Do Revenge, the new Netflix original feature, is doing crime right in front of our eyes this episode. The film wears its main influence prominently on its impeccably tailored, pastel, cashmere sleeve: Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, reputedly the master of suspense’s fourth best film (citation needed). But do the films share more in common than their criss cross plot lines? And have attitudes to violence, criminality and revenge changed scene 1951?
The books we referenced this episode:
Creatures of Darkness https://books.google.com.vc/books?id=kIgfBgAAQBAJ
The Adam Project, Netflix boasts, has been consistently in the service’s Top Ten since its release. You can understand why. People like to watch Ryan Reynolds. Even I quite like to watch Ryan Reynolds. He’s discovered that secret of success that Arnold Schwarzenegger, Humphrey Bogart and Julia Roberts all found out before him: be the same in every film. So here, as usual, he’s charming, cheeky, quippy, a bit rude, and slightly vulnerable – but only slightly. Mostly quippy. You have to ask why they don’t just call his character in every movie ‘Ryan’.
You said you wanted a quip?
Reynolds here plays the titular Adam, a time-travelling space pilot from 2050 who returns to 2022 to enlist the help of himself as a boy to thwart the invention of time travel, thereby saving humanity from a Skynet-style destiny of dreadful devastation. Along the way he deals with some of his own childhood trauma (while surely causing a whole mess of future problems by exposing his boy-self to dozens of brutal murders, no…?)
Quippy is definitely what Reynolds is going for here. You’re never waiting long for a quip, and some of them are not bad. But quippiness always brings a downside, of course. The film regularly undermines its emotional moments because it just can’t resist a quip. (Though to be fair, I know plenty of real life people who are exactly the same.)
Is there time for a quip before I kill some people?
There is an emotional arc for several of the characters, but all of them feel speedy and unearned. Reynolds needs to learn that his father loved him despite his absence, but the lesson is dictated to him in a talky scene and not played out through characters’ actions on screen. Sorian the baddie turns out to be bitter and angry because she feels unappreciated, but again this is something we’re told in a dialogue scene when it would have vastly more impact and pathos if we saw it for ourselves. For an action movie, there’s very little ‘show me don’t tell me’ here.
And if there’s one good lesson to be learned from the endless quipping, it’s that quips are not enough to paper over plot holes. There are huge logical lurches and leaps in the film, and I’m not just talking about the paradoxes that emerge when you ask the audience to take time travel seriously. There are faceless baddies with invisibility suits that politely become visible before queueing up to attack Reynolds one by one. There is Reynolds’ hyper-competent time-travelling wife Zoe Saldaña, who has waited patiently for him for four years, hiding out in a shack, when she could have spent those four years PREVENTING THE INVENTION OF TIME TRAVEL, seeing as that was the reason she came back to the past in the first place. There is the massive, super-advanced, technological mega-donut that generates the electrical field that allows time travel to occur, which is housed in a building with no engineers, no guards, no receptionist, no staff of any kind. The place looks clean but who can tell why, because there’s definitely no cleaner.
Must be their day off.
And magnets. Magnets! Don’t get me started on the magnets. The climax of the film relies on magnets, and even a seven year old can tell you that real magnets do not behave the way they do in this film. Magnets! What is this, an Insane Clown Posse video? How can I be angry watching a film about magnets?! They’re just MAGNETS!
I like quips. Goodness knows I’ve written some myself. But if you’re going to put a lot of effort into writing quips for your movie, please also put some of that effort into those other cornerstones of storytelling: character motivation, world building, and tone. And ask someone how magnets work.
The Black Panther sequel is coming later this year, and having recently watched Nope and The Brother From Another Planet, we find ourselves talking about Afrofuturism at the popcorn counter this time, where literature, movies, games and TV all make the Mothership Connection.
I’d never seen Jim Carrey vehicle Bruce Almighty until this week, when it made it onto the list of ‘films to watch with the family’. Oof.
I’m afraid it’s not good news, son
Was there ever a film as cynically written as this? Not in terms of its plot, which is a rather unambitious and unimaginative modern take on the H G Wells story ‘The Man Who Could Perform Miracles’. And not in terms of the characters, who do demonstrate some kind of arc even though they’re not particularly original. (The central character is a world weary and self-centred local television newsman whose beat is a endless series of trite human interest stories, until supernatural events make him realise how selfish he is. …Is it groundhog day?)
No, the main reason it feels cynical is because the film looks like every story beat was written with one eye on how it would look in the trailer. Bruce Carrey is temporarily given god-like powers, and not only is his every action self serving, he ONLY does things that will look cool in a trailer.
Cynical, you say?
Walking past a fire hydrant? Make it blow up! Why? No reason, it’ll just look cool in the trailer.
Jennifer Aniston? Make her breasts swell up! There’s no character motivation for it, but it’ll make a good gag in the trailer.
Traffic? Part it like the red sea! Is it because there’s an important reason to beat the jams? Nope, none, but it looks cool in the trailer.
And repeat.
It’s understandable that every producer wants elements in the script that will help make a great trailer, sure. But it shouldn’t be the driving force behind every scene, please.
Watch the skies! Wait, no, DON’T watch the skies, look away!! Jordan Peele’s new scifi horror film Nope dives screaming onto the screen this episode, raining blood, coins and general dread on the audience. But what’s it really about? And is it as skilful in its exploration of the lives of people of colour in a science fiction scenario as John Sayles’ 1984 picture The Brother From Another Planet? Join us as we stare into the heart of cosmic horror and then overclock some old arcade video games like ET goes to New York with an Atari 2600.
We’ve been let down by modern cinema’s conservative and risk averse distribution policies this week, meaning our scheduled film My Old School never turned up. So for the first time we’re recording a film podcast without actually having seen a film. Great. Instead we spend the time talking about some of our favourite school based films that HAVE shown up in the past. And in penance for our poor planning we’ll be reporting for detention at four o’clock, alongside Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez.
Okay, no-one’s really sure how this happened, but bear with us. Somehow, somehow, in a logical, progressive fashion, we set out to discuss the legacy of colonialism and in the end managed to segue from an examination of Victorian museum design to the movie Sonic the Hedgehog 2. Yes, yes, it could have happened to anyone. Just don’t expect us to ever do it again.
The other children’s movie rewatch I got in recently was Luca, Pixar’s 2021 picture. Luca is a sea monster who assumes human form when on dry land. Warned by his family to stay away from the human village, he nevertheless becomes friends with Alberto, a fellow sea monster who lives on the land full time, and who introduces him to all the wondrous things the world above the water’s surface has to offer. But some of the locals are terrified of sea monsters, and Luca and Alberto are always in danger of being unmasked…
Stay out of the water…
It’s tremendous, the ideal summer movie: the setting and the colours alone make it feel like a 90 minute vacation. And it reads to me unmistakably as a sweet movie about coming out as LGBTQ.
Taking a more granular view, however, while the first 30 minutes especially are utterly perfect (not a word I use lightly), the film takes a tiny stumble at the point when it introduces its antagonist, Ercole, a boorish local cycling champion.
Where’s Audrey? She was there a minute ago!
In common with many of the House of Mouse’s recent films, the true antagonist of the film is fear itself. (See Frozen, Moana, Zootopia, Soul, Big Hero 6, the list goes on). But Luca I think spends too much time and energy on this secondary antagonist who is buffoonish and unsubtle and just not interesting enough. For this segment of the film to transcend, it would only need Ercole to reinforce that main theme by proving himself to be motivated by fear, too. Fear of losing the cycling race, fear of growing up, perhaps even fear of coming out. And all the ingredients are there, but somehow the film can’t quite capitalise on them. Instead it leaves him as merely ‘bad’, or perhaps ‘intolerant’. A missed opportunity and a little lesson on the value of integrating your themes…
This episode we’re PUNCHING TIGERS IN THE FACE with the incredible Indian breakout hit RRR. And if that’s not overpowering enough, we’re also watching 1939 adventure movie classic Gunga Din. Join us for a measured discussion of colonialism, nationalism, cinematic idioms, and LITERALLY THROWING A MOTORCYCLE OVERARM AS A WEAPON WHILE EVERYTHING ELSE ON SCREEN EXPLODES!
I had an opportunity to rewatch Pixar’s Turning Red this week with my son in an actual cinema, and I’m happy to say it’s still utterly fantastic – even better on the big screen, where the film’s smorgasbord of detail shines.
Fantastic Ms Fox
The theme of the film is integration. 13 year old Meilin finds that the onset of puberty means she turns into a giant red panda whenever she gets emotional. She’s given the chance to banish the panda forever in a magical ceremony, but instead at the last minute chooses to keep the panda side of her nature and integrate it into her life. Know thyself, as the Oracle at Delphi advises us.
There are some distinct furry vibes here, if that’s your thing (c’mon, open your mind), and a great, honest take on teenage girls dealing with friendship and the advent of romantic feelings. (Well, the horn). It has anime nods and a Kaiju grandma and N-Sync-lite. And there is not one scene where you get the feeling that anyone said, ‘That will do.’ Instead the whole film feels like it was made by people who really believed in it and loved it and adored it and nurtured it. I loved it too, the first time I saw it and again this time.
I could take the chance here to talk about the value of specificity in screenwriting – one of the film’s many strengths is that it happens in a specific place, Toronto, and at a specific time, the summer of 2002. When you’re specific like that, authenticity can follow, and it’s authenticity that keeps the audience with the characters.
But instead I’m going to briefly discuss a controversy that arose when the film was originally released. The film got a poor review at the site CinemaBlend and was labelled ‘unrelatable’, and I have a couple of things to say about that.
Did someone say ‘controversy’?
First: wrong, wrong, wrong! Wrong! What? Seriously? I think the gist of the idea was that the film was about the life of a 13 year old Chinese Canadian girl, and because it was so specific, if you weren’t a 13 year old Chinese Canadian girl, you wouldn’t get it.
What? I mean, sorry, what?
This is an age old problem, of course. Oooh, yes. Raiders of the Lost Ark, for example, bombed because not enough of the movie going public were academic archaeologists with whips, right? Stars Wars was a total disaster that disappeared without trace because it turned out that no-one in the audience, not one person, had ever been a farm boy on the planet of Tatooine.
There’s a reason why you’ve never heard of this film…
Okay, so I admit it’s true that Turning Red will only appeal to a few limited groups of people. I’ve listed these groups below: People who have been 13. People who will be 13 in the next four or five years, People who have or once had parents. People who have ever worried about meeting the expectations of an older person they admire. People who have had friends. People who like music. And finally, people who have bodies.
If you’re not in one of those groups, okay, sure, go and see something else. And good luck.
The ‘Friends’ reboot was shaping up nicely.
Secondly, and more seriously, this reminds me of one of the most heart-sinking notes you can ever get about a script. ‘It’s not relatable.’ ‘I showed it to my son and he thought it wasn’t relatable.’ That’s a real note I’ve received on a script I’ve written. And frankly, I think it’s stupid.
If you get the note ‘it’s unrelatable’ on your script, I think it means one of two things.
Either (a) the person giving you notes is incapable of empathy. If that’s the case, you have my permission to ask them if they really believe they should be working in the arts.
Or (b) they mean something else. Usually I think when people say a script is unrelatable, they mean it’s IMPLAUSIBLE. ‘I hit a road block in the story because I didn’t believe the teenagers would venture into the haunted house alone.’ ‘I didn’t believe the newspaper magnate would spend all that money trying to reclaim his childhood when his sled was right there.’ That’s fine. That’s an understandable note. If audiences don’t believe your characters, you have a problem. But it’s not ‘unrelatability’ that’s being described. The people in your script who do implausible things can still be people that we recognise and identify with. People empathise with R2D2, for goodness sake. Or a shell with shoes on. The issue is plausibility, not relatability. That word ‘unrelatable’ should be expunged from the dictionary.
You mean I need to start shaving now?
We don’t go to the movies to look in a mirror. Or rather, yes, that’s EXACTLY why we go to the movies. But we know that the mirror contains multitudes. Just as we do.
