The other night, I met a beautiful family at one of my tables. The parents were both young, nice, and attractive. They had two boys, and one of them had a Robin costume on. I walked by and said, "Man, no one told me Robin was here!" The mother laughed, and we discussed her son's love of all things Batman. She especially enjoys how he is growing too big for the Robin shirt and his four-year-old manboobs are starting to stick out. I could tell how much she adored her children, and I was touched by her obvious devotion to her family.
I'll admit, I was a little jealous of the husband. Here he sits with a sweet, gorgeous wife and two badass kids with amazing taste in superheroes. At my age, these could be my amazing boys. This could be my wonderful wife. I hoped, at least, he realized his good fortune.
I was surprised, then, when I saw this guy come in and start hitting on the nastiest woman at the bar. That same night. The woman was wearing a tennis outfit, hoping to look like she just returned from a full day of exercise. However, her cankles and leathery neck wattle told me different. This asshat was ready to throw away his family for a night of sweaty, awkward, pleasure.
I was furious and it took me a while to discover why. I think it's that when someone stands up and makes a vow to love and cherish, he is not only swearing this to his wife. He is swearing it to everyone who has been married or will ever marry. He is now part of a millennia-old institution. As someone who hopes to marry and have a family one day, I am offended by this man's behavior. He will betray his wife and children just to show that he can hook up with a dried-out Bon Jovi groupie.
The anger I feel toward this buttface is the same anger I feel toward Michael Bay. Like a husband and father, the filmmaker is part of a time-honored institution. Whenever someone picks up a motion picture camera, he/she has a responsibility to all filmmakers who have come before and to all those who will come after. Making a film, one promises to produce to the best of one's ability, to tell a story of truth and weight. No matter how large or small the film, the filmmaker works in the same medium as the great John Ford, Akira Kurosawa, and David Lean. The filmmaker must take his/her job seriously and not betray the trust that has been given them.
And that's what Michael Bay has done with Transformers: Age of Extinction. He has betrayed the trust of his audience and every filmmaker ever. With it, Michael Bay shows that he doesn't care what critics, audiences, or other filmmakers think. Bay has made decent films like The Rock and Bad Boys. He knows how to tell a story and film a flashy action set-piece. However, over the last three Transformers films, the plots have become looser, the motivation more laughable. As the films have become progressively worse, the box office returns have grown exponentially. Like the father who keeps cheating and never gets caught, Bay has no reason to change his ways. He can make his films louder and stupider and laugh his way to the bank. At culture's expense.
This is not just a bad film; it is an affront to society. Transformers: Age of Extinction is racist, sexist, and xenophobic. One little robot is a miniature minstrel show, speaking in slurred ebonics. When he is freed from a trap, he exclaims, "Gawd almighty, free at last." The audience, primarily African-American, laughed heartily at this joke. I was flabbergasted. I felt like I was in some kind of Twilight Zone alternate universe. Bay makes a horrible joke of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s speech and the audience praises him for it. I don't have the words.
This being a Michael Bay film, I expected a fair share of low angle booty shots and gratuitous cleavage. I was not, however, prepared for Bay's sexist send-up of statutory rape laws. A seventeen-year-old girl has a twenty-year-old boyfriend. They explain that this is legal because of the "Romeo and Juliet" laws in Texas. Because they started dating before he was eighteen, they can date after he passes into illegal territory. The film champions this couple and the cause of cradle robbers everywhere. Again the audience laughed. Good for the rapey guy! You go for it!
Bay doesn't even care to hide the product placement in his film. During one of the drawn-out robot fights, a Bud Light truck is destroyed. Then, Bay gifts us with a perfectly composed shot of the fallen beer bottles. Man, those look cold and tasty... Mark Wahlberg, for no reason, picks up a bottle, pops it, and drinks. God that's refreshing. Like everything in this film, it is shameless and stupid.
Transformers: Age of Extinction is offensive to me as a man, citizen, and filmmaker. Bay shows great disdain for his source material, cinema, and his audience. And we love him for it. But this can't go on forever. Michael Bay will cross that final line, and his audience will turn on him. The cheating husband will be caught and will find no respite in the saggy arms of a bleach-blond bimbo. Sooner or later, your sins will find you out.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
Noah
I come from a long line of theologians. My grandfather, Chet, preached drolly from a Baptist pulpit. My dad has been teaching Religion at the collegiate level for over three decades. Even my brother took the seminary route and completed a Master's in Peace and Justice. Sadly, I have not followed the same path. When I first heard the pedantic tales of the Old Testament in Sunday School, I did not see a future in the ministry. Instead, I cast all the Biblical tales with my favorite Hollywood actors. I distinctly remember a fake poster I made for the story of David; Bruce Willis as David, Demi Moore as Bathsheba, and Kiefer Sutherland as Uriah. As my classmates worked diligently to memorize Luther's Small Catechism, I drew comic books depicting the goriest deaths from the book of Judges. This one guy stuck a sword into this fat king and the weapon was completely enveloped by the lardy torso. How cool is that?
While the rest of my family saw the Bible as an example for living, a path toward a more pious life, I saw the book as only one thing: a badass piece of source material. I think my inner filmmaker was born during those boring Sunday mornings. My imagination was alive with epic battles, betrayed lovers, and vengeful deities. I wanted to see all those crazy adventures on the big screen. All we got at my church was a steady diet of Veggie Tales. No sex or violence there; only talking vegetables...ugh. I'm pretty sure Darren Aronofsky had a similar upbringing. Noah is the movie I imagined while sitting in those hard backed church chairs so many years ago.
Whenever I see Aronofsky's name attached to a film, I mark it on my calendar. This isn't to say I particularly like him as a director; I just know whatever he puts on screen is going to be interesting. Pi was pretty cool when I was fifteen. Requiem for a Dream made a grab for most depressing film ever made and came pretty close. Still, it's just a beautiful cinematic version of a D.A.R.E after-school special. The Wrestler and Black Swan were dark and featured strong performances, but felt like film school thesis films. I believe that the director's most thought-provoking and memorable film is The Fountain, his story about mortality, love, and transcendence. I'll admit, the film is pretentious and crazy. But, this is what gets me to the theater for every Aronofsky film, that undercurrent of anarchy and batshit-craziness. The guy isn't afraid to hit you over the head with obvious motifs. He doesn't shy away from heavy themes and ostentatious symbolism. His films always go too far, so you never feel like an opportunity was missed. I kind of like that.
Noah feels like the film that Aronofsky really wanted to make when he filmed The Fountain. The original budget for that film was very large and sported Brad Pitt and Nicole Kidman as its two leads. Pitt's production company, Plan B, pulled out and left the film with half-built sets and no lead actors. The film was eventually made in a lower-budget, distilled manner. Well, budget was clearly not a problem for Noah. The film is big, bombastic, and absolutely insane. Noah is a close cousin of those Arthouse sci-fi epics of the 70s and 80s. That's when auteur directors like David Lynch brought us bloated bombs like Dune and John Boorman gave us the likes of Zardoz and Excalibur. They are all "bad" films, but they're loud, beautiful, and friggin' fascinating.
This could have easily been a boring, preachy, film for church groups to attend. Aronofosky is smart in that he distances himself from those Biblical epics of the 50s and 60s. Noah feels more like a fantasy epic set in its own reality. There is magic, fiery swords, and even giant rock monsters. That's right: Rock. Monsters. They were angels before and now they're rock monsters. That's all you need to know. The setting is clearly Earth but it could be in 3000 BC or AD. The clothing and production design looks like something out of The Road Warrior or Waterworld. Don't worry, that's a compliment. The accents are all over the place and no one really seems to care. What matters is the simple story told with such gravity and importance.
Aronofosky was clearly not interested in the gaudy, technicolor, religious tentpoles of Cecil B. Demille. The film is more akin to my favorite Biblical film, Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ. Scorsese's Jesus is a neurotic hero, constantly confused about what God wants from him. The spirit and the flesh are in constant conflict. Aronofsky treats his titular hero similarly. Noah wants to do what his Creator asks of him, but struggles with the repercussions this will have for his loved ones. At its best, the film is a nuanced examination of spirituality, humanity, and purpose.
It helps to have Russell Crowe carrying the weight of this heavy film. The guy is a classic movie star and can utter even the most cringe-worthy of dialogue with great confidence and gravitas. When the CGI animals begin to creep, slither, and fly into the ark, Crowe looks directly into the camera and speaks: "It begins." The whole scene is ridiculous, but the actor holds it all together. Crowe is joined by Ray Winstone as the film's protagonist, Cain. Talk about the two most intense actors in Hollywood. I'm pretty sure Winstone's dad was Lee Marvin and his mother was...Lee Marvin. I heard he eats gravel for breakfast and rides his bike without a helmet. Crowe and Winstone have the biggest stare-down in Hollywood history. They throw macho dialogue back and forth, and their eyes send icy daggers. It's really worth seeing the whole movie for this testosterone-fueled scene.
The film is also held together by the work of two of the director's recurring collaborators. Matthew Libatique returns as the film's director of photography. He hasn't forgotten any of his tricks. There are few cinematographers working today who still maintain such a cinematic grandeur in their work. There is a grit and scale to all of Libatique's work, and this is clearly prevalent in Noah. Clint Mansell is also back, bringing with him the ethereal and minimalist music he is so famous for. I have listened to The Fountain soundtrack about 600 times, and it never fails to move me. He can make the grandiose feel small and the most intimate moments feel earth shattering. Both Libatique and Mansell do some of their best work in Noah.
I have a feeling that many people with hate this film. I enjoyed myself despite its over-the-top nature and self-importance. Maybe I'm a contrarian, but I love films like Noah. They are unshackled, a little off their rocker, and the budgets are waaay too big. And, this movie has fire swords and rock monsters. Rock. Monsters. There's something I never thought of back in Sunday School.
While the rest of my family saw the Bible as an example for living, a path toward a more pious life, I saw the book as only one thing: a badass piece of source material. I think my inner filmmaker was born during those boring Sunday mornings. My imagination was alive with epic battles, betrayed lovers, and vengeful deities. I wanted to see all those crazy adventures on the big screen. All we got at my church was a steady diet of Veggie Tales. No sex or violence there; only talking vegetables...ugh. I'm pretty sure Darren Aronofsky had a similar upbringing. Noah is the movie I imagined while sitting in those hard backed church chairs so many years ago.
Whenever I see Aronofsky's name attached to a film, I mark it on my calendar. This isn't to say I particularly like him as a director; I just know whatever he puts on screen is going to be interesting. Pi was pretty cool when I was fifteen. Requiem for a Dream made a grab for most depressing film ever made and came pretty close. Still, it's just a beautiful cinematic version of a D.A.R.E after-school special. The Wrestler and Black Swan were dark and featured strong performances, but felt like film school thesis films. I believe that the director's most thought-provoking and memorable film is The Fountain, his story about mortality, love, and transcendence. I'll admit, the film is pretentious and crazy. But, this is what gets me to the theater for every Aronofsky film, that undercurrent of anarchy and batshit-craziness. The guy isn't afraid to hit you over the head with obvious motifs. He doesn't shy away from heavy themes and ostentatious symbolism. His films always go too far, so you never feel like an opportunity was missed. I kind of like that.
Noah feels like the film that Aronofsky really wanted to make when he filmed The Fountain. The original budget for that film was very large and sported Brad Pitt and Nicole Kidman as its two leads. Pitt's production company, Plan B, pulled out and left the film with half-built sets and no lead actors. The film was eventually made in a lower-budget, distilled manner. Well, budget was clearly not a problem for Noah. The film is big, bombastic, and absolutely insane. Noah is a close cousin of those Arthouse sci-fi epics of the 70s and 80s. That's when auteur directors like David Lynch brought us bloated bombs like Dune and John Boorman gave us the likes of Zardoz and Excalibur. They are all "bad" films, but they're loud, beautiful, and friggin' fascinating.
This could have easily been a boring, preachy, film for church groups to attend. Aronofosky is smart in that he distances himself from those Biblical epics of the 50s and 60s. Noah feels more like a fantasy epic set in its own reality. There is magic, fiery swords, and even giant rock monsters. That's right: Rock. Monsters. They were angels before and now they're rock monsters. That's all you need to know. The setting is clearly Earth but it could be in 3000 BC or AD. The clothing and production design looks like something out of The Road Warrior or Waterworld. Don't worry, that's a compliment. The accents are all over the place and no one really seems to care. What matters is the simple story told with such gravity and importance.
Aronofosky was clearly not interested in the gaudy, technicolor, religious tentpoles of Cecil B. Demille. The film is more akin to my favorite Biblical film, Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ. Scorsese's Jesus is a neurotic hero, constantly confused about what God wants from him. The spirit and the flesh are in constant conflict. Aronofsky treats his titular hero similarly. Noah wants to do what his Creator asks of him, but struggles with the repercussions this will have for his loved ones. At its best, the film is a nuanced examination of spirituality, humanity, and purpose.
It helps to have Russell Crowe carrying the weight of this heavy film. The guy is a classic movie star and can utter even the most cringe-worthy of dialogue with great confidence and gravitas. When the CGI animals begin to creep, slither, and fly into the ark, Crowe looks directly into the camera and speaks: "It begins." The whole scene is ridiculous, but the actor holds it all together. Crowe is joined by Ray Winstone as the film's protagonist, Cain. Talk about the two most intense actors in Hollywood. I'm pretty sure Winstone's dad was Lee Marvin and his mother was...Lee Marvin. I heard he eats gravel for breakfast and rides his bike without a helmet. Crowe and Winstone have the biggest stare-down in Hollywood history. They throw macho dialogue back and forth, and their eyes send icy daggers. It's really worth seeing the whole movie for this testosterone-fueled scene.
The film is also held together by the work of two of the director's recurring collaborators. Matthew Libatique returns as the film's director of photography. He hasn't forgotten any of his tricks. There are few cinematographers working today who still maintain such a cinematic grandeur in their work. There is a grit and scale to all of Libatique's work, and this is clearly prevalent in Noah. Clint Mansell is also back, bringing with him the ethereal and minimalist music he is so famous for. I have listened to The Fountain soundtrack about 600 times, and it never fails to move me. He can make the grandiose feel small and the most intimate moments feel earth shattering. Both Libatique and Mansell do some of their best work in Noah.
I have a feeling that many people with hate this film. I enjoyed myself despite its over-the-top nature and self-importance. Maybe I'm a contrarian, but I love films like Noah. They are unshackled, a little off their rocker, and the budgets are waaay too big. And, this movie has fire swords and rock monsters. Rock. Monsters. There's something I never thought of back in Sunday School.
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