The Way You Make Me Feel

Every once in a while, I'll see a movie that makes me reexamine how I see movies. I think these are invaluable, because it's so easy to feel you've seen it all and can't be surprised.

The most recent movie that forced me to get over my assumptions and actually pay attention, is the Irish film Once. The music in the film is phenomenal, but what I'm most interested in is how the movie both is, and isn't, a romantic comedy... and how it refuses to play by the rules of rom-com convention. Here are a couple of examples:

• In the film, the guy's still pining over a girl who left him. In a conventional rom-com, the guy's supposed to get over that absent girl, and start anew with the gal who enters his life in the first act of the movie. Instead, Once lets him pine for the absent girl -- going so far as to have him writing a song while watching old home videos of her -- and then allows for the idea that perhaps he and absent girl still have a chance!
  
  
• Similarly, the gal in this film has an absent husband in another country. She, her mom, and her little girl moved to Ireland for a fresh start. Our first instinct, as viewers of many rom-coms, is that the dad is a deadbeat, or was at least a romantic mistake, and the gal is supposed to start anew with our heartbroken guy. Instead, the gal, after the experience of making music and becoming close to our musician guy, decides maybe the right thing to do is invite her kid's dad here to live with them, and give being a family another chance.

Now, in neither this example or the one above were we given strong evidence that our heroes should move on, and leave these past loves behind... it is simply our assumption that that is the case, because of how these movies "usually work".

And, of course, there's the ending. Which is perfect, surprising, and sublime, and because I've already spoiled too much, I won't spoil that. But suffice it to say, sometimes it is most satisfying to not get what you, as a viewer, think you want.

Bitch Bitch Bitch

I got out a lot, into the sun, this long weekend. Honest, I did. But I also spent a little over two hours in the darkness of the theatre, with an old friend named John McClane.

Live Free or Die Hard was a lot of fun. I'm not going to break it down for you... I think you're pretty much going, or not. But something did occur to me during this movie that I think is worth mentioning. Very early on, there's a moment in which a henchman tells another henchman -- both of whom have just screwed up -- "You tell her." And for about .0015 of a second I thought: ooh, is the big baddie in this Die Hard a woman?

It's not. I'm not even spoiling anything -- the villain is not kept secret long. And while a "he" is in charge, his number two is definitely a force to be reckoned with. And it occurred to me: why the heck couldn't the supervillain in this movie have been a woman? And why is this so darn rare?

Here, I think, is the problem, broken down into its problem-parts:

1) A big, bad villain has to be really powerful and bad-ass. That can be a woman, but there's this general feeling that a super-strong woman is an exception to the rule. (Though TV seems to make this exception all the time for gals like Buffy, Veronica, Xena, Sydney Bristow, Jamie Sommers, Painkiller Jane, Jessica "Dark Angel" Alba, etc.)

2) On a related note, many find depictions of evil women lacking in credibility. Women are believed to be more nurturing, more community-minded... less selfish, less on-the-take. My argument to that? Do you find the male villains in action movies credible as human beings?

3) I have to wonder if there's a sense that we won't enjoy seeing a female villain getting the snot kicked out of her when her time comes. I have to say--the new Die Hard doesn't pull a single punch (or McClane-quip) from the female baddie, and I, for one, found that refreshing. I wasn't uncomfortable, because she was his physical match. They were equals; she was no victim.

4) It's possible that many filmmakers are reluctant to write a female villain because the very act of casting a woman as evil can feel political: mean women tend to be either androgynous monsters (Tilda Swinton as Narnia's White Witch), traiterous whores (Lena Olin's Mona in Romeo is Bleeding) or hideous, loveless, jealous, bitter crones (pretty much any Disney villain from the '30s through 1989). To that, I say the obvious: well then, do something else with your mean ladies!

Now, I don't expect to reconcile everything about men and women and the male gaze, and give birth to a new form of feminism that makes everyone feel equal to the point where characters are accessing the whole spectrum of human possibility... but wouldn't it be cool if I did? Take that, all you people who think blogging's a waste of time! Ha! (Hey, would you guys mind backing me up here? Could you go ahead and write some awesome female villains, that are interesting and credible and ass-kicky, so my blog legacy will live on? Thanks, I owe ya!)

*Props to Joss Whedon for Glory and Jasmine, among others, as well as Glenn Close for her Marquise. Feel free to add your props-deservers below.

Going Off the Parody Rails

There are a lot of ways for movie parodies to go wrong. Not funny enough, not on-target enough, not creative enough, not enough story to last for 90 minutes, the characters aren't real so we get bored of them fast. Or, sometimes, the whole thing just feels like it's trying too hard.

This is not a post about those things. This is a very specific qualm with Hot Fuzz.

I really liked Hot Fuzz. Its pedigree was amazing-- the creators of Shaun of the Dead, taking on cop/action flicks? How could that not be fun?

And it is fun. Except when the movie overstays its welcome and forgets its genre.

Now, I know some of you are starting to think I'm a bit of a fuddy-duddy. "Anything longer than 100 minutes is just too darn long! I missed Jeopardy! for this?!" Honest, if a movie earns its length, I'm totally there.

But Hot Fuzz is a fun, light, cop-movie parody with a 3rd act that is, I swear, 40 minutes long. There's a moment when our guys realize who's behind the deaths in the town, and then there's seriously about another 40 minutes of action. It's action with gags, and a few cute moments of redemption, but ultimately it lasts wayyyy longer than necessary.

The real, deep-down problem is, a parody can't be so in love with the thing it's parodying that it stops being a parody and turns into homage. It just doesn't work.

Why? 'Cause I came to laugh. I did not go see Hot Fuzz for car-chase action.

Imagine if Airplane! had ended with 40 minutes of high-stakes disaster-movie moments, with some gags thrown in.

Enough said?

Hope: Now Fully Transferable

Regular Reversals readers know I love a good (okay, even a bad) horror movie.

That's my lead-in to talking about Black Christmas. Which wasn't, by the way, all that bad. At the very least, it was fun-- gleefully silly, as opposed to the increasingly common dialled-in gunk.

Anyway. Black Christmas follows a bunch of sorority sisters as they're stalked by a serial killer. Subconsciously, as a viewer, you see several potential victims, and start placing your bets on who will stand up as the hero and survive this ordeal.

Without even realizing it, I placed my bets (in the form of hoping/assuming they'll survive) on the character played by Michelle Trachtenberg. The only other sorority sister with a recognizable face was Lacey Chabert, and her character seemed too dumb to last. But Michelle... she seemed sensible. Ready for a fight.

So midway through the second act, when Michelle bit it, I was genuinely surprised. And started casting about for the next possible hero I could pin my hopes on.

And that's when I realized: sometimes horrors are simply about someone surviving. It doesn't actually matter that much who. The horror movie is the world gone wrong. As long as one of our characters can take down the monster, the world is set right again.

Other examples of this "as long as someone survives" phenomenon: Pitch Black and Deep Blue Sea. (Got others?)

I can't believe it's taken me so long to process this simple truth. I'm sure there are many-a-masters-thesis out there on this very subject.

Going the Other Way

When I finally saw Casino Royale, I understood why everyone was excited. (Beyond Daniel Craig's abs. Can we focus, please?)

A big part of the reason Casino Royale was so fun was because it was full of surprises. It was full of surprises because it repeatedly turned our expectations on their heads.

Exhibits A through E:

A. He's a blond, thick, serious looking Bond. There was hoopla over the casting. Clearly, the intent was to go as far away from Pierce Brosnan's prettiness as possible. Which lent the movie some bad-assishness.

B. This bond is anything but effete, and doesn't quite belong. Shaken or stirred? they ask. He answers: "Do I look like I give a damn?"

C. The little details don't work out the way they normally do. At one point in the hotel hallway, Bond's earpiece gives him away. (I've always wondered why that doesn't happen more often.)

D. When this Bond is tortured, he doesn't seem unhurtable. He's actually pretty darn vulnerable. In fact, the torture he goes through is about the worst (and possibly most humiliating?) a man can suffer. This movie risks emasculating Bond, which actually has the opposite effect.

E. This Bond genuinely loves the girl, and has a complete character arc. Refreshing!

It's hard to say if many of these particular "fresh takes" can be repeated as the series continues, or if they're "reboot" factors. Nevertheless, if future Bond films surprise us by intentionally doing the things we don't expect them to... I'm in.

Fairy Tales & Terror

I remember seeing a panel of indie filmmakers talking about how they envision their films. One said, when she was writing the script, she always asked herself: Which fairy tale is this? Is it The Ugly Duckling? Is it Cinderella? Is it Peter Pan? Conceiving a new story on the foundation of an old one that's already deep in our consciousness... not a bad idea, I thought. And wrote it down in my notebook. And promptly did not make use of this idea when conceiving or writing a single script.

But I remembered this thought when I watched V for Vendetta. You know, the adventurous tale of the innocent girl taken in by the "monster" who turns out to be no monster at all? Or, as some like to think of it, Beauty and the Beast?

I'm sure I'm not alone. Lovely girl, horrible "monster", the girl is held captive, the girl becomes a sympathizer (seeing there are worse things than "beasts" in humanity), the girl falls in love with him and helps defend him and his house...

The important lesson for me, here, is that I actually thought of the fairy tale while watching the film, and it didn't weaken Vendetta's story-- it only made it richer. This "what story is it like?" thing isn't a cheat, and it isn't just shorthand... it's a layer. A filter. A lens through which we might see new characters and a new story, so that the new story resonates deeper.

If you as screenwriters do the "What kind of fairy tale is this?" please let me know!

Things That Make You Go "Meh"

Last year, when I saw the killer-on-a-plane movie Red Eye, I sort of enjoyed it. The note I made for myself for future blogging was that it was refreshing. It isn't one of those "there's a killer torturing our hero and we don't understand his plan until the third act" kind of movies. Its plot is simple. We know what creepy-pretty Cillian wants right up front -- he needs Rachel to make a phone call to put a politician in the right room at the hotel where she works, so his team of fellow mercenaries will be better able to assassinate the man. As collateral, Cillian's got a site trained on Rachel's dad. It's clear and the stakes are plenty high. No mystery is required. It doesn't always have to be a mystery!

I thought this was a reasonably blogable point despite the fact that the movie didn't exactly wow me, and I admittedly haven't thought of it much since.

Then this week I saw this post by friend and former student Averyslave at Trekking the Uncanny Valley.

Damn. He's so right. Well done, Grasshopper.

Lessons from the Incredibly Obvious File #4

Or: Don't Draw Attention to the Stupid Stuff

There's a tradition in screenwriting of pointing out the script's own story or logic problems. I've heard this called both "shining a light on" the problem, or "hanging a lantern" on it. Basically, you've got a minor logic hole that isn't worth writing around, so you have a character in the story acknowledge the issue. The idea is, by acknowledging the issue, you defuse the audience's questions about it.

Say, for instance, a character in a horror pic noting that it would have been smarter to run out of the house, than into the basement. We then think-- okay, they know that was stupid. But too late now.

What you don't want to do? Shine a light on something that will actually make us ask more questions.

There's a scene in The Island in which Ewan McGregor has just started to question the rules of his post-plague institution. This particular institution is supposed to keep plague survivors safe... but is in fact a world in which human beings are essentially prisoners, manipulated into hoping they'll win a ticket to a Utopian island. All the prisoners are dressed in crisp sci-fi white.

In conversation with the director of the institute, an increasingly rebellious Ewan says: "And... Let's talk about all the white. Why is everyone wearing white all the time? It's impossible to keep clean." The conversation moves into a new direction from there, with that question never answered.

Well maybe it's just me, but when the character asks that question and is given no answer-- I start to wonder too! Hey, yeah, that must be so much effort in terms of laundry. And wouldn't it be easier to control all these guys if they wore colour-coded uniforms? Based on, say, gender, or age, or dietary needs, or whatever? Surely dressing them all exactly alike is more work than it's worth.

But the movie can't answer the question, because the only possible answer to the question "Why is everyone wearing white all the time?" is "Because we are in a science fiction movie."

If you're following convention for the sake of convention... or you're trying to get away with something... don't frickin' hang a lantern there, okay?