Skyfall

Once More into the Security Breach, Dear Friends...
or
"Old Dog.  New Tricks."

Bond is back, as promised, a longer wait than usual.  But with the Bond series (this is the 23rd "official" film from EON), that's usually a good thing.  After 50 years, there have been enough of the slap-dash ones that have been sub-par in order to get "product" into the theaters every biennium.  The Bond films have always been best when Cubby Broccoli's kids take a couple years to plan, take a breath and then throw themselves pell-mell into a fury of film-making that lasts less than a year, but creates something above and beyond what has been done in the past, both within the series and by its competitors.  Those interruptions usually occur with a change-over of studio or lead actor.  In this case, M-G-M's past financial cliff (if we want to be current) gave a couple more years distance between this one and its predecessor, Quantum of Solace—which entered production with an unfinished script, an overcompensation of chase scenes, and a misguided editorial effort to make the Bond series re-Bourne.  It was a decided stumble, after the brilliant series re-boot in Casino Royale, which tossed aside the easy laughs that were purloined for the "Austin Powers" movies and went back to Fleming's book (written in 1954) and found ways to make it work in a 21st Century without jet-packs.

EON should take all the time it wants if something like Skyfall is the result.  Based on a story outline by Peter Morgan (The Queen), then fleshed out and re-tinkered by series regulars Purvis and Wade, and polished by John Logan, the script is a fine thriller in the odd "out-there" Bond tradition, while also making comments about the series and its relevance in the world.  And as directed by Craig-pick Sam Mendes (they'd worked together on Road to Perdition), photographed by Roger Deakins, and edited by Stuart Baird, it takes the Bond series to stylish heights it hasn't achieved in years.  This one is sumptuous, looks great, has great dialogue, and isn't one long chase from start to finish.  This one is decidedly old-school, God save the Queen.

Somebody had better save her, and if Her Majesty isn't directly in danger, her stand-in, head of the Her Majesty's Secret Service, will serve.  An assassin has swiped a hard-drive with the names of embedded agents in terrorist organizations.  Two agents are dead.  One's dying, and Bond (Daniel Craig) tries to staunch his bleeding, but is rebuffed by his boss "M" (Dame Judi Dench, again) over his head-set: "Leave him."  And with a curt "Yes, mum"  Bond abandons the dying agent, miffed, but in pursuit, throughout the bazaars, streets and railways of Istanbul, with the aid of a female operative named Eve (Naomie Harris, a fine addition to the cast). It's a rough-and-tumble, messy fight with a lot of improvisation, a lot of destruction to property, old and new, and a last minute attempt by Eve to try to take out the assassin (Ola Rapace) before the train disappears into a tunnel.  But she hesitates, fearing she'll hit Bond.  "Take the bloody shot!" barks "M" and she fires, and Bond is hit, knocked off the train and falls hundreds of feet into a river, where his body is swept away.  The assassin and hard drive are gone, and so is Bond, sinking into a particularly macabre title sequence by Daniel Kleinman to Adele's defiantly melancholy title song. 

Wow.  But, we've seen this before.  Bond died (surreptitiously) in You Only Live Twice, and Fleming's novel of the same name had Bond lost in a mission,* only to have him return in the next novel "The Man with the Golden Gun," brainwashed by Soviet agents to attack MI6 headquarters and kill his boss.  That doesn't happen here, but the outcome—"M" sending 007 on a mission somewhat ill-prepared to either prove himself or die in battle—does.   As far as "M" is concerned, she's on the way out anyway, a victim of the botched operation and its ramifications in what the Minister of Intelligence (Ralph Fiennes) euphemistically calls "retirement planning."

Seems that hard-drive has fallen into the wrong hands, a particularly misguided hacker named Silva (Javier Bardem), with a score to settle with MI6, exposing its agents and doing as much damage to the organization and Lady "M" as possible.  Britain's spy network is in retreat, ironically having to go to ground and reorganize with means both high-tech and historical to gain the upper hand.

Roger Deakins' cinematography is, at times, breath-taking.

That's the first 15 minutes or so of Skyfall, and one is loathe to reveal much else, even though, for a series that has depended on formula story-telling for so long, there is much that is surprising and different about this chapter.  For instance, despite the film being (as it always is) about Bond, there is much more supporting cast here with more to do than previous films in the series, more humor than previous Craig films (and not the kind of low-pun stuff that passed as humor—and writing—during the Moore and Brosnan years) with nice jabbing dialogue that doesn't just reveal plot, but attitude and character.  For instance, an MI6 analyst doing a perfunctory word-analysis on Bond (we've seen a bit of it in trailers) is a fine examination of 007's sophistication, wit and grit.  And when, later he's grilled by Silva about his hobbies, Bond says one word: "Resurrection."

Apt answer, that, but one can apply it to the entire series, as well.  Whenever the movies push the envelope on outlandishness (You Only Live Twice, Moonraker, Die Another Day) the production team steps back, takes a breather, and takes Bond back to his roots creating better than average entries (On Her Majesty's Secret Service, For Your Eyes Only, Casino Royale) and reinvigorates the possibilities of where the character and the movies can go, usually falling back on Fleming for a guide.

But the Fleming titles are gone (except for three odd ones), the stories (mostly) filmed, so Skyfall only takes inspiration from the author, specifically the novel version of "Golden Gun," and instead of the film having Bond "go rogue," this time, he does just the opposite, coming back to the fold in a time of crisis, tossed out on his mission by "M" to prove himself and the viability of the secret service and its methods.

The results are extraordinarily good, making this the best of the original movie stories not directly linked to Fleming and depending less on protracted action scenes, but emphasizing suspense and crackling good dialogue.  As "M" speechifies in her competency hearing, the targets are smaller, more dangerous, less predictable, and no longer tied to nation-states that can be manipulated by politics.  Now, it's individuals with access to disrupting vulnerable infrastructures that hold societies together and who will cause damage just to make a point.  One can draw parallels to Julian Assange (Silva uses YouTube to identify agents) and his unquestioning devotion to exposing anything and anyone—as long as it's not himself.

The cast, as it has been for awhile, is uniformly excellent.  Craig's Bond is just as steely, just as obstinate, but the actor enjoys playing him as a bit of a wreck, physically and mentally.  His Bond, after a time away, is not the man he was, and he goes through the film slightly hampered, his eyes hooded and bleary, his appearance often haggard and mussed, his demeanor prickly and defiant.  Dench has far more to do than any "M," and any past tremulousness is gone, and she's excellent in every way.  Ralph Fiennes plays his role quietly and competently with a heavy gravitas—he's a fine addition to the cast.  The Bond women, this time out, are very interesting and not just decorative: field operative Eve is cheeky and gives as good as she gets (that'll become important later), and as the femme fatale of the piece, Bérèniece Marlohe has a brief, but well-played expertise—her Severine has a dragon lady's cool, with a sex-worker's high-contrast too-bright smile that droops with a crash, revealing a trapped animal.  Ben Whishaw's "Q" is a contrast to what has gone before, far younger, far more tart than Desmond Llewelyn's court-jester toy-maker, but a whipper-snapper computer whiz.  Albert Finney has a small, pertinent role (that could have easily gone to Sean Connery, but it was thought he'd be too 'distracting," according to Mendes).  And Bardem makes his villain creepy-scary in the best tradition of the series, jolly in his evil, but believably so, cracked from his past and with an atypical physical deformity (as Fleming was wont to endow) that feels right given the context and is the stuff of nightmares.

After a high-powered finale—yes, things blow up as they do in Bond films, but not the way one expects—and by the end, Bond truly has gone back to his roots, as anyone who's looked at  the early Bonds will be able to tell, with ghosts left behind, family in place, and tradition—the old ways—firmly established.  Bond is back, and will be back.  With pleasure.

Can't wait.

Skyfall is a Full-Price Ticket.

"...the things we do for England..."

* Fleming killed Bond off twice...at least left readers on the edge of their last pages—in "From Russia With Love" and "You Only Live Twice," and one suspects he had the same love/hate relationship with his character as Arthur Conan Doyle did with Sherlock Holmes, killing him off over the Reichenberg Falls, then returning him years later, at readers' request.

The Avengers

The Avengers (Jeremiah Chechik, 1998) "Mrs. Peel, we're needed..." in a much better movie.

I know, not what you expected, but, then, neither was this movie to me.  "The Avengers" were a proven property, a memory (fond) of my youth, especially when it was on American television, during the height of the "Bond craze" of the 1960's.  It started out in its early "video" days as a fairly straight-ahead detective procedural with Patrick Macnee as John Steed, who worked with Dr. David Keel (Ian Hendry), then Venus Smith (Julie Stevens), then Cathy Gale (Honor Blackman).  The shows became increasingly bolder, cheekier and more in the spy realm, reaching its zenith during the "Emma Peel" years, when Diana Rigg played Steed's partner.  By that time, the show was practically a comedy, with odd off-kilter conspiracies, sci-fi and fantasy elements.  Most folks tuned in for the repartee, as the plots became fairly disposable; Steed and Emma became the focus of the show, he of the fusty suits and bowler hat, she of the catsuits and judo fights.  It was fun, disposable, and a joy to watch.

The movie version gets one out of the three.  The blunders begin by miscasting Ralph Fiennes as Steed and Uma Thurman as Peel.  Fiennes fares slightly better, but he plays Steed as withdrawn and a bit docile, whereas the Steed of the series was a proud extrovert.  Ms. Thurman's Mrs. Peel is everything the series' Rigg wasn't—pale, inexpressive and...American.  As if to overcompensate for the lack of joie de vivre in the leads, the movie goes overboard with elements of goofiness in a plot about robotic clones, Teddy bear conspiracists, mechanical bees, and a plot to—dare I say it?—rule the world...by controlling...the weather?

Sean Connery had been saying for years that he'd wanted to play a Bond villain, but knew those producers would never go for it—or pay the salary he wanted.  This is the movie where he gets to, and his August DeWynter, is played hammily and with much brio.  He gets the best lines and looks like he's having fun.  Fiennes looks miserable most of the time, and Thurman is mostly unreadable.  There's also an interesting supporting cast, largely wasted, featuring Jim Broadbent, Fiona Shaw, John Wood, Eddie Izzard, Eileen Atkins, and a cameo by MacNee...who plays a character who's invisible.  He's the lucky one in the cast.

The script—by Don McPherson—is a mess, and Jeremiah Chechik (who made National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and Benny & Joon) tries to bring some style to it at the sacrifice of pace and, after the film was slashed from two hours to 90 minutes following a disasterous preview, coherence.  It's one of the few movies where I walked out with a feeling of contempt for the whole rotten show.

"No, really, have you read this script?"
MacNee and Rigg as "The Avengers"

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2

"Potter Familious"
or
"...Nox"

Finally. The last film in the "Harry Potter" adaptations. Given the way the series has been rather cagey with the details of the life-long death-struggle between Harry and "You-Know-Who," one hoped going in that "All Would Be Revealed" before "It All Ends."

Fortunately, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 delivers on that promise and a good deal more.  It has been tough to get through these films enthusiastically.  I'm too old to be a die-hard fan, but I admired the cleverness of J.K. Rowling's writing (I still suspect she cribbed Neil Gaiman's Tim Hunter character from "The Books of Magic") Although I've seen them all, I had lost any real interest with Mike Newell's turn as director on No. 4 (the last of the "revolving directors" before settling on the uninspiring David Yates), the nadir of the series being the last one (which we'll just call Part 1) in which...nothing much happened.  In fact, that one was a good opportunity to do some back-filling and pay attention to some of the characters who'd been ignored the last few films.  Even that was squandered with all the attention paid to The Hogwarts Three (Harry, Hermione and Ron..."oh my") wandering around "getting lost" so as not to be found.  Besides that, the "magic" that Chris Columbus had started the series with away back in 2001—the delicious little magical details that tended to float through the frame not calling attention to themselves, the little character asides in the dialogue—had gone noticeably missing, and the increasing number of deaths of characters (that increased as the story got increasingly darker) seemed to happen in a way that is best described as "cold and unfeeling."  Oh, they'd be momentarily mourned (and off-screen demises we were merely informed about), but their deaths evoked no feeling in the audience (or this audience, anyway), and the one death that was supposed to resonate in Part 1 was of a character we hadn't seen since HP and the Chamber of Secrets, the second film.  Dobby, we hardly knew ye.

That problem still persists in Deathly Hallows, Part 2—there are too many off-screen deaths and we're barely given time to register them—but at least this one is filled to bursting with events (in a lean running time of 2 hours 10 minutes) —that, given the message of the movie and the series (friends and family are important), runs a little off-message.  Part 2 picks up where Part 1 coda'd with Lord Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) prying the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's cold dead hands.  Meanwhile, Potter and Co. have been seeking and destroying horcruxes, each of which contains a bit of Voldemort's soul, and only by destroying all of them can Harry hope to make The Dark Lord mortal and defeat him.  Yates gets things going fairly quickly and doesn't let up the pace, save for some expository dialog at the beginning and some necessary breathing space between rounds in the Battle for Hogwarts (and it feels like a video game version of multi-tiered strategies).

But, there are creatures aplenty, a particularly amusing subterranean roller-coaster ride—I didn't see this in 3-D, but I'll bet it looks great—actors avoiding flying rubble (that Fiennes hasn't chewed on, anyway), lots of sparks and flames, and lots and lots of shots of people pointing sticks.  I found it quite satisfying, and particularly clever in how it wrapped up the sub-plots and filled in the gaps, a tribute to Rowling as well as the film-makers.  And the series did well in teaching life-lessons along the way, none more satisfying than the one here, which has been percolating, frustratingly, below the surface (and will be addressed in the inevitable "Now I've seen Everything" post about the series).

But, the best thing about the series is how it maintained the continuity throughout the entire run (with one of two minor exceptions—for instance Ciarán Hinds plays Aberforth Dumbledore in this one) with the same actors who started out in the roles.  None has payed off more than keeping Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint in the three crucial roles.  To see these kids grow up and become fine actors (Radcliffe's reading of the line "It's mine" is particularly off-hand and nuanced) and replace the image of the kids in the minds eye as the definitive versions of the characters.  Take a bow, kids. Invest your money wisely.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 is a Matinee.
 

The Duchess

The Duchess (Saul Dibb, 2008) "We are jungle creatures" says Eleanor of Aquitane in The Lion in Winter, an obvious statement of the theme that no matter what station one achieves in life, at the core we are beasts, however advanced the thought, however disciplined the politics.  You can cosset and corset (and even consecrate), but basically all those palaces are just a better class of zoo.

The pre-title sequence of The Duchess makes that abundantly clear on two fronts, as the Lady Georgiana (Keira Knightley*) is brokered for marriage to the Duke of Devonshire (Ralph Fiennes) by her mother (Charlotte Rampling, whose voice, even in polite hushed tones, can carry a room), while outside a clutch of waiting-ladies are betting on a foot-race of young men as if they were horses.  Breeding is all.

Of course, it's thrilling to be a Duchess.  Except the part about being a duchess...especially married to this Duke.  Entitled up to his powdered wig and determined to not let any of it slip, his sole focus is a male heir (something at which he's been practicing quite a bit, a daughter suddenly and unexpectedly turning up in the household), and when the Duchess fails to produce (or reproduce) any but female progeny, the Duke begins to take extra liberties.

It was different times, with men talking about emancipation and freedom and revolution, while the women waited in separate rooms, smiling tightly and—if thought not seen—rolling their eyes.  There's a reason the Bill of Rights (written slightly earlier than when this film takes place) says "All men are created equal."  Women are property, adornments only.  A means to an heir.  And if one is not produced in the bargain, the contract can be nullified...but only to a certain extent.  Scandals, royal or not, are to be avoided.  Apperances must be kept.  And more so for the ladies than the men.

What feels like a lecture on e-woman-cipation is couched in the true-life misery of the Duchess of Devonshire—her story is somewhat reminiscent of another, more modern-day Duchess who shares her last-name Spencer—who befriends a woman who rebuffs the Duke's advances only to have her be a "third wheel" in a complicated arrangement, then, seeks the company of another man.  Word gets out, and a scandal in the papers is barely avoided.

It's all very posh, with real locations used, and candles aplenty.  Knightley is far more expressive than she seems in the embedded photos, and Fiennes manages to make the wretchedness of the Duke seem somewhat bearable—he's not so much hissable as pitiable, once you get over the desire to thrash him. 

Duchess Georgianna observes (curiously) as her world falls apart.

* I have to admit to rolling my eyes a bit when first seeing the trailer for this film.  I happen to like Knightley, finding her performances spunky, and nicely unafraid to look unattractive in them, but even I had reached my saturation point, seeing her elevated in this period piece.  I didn't see this for a long time, and have a satisfied opinion of it, and her performance in it.  She acquits herself well.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1

"Harry Potter and the Delay of the Inevitable, Part II"
0r
"Oh!  Like We've Never Done THAT Before..."

It is very disturbing to me that the all-time box-office-generating series of all time is the "Harry Potter" series.  I've only read one of the novels—the first—and found it charming, nicely irreverent, and "tuned in" perceptively on the subject of kid-angst, albeit "special needs" students.  J.K. Rowling deserves all the acclaim and revenues for her wizard knock-off, and a special thanks (and maybe a medal or something...flowers?) for getting kids to read again.


The movies started out with a wonderful charm under the directions of Chris Columbus and Alfonso Cuarón.  But starting with the fourth film, everything started to be treated just a Death-Eater shade too darkly, the scripts being too respectful to their sources (while simultaneously neglecting the arcana that delighted in the Rowlings), and the neat visual touches that were thrown in and taken for granted as part of the magical landscape, really WERE taken for granted, and never advanced in sophistication, or inspiration.  The emphasis has been on economics—meeting deadlines and cranking them out under the lackluster director of the series' final four films, David Yates.


The same holds true for the new one, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1.  Yates is back as the director (and Steve Kloves, thankfully, is back as scripter, providing bursts of dialogue freshness), and his shot-planning is just as uninspired as it has been his last two outings, taking his cues from the gloomy vista look of "The Lord of the Rings" series.  This time out, It is a Dark Time for the World, Muggle or No: the Big Nasty of the series, Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes, relishing the role) and his minions control the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts School.  Time to eliminate the one person he hasn't been able to kill—Harold James Potter (Daniel Radcliffe).  Harry's inner circle of loyalists spirit him away to hide him from The Dark Lord (which ends up killing a couple of them—and like every death in the series, they are disquietly unmoving).  Ultimately, the Trio to Whom Everything Happens (Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Rupert Grint) separate from the group in a self-sacrificing quest to find the horcruxes—the movie seems confused about whether there are seven or merely three—that contain the souls of Voldemort's victims that are keeping him together.  Destroy the horcruxes and destroy Voldemort.  Sounds simple enough.  But, we go through an extended camping trip with the three where they are fugitives from dark Snatchers and Death-Eaters and petty disagreements.  It's not spoiling anything to say that they find precisely zero horcruxes, and, instead, discover the secret of the Deathly Hallows (told in a quite nice animated story), which would appear to negate all previous plot-points and quests...hence, they wouldn't be in the title if they weren't so damned important, as this isn't "Harry Potter and the Completely Superfluous Thingamabobs."  One walks out feeling as if one had just spent a dragon-choking wad of cash and two and a half hours of precious life-time having merely seen the pre-game show, the same result as from the last two films.

There are joys and differences: the kids have learned to be very subtle actors, and, as always, the cast of British thesps is head-spinning in scope and styles, and they all seem aware that they must make the most of their limited screen-time, and they do—Fiennes and Helena Bonham Carter and Jason Isaacs go out of their way to make their every moment count.  Bill Nighy makes his first appearance in a "Potter" and he has that sepulchral style that makes him a natural for it.  Some of the lines are clever, There are a couple of seat-jumps (remnants of when the film was to be released in 3-D),and there's even a touch of sex in this one—the kids are 17, now—with a chaste moment of Potter paramour Ginny Weasley (Bonnie Wright) asking Harry to zip up her wedding frock, and a vision of a naked Harry and Hermione making out is produced at one point to infuriate Ron Weasley ("That was...disturbing," said the girls sitting behind me...mm-hmm).

But, it's much ado about nothing.  We're left at the cusp of the action to come (and there are no hints or previews of Part 2 after the credits, so don't stick around unless you want to hear Alexandre Desplat's serviceable—and momentarily inspired—stand-in score for John Williams'), a theatrical moment that is merely some villainous chest-thumping.  Not the best or most impressive way to end it.  At this point, I'm beginning to think that the Potter film series is like a box of Bertie Bott's jelly beans—one or two might be good, but there are a bunch of ugly unsatisfying ones in the mix. 

The one thing missing that I hope—but doubt—will re-appear for the finale,* is the one thing that should be emblematic for such a series: some inspired magic.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1 is a Rental.

* Is there some sort of spell we can conjure to ensure there are no more sequels, prequels or "inspired by's?" 

In Bruges

"In Bruges" (Martin McDonagh, 2008) First off, the title may be mis-leading as it's missing a word. By rights, and by its constant usage in the film, the movie should be called "In Fooking Bruges," as that's the way the picturesque "fairy-tale town" in Belgium is usually adjectived in the film. "In (implied Fooking) Bruges" is rated "R" for "Strong Bloody Violence, Pervasive Language and Drug Use." Not much of the latter, but large quantities of beer are consumed. The language is pervasive (love that term), but it is also numbing in that, after awhile, it stops being shocking and the repetitiveness becomes part of the joke.* And the violence is strong and upsetting—blood flies in large gouts, and there is a lot of perforation going on, followed by blood spatter. I mention all this as a warning for the faint-of-heart going in, because I'm going to be saying this is a great, funny film with a lot of heart—bloody, throbbing and gooey—and cold-bloodiness, and anybody thinking they're going to be seeing, say, "Dr. Strangelove," are going to be upset at the carnage. But that blood-letting is necessary for the very reason that "In Bruges" is making note of how fragile we all are. We break. We bleed. We suffer. We sacrifice. We put ourselves through Hell on Earth. Which on bad days, and bad vacations, can look like fooking Bruges.

Ray and Kenny (Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson) are two Irish hit-men who are on holiday, of a sorts. Actually, they're laying low after Ray's first "hit"—the assassination of a priest (Ciarán Hinds in a cameo)—also manages to kill a child. It's Ray's first job for Harry Waters (Ralph Fiennes) and he's botched it. Badly. The best for them is to get out of town for two weeks until the furor dies down. So, they're sent to Belgium, specifically to Bruges—"the most preserved city in Europe"—to get lost in the Christmas tourist season. "It's a shit-hole," says Ray, still reeling guiltily. He hates it. In fact, he'd probably hate any place on Earth in his state of mind, except the one place he cannot go. For Ray, Bruges is worse than Hell. Kenny is enjoying the sight-seeing and fascinated by the antiquity of the place and keeps trying to interest Ray in the city, calling him the "worst tourist in the world." "Ken," replies Ray. "I grew up in Dublin. I love Dublin. If I grew up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me but I didn't, so it doesn't.."

And that, there, is why I fell in love with this film. The rough language that has a rhythm and groove, and feels like it's falling out of the minds of Farrell and Gleeson and Fiennes in unfiltered stanzas. It's Mamet with a lilt (especially in Farrell's hands). It's a comic flow that when these three ace actors toss in their syncopated pauses it maximizes the laugh factor exponentially. Sentences build and explode in beated punch-lines that flow naturally from the material. It's coarse and brutal, but behind the words are human feelings of desperate men.

Ray is badly shaken up by the death of that child. It haunts him, keeps him awake at night and makes him fear for his soul. He drinks to deaden the pain. Ken, the veteran, has been at it awhile, owing a debt to Harry Waters from the past and is loyal to a fault. And Harry is a vicious gangster who loves his family and lives unswervingly by a precise code of honor. These are bad men with silver linings of virtue tucked away where no one can hurt them. In their own ways, they are romantics. Homicidal romantics, maybe. But, then, that's the work.

Steeped in quirky characters, and nearly prat-falling over itself with implied comedy, "In Bruges" manages to do something unique in the post-Tarantino action revolution of stylization, and pervasive...everything—it manages to have soul, a caring one, at that, where actions have consequences that don't get lost in the final reel amidst the carnage and wise-cracks.

* And, as in the film "Once," there is something about the word spoken with an Irish accent that makes it less harsh and far more charming, like the name of a seaside Gaelic town.

Clash of the Titans

"There's a Saga Born Every Minute"
or
"Let's Get Krakken"

A new version of "Clash of the Titans" has opened—as if one was needed. The 1981 "Clash" is notable as being the last film in the storied career of stop-motion animator Ray Harryhausen,* the puppet-magician, who could trace his work-lineage back to Willis O'Brien, the legendary creator of "King Kong." Talk about "Titans." Those of us (of a certain age) think very kindly on the series of British films based on Myth, spear-headed by Harryhausen. Some of us might even get a little misty when we think of the battles staged frame-by-frame between the cinematic stalwarts and Harryhausen's skeletons and other slithering, skittering creatures.

In the cold light of the critical day, though, one has to admit that, aside from Harryhausen's work (and some legendary scoring), the movies were a bit stiff dramatically (and not just in the upper-lip department), but they provided adolescent adventure, comely lasses, and were a Colossus' step up from "Hercules" movies.

Even the original "Clash of the Titans," although boasting a cast that contained a pantheon of British thesps on the order of Lord Laurence Olivier, Maggie Smith, Ursula Andress, and Claire Bloom as Olympian Gods, (and Harry Hamlin, Judi Bowker and Burgess Meredith as mere mortals...or demi-gods), only manages to rise above for the camp-nature of the Brit-Theater vets' performances. Desmond Davis' direction is flat, with many vogueing shots of the hero Perseus brandishing his sword with just the right alignment to eclipse the sun, implying its gift-from-gods status. Not very convincing, nor was Judi Bowker as the damsel-in-distress.

This new version has been in development since the success of "Gladiator," with many re-writers (including an uncredited Lawrence Kasdan) and directors. But it wasn't until French director Louis Leterrier ("The Transporter,""The Incredible Hulk") took it on that the movie emerged from Development Hades.

And it's surprisingly good. Oh, it's not anybody's idea of an inspired film, and there are moments where Letterier lets things fall flat (the fight with three mystic crones and even the Big Finale fight with the Krakken are staged too frenetically so that important information gets lost in all the flailing). But there's a nifty fight with giant scorpions and a fight with the Medusa are nicely handled. In fact, they reveal a love of the original (and Harryhausen) that's endearing. That scorpion fight is staged among some strewn ruins that suggest Harryhausen's penchant for staging in proscenium-like settings with rubble for the poor flailing hero to appear to be doing something during filming. And even though it's a pixel-fest, there are winking nods to the 1981 version, and even a replication of the old master's stop-motion semi-stuttering movements.

Great cast, too, starting with the appearances of Pete Postlethwaite and Elizabeth McGovern (where's she been?) as Persus' foster-parents. Liam Neeson plays Zeus (without any of Olivier's archness) and Ralph Fiennes has fun with his snakey performing of Hades. Sam Worthington plays Persus as a bit like a bland Russell Crowe, and Mads Mikkelsen (LeChiffre in "Casino Royale") does fine glowering work as an Argosian soldier who only smiles...once. Chief love interest is no longer Andromeda (played by Alexa Davalos, who's a dead-ringer for a brunette Katherine Heigl), but Io (the increasingly ubiquitous Gemma Arterton), cursed by the gods with immortality and, apparently, the tendency to be a buttinski with an all-knowing smile.

We can analyze this movie until it turns into a block of Quik-crete, but it delivers adventure tickles (one can't really say "thrills"), some nice character bits, and a regard for its original. It's a bit duller in color and flash than the first "Clash," but it does what it does for the most part very well.

Whether we needed another version is another question.

This "Clash of the Titans" was intended to be released "flat," but since "Avatar" (the last movie Sam Worthington "sorta" performed in) received so much tribute, they hastily converted it to 3-D. There are the de rigeur spinning swords, swords poking at our noses, and—this is new—a skipping gold coin. But, as it wasn't designed for 3-D and it's an after-thought, let's call it "2 1/2 D." That, combined with the fact that most IMAX theaters in this country are not IMAX, and you have a lot of people paying extra money to not see what they think they're seeing—a 3-D movie in IMAX format. The tickets are far costlier, and "Clash of the Titans" was the top of the box-office the last couple of week-ends, so that tells me that there are a lot of people who don't know...and don't care that they're not getting what they think they're getting.

"Clash of the Titans" (2010) is a Rental.

* By the time of of the first "Titans," ILM had begun perfecting the go-motion system—Phil Tippett's way of introducing motion-blur to frame-by-frame filming, best seen in "Dragonslayer."

The Reader

"Thus Conscience Doth Make Cowards of Us All"

I'm quoting Shakespeare, so obviously this is a very "serious", and "important" film. But just to raise the hackles of any Weinstein Co. "readers" out there, here's a snarky little blanket quote to start things off:

Take "The Summer of '42" and strip all the fun out of it and you have "The Reader."

No, really. You've got the moony kid, but instead of 40's Nantucket, move it to early 60's Berlin. Instead of said moony kid having friends who provide the comedy relief, this kid is absolutely friendless, so there is no comedy or relief to be found, and instead of the lovely nubile widow-to-be showing him the ways of the world, you have the dour, nubile former SS-guard showing him just about every position in the book (I counted).

Still, I saw "The Reader" with a nearly sold-out crowd, possibly because it's nearing the end of its run in theaters, but also because Kate Winslet is nominated for an Oscar for it (and is most likely to win).* Stephen Daldry's previous film was "The Hours," and this shares that film's chilly demeanor, and emotional opaqueness. But where "The Hours" resonated over several story-lines to come to a dramatically satisfying conclusion, "The Reader" moves along its clear-cut path, as the principles age, but seem not to mature. One would think that wisdom would creep into any of these creatures at some point, but it is not to be found. One is left to sit in frustration while actions are carried out—or more specifically, not carried out—despite some ample history lessons contained therein teaching the folly of such a philosophy. Relationships do not alter, although a lifetime of experience may be contained within the boundaries of them. And finally, the film makes a mockery of the word "responsible."

One comes away impressed by a line of dialogue every once in a while (David Hare wrote the script), the period detail seems right, the performances are "correct" (as they both play different ages of the same character, they seem to have found a perfect actor in David Kross who can match Ralph Fiennes for miserableness), but ultimately it's all for naught. This is a film without lesson, without moral, rightly or wrongly, but insists on trying to instill some shred of sympathy for a person responsible for inhuman behavior, based on their shame of a condition that they have the power to change at any time. What a waste.

"The Reader" is a dreary Rental.

* Man, you can get cynical with this, but the part has everything: the character is sympathetic/unsympathetic; has an affliction (illiterate, so no appliance-work, or physical moods to use) and a role that requires a lot of de-glamming make-up, as the character is required to age from 40 to 80. I tell ya, it's got everything to grab the gold...and then there's this YouTube video, that refers to this YouTube video.