The Brewhaha on..."Black Swan"

Nina:  “I’m sorry…”
Thomas:  “Stop saying that!  Stop sounding so fucking weak!”
-Nina and her director, in a nutshell

“Yes, Black Swan is a horror movie.  […]  It’s absurdly campy and intensely bleak at the same time. It refuses to give in to the ridiculous notion that a story about a woman must be of interest only to women, as so many films do by avoiding acknowledging that the authorities and madnesses of women are human, instead of something indicative of a peculiar female malady.”
-MaryAnn Johansen, FlickFilosopher.com

“Portman hasn't been this good since her early performances in ‘The Professional’ and ‘Heat,’ and is deservedly attracting intense Oscar buzz. Kunis brings to Lily a savvy sexiness, and Cassel is entertainingly smarmy.  As unsettling as it is stylish, ‘Black Swan’ may do for ballet what ‘Jaws’ did for beaches.”
-Calvin Wilson, STLToday.com

“Black Swan revolves around Natalie Portman, a great screen beauty of limited range who plays the same ‘who, me?’ neurasthenic quality in every scene, even in moments, like her first confrontation with Winona Ryder's has-been ballet star, where she might have revealed different sides of the good girl stereotype she's stuck in. She's monotonous, and badly used by her director, who's stuck in some netherworld of not-quite-exploitation and maybe-serious.”
-Dan Callahan, Slant Magazine

At the tail end of 2010, “Black Swan” was the movie of the year.  Anyone who was anyone in the movie biz was talking about it.  It was as if, in one smooth, symphonic, divinely-choreographed motion, filmmakers and cinema-goers alike decided to give a nice giant middle finger to those who would have you believe that only a testerone-driven male audience matters when it comes to filmmaking.

I don’t like “female” movies.  I just don’t.  A friend of mine comes up and says to me that “Burlesque” is pretty good.  So I check out the trailer, and I see some music sequences, and notice that Cher is in it.  And it turns out that a musical starring and/or featuring Cher is not something I would ever want to be caught dead watching.

So then I start seeing trailers for this new movie starring Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise.  It’s a romance flick, but it also seems to have lots of explosions and car chases and gun fights and Tom Cruise apparently embracing just how batshit insane he actually is.  And I think to myself, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!  This is exactly the kind of movie I’ve been waiting for!”  And then I left the theater thinking to myself, “I shall end them!  I shall end them, and eviscerate them endlessly, for making me sit through that two-hour travesty!  I want my money back!”

Then, after a while, I start seeing trailers for this “Black Swan,” starring Natalie Portman.  I’m not crazy about ballet, but I hear nothing but good things about this movie, about Natalie’s acting, the rave reviews, the sense of mystery, Natalie’s apparent transformation, and I think to myself, “Well, maybe I should go see it.”

Natalie Portman’s Nina is a ballerina aspiring to be the star of “Swan Lake: Redux.”  For those unfamiliar with the original show, it features a princess trapped in the form of a white swan who must win the affection of a prince in order to regain her freedom.  However, a black swan seduces the prince, and in her grief, the white swan commits suicide.  Through a chance of fate (and that noticeable lip gloss), Nina is picked as the lead female in Swan Lake.  The rest, as they say, is a matter of the three certainties in life:  death, taxes, and humanity’s capacity to completely lose its mind.

“Black Swan’s” strengths come from its seamless blending of genres.  It’s a coming of age story and an updating (or a “redux,” if one will) of Swan Lake through the art of cinema, and an altogether unique effort to adapt the art of ballet to the big screen, the blending of the two becoming more and more obvious the further the film progresses.  It’s a tale of lust, betrayal, madness, and transformation, which will keep you guessing until the very end, and possibly even after the credits.

To try and sum up the plot is an absolute waste.  The “A-plot,” as summed up about two paragraphs ago, is concerned with her rehearsals and her efforts to perfect herself as both the white and the black swan.  But as Tolkien would have us believe, some stories simply grow in the telling—like, say, the ballerina who slowly turns into a swan, starts killing people, moves out of her home, and tries to take the One Ring back to Mordor where she can plunge the malevolent artifact into the fires from whence it came.

I’ll be frank, though; a large part of the appeal comes from learning just how hardcore ballet really is.  Like Rocky and his glorious inability to block all of those punches to the head, Nina has to take one for the team.  The sound of those foot bones cracking makes the casual viewer appreciate the kind of time, energy, and flexibility it takes to be a dancer.  And that spinning thing a ballerina has to do?  Evidently you can borderline twist your ankle just trying to do that.  So, yeah, it’s a lot like Rocky, if about five movies and a hundred rounds worth of heavyweight boxing were all concentrated on two dainty little feet.

Our Mick analogue is one director Thomas, the single worst coach a desperate and vulnerable ballerina could ever conjure up in their nightmares.  Think House, except much more of an insufferable genius and about a hundred times more misogynistic (or at the least, way too willing to give “the birds and the bees” speech to a twenty-something-year-old woman).  And French.  In fact, just think of him as the Pepé le Pew of mentors and you’ll have a pretty good idea what his role in the story is.

Thomas, as well as co-star Mila Kunis, helps bring about Nina’s transformation into the black swan, which is as amazing as it is disturbing, erotic as it is terrifying, and indecipherable as it is inevitable.  For better or worse, this transformation from the pure yet vulnerable white swan is brought about through her own sexual “liberation,” in the same vein as many a Lifetime love interest who, “over the next 90 minutes, will solve all of your problems with my penis.”  Such sadomasochistic, borderline predatory themes, if not downright evil, are still not for the faint of heart.

So goes the hype, the criticism, the conflict between white swan and black swan, and the seamless transition from cinema to ballet and vice versa.  It’s a visceral, sometimes maddening film, and an uncompromising glimpse into the psyche of the title character.  The Brewsky can give this nothing short of a glowing recommendation.

Note:  The Brewsky is an enthusiastic contributor and movie reviewer SWEET JESUS what is wrong with her eyes?!  Seriously, why are her eyes doing that?!

The Brewhaha on..."Plan 9 from Outer Space"

“Greetings, my friends.  We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives.  And remember, my friends.  Future events such as these will affect you in the future.  […]  My friends, can your hearts withstand the shocking facts about grave robbers from outer space!”
-Criswell’s opening titles

“We haven’t always fired at them.  For a time we tried to contact them by radio, but no response.  Then they attacked a town.  A small town, I’ll admit, but nevertheless a town of people.  People who died.”
-The general, informing us that people die when they are killed

“Looks like we beat them off again, sir.”
-I’d expect this from aliens, but from a freaking U.S. sergeant?

“You stupid humans!  STUPID, STUPID!!!”
-Rorschach the alien overlord, basically summing up this movie

“The Stark County Treasurer’s Office is a mess!  It is in dire need of structure and guidance!!!”
-Phil Davison, basically summing up this movie

It’s very rare I see a movie so hilarious that it actually starts to physically anger me.  I wanted to lift my 30” TV and chuck it out of my third story window with my bare hands, this is how bad the movie is.

“Plan 9 From Outer Space,” in the same vein as the previously-reviewed “Manos:  The Hands of Fate,” has gone down in cinematic history as one of the worst films of all time.  This is despite the fact that “Plan 9” was created by someone with actual filmmaking experience, and actually appeared to have something of a budget (albeit a meager and very poorly-expensed budget, most likely all spent on Béla Lugosi).

We can start with simple things.  Like the writing.  Which is featured in the movie quotes above, and pretty much speaks for itself.  It’s easy enough to accept stuff like the abysmal staging, setwork, editing, and even acting, because those are the sorts of things that take some real, concrete work, but it’s inconceivable that a sane human being wrote this and expected his cast to follow this script at all.

The opening narration, given to us by a would-be Nostradamus who keeps getting the past and the future mixed up (in the same scene, no less!), basically establishes that this movie has a fairly loose grip on things like logic, or how time works.  His introduction to this warped movie, and his voice-overs throughout, are so hammy that it starts to taste like Christmas all over again.

Then we move into the actual plot, which by all accounts should at least be interesting, if not downright amazing in the hands of competent filmmakers.  People are coming back to life as a result of the advanced technology of aliens, who are seeking to make contact with humans.  It’s zombies (and one relatively hot vampire) created by aliens…

Why?  I dunno.  I think the aliens just felt like it.

Plan 9, as presented in the film, seems to consist of a trio of zombies.  As mentioned above, we have the relatively hot “vampire”-looking chick, as give to us by…“Vampira”?  (Oh, Wikipedia, I thought I could rely on you for stuff like this.)  The late (as of filming) Béla Lugosi and some other guy each double up in the role of Vampira’s deceased better half through the not-so-careful use of edits, and the most not-so-careful use of a cape since Spawn.

Rounding out their trio is Tor Johnson.  Tor Johnson was easy to remember because he gets quite the memorable (first) death scene, and that name kept coming up in the Rifftrax version.  He was also easy to remember by virtue of the sheer number of physical scenes he ended up in.  Just to be clear, though, Tor Johnson is not someone who is built for physical scenes, and is absolutely impossible to take seriously as a result (though his “love tap of death” during the film’s climax, and his overall "deer in headlights" expression, probably don’t help matters much).

Of course, Plan 9 is nothing without its planners, a trio of aliens who end up appearing throughout much of the movie.  All I can really say is that nobody plays an alien like that anymore.  Ever since Sigourney Weaver decided to go all commando on those chest-bursting creatures, you never see aliens that cheesy and bald and out-of-shape anymore.  Specifically, you never see redshirt-sporting aliens from the dreaded “space nipple” moon who can get taken out by Tor Johnson drifting lazily in their general direction.  (Worf might count…)

As my good friend Phil Davison would say, this movie is about as bad as it gets.  The chief conflict is driven by the aliens’ need to prevent humans from discussing a substance which, when detonated, threatens to render sunlight itself explosive and thus destroy the universe.  At first, they try making contact.  When that doesn’t work, they decide to resurrect the dead, claiming that they can finally get our attention that way.  Because the flying saucers hovering over our major cities surely wouldn’t do the job.

Beyond these basic plot problems, the mistakes and shortcomings in this film are numerous and well-documented, from the notorious boom mic featured in the cockpit scenes, to the film’s utter confusion as to whether it’s supposed to be night or day, to the gravestones actually wobbling during the cemetery scenes.  In other words, as far as bad filmmaking goes, Plan 9 is a freaking gold mine.

The Rifftrax version features three of MST3K’s and Rifftrax’s finest in a Nashville theater giving a running commentary on the film.  (And Tor Johnson.  And Béla Lugosi).  If you want to see it for free, you can find it here, or failing that, it will be put up somewhere on the IMDb page.

Note:  The Brewsky is an enthusiastic contributor and movie reviewer who enters people's homes at night to plunder their bedrooms.  But you too can beat him off by joining the Army, the finest military in the world.

The Brewhaha on..."Loser"

Dora:  “I hate Goths, I hate poor people, because they tend to be full of hate themselves.  I hate people with cell phones, like that guy over there.”
Jason Biggs:  “You just hate everything, don’t you?”
Dora:  “Well, not you, not you.  So what do you hate?”
Jason Biggs:  “I…I don’t hate anything.”
-Our couple, in a nutshell

 “ ‘Loser’ is about Paul, a college student of almost surreal niceness, who falls in love with Dora, a college student who persists in the wrong romantic choice almost to the point of perversion.”
-Roger Ebert

“Biggs and Suvari […] make a charming couple, and it's nice to see a youth love story where both participants aren't rich and popular. But Loser is supposed to be a comedy, and only Kinnear's scenes as the pompous prof are good for a giggle; the film's abrupt ending also leaves a less-than-satisfying taste.”
-TheMovieReport.com

“We can’t find the page you requested in this location.  The page may have moved or expired.”
-One of two positive reviews I found on Rotten Tomatoes

Just to be clear, I have never watched “American Pie,” or any of the “American Pie” series of “films.”  I hate Stiffler with a passion, I’m not crazy about that dad who keeps popping up, and Jason Biggs I’m more or less indifferent to.  I’m sure there’s a nice “message” behind those movies, and I’m sure if you look past that it’s actually pretty funny.  I’ve never really been interested in “teen movies” that are simply sitcoms stretched out into two and a half hours of your life, though.  “Oh, look, he just got his jimmy stuck in that pie!  This movie is a classic!  Oh, my, what’s that Stiffler doing to his grandma now?”

In the case of this week (month?)’s movie, though, the alternative is the 2000 film “Loser,” a prospect for a Lifetime Original starring Jason Biggs as…Jason Biggs, the same awkward, doggedly-nice, down-to-earth guy from “American Pie.”  Again, I make this statement assuming he played that sort of character in “American Pie,” having only seen the ending where he tracks down the redhead at band camp to engage in a sword fight to the death passionate teenage kiss with her. 

I also make the above statement upon noticing that the only other guys he hangs out with during the movie are the kind of college douchebags who are as far from “doggedly-nice” and “down-to-earth” as a character in a teen love story can possibly get.  They start by gluing together all of the pages in his textbook (“Do you have any idea how long that took?”) and then just keep snowballing from sitcom rivals into outright Voldemorts.  Within the first thirty or so minutes, I wanted to reach through my TV screen, shoot them, napalm them, and then stick their heads on pikes as a warning to all other college douchebags. 

I remember thinking to myself, “Well, maybe it’ll turn out they’re not so bad.  Maybe it’s just part of a well-intentioned, if gloriously misguided, plan to make Biggs’s character ‘cool,’ or initiate him into a fraternity.  Maybe these college douchebags are just noble sheep in wolf’s clothing along the lines of Severus Snape.”  Nope.  They’re just your run-of-the-mill college douchebags who act like douchebags because, as Alfred once said, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

All of this is done to highlight just how nice Jason Biggs is by comparison.  Except we don’t really need to know that.  We already know he’s a sympathetic character.  Despite the movie’s ever-present attempts to show how much of a klutz he is, we are also shown how good he is with pets and kids, how much work he puts into studying, how caring he is with the lead female.  Everyone else cheats, but he doesn’t.  Everyone else cheats on her and abandons her.  He freaking takes her off the streets and practically nurses her back to health, and then professes his undying love for her.  Compared to this bewildering movie universe of college douchebags, he’s the freaking messiah.

He’s so super-duper special and cosmically, impossibly nice that he freaking gives this sweet girl from the wrong side of the tracks to the only other romantic rival in the movie, the college professor she’s apparently been sleeping with for some time now.   This professor’s sole virtue seems to be that, besides the fact he’s sleeping with a college student, he’s slightly less douchey than the other characters.  He’s also smarter than everyone else, judging by the fact that he’s a senior professor of literature at the ripe old age of thirty-four and he has the female lead falling head over heels for him.

Now, at the end of the day, this probably isn’t the worst movie.  If nothing else, it’s the age-old tale of boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, the end.  Modern iterations try to throw in all sorts of twists and turns between “boy meets girl” and “the end,” but the story’s always the same.  The best tales of romance can do away with a lot of those annoying twists and turns and just try to give us a convincing story of what happens when boy meets girl, like with “(500) Days of Summer” or “Juno.”  Or “Shrek.”

The ultimate failing of “Loser” is that it tries to set up its main conflict between the “wrong” and “right” couple while at the same time deflating a lot of the tension before it’s even resolved.  This is probably the failing of many a romance film, where both characters are screaming out a resounding “I love you!” without anyone to calmly answer back, “I know.”

So overall, is “Loser” a good film?  Well, if you like teen movies about total douchebags and completely avoidable love triangles, then by all means, go for it.

Note:  The Brewsky is an enthusiastic contributor and movie reviewer who never calls.  Ever.

The Brewhaha on..."World's Greatest Dad"

The world’s greatest dad:  “You used to like music.”
The world’s greatest son:  “Yeah.  When I was a fag.  Anyone who listens to music is a fag.”
The world’s greatest dad:  “Oh, what about metal?  Is metal for fags?”
The world’s greatest son:  “Yeah.”
-A couple of fags, deciding to try and bond

“Though a little slow and light on gags, this is a bold attack by writer-director Bobcat Goldthwait on the kind of facile, pseudo-redemptive tosh so popular on both sides of the Atlantic.”
-Christopher Tookey, Daily Mail

“Not one character seemed to be anything more than a set-up for the film's contrived agenda, in a loud film that was too disingenuous for me to find any character to identify with or care about as the film eventually punks out and offers up great heaps of gooey drivel after a good start realistically showing an unpleasant father-son relationship.”
-Dennis Schwartz, Ozus’ World Movie Reviews

“The intimate, grim character study shifts into grotesque high satire and suddenly wants to make a point with a capital ‘P.’ It’s hard to argue with Goldthwait’s assertion that society’s search for spokesmen leads to false prophets, but it feels like an observation well-made many times over in the ’90s, at the height of anti-celebrity culture.”
-Justin Strout, Orlando Weekly

“Instead of coming off as compassionate to the sad sack Lance, it feels snide and all too willing to scowl at the goodness in people. With more consistency of vision, or any vision at all, really, World’s Greatest Dad could [be] seen as a statement the about damaged lives that we all live. As is, however, it is a mess.”
-Jeremy Heilman, MovieMartyr.com

Wrapping up this scant month of reviews comes a sleeper hit starring Robin Williams, the 2009 film known as “World’s Greatest Dad.”

First of all, for any children of the 80’s such as myself, it probably needs to be said that the director for this film is Bobcat Goldthwait.  For any children of the 80’s who still haven’t heard of him, you might recognize him better as this guy (the one with the ping-pong ball in his mouth).

All caught up now?  Good, because apparently the guy from “Scrooged” who shot up the place has done more than one movie.  As well as the Jimmy Kimmel show and Chappelle’s Show.  Seriously.

For those of you who have just caught up with me, though, Goldthwait is probably one of those examples of how we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.  Exhibit A was that first video I linked to.  Exhibit B was the second video.  And Exhibit C, in case you don’t believe this guy is a comic genius, happens to be “World’s Greatest Dad.”

“World’s Greatest Dad” is a fairly dark film—not unyieldingly so, we do see those idealistic moments encapsulated in Williams himself, as well as various members of the ensemble—but the moment we see the world’s greatest fag son quoted above, we know this isn’t exactly going to be “Leave It To Beaver.”  (Btw, has that line been used enough over the past fifty years that I should just stop using it?  And has anyone, ever, actually watched “Leave It To Beaver”?  I’m still convinced it’s just a myth.)

I’m going to try not to spoil it (even though every other review I’ve seen is pretty open about it, and you can read all about it on Wikipedia).  At the end of the day, it’s a fairly character-driven piece, which becomes apparent the moment we get to meet the son.  And the humor, as macabre as it may be, is also organic and rises out of the situation; there isn’t really anything forced about it.  About halfway through the film, it moves slowly from character study to high satire, but it never really loses the human touch of Robin Williams’s reserved performance.

A special mention goes to the scene where he decides to write the suicide note.  At first, it just seems to come out of left field (well, more so than most other letters to our loved ones), and I wasn’t really sure why he was doing this.  Then I thought quietly to myself, “Oh, right.  Because I would want to get caught doing that.”  As black as this comedy gets, the sheer emotional torque of the scene is more than enough to save it.  And Goldthwait, as subversive a filmmaker as he is a comedian, still gives us some beacon of light around the hour-and-a-half mark.

Obviously, The Brewsky gives this film a glowing recommendation.  If you can manage to catch a night away from the young’uns and rent it from your local Blockbuster, it will be worth every minute.  It’s good for a quiet night at home curled up with your sweetheart on the couch, discussing the merits of self-inflicted martyrdom and last wills and testaments and their correlative relationship with mob mentality.  As well as whether or not you should add Bruce Hornsby to your iPod.

Note:  The Brewsky is an enthusiastic contributor and movie reviewer.  And a fag.  Yeah, I said it.

The Brewhaha on..."The Illusionist"

“[Jacques Tati’s] eldest daughter's perception of him as a child was mainly formed from what she had seen of him in character on screen. l'Illusionniste script deals directly with the dilemma he was facing on how would his daughter respond once she realised the gentile man on the silver screen was not the same man he was after the dim theatre lights had been switched back on.”
-The grandson of Jacques Tati, discussing the original script

“How good or bad Chomet's take on Tati's script is a matter of personal choice but having seen it in Belgium earlier this month I was thoroughly disappointed by the execution of what is a very melancholy story.  […] I was left never quite understanding the bond between the magician and the girl.”
-By PJ on July 28, 2010 10:50 AM

“Close-ups are rare, the faces sketchy and expressionless, so what Tati must have intended as a quietly intimate story of two characters becomes a movie about cityscapes, automobiles, trains, rolling clouds and all the other visual filigree that Chomet does so well. The story is rather cold and uninvolving, but the very look of the movie is striking and never dull.”
-Jim Lane, NewsReview.com

“What [Jacques] Tati might have done with such a wee plot is open to speculation, but Chomet fills it with the hope of youth and the dark romance of a man coming to terms with his own disappearance. It's only an illusion, but it's magic.”
-Amy Biancolli, The Houston Chronicle

There’s the old saying that goes “You write what you know.”  In the case of “The Illusionist” (L’Illusionniste) a 2010 French-British animated film directed by acclaimed animated filmmaker Sylvain Chomet, our writer in question has given us the tale of a father-daughter relationship.

“The Illusionist” is a semi-autographical tale, a supposedly lost script penned by acclaimed silent actor and director Jacques Tati back in the 50’s.  (In fact, an EW poll declared Tati the 46th greatest movie director of all time.  Don’t believe me?  See for yourself.)  He was the creator of such films as “Mr. Hulot’s Holiday” and “My Uncle” (“Mon Oncle”), but the script for “The Illusionist” was one of many projects which were lost before his death.

Tati himself emphasized that the title illusionist featured in his script (much less in the recently filmed version) is his own unique character, and not just a stand-in for Tati himself.  In fact, Tati intended for a different actor, one Pierre Etaix, to play the part of the title character.  However, the impact of Tati’s personal demons are nothing to be ignored in this animated adaptation.

Illusionists, more than many other entertainers, are liars by definition.  They sweep us up in a world of magic, always holding our attention, while at the same time keeping it away from the string he uses to hold the cards in his sleeve or the rabbit he’s hiding under the table.  The quandary of the late Tati, however, was a matter of family, specifically his daughter Helga-Marie Jeanne, who he had neglected and even disowned under monstrous circumstances during WWII.  His demons were those of abandonment, and “The Illusionist” was, in so many words, the end result of him grappling with these demons.

The title character does what his real-life counterpart never really could; he practically showers his young companion with gifts.  As far as we know, he has no name, but quickly we come to sympathize with this nameless father figure, who magically finds himself with a young traveling companion (who herself remains nameless as well).

One thing that seems lost in translation, for us dumb old Americans who have never really heard of Jacques Tati, is that the girl in question truly believed the title character was a bona fide magician.  Tati’s concern was what his estranged daughter would think, and whether or not she could see through the façade of one Monsieur Hulot to find the man who ended up abandoning her.  Much in the same way that Tati pulls the wool over our eyes, the illusionist has his adopted daughter in a continuous state of awe.

The film is less dialogue-driven, much in the same vein as Chomet’s breakout hit, “The Triplets of Belleville,” as well as most of Tati’s films.  However, “The Illusionist” is also beautifully animated, and what little the characters actually say is made up for in their body language.  Still, I’m not sure the “less is more” approach works in this case.  Normally I would praise a film for leaving some things to mystery, but in this case, the questions were more along the lines of basic “why’s.”  Why is this man travelling with this girl?  Is this his daughter?  Is she just some girl he picked up?  Why is he doing all of these nice things for her?  Why would he let her tag along?  Why is he doing this?  Why is he doing that?

For flaws such as these, though, and with the controversy surrounding Tati and his family life, “The Illusionist” is still a masterpiece of animation, characterization, and atmosphere.  An unapologetic tribute to one of the great directors and silent actors, and a welcome change of pace from the usual films out there, “The Illusionist” is, at its core, a moving, almost heart-breaking tale.  Even as the swan song for one of the most acclaimed entertainers of our time, it’s still worth checking out.

Note:  The Brewsky is an enthusiastic contributor and movie reviewer.  And he knows how much you missed him.  If he leaves town like that again, he’ll be sure to at least call next time.

The Brewhaha on... "Pontypool"

“Pontypool. Pontypool. Panty pool. Pont de Flaque. What does it mean? Well, Norman Mailer, he had an interesting theory that he used to explain the strange coincidences in the aftermath of the JFK assassination.”
-Pontypool…Pontypool…

“The movie is charmingly indebted to John Carpenter’s The Fog, whose DJ heroine played on through her own town’s invasion, but it’s much more sophisticated, better acted, and certainly more novel.”
-Tim Robey, The Telegraph

“In the bilingual province, it turns out the English language is infected, causing those who hear it to turn into monsters. Not a bad idea, but good lord is there a lot of talk - none of it as profound as director Bruce McDonald seems to think - with the ghoulies barely making an appearance.  Too much jaw, not enough gore.”
-David Edwards, The Ticket

“If it wasn’t so boring, the dialogue would be a laugh a minute. The acting is so abominable that the cast is better off unmentioned. Like most Canadian movies (this is a rude generalization that I have learned, through time and experience, is worth making), it has no tension, meter or structure, and is utterly pointless.”
-Rex Reed, The New York Observer

“What constitutes this clever iteration of zombie virus and how it spreads is a sly satire on shock radio, on gossip, on The News itself. Gore fans hoping for buckets of blood will be disappointed; thoughtful horror fans who appreciate that a truly scary movie is mostly in your head will love it.”
-Mary Ann Johanson, Flick Filosopher

People have come to call “Pontypool” a zombie movie.  But, in reality, it is so much more.  Its seemingly simple premise—a zombie “virus” transmitted through language itself—is used as a framework for how we perceive the world.  The power of communication is something we tend to take for granted; “Pontypool” paints a nightmarish scenario where that process of communication, so second-nature to us that we can’t imagine living without it, becomes the means of our destruction.

The film is set mostly in a radio studio in a small Canadian town.  Immediately, we have an antithesis, a point of conflict between the characters’ setting and the plague about to befall it.  As is the case with countless other movies of this vein, their channels of communication are soon cut off.  The action centers around four characters; one cowboy hat-donning radio jockey, one beleaguered producer of his, one cute twenty-something Afghan veteran and local tech girl, and one obligatory movie scientist, a Dr. Mendez, who details the origins and nature of the virus.

The movie takes a while to get into the “meat” of the story, around thirty or forty minutes in before the characters finally realize the severity of their situation.  The narrative is structured around suspense, and one of the basic shorthands of storytelling: “Less is more.”  For the former half of the film, the most firsthand knowledge we receive of their threat are snippets outside the studio from the unofficial fifth character and eye-witness to the catastrophe, one “chopper” reporter Ken Loney, who ends up succumbing to the mindless hordes.

The latter half finally drives home not only the reality of their situation, but also the futility of trying to inform the world of this situation.  Because, by the time you have finished reading that last sentence, you will have already become one of them.

Most films (or at least, most of the good ones) would try to deconstruct their character archetypes, or the genre of film.  This one deconstructs (or at least tries to deconstruct) basic concepts such as meaning and communication, the latter of which (specifically, its complete and utter breakdown) is already a staple in many a zombie film.  Worse yet, by grasping any concept at all, one can fall victim to the worst nightmare of all, a fate worse than death, and horrifyingly enough, by understanding this concept, you, the viewer, open yourself up to the same fate.

In many ways, this film is the inverse of many zombie films as of late.  Rather than simply getting their brains eaten or otherwise “turned off,” the monsters of the movie are actually formed via understanding.  Rather than seeking communication to the outside world, our protagonists must seek to cut themselves off from the world.  And rather than the young, Dawson’s Creek-type heroes we’ve seen in movies lately (I’m looking at you, Star Trek movie), the young’uns are shooed out about halfway through.

In this case, it’s all about communication, or the lack thereof.  Our friendly radio D.J. (Stephen McHattie) is the little boy who cried wolf, and who never really stopped crying wolf once he “grew up.”  His words are never to be taken at face value, and he is someone who looks for meanings within meanings.  The producer (Lisa Houle) is constantly trying to keep him in check, calling him out on his antics and trying to push that nasty thing called “actual news” on him.  The tech girl (Georgina Reilly) is able to communicate with our man in his radio booth via IM, and keeps them posted on the goings-on outside the studio.  Finally, Dr. Mendez joins the main cast, actively trying to discourage them from communicating with the outside world in order to keep the plague from spreading.  Ken Loney continues the male tradition of blanking out the studio with little more than static through his frantic, emotional breakdown of a running commentary once the actual zombie plague is introduced.

So, overall, is “Pontypool” a good movie?  That depends on your definition of “good.”  Is it a great movie?  Again, depends on your definition of “great.”  Is good great, or is good bad?  Is bad good, or is bad worse?  Is great goodness?  Is great God?  Is God good?  Or is God worse?  God is worse.  Worse is worms, is a razor, is a sunny day, mosquitoes?  Worse is worms.  Or, worse is…what is worse?

Note:  Worse is a deck.  Worse is the deck, stacked against you.  Worse is the number four.  Worse is…worse is the deck.  Worse is…it’s worse.  Worse.  Worse.  It’s…worse.  Worse.  Worse.  Worse.  Worse.  It’s…simply worse.

The Brewhaha on..."The Truman Show"

“I am the Creator…”
-Ed Harris, as himself

“The movie isn't only a satire of television and other forms of media. It aims many of its most pointed barbs at us, the audience. […]  We're the villains and victims and hero of The Truman Show. And, ultimately, the only illusions we have to escape are the ones we create ourselves.”
-TransparencyNow.com, and its discussion of the power of fiction

“The Truman Show is nothing if not original. It's also funny, moving, imaginative and wickedly smart about the addictive power of comfy illusion.”
-Margaret McGurk, The Cincinnati Enquirer

“What's the point of the satire? It doesn't connect with anything. In the real world, the kind of television spectacle the public gets wrapped up in -- soap operas, Jerry Springer, ER, or a serial documentary like An American Family -- are all full of incident, emotion, and rage (however ersatz). Even Seinfeld has crises, albeit of the spluttering, tempest-in-a-teapot variety.”
-Peter Rainer, New York Magazine (June 1998 issue)

“…of a television show that gives hope and joy and inspiration to millions of viewers.”
-Ed Harris, as himself, finishing the above quote


The 1998 film “The Truman Show” is notable for two things.  First, it shows the implications of a man being forced into a life of super-stardom, the effects that a “producer” such as the character quoted above can have when he takes control of the “narrative” of someone’s life, and the impact of the realization that you, in fact, are the star of this TV show called life.

Second, it gives us Jim Carrey in a dramatic role.

(Don’t worry, I’ll give you a few to get over that last one.

You all better now?  Okay, good.  Moving on…)

Jim Carrey plays Truman Burbank, the title character of both the movie and the show within the movie, a round-the-clock reality show filmed in a giant, virtual bio-sphere of a studio where his life is entirely controlled by a producer and his special effects team.  Every moment is scripted, caught on camera, and broadcast for the entire world to see.

The twist?  He doesn’t know he’s in a show.  His life is scripted, everyone around him is a co-actor or actress, but all of his actions are as genuine as your sitcom character or your Hollywood hero.

Opposite Jim Carrey is “the Creator” himself, Christof (Ed Harris), who is the producer of Truman’s show and, by extension, his very life.  Contrary to our common perception of a producer or creator, though, he takes a very hands-on approach to the whole affair, to the point that he is trying to keep Truman oblivious to any sort of world outside of the show.

Ultimately, “The Truman Show” is the story of a man slowly discovering the seams by which his world is held together.  He questions his family, he questions authority, he questions the heavens themselves, as slowly the truth of his existence dawns on him.  All the while, his audience of millions throughout the world are hanging on his every word and thought, as they make this journey along with him.

Ten years ago, such a premise would have been unheard of.  Today, we have all sorts of reality shows which push the potential for a real-life Truman Burbank closer and closer to a TV near you.  We have our Kardashians, we have our Rocs (and Flava’s, and Daisies) of Love, we have our Danny Bonaduces, our Survivors and our Amazing Races…hell, we even have the likes of Ashton Kutcher acting the troll and trying to prank celebrities for our amusement.  Of course, these stars have as much of a say in their own fiction as anyone else, which is where this comparison falls apart.

While this film doesn’t necessarily hold up as a commentary on reality TV, it does illustrate the power of illusion in general, and fiction in particular.  The allure of escapism isn’t limited to just TV; we have movies, we have books, we have cartoons, theatre, music, sports, and all sorts of media (if I’ve missed anything besides fishing, stamp-collecting, and Iron Chef, I sincerely apologize) which take us away from our humdrum lives.  Whether it’s print, electronic, live and in person, or just a simple daydream, there’s no denying our need—or maybe just a simple dogged desire—to escape to a world or a life that is somehow “better,” or at least more entertaining, than the typical eat, sleep, nine-to-five monotony we all become so used to.

This is the challenge our title character must face.  Or so we’re told, anyway.  His fiction, his illusion, is an extreme example, one where he lives and breathes the world of his own TV show.  To face this is to admit that his whole life up until now has been a giant lie.  One might say that his own quest as the protagonist is the inverse and opposite of fighting illusion.  Rather than allowing himself to give in to the monotony of his day-to-day life, he instead wonders, “What if?”  Through this, he attempts what I think of as “reverse escapism.”  Even if one views the film as strictly satire, this is still insanity on the character’s part.

The bio-dome and elaborate TV show orchestrated by Christof is a gauntlet of physical and psychological checks designed to keep Truman from so much as even suspecting the truth behind his scripted life.  As far as our star knows, the show is the real world.  A snippet of conversation here and an old photo there help him figure out that not all is right with the “real world,” but you never really see that moment where he should be able to make that mental leap from garden-variety paranoia to “Hey, this is all a TV show!!”  So, speaking strictly in terms of its plot and character development, that much is at least to be desired.  However, I do give the filmmakers credit in trying to imply his moment of realization, rather than just giving us any one moment where it just hits him (though his confrontation with his “wife” might be a good point in the film to hone in on).

So overall, is “The Truman Show” a good film?  Yes.  Is it a great film?  Yes.  But remember that “great” and “perfect” aren’t one and the same.  It asks questions that do need asked in this day and age:  Is entertainment truly healthy for us?  How much is too much?  Do we escape from reality at our own peril?  With Truman, though, these questions are flipped on their head.  The message is good, and the overall story holds up.  However, it’s not clear if our hero is just a paranoid nutcase, or if he’s a paranoid nutcase who’s actually on to something.  (Though to be fair, this is Jim Carrey we’re talking about.)

Note:  The Brewsky is an enthusiastic contributor and movie reviewer, and also something of a self-styled entertainer.  He…has no scripts, no cue cards.  It isn’t always Shakespeare, but it’s genuine.  It’s…a life.  It’s…something of a life, for something of a self-styled entertainer.