavor.
It shouldn’t be all that bothersome to read reviews or hear comments about an episode of television that seem antithetical to the impression you took from that particular episode. Breaking Bad concluded just over a week ago, but debates rage on about whether Walt ended up as a hero, or a monster, or perhaps whether the writers meant for him to not completely satisfy either binary distinction. Some seemed to find “Felina” to be a finale that encapsulated the show rather perfectly, others thought it was a departure from the show’s previous maverick sensibilities that sought to pander to populism rather than stay true to its characters and their perceived sense of its morality.
A role like Solomon Northup is long overdue for an actor like Chiwetel Ejiofor. He’s been quietly building up an impressive résumé of supporting roles for the past decade or so, but having the opportunity to take on such a challenging lead role in 12 Years a Slave, and the almost certain Oscar nomination that will come with it, is sure to make him a known lead player, at long last. His work in 12 Years is absolutely outstanding, and since it’s a movie that’s so dependent on solid performances that make this dark world an immediate one for us, he bears the weight of its success on his shoulders, and carries it the entire way. More people are going to know his name by the time awards season rolls around, and for those that already do, they’ll likely finally learn how to pronounce it (“CHEW-wi-tell EDGE-ee-ah-for,” I’m told).
