Cinema Hype

If you read this blog with any regularity at all, you probably know that I am generally unoffended by the norms of the modern romantic comedy—on occasion, I’ll even fight for these films’ right to be ridiculous. It’s not just that I like watching the quirky ingenue get the guy (though let’s face it: I do). To me, it amounts to a weird kind of genre discrimination: the same people who would never dream of demanding a lesson on gun control from a Western get their knickers in a twist when a so-called “chick flick” ends with shopping and cute boys.

But even I cannot, in good conscience, hang with the trailer for The Ugly Truth, which comes out Friday.

So let’s see: under the guise of “educating” Abby (Katherine Heigl) about men (gee, how nice of him), Mike (Gerard Butler) gets to turn her into his own perfect girl, no questions asked? The way I see it, this turns out one of two ways: 1) Abby falls for Mike and vice versa, and as they lean in for the first kiss of their happily-ever-after life, she thanks him for imparting so much knowledge to her feeble brain; 2) Abby plays Mike and gains a modicum of self-respect, and then thanks him for imparting so much confidence to her feeble psyche; or 3) Mike falls for Abby “just as she is” (thank you, Bridget Jones), reforms or doesn’t, and she gets to thank him for screwing with her self-confidence and then putting it all back together. In none of these cases does anybody get the karmic pleasure of beating him over the head with that baseball stadium hot dog. So, basically, tragedy ensues.

Why does “If he doesn’t like you, it’s his loss” have to become “If he doesn’t like you, it’s your fault”? Doesn’t this girl have any friends? Sure, we all do crazy things in these situations, but this would be their cue. Even worse, maybe the self-esteem pep talk comes out of Mike’s mouth, in which case Abby can officially thank him for teaching her the ways of the big, manly world (and then make out with him). As Liz Lemon so wisely pointed out that one time, “It’s like those Dove commercials never even happened!”

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s a marketing thing. I notice that The Ugly Truth is written by two women; maybe it has hidden depths and is actually all about self-actualization, and Abby decides she’s happy being her awesome self without the benefit of all these handsome man-gods running around. We can only hope. But as it currently stands, I think even Rebecca Bloomwood would roll her eyes and go shopping instead. As well she should.

The Ugly Truth, Katherine Heigl, Gerard Butler, romantic comedies, rants, feminism, Liz Lemon

This Friday, March 13, marks a serious travesty in the film world: the release of Race to Witch Mountain, the Escape to Witch Mountain remake that doesn’t even resemble the original enough to share its name. This has got to be a heartbreaker for children of the ’70s and ’80s everywhere—not so much the remaking (a straight-up remake probably would have been pretty cool) as the bastardization of a classic kids’ adventure movie, i.e. the repurposing of our filmic childhoods.

So what’s next on the docket for the stripping of nostalgia from classic live-action Disney films?

The Viewer in the Forest: Glenn Close stars in this horror film for the under-10 set, wherein a series of paranormal events turn out to be absolutely nothing at all. It’s Saw IV meets Coraline, and your family will love it!*

The Odyssey of Sassy Nann: An orphan girl named Sassy Nann travels cross-country by train to find her mother, who has gone west looking for work. Along the way, a series of new acquaintances mysteriously don’t try to take advantage of her. And the big surprise comes at the end: Sassy’s a boy! Freddie Highmore stars.

Flight of the GPS: A young boy is kidnapped by a mysterious spaceship and catapulted eight years into his own future. Everything has changed, but it’s okay because the spaceship has a Garmin built in. And then they listen to the Beach Boys. It’s family fun for everybody!

Unruly Hearts Can’t be Shattered: Miley Cyrus stars as Sonora Webster, a Depression-era runaway who wants nothing more than to do ballet with circus elephants. She’s riding high (literally!) on her dreams when a tragic accident under the big top means she’ll have to learn to dance all over again—with only her pinkies. Orlando Bloom stars as the elephant trainer who loves her.

Rex: Based loosely on the film of the S.E. Hinton novel, about two brothers abandoned by their parents…only to be adopted by a Jack Russell terrier who keeps their spirits up and won’t let them down. This adorable dog movie will touch your family to the core, and possibly cause you to buy a dog you didn’t mean to get.

* It should be noted that The Watcher in the Woods, the original, inexplicable Disney family/suspense(!) film starring Bette Davis, scared the pants off me at the tender age of eleven, undoubtedly contributing to my current weenie status. THANKS, DISNEY.

Race to Witch Mountain, Escape to Witch Mountain, The Watcher in the Woods, Bette Davis, The Journey of Natty Gann, Freddie Highmore, Flight of the Navigator, Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken, Miley Cyrus, 80’s movies, Disney, remakes

Over at Cinematical today, Eugene Novikov ran a piece about critical reactions to comedies, and how often critics seem to simply miss the point.

Here at CH, we’d like to raise our voice in support of Novikov’s theory and take it one step further: if comedies in general are often panned, romantic comedies are the ultimate red-headed stepchild of the cinema world.

Certainly, in recent years, a great many romantic comedies have earned their nasty reviews; nobody here is defending Good Luck Chuck or He’s Just Not That Into You (CH Friend Sarah confirms: unfunny, insulting to women everywhere, and “just so…dumb!”). But there’s a certain way in which even decent ones seem to get a bad rap, simply for belonging to the genre.

First, I think it’s a demographic thing. Most romantic comedies simply aren’t made for most critics—i.e. most film critics aren’t women, and more importantly, they aren’t thinking like women. Often, humor and sharp writing are paired with woman-oriented subject matter, which is like some kind of magic filter: feminine stereotypes bleed through, while strong (or at least competent) moviemaking somehow gets left on the other side. So they don’t like the movie, because it wasn’t made with them in mind, and we end up with slews of bad reviews for movies that probably don’t deserve the reputation.

Second, there often seems to be, in romantic-comedy reviews, a basic lack of understanding of the standards of the genre—they act like the couple ultimately ending up together is a surprise, like they don’t get the kooky back-and-forth of the middles of all of these films, and generally like romantic comedies are somehow supposed to work according to the rules of real life. And any woman who’s seen a romantic comedy or two can explain, patiently, that that’s not that case, nor should it be the case. Surely innovation and original storytelling are always pluses, but a) good writing can still adhere to the frame of the genre, and b) if romantic-comedy fans wanted reality, they…wouldn’t be romantic-comedy fans. They’d be out watching documentaries instead of organizing Sex and the City viewings. Reality is not the point here; getting into the spirit is the point. And that, sadly, is often overlooked from a critical standpoint.

I’m not saying that good romantic comedies never get their due, or that all bad reviews are unwarranted (for many, OH ARE THEY WARRANTED). But I am suggesting that we take a breath, take a look at the goals of the films and their success in terms of those goals, and take romantic-comedy reviews with an extra-large chunk of salt.

(NOTE: Would I have written this column if I couldn’t have used an image from The Cutting Edge? Probably, but I wouldn’t have been nearly as excited about it. The Cutting Edge, you guys!)

Cinematical, Eugene Novikov, comedy reviews, romantic comedies, chick flicks

The makers of a French film on the famous German Shepherd Rin Tin Tin probably expected their subject’s fans to take up the cause with enthusiasm. They probably didn’t expect a lawsuit, but that’s exactly what they got. Daphne Hereford of Pearland, Texas, has sued First Look Studios for copyright infringement—for not using her dogs in the film. Hereford breeds descendants of the original Rin Tin Tin, and says that the film’s use of other German Shepherds—”just regular dogs”—is confusing to the public and an insult to the very name of Rin Tin Tin.

I think we can all learn a lesson from Hereford. When Cinema Hype: The Story of Liz hits the greenlight phase, for example, I ask that only my own relatives appear in roles meant to portray me and my family. Actors or not, round them up and stick them on film: that way, the public can get an accurate understanding of the pointiness of my nose, the stubbiness of my fingers, and the flatness of my butt. Those without my own blood rushing through their veins would just be regular people, and regular people just won’t do.

Also, under no circumstances is CH:TSoL to be fabricated in any way. Anything less than complete faithfulness to my life story is misleading as to my actual character, and therefore unacceptable. I am not to be made wittier, better at math, or a quieter sneezer. Seven-minute mile? Try twelve, and you’re going to SIT THERE AND WATCH IT.

On the other hand, complete journalistic accuracy must portray the above-average nature of my personal integrity, courage, and skill in a variety of life situations. Do not, under any circumstances, neglect to include the time I cartwheeled through freeway traffic to save a sweet fuzzy kitten from mortal danger. Likewise the time I caught the bouquet at my friend’s wedding—wrestled from a very aggressive flower girl, I might add—and danced around the world, sprinkling petals and sunshine and light among all the world’s poor. Anything less than complete recognition of my deeds besmirches the CH name, and if you think I won’t take you to court to defend my good nature and spotless character, THINK AGAIN.

[Rin Tin Tin, Finding Rin Tin Tin, French Rin Tin Tin, Daphne Hereford, Rin Tin Tin lawsuit, First Look[/tags]

Readers, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Something painful. So painful, in fact, that I believe my brain has been sabotaging me: I keep forgetting to post about it. I’m blocking it out.

I’m talking about the Nights in Rodanthe trailer.

I cannot claim to be a Nicholas Sparks fan. I’ve let the books pass me by; in terms of the movies, I was only semi-whelmed by The Notebook, and I think I’ve only seen half of A Walk to Remember. Mostly, the Sparks empire strikes me as a little condescending, a little unnecessary, and maybe less than totally healthy, considering how all of them end.

But doesn’t this one seem especially, almost deliberately, bad? Maybe it’s just the way the trailer’s cut, or maybe it’s just that brazen, but as soon as Richard Gere decides to eat in the kitchen (I’m telling you, this trailer haunts me), it all seems so embarrassing. There’s no pretense here: these characters have been brought to this inn for sex, and the audience will have paid $10 to be there for that. It doesn’t matter whether they thought about it that way or not—the trailer editors certainly did. It’s not that I mind the sex itself; it’s more the terms in which it’s couched that bother me: the wild horses galloping down the beach, the “what keeps you safe?”, the waves crashing on the shore, the pointedness of it all. It’s so euphemistic and so metaphorical and so directly targeted at the apparent desires of the stereotypical middle-aged woman—leaving the loveless marriage, coincidentally sharing awesome beachside inn with angsty hot man who just happens to be a sensitive lover and also brings on well-timed thunderstorms—that it feels like it’s based on some kind of poll. The pandering, it burns.

Maybe it’ll do well; maybe these really are the secret (or not-that-secret) desires of the average American woman, brought from the privacy of the page out into the open. Maybe I’m out of touch. I’m sure there are people out there who can’t wait for that storm scene. Maybe I should commend them on their candidness, or on finally getting that elusive formula right. Maybe I’ll do all of this…as soon as the syrup-induced nausea dies down.

Ugh.

So, you’ve all heard the latest news on Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, right? How Warner Bros. released the gloriously creepy trailer for the latest HP (that would be teenage wizards, not personal computers) installment, and proceeded to push the movie itself back eight months? Half-Blood Prince has officially moved from a November 2008 release date to July 2009, which, if you hadn’t noticed, leaves us almost an entire year to wait. THANKS, WB. I’M NOT BITTER. REALLY.

According to WB, the movie is on schedule and within its budget, but the reasons for the delay are twofold: “We know the summer season is an ideal window for a family tent pole release, as proven by the success of our last Harry Potter film, which is the second-highest grossing film in the franchise, behind only the first installment. Additionally, like every other studio, we are still feeling the repercussions of the writers’ strike, which impacted the readiness of scripts for other films - changing the competitive landscape for 2009 and offering new windows of opportunity that we wanted to take advantage of. We agreed the best strategy was to move Half-Blood Prince to July, where it perfectly fills the gap for a major tent pole release for mid-summer.”

In other words, “You’re waiting because we want more money.”

WB did point out that a delayed release for Half-Blood Prince means a shorter gap between it and the first half of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which has been split into two films to better accommodate the length of the novel. Instead of a two-year wait, audiences will pine for a little less than eighteen months—which is SO MUCH BETTER, right?

WB, you’re on notice.

Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Half Blood Prince, delayed release

I just finished watching In Her Shoes, which I’d requisitioned from Netflix after finishing the book over New Year’s in the desert. Most of my deep thoughts on this movie fall somewhere in the “where can I get a wedding dress like that?” range, but there is one really very serious thing I’d like to talk about:

In what kind of universe is Mark Feuerstein not worthy of being a girl’s first choice?

I get that Simon Stein is a winner in the end, and that we’re supposed to believe that Rose is just too wrapped up in her own misery to notice. But do you look at this guy:

and think “Wow, he’s not really cute enough to get a date”? I just don’t think that’s a universe in which I can exist.

Mark Feuerstein, In Her Shoes, Toni Colette, Jennifer Weiner

For our next trick, the
entire cast will cover their
heads with panty hose.

This whole situation is getting a little alarming, isn’t it? The Information Super-Highway has failed us again! Come on, Al Gore! Is this what you wanted for us?! (Note: For big fun, click on that link and see what a scrawny young pup Al used to be. It’s like his high-school yearbook picture, or something. “Most Likely to Bore People Out of the Young Environmentalists’ Club.” Poor Al.)

It seems that Angelina Jolie will be CGI in Beowulf. Here’s the catch, though: she’ll be CGI…as herself. And so will everyone else. Robert Zemeckis is using his new toy, performance-capture animation, to make perfectly normal-looking people into soulless animated onscreen droids. It’s not so much the process that’s problematic here as it is the product: if you’ve seen the creepy humans in The Polar Express, you know what I mean.

Maybe it’s all intentional. Maybe Zemeckis is taking a beautiful cast and using technology to render everyone totally unnerving on purpose. It’s a statement, see? Technology makes us flat and weird, and not really like people at all! We are Scandinavian monsters, people, ravaging the tiny villages of Web 2.0! And it’s all the programmers’ fault.

At least, that’s what I’m going to believe until Zemeckis a) says otherwise, or b) gets bored and finds a new technology with which to freak us all out. Arthroscopic animation, anyone?

Beowulf, Beowulf movie, motion-capture animation, Angelina Jolie, Robert Zemeckis

We interrupt your regularly scheduled movie-review programming to bring a special Curmudgeonly Theatre-Goer’s Report. For the record:

- Just because a movie is animated does not mean your child will sit still to watch it.

- If a movie is not animated and/or specifically aimed at your child’s age group, the likelihood of your child not driving an entire theater of people to drink goes down by 50 percent.

- Children have eyes and ears. They may not understand what’s going on, but they’re still watching.

- If your child doesn’t understand what’s going on, he or she will ask, and it’s not going to be via telepathy.

- The fact that your child is speaking a language other than English does not mean we cannot hear him or her.

- The fact that you are not shushing your child does not go unnoticed. At least look like you are making an effort, or we will make an effort for you. Any dirty looks you receive are on your own head.

- You had to buy your child a ticket to see this movie. Surely two hours of babysitting isn’t much more expensive?

- Some movie theaters offer showings specifically for people with small children. This is a good investment of your time and money. Trust us. Come back in ten years, and we’ll talk.

And now back to your regular film-review program. Thank you for your time.

If you’ve ever used the words “Whatever I feel like doing! GOSH!” or wanted to throttle someone (or multiple someones) who’ve done the same, you might want to go check out The Ten Most Obnoxiously Overquoted Movies. Now, the blogger in question might be a tad obnoxious himself (and you know he loved “Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries”), but…he’s not wrong. There are only so many iterations of “Yeah, baby!” that are acceptable in the world, and I’m pretty sure Mike Myers used them all up.

But isn’t it a relief to see what isn’t on that list? How Star Wars is, apparently, still fair game, despite being one of the most-quoted, most-ripped-off movies of all time? How it’s pretty much always okay to compare a situation to a scene from The Godfather, even if you’re misquoting it, just like everyone else? I think we can all feel better now. After all, where would I be without When Harry Met Sally and “You’re right, you’re right, I know you’re right”? Did Nora Ephron know that he was writing the most quotable film of all time? (Answer: Of course she did.) What about You’ve Got Mail, which is definitely in the sleeper-quotation category: it’s a film that is ridiculously, endlessly quotable, only I can never place the quotations until after I’ve used them. What about Notting Hill? And I’m not talking about Spike; I’m talking about, “They’re prescription, so I can see all the fishes properly.” You have no idea how often that quotation comes in handy. Don’t even get me started on, “It’s not Jane Austen; it’s not Henry James; but it’s…uh…gripping.” What about Twister, for heaven’s sake?

All I’m saying is that movie quotation can obviously get out of hand–nothing ruins a movie like careless imitation–but that a well-used movie quotation is nearly always appropriate, and that if we’re only staying away from ten movies, I call that a win. Find something good and use it well, my friends.

Oh, the trials of a lowly Mac-using blogger. It’s a hard row to how, having a laptop that’s just plain cuter and easier and less virus-prone than everybody else. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Nobody knows my sorrow!

The situation is this: Netflix, in its interminable campaign to be voted Miss Congeniality, has e-mailed to inform me that my monthly rate has gone down. This is a good thing. There is no trouble or sorrow for me in the reduction of my Netflix bill. They also, with a bat of the eyelashes and a good old yawn-and-stretch, told me that I am now eligible to receive 14 hours of TV or film programming directly on my computer, beamed from outer space, or Hollywood, or wherever. No trouble or sorrow there, either. Fourteen hours is a lot of time on top of my regular two-at-a-time, and think of the increased watching opportunities without the two-day turnaround. Victory, right? It’s like Christmas in July! Except that Netflix has failed to accomodate Mac users into the deal. We’re just too hip for them to handle.

It’s terrible, really. It’s like an older sibling pretending to invite his impressionable little sister into his room to play, and then slamming the door in her face (not that that ever happened to me, mind you)–”Come on! Let’s watch some movies together instantly! Sure, we can watch Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken! Whatever you want!”….SLAM. We’re left alone with our magnetic cords and our two-day turnaround time.

One hopes that Netflix is working on this, that they’re eager to address the needs of Cult of the White Earbuds. Because it’s not like Mac users are uncommon, and it’s not like they don’t have any money, and it’s not like they wouldn’t like movies sent straight to their computers or DVRs. Because I’m guessing that somebody else will figure it out eventually, and Mac folks are likely to be more attached to their computers than to their movie rental services.

Netflix, Mac, streamed movies, whining

So, Liam Neeson
emancipates the slaves and
wears a high silk hat?

I was going to write about the state of the modern biopic–or biographical picture, as we fuddy-duddies prefer–and how they’re really playgrounds for art and casting directors. I had a whole thesis, points, rebuttals, etc. But I saw a list of upcoming biography films, and couldn’t go on. Seriously. Take a look at this:

-The aforementioned Neeson as Abraham Lincoln (Weird, yes, but the resemblance is actually sort of uncanny, if you squint a bit)
-Anne Hathaway as Jane Austen (not to be all fuddiduddical again, but COME ON)
-Elijah Wood as Iggy Pop
-Some kind of Jeff Buckley movie, currently uncast
-And don’t even get me started on the whole weird J-Lo/Marc Anthony vanity project deal. Ugh.

I can, however, get thoroughly behind Zooey Deschanel as Janis Joplin. Girlfriend can sing. I nod approvingly in her direction.

Maybe I’ll get back to that thesis, with the points and the rebuttals, sometime. For now, I’m just going to go think fond memories of The Queen.

biopics, Liam Neeson, Abraham Lincoln, Zooey Deschanel, Janis Joplin, Anne Hathaway, Jane Austen

To: Spiderman, Harry Potter, and all other heroes with “it can only be me me me” complexes

From: Women

Gentlemen, we know it’s a hard life, being a savior, and all. Great perks; really bad job stability. We know that your greatest gifts are also your biggest curses. Trust us; we know. With great power comes great responsibizzzzzzzzz.

So will you stop breaking up with us, already? You say you have enemies; don’t we all? Granted, our enemies are unlikely to lie, cheat, steal, kidnap, and murder, but…we’re not immune to the snotty girl at work, if you know what we mean. You say it’s going to be hard, and you really can’t have us around to complicate things. Well, thanks for that. Glad to see we mean so much to you that you simply CANNOT have us around. It’s been nice knowing you, you know? And thank you SO much for the respect you show us by allowing us to make our own decisions. That’s really, really nice.

So get over yourselves, and make sure to be home by dinnertime, okay?

Thanks.