Bayhem Productions Presents: The Chicago Explode

Let’s get my main criticism of Transformers: Dark Of The Moon out of the way before I get into the specifics of what works and what doesn’t: WHY DID TYRESE NOT GET TO SAY BRING THE RAIN? That phrase is like the “This shit just got real” of the Transformers franchise, and its absence is sorely felt. Yes, okay, he didn’t say it in the second one, but he did write it on an Army-issue napkin or something, and that counts for a lot.

At one point in this someone says something like “shorten the threat chain” or something similar while pointing at a screen with some rapidly oscillating graphics on it. I can’t quite remember the exact wording; I was too busy being distracted by the guy on my left engaged in some top-level phone-checking, and the three folks on my right who were loudly narrating the movie to each other. “Optimus is fighting now!” Yes, thank you, I had noticed.

Perhaps that’s the most noticeable thing about Transformers 3D: Moondance. It’s the first Michael Bay Experience that contains enough pauses and/or longueurs to allow the attentive viewer to be distracted by the real world. Which is not to say the man has made a reflective piece about the human condition. Rest assured, this is still a frenetic montage of sparks, flames, smoke and mirrors. Nevertheless, shooting in 3D has slowed him down enough that even the lengthy battle in Chicago feels like a collection of discreet setpieces instead of the incoherent and exhausting examples of overkill from his previous films.

These setpieces are still narrative-light – they are all basically “We need to get from point A to point Z to accomplish goal X” – but still, this feels like progress, as does the more cautious editing and cinematography. Bay really does seem to have taken the 3D process seriously; this feels less disorientating than some other 2D movies I’ve seen in IMAX (I had no idea what was going on in Eagle Eye or Star Trek; the latter only made sense to me once I saw it on TV).

And really, IMAX 3D is the way to go if you’re going to see this. Anything less is a waste of time. As I said to someone on Twitter this week (I think it was the lovely Max Renn, who has had to put up with my paranoid pleas not to unfollow me for going on about this movie so much this week. Hello Max Renn!), this is not a movie; it’s a cacophony delivery system. Seeing it on a smaller screen takes away much of its impact, and impact is all it’s aiming for. As a result everything else is merely present for the sake of being present, and as such I honestly feel that criticising it for failing to do the things that good movies do is almost missing the point of it.

Bay isn’t here to address issues or construct finely-honed character arcs, to deliver subtle wit, quiet moments of introspection, a pleasant flow of mood and tone. He’s here to make crude neanderthal-pleasing jokes, objectify the hot ladies, cram in as much cacophonous sound and flashing imagery as possible, and to DESTROY ALL THE THINGS. This is a well-established stylistic choice on his part. A lot of people hate him for that. I get it, and I understand, though I think it’s a waste of energy. Let’s move on.

Bay really does destroy all the things in this one. Thanks to the exceptional effects work, I honestly believed that Chicago had been almost entirely torn to the ground by the end of the shoot. It’s only because I’ve communicated with Chicagoinians since it finished that I know it’s still standing. The main attraction in Transformers 3D: Moon Unit Zappa is the long final act which sees the Decepticons taking control of Chicago and repelling a valiant attack by the Autobots and – in a gratifying expansion of their roles – the human soldiers who have spent the last couple of movies ineffectually bringing the rain. In this movie, they finally bring some thunder and lightning along as well. Some of the most exciting moments of the finale involve the NEST soldiers doing cool shit like jumping out of airplanes (in an astonishing stunt that actually happened and wasn’t an effect except for the bits when they fly through burning buildings because that would be beyond even Bay).

It’s a bravura sequence, which amused me by bringing to mind the far superior 13 Assassins, which also featured a slow build-up before a huge blowout finale. Of course, Takashi Miike’s samurai epic is a modern action masterpiece made with laser-like focus, unwavering control of pace, and a real emotional and visceral charge. Transformers 3: Dark Moon Rising has none of the above. It has speaker-shaking noise and that special kind of lighting that makes everyone glow orange like over-tanned supermodels shot during the magic hour. But that’s fine, in its own way. I wouldn’t recommend TF3 to anyone, to be honest; most folks seem to have made their mind up about it, which is their prerogative. I would recommend 13 Assassins, though. You haven’t seen it yet? Get on that shit.

To be honest, I expected to have more to say about it, but I think I may have exhausted my supply of opinion about Bay in these two posts. Transformers 3D: Moonlight Shadow is probably the best of the trilogy but that doesn’t mean to say it’s a triumph or anything. It’s just the best example yet of this kind of movie, but it is riddled with the same flaws that his movies always do, above and beyond the usual complaints that critics level at him.

Surprisingly, the final third of the movie is the most stern thing he has yet done. The cheap laughs that populate the other 66% of the film dry up in order to facilitate a grinding gear change into solemnity. There are approximately four trillion shots of people rising up into the frame with a sad look on their face, debris and ash blowing in the air, Jablonsky-Strings emoting all over the place like a crying orchestra. Even for someone like myself who tries hard to take these movies seriously, this was kinda hard-going. Oh how I yearned for Bumblebee to piss all over Jon Turturro one more time.

There were other things to like, though. Without Mudflap and Skids shucking and jiving in the background, the concerned liberal can relax a little. I’ve seen some take offence at the characters played by Ken Jeong (a weird and manic scientist) and Alan Tudyk (a sexually “ambiguous” facilitator associated with Turturro), but I didn’t really see anything that bad about them. Jeong is playing the stock Jeong character, and Tudyk’s sexuality isn’t really the joke. The comedic point of him seems to be his shame at being a tough guy hacker genius; a curious joke, but one pulled off with such charm and aplomb by the great man that it’s hard to hate him.

It’s also great to see Frances McDormand here too, as one of the very few female characters in the franchise that actually gets to do anything other than point their sculpted behinds at the camera. John Malkovich is in high energy mode, and I’m sure his presence in such a wacky role will be considered a black mark on his filmography, but he made me laugh, so job done. Who knows what these beloved thespians thought when they signed up for this, but they give their all, like the professionals they are. In a way I wish Bay could go back in time and hire Laurence Olivier to be in one of his movies. Olivier would have jumped at the chance; people forget some of the shit he turned up in. It can be argued that Bay’s habit of employing Oscar-nominated actors to appear in his lowbrow epics is a cynical move, but he has money and he wants talented and recognisable performers in his films. Why wouldn’t he?

Perhaps the biggest casting surprises are Patrick Dempsey and Rosie Huntington-Whiteley. Dempsey is an actor I have only ever had the most passionate dislike for; repeated viewings of Enchanted have left me almost paralysed with rage at his floppy, lustrous hair and oleaginous demeanour. These are put to great use here; the franchise badly needed a human villain (Turturro was too silly to be a bad guy in the first movie), and he manages to pull off the final act misgivings, fears and inevitable mustache-twirling resolve very well. He should stick to villains in future.

Huntington-Whiteley is not exactly a revelation, but she’s likeable, funny, and – from what I could tell by the lingering shots of her body – slightly attractive. Her character is obviously meant to be Megan Fox’s Mikaela; some of the choices she makes at the very end are obviously meant for someone who has had dealings with these robots before. Nevertheless, Huntington-Whiteley’s good-natured charm is a world away from Fox’s sullen and unconvincing efforts. It’s a nice change, and a shrewd casting move by Bay.

(I note that this week that “lovable” scamp Shia LeBeouf hinted that he managed to have conjugal relations with his former co-star Fox, saying that their close proximity and high-emotion onscreen relationship meant that there was some bleed-through into the real world. If we’re to take this bold claim at face value, there is also the assumption that because he has the same onscreen relationship with Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, that means he probably got it on with her too. I wonder what her real-life boyfriend, Jason Statham, would think about that. I trust that Mr. Statham will be having words with Mr. TheBeef in due course. Words that are delivered through the medium of his High-Kicking Action Feet.)

Other than that, what is there to say? The robots are better written than before. When some of them die there is finally a sense that something other than a swirling congregation of pixels has met his maker. I particularly liked Megatron’s new look; wearing a hood of tattered cloth and held together with chains after the events of the second movie. Optimus Prime and Sentinel Prime have a mildly diverting back-and-forth throughout. In terms of the Transformers franchise, this is as close as we’re going to get to an actual relationship between two people, though inevitably it ends up being about explosions and rain-bringing. There’s also a line delivered by Leonard Nimoy (as Sentinel Prime) that will likely make Star Trek fans vow to hunt down and kill Bay and screenwriter Ehren Kruger. I suggest they avoid Comic-Con for the next twenty years.

Basically, what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think it was a very good film but I did think it was quite a good fairground ride, and as I quite enjoy fairground rides and don’t feel cheated when they don’t have a complex and resonant narrative, this feels like a win to me. Perhaps it helps that I watched Green Lantern earlier this week; a truly execrable movie that failed at doing just about everything that Transformers 3 failed at doing but didn’t have any of the fun stuff to make up for it. So yeah, “Transformers 3: better than Green Lantern just by being more confident, which is all you can hope for, I guess.” And that, my friends, is the poster quote.

Austin Superpowers In: The Mutant Who Shagged Me

Regular readers will probably already know about my passionate hatred for X-Men Origins: Wolverine in: The Origin of The Man They Call Wolverine: The Pre-X-Men Years, which I thought was the worst major studio big-budget release OF ALL TIME, until the unforgivable Alice in Wonderland arrived and surpassed even that milestone with dispiriting ease. Many comic and superhero fans will argue that Brett Ratner’s X-Men: the Last Stand represents the franchise’s low-point, but that is at least coherent, despite its flaws, and has a sense of the operatic about it; essential if you’re adapting the legendary Dark Phoenix saga. Ratner and screenwriters Simon Kinberg and Zak Penn may have fumbled that mighty arc, but they didn’t forget the basic rules of filmmaking, which is what everyone who worked on Wolverine seemed to do.

So rejoice that Matthew Vaughn’s X-Men: First Class is better than both of those movies. It has some of the strongest acting in the franchise, some stand-out moments of undeniable superpower coolness to rival X2: X-Men United, is made with an awareness of what makes these some of these characters tick, and has some beautifully observed emotional scenes that capture the loneliness and self-loathing felt by the mutant heroes and anti-heroes – here once more standing in for all of society’s outcasts. Hell, just for casting Shades of Caruso favourite Michael “Sickeningly Hot And Talented” Fassbender as Magneto – my favourite comics supervillain, and possibly my favourite movie supervillain too – means this stands apart from the last two feeble movies.

But that doesn’t mean it’s actually good. Those praiseworthy elements are but jewels peeking out from a garbage dump composed of woeful dialogue, tonal misjudgements and surprisingly poor production values. Those few praiseworthy performances, and the emotional truth they convey, are sadly betrayed by bad editing and photography that make the whole enterprise look like it was only finished a couple of weeks ago in a mad sprint to beat the release deadline. Yet again Fox shortchanges the creatives; by now the Fox execs know the fans will watch these movies even when they’re bad (and even when they’re leaked onto the internet a couple of weeks before release). All they needed to do to make us forget the last two failures was raise expectations a little higher, and the mystifying critical praise XM:FC has received in recent weeks has ensured that.

And yet it all starts so well, mostly by focusing on Erik Lensherr’s tragic childhood and vengeful youth. Opening at exactly the same point as the first X-Men is a lovely touch, and the subsequent scene with Kevin Bacon’s evil Nazi scientist triggering Magneto’s powers with an act of horrific cruelty is brilliantly effective, evoking memories of Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds and Christoph Waltz’s magnificently horrible Hans Landa. The next few scenes, intercutting between Magneto’s quest to find the Nazi scientist – now going by the name of Sebastian Shaw – and young Charles Xavier’s first encounter and subsequent friendship with Raven Darkholme, are very promising.

This is pretty good stuff, especially Magneto’s Nazi-killing rampage, and hints that the long-considered X-Men Origins: Magneto could have been a far more interesting proposition than first thought (Sheldon Turner and Bryan Singer, who wrote the un-shot scripts for that movie, are given a story credit here, though don’t bring that up to Vaughn or he’ll cut a bitch). Giving Raven, aka Mystique, a bigger part to play in the X-Men movie mythos is a superb choice; what was previously a side-lined character in the first trilogy has now become a tragic figure along the same lines as Anna Paquin’s Rogue. Her desperate need to be loved creates an ache at the centre of this movie that generates many of its best moments.

The wheels start to come off as soon as the Hellfire Club arrive, with Kevin Bacon now dressed like Austin Powers in his groovy nightclub shagpad, and January Jones occupying a lady-shaped space on-screen in her smalls. Much has been made of the film’s retro aesthetic and vaguely Bondian plot involving the Cold War, but Vaughn pitches the tone too far towards the wacky end of the spectrum. The moment the Hellfire Club escapes from an attack in a submarine with all white interiors and an office complete with paintings evokes the Adam West Batman movie with the Joker, Penguin, and Riddler teaming up with Catwoman to dehydrate the members of the United Nations. From that moment on, the movie is, quite aptly, sunk.

The Austin Powers references in this review are entirely deliberate. As Daisyhellcakes said when we stumbled, disappointed, from the sweltering heat of Portobello Road’s Electric Cinema, “At times it felt as if it was trying to be like a comedy, but nothing in it was funny.” Vaughn seems to think he can play up to the inherent absurdity of the X-Men by making the tone silly, but his hectic, discombobulating editing from one plot thread to another makes this tonal decision utterly incomprehensible, at least early on.

For example, McAvoy plays Xavier as a lecherous and oblivious dope getting pissed in Oxford, Kevin Bacon plays Sebastian Shaw as a mustache-twirling pantomime villain complete with silly-looking henchmen, and Rose Byrne’s CIA agent Moira MacTaggart (yes, she’s not a scientist anymore) spends an excruciating scene walking around in her underwear to what is either comic effect, or… I just don’t know what. Meanwhile, Magneto is an grim, badass avenging angel of death hunting down and murdering Nazis. With no apparent narrative framework in place to connect these two differing tone, we flip back and forth between what feel like different movies, never really staying in place long enough to get comfortable or to get a sense of what the final shape of the narrative will be.

This tonal mish-mash is made worse whenever Vaughn evokes memories of Bryan Singer’s two superior franchise entries. It feels as if Singer’s achievement – balancing the unavoidable absurdity of the superhero genre with a seriousness of purpose and respect that triggered a surge in its popularity – has been forgotten or underestimated in the ten years since the first X-Men. He understood the characters, recognised their pain and made sure that even when he was puncturing the pomposity of the genre, there was a solemness to the characters that never really went away. That’s not to say he piled on the modish pain; those movies were still fun, but they were weighty.

Vaughn’s movie is the opposite of weighty for much of its length, with only the Magneto and Mystique arcs – and one final, brilliant showdown – providing respite from the shockingly daft proceedings. While this might mean the franchise now finds a new audience, it also means that what was so welcome in Singer’s movies has now been utterly eradicated. Even Ratner’s movie honoured that atmosphere of sadness more than Wolverine and First Class (by which I mean Wolverine cried again). And yes, I expect spluttering indignation at that statement, but if it makes you feel better I really did hate it.

I get that there is a vocal section of fandom (and non-fandom) that will welcome the excision of the grim dramatics, but this comes at the expense of drama; there is almost no sense within First Class that there is anything at stake until midway through the big finale, pretty much as soon as the awful wire-work chase between Angel and Banshee is finally, mercifully over. Even the mid-movie action scene with the Hellfire Club attacking the CIA compound housing the proto-X-Men is curiously unsuspenseful, feeling more like a staccato compilation of action beats than a coherent set-piece.

The woeful editing again undercuts this tension by hurrying past big moments, rarely showing the consequences of actions or emotional beats. Than again, there are also numerous narrative shortcuts taken throughout that smack of budgetary restraint or release-date haste, many of which involve shaky effects (one shot of Beast running fast made me want to walk out of the cinema and never look back) or tricks as unintentionally hilarious as rotating the frame to depict a spinning plane. I understand that Fox are not in the business of spending money on their superhero films, prefering instead to cynically rely on marketing muscle to get audiences into cinemas, but some of these choices are farcical, robbing the movie of any authority.

However we should all also be grateful to Michael Fassbender and Jennifer Lawrence, who give their all yet again, selling their tragic roles brilliantly; it’s arguable that their commitment is worth the extortionate ticket price all on their own. This is Fassbender’s highest-profile role yet, and allows him to supply young Magneto with new superpowers; insane hotness, charisma and the ability to be the only person on the planet to look good in rollneck sweaters. The man will be a star by the end of the weekend, hopefully. Lawrence proves that she’s no flash-in-the-pan with another nuanced performance. Though I was initially sceptical, the decision to cast her as Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games really seems shrewd now.

James McAvoy is okay, though the choice to make his arc a transition from tiresomely enthusiastic dope to noble martyr in a wheelchair is nowhere near as well-drawn as Erik’s transition into ruthless human-hating Magneto (and even that isn’t done as well as you would hope, with some leaps of faith required of the viewer by the final act). It doesn’t help that I could understand only about half of his dialogue. His chemistry with Fassbender is good, though; the decision to make them play chess in unusual locales, less so. That’s not as bad as his repeated gesture of pressing his fingers to his temple whenever using his powers. In keeping with this movie’s unfortunate resemblance to the Austin Powers movie, McAvoy’s gesture is now the equivalent of Dr. Evil’s pinky move (thanks to Daisyhellcakes for spotting that).

It’s the rest of the cast that let the side down badly. Poor January Jones, in her white undies, cannot even convey “I’m thinking at you with my supertelepathy” with any sense of conviction, and when required to speak everything falls apart. Less a snarky ice-maiden than a mildly bored housewife who doesn’t really like her lot in life (what a surprise!), she lets the fans down. Part of me had hoped that a combination of directorial effort and superior writing would entice a better performance from her, but one moment, where she gets some ice for her sexist boss Shaw and sighs dramatically to convey her sadness, is a contender for laziest acting choice in thespian history.

At least she gets some stuff to do. Some of the kids playing the proto-X-Men end up coming off as deeply unlikeable (Caleb Landry Jones’ Banshee is particularly irksome), but then they’re so underwritten they can’t really be blamed for that (re: Landry Jones, he was good in The Last Exorcist, so I will point blame elsewhere). Rose Byrne uses her patented Worried Face, and brandishes a gun at one point. Perhaps this is intentional; MacTaggart only really seems to be in the movie to be mocked by the other characters. Another actor, playing Matt Craven’s second-in-command, gives one of the most bizarre hammy performances I’ve ever seen in a major motion picture. I couldn’t take my eyes off him; not a compliment, I should stress. I won’t name him, as I feel bad enough about this complaining already.

The poorly-judged and frankly amateurish problems don’t stop there. The compositions are always slightly off, undercutting the tension almost as much as the imprecise editing. Jokes are attempted but fail. Scenes are cut too short to generate emotions, and those scenes that are longer often trundle along with no point – a stilted introduction scene with the proto-X-Men bonding in a cafeteria is particularly painful to watch, though that’s nothing compared to a risible late-movie training montage that lacks the dramatic gravity of the “Montage!” scene in Team America. And seriously, if you can watch the final conversation between Xavier and Moira without cringing, then you’re a sturdier person than I.

It doesn’t help that Vaughn takes on way too much for one movie. That dreadful rush to fill in the blanks that made the last half an hour of Revenge of the Sith feel so hysterically cramped lasts throughout First Class‘ entire two hour run. Two movies would have given plenty of time for Vaughn to tell every story he wants to tell here, and then some. Instead its a mad gambol from Poland to Westchester to Switzerland to Oxford to Argentina to Las Vegas back to Oxford and then to Washington and eventually Russia for about five minutes and then etc. etc. etc. Locales flash by, character moments are introduced then dropped, momentous events happen and are then left behind with no room for reflection or pause because another momentous event is right on its tail. The effect is that nothing sticks; a problem that affected Ratner’s X-Men movie. Except for odd flashes, the movie left me feeling utterly cold.

That was how Vaughn’s first two movies – Layer Cake and Stardust – made me feel. They were all surface, with enough evidence that Vaughn was obviously trying very hard to make those movies memorable but only as noble failures. Kick-Ass qualified as a pure triumph, however (at least IMO), and made this movie such an appealing prospect. Who knows what went wrong – or what addition to the equation made Kick-Ass go so right – but that doesn’t change the fact that this is not the movie we fans had hoped for. Oh sure, as a nerd it occasionally made me very happy. There are a couple of delightful cameos that prove this was made with a certain amount of love, and for that I’m grateful.

So, it’s better than X-Men: The Last Stand and Wolverine, but really only by default. Vaughn and Goldman and the Fringe writing duo of Ashley Stentz and Zack Miller (who also wrote the far superior Thor) obviously care about the characters and the franchise, but for one reason or another it just feels more like a badly-made parody than a drama. Many have claimed that this movie shows the franchise still has legs, but it really needs a far more drastic shake-up than just revisiting the old material from a different angle. It needs a Nolanising, if you will. By that I don’t mean a serious, realistic take; more that a good filmmaker needs to come along and, with the backing of his studio, commits as fully to making the X-Universe work as Nolan or Singer did – as might have happened if Darren Aronofsky did make The Wolverine. Because right now, these regrettably laughable rush-jobs just aren’t cutting it anymore.

Don’t Wait: Create!

Apologies for the hokey title, but I’ve got some fireside preachin’ on my mind. Sit awhile, as I try to set you on the straight an’ narrow…

A couple of years ago my obsession with the DC character Hawkman reached such a fever pitch that one night I dreamt the entire plot of a Hawkman movie. It was amazing. From there I tweaked it and brainstormed and came up with something that subtly reinvented his origin story, gave him different powers and technological abilities, and added a couple of new character attributes to make him more appealing to an audience who have yet to meet the gruff right-wing hero. I even came up with ways to make the character politically relevant, addressing some of the issues that had captured the public’s imagination in the wake of the invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq. It all came together so well that I honestly thought that it had potential. Real actual oh-my-God-I-might-actually-be-able-to-sell-this-idea potential. Forgive my arrogance, but I was psyched.

And then I talked myself out of doing anything with it. It was the usual parade of doubt and fear: the character’s too niche; my ideas aren’t original enough; how would I get in touch with DC to get this sorted; I don’t have the time; I don’t have the experience; I don’t have the talent. And so Hawk, as I was going to call my first screenplay, never got written. Even so, I would think about it from time to time, and imagine how beautiful the setpiece finale would look; tanks and spaceships and swordfights, oh my.

Today I read that a treatment for a Hawkman movie has been submitted to DC, and there’s a good chance this movie – described as a cross between Indiana Jones and The Da Vinci Code – will be made. If so, I wish everyone involved all the luck in the world. I hope it’s absolutely amazing, and that a new audience can experience what I love most about this underrated and fascinating character.

But I’m soul-sick. Many years ago I abandoned a novel that I had spent two years writing after stumbling upon another novel that had so many plot similarities that I knew my attempt would never get published. That put me off writing for several years. The Hawkman news makes me consider dropping it all again.

But I won’t. What I will do is exhort everyone who reads this post to never give up on an idea if you truly believe it will work. I had four years to get Hawk finished, polished, and sent to DC and Warner Bros. via an agent, even though I didn’t then know how to do it. It’s stuff you can learn; there are people out there who will gladly help you with that. Yes, it could have been for nothing. Rights issues might have been a problem, considering that DC owns the rights to the character, or it might have conflicted with the studio’s plans, or it could have been shit (I’ve learned so much about storytelling since then that I cringe to think of what I might have written). But at least I’d have tried.

It would be one more project completed, and each project completed is a hundred lessons learned. “What if” is not a lesson. The worst thing to waste is a good idea, and eventually you’ll know what the good ideas are. They stick in your mind and get you so excited about seeing them completed that you feel restless. Hawk made me feel restless, and I didn’t bother to do anything about it. Today I feel like the stupidest fool in the world.

So don’t make the same mistake I did. Get it done and worry about the rest later. Every writer I know says the same thing: don’t get it right, get it written (was it James Thurber who originally said that?). Without that, you’re never going to see what amazing things could happen because of something small that happened inside your brain and then grew bigger. I beg you all, don’t end up like me. ::throws scribbled notes in bin and weeps for the awesomeness that has been denied the world::

And if you don’t have a great idea ready right now? Go see Kung Fu Panda 2. It’s bloody lovely and will totes cheer you up. HERE ENDETH THE LESSONING!