Cinema Hype

Apparently, Star Trek is cool again. Or maybe it’s working on being cool again. Or maybe it was always cool. (CH staff remains neutral on the subject, not being personally Trek-inclined, but also including several Trekkies as Friends of the Blog.) Anyway, things are picking up for the most-loved, most-mocked fandom of the 23rd century: rumor has it that Matt Damon, Adrien Brody, and Gary Sinise are thisclose to signing on to the new, big-budget Star Trek prequel.

It seems like the Star Trek franchise as a whole is signing on to the more generalized trend of going back to basics, exploring roots, and looking to canon, as seen in Batman Begins and Casino Royale. The new movie will see the biggest franchise shift since 1994, when Star Trek: Generations made the jump to Star Trek: The Next Generation casting.

The Star Trek series has had its ups and downs over the years, and these days–as actual content dwindles and fan culture dominates–it’s unfashionable in many circles (i.e. non-sci-fi ones) to be a Trekkie. So why would a big-name actor who has other things to do sign on to the Star Trek franchise?

For one thing, there’s the money. Mock the Trekkie culture if you will, but don’t call them poor, and don’t call them uncommitted. Even a bad Star Trek movie is bound to draw Starfleet wannabes worldwide to the theater. After that, there are DVD releases, box sets, action figures, posters, books, video games, t-shirts, board games, conventions, and probably all kinds of things a non-Trekkie like me can’t (and doesn’t want to) even fathom. There’s money in this gig.

But the biggest reason to join the new era of Star Trek–the reason I hope is behind the casting–is the hip-to-be-square nostalgia factor. Whether or not it’s cool to love Trek, it’s one of the big stories of the 20th century–it’s its own mythology with its own cache and a legion of fans. Even if the movies and shows are bad (not unheard of in this particular fandom), the chance to be in a new installment is the chance to be in something with a life of its own in the national–or world, really–culture. The original TV show and the first round of movies were staples of the 60s and the 80s, respectively, and a lot of writers, actors, and everyday people have been sucked in at some point. Some never left the fleet. Producer/director JJ Abrams said when he signed on to the project that he grew up as a Star Trek fan. And what writer/TV-lover wouldn’t want the chance to contribute to a story like that? Damon, Brody, and Sinise haven’t (yet) issued statements on their Trekkiness or non-Trekkiness, but we at CH wouldn’t be surprised if their inner fanboys were jumping up and down right about now.

Or at least, we hope so.

Star Trek, Star Trek XI, JJ Abrams, Matt Damon

So, the Academy Awards were Sunday night. Dresses were worn, statuettes were handed out, and a good time was had by all–except those watching at home, apparently. For the pajamas-and-popcorn crowd, Oscar Night is the loseriest thing a loser can do, or at least that’s what you’d think, hearing morning-after chatter. Judging from Internet buzz and real-life interaction, enjoying the Oscars just isn’t cool anymore.

Knocking the Academy Awards is practically a sport these days. It’s everywhere: the ceremony was too long; all of the women wore ugly dresses, or boring dresses, or really shouldn’t be spending so much on dresses when there are starving children in Africa; nobody covers the men’s clothing at all; it’s all a political game, unless you’re Martin Scorsese, and then the judges are just morons; the performances were cheesy and weird, and remember when we used to have real performers singing the terrible songs? If we’re to be believed, the Oscars should rightly air at 3 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, right after the E! True Hollywood Story on Rosie Perez.

Which, clearly, must be why only a billion people worldwide tune in. We hate nothing more than ridiculous clothing, pseudo-political maneuvering, and insipid songwriters. Right? We’re so above these kinds of events.

Here at CH HQ, we thought Oscar Night 2007 was a minor step up from past years. Yes, Pan’s Labyrinth lost, a few people rattled off ticker-tapes of thanks, and some genius came up with shadow-dancing cue cards. But we also got Will Ferrell, Jack Black, and John C. Reilly singing (about Helen Mirren’s undeniable hotness, no less); we got the sound-effect choir, which was cool; we got nearly as many thoughtful, charming speeches as we did lists of names; and nobody tried to wear a giant, dead swan. It wasn’t a particularly eventful ceremony, but it wasn’t the vortex of suck that we all like to claim on Monday morning, either, no matter how disaffected we are.

Ah, well. Only 364 more days until the next banal Hollywood get-together broadcast for the world to see. Maybe next year they’ll just cancel them altogether, since, you know, nobody’s watching anyway.

Academy Awards, Oscars, Oscar commentary, Helen Mirren, Martin Scorsese

As promised, Watch Along with Cinema Hype!

So, we should be getting to the pony just about….now. Or is it one-armed push-ups? I can never remember. Or, well, we could just do the love child InStyle Magazine’s coverage of the Independent Spirit Awards and a Mac commercial. That could work, too.

What, you’re going to tell Ellen she can’t have a gospel choir if she wants it? She’s Ellen. She’s nice. It’s like telling Shirley Temple she can’t have a lollipop.

Say what you will about a musical number with Will Ferrell, Jack Black, and John C. Reilly; it sure beats Ben Stiller in an invisibility suit.

West Bank Story. Heh. Now I want to meet that guy.

Why am I doing this gig when, clearly, my life’s work is to be a member of a sound-effects choir? If only I could whistle.

The Academy has finally found the key to making Americans tune in for the sound-mixing awards: let a Scottish man read the names. James McAvoy is practically reciting the phone book, and we don’t even care. It’s like James Bond cavorting on the moors up there. Good call, guys.

Djimon Hounsou, you are very handsome, but you are neither blind nor Jack Nicholson and therefore must leave your sunglasses at the door. Capisce?

I like you, Al Gore, but…did you, by any chance, leave the hanger in your tux jacket? Someone should probably have said something to you before you left the house, no?

“Coming up, more Ellen…” Well, I hope so. Did she wander over to the Hooters across Hollywood Boulevard, or something?

Did…did my Congressman just win an academy award? Such a renaissance man! All this time I thought he was just representing the children of America to the House of Representatives, when really he was out shopping for that scarf.

I just figured out what Ellen looks like in those pants! She’s a marching-band director! Knees up! March in time! Will someone give that woman a baton?

“Literally eye candy?” Are you sure? Because that’s got to hurt.

How can we Americans claim to have legitimate cinema when, clearly, film reached its peak in Italy in the 1960s? We’re all sliding down a big, steep hill of suck now, and it makes me sad. Let’s all just wear cute skirts and ride around on bikes, okay?

Oh, George.

There’s a reason Beyonce isn’t up on that stage: if she could act, she’d look a little less pissy about Jennifer Hudson right now.

Davis Guggenheim totally just forgot his wife’s (Elisabeth Shue’s) name on national television. Someone’s sleeping on the Barcalounger tonight, dude.

Ennio Marconi on Celine Dion (translated from the Italian): “I forgot to buy bread and toilet paper at the grocery store yesterday. Crap.”

What? We’re supposed to get HD TV because of J-Lo? So we can watch the video for “Jenny From the Block”? With a really clear picture?

Aww, Bruno Kirby died. I forgot about that. “Pesto is the quiche of the eighties,” indeed.

Helen Mirren, The Queen. Shock! I was betting on Penelope Cruz, you know?

Also, if I ever accept any kind of major award, I want to take speechwriting classes from Mirren. She makes me want to sit in her kitchen and make witty but self-deprecating conversation while drinking good English tea.

…and then there’s Peter O’Toole, who somehow makes “legendary actor” look mysteriously like “skeeze.” Thanks, man.

So, The Departed. Really? That’s…are we sure? Huh. Okay. I think I’m still getting over residual Gangs of New York bitterness. But….well, sure. I’ll add it to the list.

That’s the end? Because I could really go on for another six hours. Really. My butt’s not getting any flatter. I’m in the zone. Come on, you’re quitting already? Pansies.

Oscars, Academy Awards, commentary

As usual, the rules: The first person to comment with the character, actor, and movie that contains that quote gets a special eyelash batting and a tailor-made Cinema Hype cheer, which might even rhyme.

“He said if I ever left him, he would find out who I was living with and shoot them. Then, he’d shoot me, then himself.”
“Shit, he really loved you, didn’t he?”

Fun fact (and possible clue): Rachel Griffiths has appeared in two movies with the same general theme. This quotation is from one of them. Good luck!

U.S. soldiers face
off against girl in glasses
for gold statuette.

Hollywood and Highland may be your basic mall/Hare Krishna magnet 364 days of the year, but the red carpet and the giant golden statues are probably just about ready by now. Oscar night is this Sunday, and while CH will be tending more towards sweats-and-slippers chic than, say, the free-million-dollar-jewels look, the bloggish coverage will make you feel like you’re standing on the rope line. Or at least like you’re on the couch, sharing our popcorn.

Out of all of the spate of March movies coming out, there’s one I’m particularly waiting for: Premonition, in which Sandra Bullock’s husband may or may not have died in a gruesome car wreck. The thing is, I’m not actually planning on seeing Premonition; I just want it to hit theaters so that the trailer will stop airing before every single movie ever. Not since the “twice the trailer, twice the fun” Running with Scissors experiment (in which the RwS trailer ran twice back to back) have I seen a movie so overpromoted. Overcompensating, are we?

Also, yes, Sandra: if you let Jim die, IT IS THE SAME AS KILLING HIM. There. Now you know. STOP ASKING.

Fairy tales are common fodder for movies these days–from Into the Woods-style updates to a recent film about the Brothers Grimm, studios and audiences seem to agree that classic stories bear telling and re-telling. The Oscar-nominated film Pan’s Labyrinth is a fairy tale, but not the kind you’d bring your kids to: rich with archetypal images and story devices, it’s a fairy tale as they were meant to be–lush, dark, and with no guarantee of anybody living happily ever after.

Pan’s Labyrinth follows Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), a young girl, to the country home of her wicked stepfather Sergi Lopez), one of Franco’s generals in the Spanish Civil War. There she finds an ancient labyrinth in the woods and enters into a kind of imaginary (or is it?) parallel world, complete with a hero’s quest meant just for her.

The world of the labyrinth is no “over the rainbow” kind of place–it’s dark, dangerous, and full of otherworldly creatures, none of whom are all that friendly. There is an unpredictable kind of peril in the labyrinth. But that’s more or less the point: Director Guillermo del Toro plays up the weirdness with visuals that are stunning in concept and in execution, so that even the most off-putting images are fascinating (a certain gaunt, flabby, eyes-in-his-hands creature comes to mind here). Everything is a little bit frightening, a with a little bit of a sense of danger, but also an appealing kind of sheen.

The spectacular macabreness of the labyrinth, however, is only part of the story. It’s an element of contrast: the imaginary world is unnerving, but Ofelia’s real life is so grim and her stepfather so frightening that time spent in the labyrinth is a relief. del Toro’s portrayal of Captain Vidal is as harsh and as efficient as a punch to the gut–he wastes no time in displaying the extent of the Captain’s capacity for violence. Pan’s Labyrinth is graphically gory, but the brutality is necessary for reasons of both plot and tone. Blood is an important part of many fairy tales, and any war story is bound to include bloodshed as a matter of course. The gore also raises the pitch of the movie, making it feel all the more chaotic and Ofelia’s situation all the more dire.

The basic elements of Pan’s Labyrinth are all strong, but what sets it apart and makes it truly satisfying is that the fairy-tale theme doesn’t end with the weird creatures. Much of what we see is familiar, even in its bizarreness, and del Toro weaves it all together beautifully in the end. He makes everything count and works with what he has in unexpected ways, honoring the roots of his chosen genre but not retreading the same ground over and over. The result is Grimm-ian: dark, possibly depressing, but with a kind of self-contained logic that a fairy tale reader can appreciate.

The upshot: Violent, but worth it. Just beautiful. Also, look out for the super-fantastic eye-hand guy!

Pan’s Labyrinth, Guillermo del Toro, Oscars

Dear Eddie. May we call you Eddie?

The staff here at Cinema Hype are rooting for you. We really are. You were a comedy icon when we were in the third grade–I mean, come on. Coming to America? In the pre-Hammer years, you had it going on. Are we right, or are we right, or are we right? The 90s and 00s have been rough on you; we see that–too many movies involving screen time opposite talking rodents. Hey, we understand that you’ve got to pay the bills; it’s just that we wanted more for you. We were pleased to see you taking back your dignity in Dreamgirls. This is good, we thought; he’s taking a stand. He’s staring into the void of the B list and shouting, “I won’t take your insipid roles anymore!”

And then….Norbit. Why? Why do you break our hearts this way?

Oh, Eddie. Our faith in the world is just a little bit more fragile today than it was yesterday, and YOU ARE NOT HELPING. We request that you take this under advisement.

Sincerely and with hope of some common sense,

The staff at Cinema Hype

Eddie Murphy, Norbit

I love the smell of movie quotations in the morning. Or is that just a little bit too meta?

As usual, the rules: The first person to comment with the character, actor, and movie that contains that quote gets a special eyelash batting and a tailor-made Cinema Hype cheer, which might even rhyme.

This week’s special:

“My name Mahi. Mahi Mahi.”
“Like the fish?”
“Yeah. My father was a fisherman.”
“My father left home when I was 5. That’s why I’m named Jack, as in, ‘Jack tell your mother I’m just going out to get the paper.’”

The Namesake’s trailer:
attracts readers better than
a Pulitzer prize.

Three situations in which one is bound to come up empty-handed: 1) Hallmark at eight p.m. on Valentine’s Day; 2) the pie section of Costco on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving; and 3) the public library anytime someone adapts a novel for the screen. Ever tried to check out a Harry Potter book to refresh the old memory for the movie? What about The Devil Wears Prada any time last year? It’s like trying to get chocolate during the Blitz.

This is the power of a really good trailer: the movie becomes not enough. Suddenly the film looks shiny and colorful and new, but shouldn’t the book be even better? A good trailer reminds the audience that perhaps if the light were a little better, they could crack open a brand new copy of whatever’s showing next.

Cinema Hype: Good afternoon, Mr. del Toro*. It’s an honor to speak with you.

Guillermo del Toro: Good afternoon. Buenos tardes, in my mother tongue.

CH: Mr. del Toro, we’d like to begin by speaking with you about your involvement in the upcoming adaptation of Edgar Rice Burroughs’s classic Tarzan. What drew you to the film?

GdT: This is an opportunity for me and for the culture of my country. This is for the people of my native land. I’m excited to have this chance to expose audiences worldwide to the feral beauty of the rain forest as seen through the lens of nineteenth-century colonialism.

CH: How so?

GdT: Through Jane Porter. Jane claims to understand Tarzan, but doesn’t she want to strip him of the furs of the animal and force him into the starched shirts with the tiny buttons? Doesn’t she transform him into the image of a white European? Jane is the worst –ay, she claims to bring wealth and understanding, but with her, Tarzan is no longer an ape. Or a man. He is something else. A spider-monkey boy, perhaps.

CH: Have you conceived a vision for the look of the film?

GdT: The film? The film must be wild, like Tarzan himself. It must be lean, yet muscular and dripping with the perspiration. It must call out like an angry macaw. It must be glossy like Tarzan’s mysteriously well-kept hair. The film will be like a skillfully thrown spear, striking the heart of the audience with a hearty twang. Do you see?

CH: We see, Mr. del Toro. Now, how do you, as a director, identify with the character of Tarzan?

GdT: Ay, I was once at the zoo in Mexico with my family, and I was looking at the wolves–at los lobos. I was watching the wolf devour its prey, and when I looked up, mi familia was gone! I cried out; I called for my mother to return to me. “Mama! Mama!” I howled, much like an adolescent baboon. And that is how I identify with young Tarzan. Whenever I step behind the camera, I go deep inside myself and find that little boy crying, “Mama!” And my soul, it is touched.

CH: Mr. del Toro, I believe we have time for one final question. What influences can you cite to explain your interest in the Tarzan story?

GdT: When I was a young man, I saw a series of short advertisements–los anuncios–with a huge black panther slinking through the trees of the rain forest. And I thought, “What a beautiful life; what a beautiful image.” I was moved. Ay! The Yuban was delicious. The taste of the jungle, they say. It is in my heart. It is in my very blood. It will be in Tarzan.

*Kidding. Fictional. Not legally binding in any way.

Tarzan, Guillermo del Toro

The title placard before the 1929-1930 Best Picture, All Quiet on the Western Front, reads, “This film is neither a confession nor an accusation, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure for those who stand face to face with it.” That said–accusation, confession, or not–the message of the film is clear: War is ugly.

Both the film and the novel on which it was based show signs of a world still recovering from the effects of war; published in Germany in 1929, it had been translated and adapted to film in America within the year. There’s a sense of urgency and necessity to the story, like the Great War was still very much on the minds of Europeans and Americans alike. The resulting movie is big, with a bit of a mile-wide/inch-deep sensibility: a group of high-school boys are carried away by a teacher’s rhetoric and enlist in the German army just as World War I begins to rage, and go on to life in the trenches.

In a way, little has changed between then and the American war movies we see today: the men bond, kill time between battles, crave food and leave time, and come out of the experience hardened. The tone of the film differs from most American war movies in one important area, though: Americans generally like war movies about victory, and Hollywood responds accordingly. All Quiet on the Western Front carries with it a sense of futility–the knowledge that the soldiers who die aren’t even sacrificing themselves for the winning side.

The pace of the film is a little like the pace of battle itself, as portrayed in the movies: time meanders along, slow and steady, until something disturbing happens. Everybody’s sitting around in the barracks; suddenly, a bomb drops, a soldier loses his mind (and his boots), another soldier drops to the ground and never wakes up. It’s not a bloody film, particularly, but the emotional angst–the howling of soldiers in the hospital–more than make up for it. It’s a good movie, but for a soaring heart and increased faith in mankind, best to look elsewhere.

Next up for Project 501: Cimarron and Grand Hotel

All Quiet on the Western Front, Project 501, Oscar winners

What is it about Flatland that makes filmmakers salivate? Why are storytelling types so drawn to a two-dimensional world that they must bring it to the big screen? It seems that there not one, but two adaptations are making the rounds: one a half-hour educational film starring Martin Sheen and Kristen Bell, the other a full-length independent film by Ladd Ehlinger, Jr.

I watched the latter this weekend (early screener DVD! Oh la la!). It’s hard to know what to make of Flatland: The Film. The source material is classic. The film is satire and mathematics bound together, an attempt at bringing a complex work to life. Ehlinger updated the social context from the reign of Victoria to the postmodern world, and the implications are well taken.

On the other hand, it…looks like something out of Square One TV, and it’s hard to take Cousin of Pac-Man seriously as a messenger for social change. The adjustment to the two-dimensional world is jarring, not because it’s unfathomable, but because it looks primitive to the Pixar-trained 3-D eye. The animation is admirable for an independent film, but it still feels a bit like a socially progressive mid-90s video game with dialogue and voice-overs from a middle-school Sex Ed film. Narration appears onscreen between shots, especially towards the beginning, and some of that explication could be eliminated by working the salient information into the story seamlessly. That’s what other screenwriters do these days. The narration has a wink-wink-nudge-nudge tone to it, but it’s still onscreen narration, which went out of style with the silent film. It’s probably been for the best.

The attempt at bringing a 19th-century intellectual classic–the granddaddy of sci-fi stories everywhere–to life is appreciated. Really. But the visual of two dimensions is hard to translate in a way that keeps viewers interested and impressed, and the ability to interest and impress is vital here. It all feels a little…less than textured.

Flatland: The Film, Flatland: The Movie, Martin Sheen, Kristen Bell

First, a little bit of CHQS business: once again, I win! I win! If there were yogurt-lid medals to be handed out here, I would have a gold/blue one.

For the curious, the answer to Quotation Sensation #13 was: Scott Caan and Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve.

Moving on, though; a little bit of Valentine’s Day goodness for the coming week:

“Don’t get too close; you’ll go into sugar shock.”

Have at it.

Anti-automated dialogue replacement poetry for the auditory anarchist in all of us:

Down with looping sound!
Let’s go natural: vegan
listeners unite!