Once More, With Feeling

I know, I know! "Blog? What blog?" I wish I could say I was one of those bloggers sympathy-striking with the WGA. In fact, it's just been busy. In all kinds of wonderful and bizarre ways. Though somewhere in there I managed to see a good many movies, including most of the Oscar noms. Bully for me.

So. Where were we?

Riiiight. Something about breaking down movies! Well. Over the last few months, I've seen three musicals in the theatres. THREE. And they couldn't be more different: Across the Universe, Sweeney Todd, and Enchanted. All strange and beautiful in their own ways.

But this got me thinking. What is it about musicals that just feel funny on screen? Here's what I've come to. (And I hope you'll forgive me if this is just general consensus -- I've never articulated it to myself before.) The problem with musicals is that, when characters break into song, generally the story stops. Musical numbers tend to express a particular -- but usually static -- emotion. Sure, maybe a decision is made in there. Or something new is revealed. But generally, it's about the feeling, not plot development.

And to savvy moviegoers, it just feels artificial to go from plot point to emotional consequence like a switch is being flipped. In great non-musical movies, we get both of those things in the same scene, so intertwined we don't distinguish between them.

The best musical numbers, I think, are the ones that somehow incorporate a real turn. In Sweeney Todd, the barber's decision to not slash the judge's throat during "Pretty Women"; in Across the Universe, Jude's outburst at Lucy in the protesting offices, during "Revolution". Simply put, in these scenes, we're engaged by how this musical number is affecting the character... we're not just watching and waiting for what's next.

To recap: don’t forget to have both story and emotion in all of your scenes, whether they're catchily hummable or not!

*To address the thinly-veiled reference in the title, the musical episode of Buffy knew this lesson to be true. The proof? You can listen to just the songs and follow the entire story.

I'm Cold, and There Are Wolves After Me

In disaster movies, we expect our heroes to face all manner of obstacles. If it's a sinking ship, you're gonna have flooding, freezing, dangerous debris. If it's a burning building, you're gonna see flames, smoke, falling structures. Either might explore obstacles in the form of human weakness or selfishness. But for the most part, we want the obstacles -- all of them -- to be the direct result of the initial disaster.

Which is why the wolf sequence in The Day After Tomorrow feels so lame. Here we've got climate going haywire, killing millions, burying major cities... but we're going to watch a couple of kids getting chased by CG wolves on a boat.

The wolves feel tacked-on and strain credibility. They're bordering on Kim Bauer's foot getting caught in the cougar trap. Just what are the odds?

Imagine there was a sequence in Inconvenient Truth about how maybe we'll all also be in danger of hungry, roaming wolves when the climate shit goes down. (There isn't, is there?)

I know it was tough, Day After Tomorrow -- how can you continue to up the stakes when your disaster, your antagonist, is basically winter? I wish you'd turned your attention inward, to human conflict in that library, instead of throwing wolves at the problem.

The Pretenders

I've been researching teen romantic comedies, because I'm fleshing out an outline for one of my own. In my travels (and, okay, over a number of months) I've watched and made notes on She's the Man, What a Girl Wants, Mean Girls, John Tucker Must Die, 13 Going on 30, and Freaky Friday. In case you're not on a similar mission (but have a passing interest?), here are a few things I've learned about the teen rom-com:

• Setpieces are absolutely crucial in this genre. Whether it's a school dance, huge "popular crowd" party, the "big game", a concert, a debutante ball, a school play... these movies are structured around their "everybody's gonna be there" events.
• The "right guy" is very often into music. Either he's a music geek (John Tucker) or a musician himself (What a Girl Wants).
• The right guy is also an outsider - he's not part of the "cool" crowd, though is, of course, in his non-conformist way, incredibly cool.
• This works out well, given that the heroine of these movies is almost always an outsider herself; she's not cool by conventional standards, and doesn't quite fit in, which is exactly what makes her cool - to us, and to the right guy.
• Our heroine's friends tend to represent varying degrees of trying too hard to fit in (the key theme of all of these films).
  
• The villain in these movies might be a rival girl (13 Going on 30, What a Girl Wants) or a jerkhead guy (John Tucker), but this physical presence is rarely the main source of antagonism in these movies, which is...

• Our heroine herself. It blows my mind, but each and every one of these movies is about the exact same thing - a girl who tries to be something she's not. This is the archetypal story for the teen rom-com. A girl who's pretty great to begin with pretends to be something else, falls into the trap of wanting it all, has a dark moment in which she discovers her real self has been lost, and, in the climax, publicly reveals her true self (thereby earning the respect of worthy friends and crushes).
  

What I want to know is, why does this story speak so powerfully to teenage girls, presumably the target audience for these movies? Or does it, even? Is it possible this story is what we as adults wish for, for teenage girls? We hope that girls will reject what (wait for it) "society" tells them they should be, and instead be the brave "outsider" (who, by the way, always ends up with more friends than she started with; even popular ones)? Finally, I would really like to know if the average teen girl relates to this archetypal one - do all teen girls see themselves as outsiders? Never popular enough, but are trying to embrace what they do have?

Anybody got a teenage daughter we could ask?

Dramedy or Comedy-Lite?

2006 saw the release of both The Breakup, a mostly unfunny, almost-too-authentic tale of a couple splitting up, as well as Stranger Than Fiction, a mostly unfunny, but sweet, gentle story of redemption and what it means to really live. I don't dislike either movie, but I have to say, I'm a little surprised that two of the classier (read: attracted great casts 30+ and were clearly targeting grown-ups) pictures of the year would walk this tonal line.

The kicker is, both of these movies have comic premises. They've just got great comic hooks. Instead, each movie went for something that was, perhaps, more interesting... but definitely less funny. What is this, as a genre? Unsuccessful comedy? Successful dramedy?

I was disappointed by both films, because to me, many a dramedy is just a comedy lacking self-esteem. Imagine if these films had kept their story structures, and their great characters, and their strong thematic threads, and been funny.

They'd be elevated from "might rent" to "must own".

It can be done. Groundhog Day. 40 Year-Old Virgin. Sideways. Little Miss Sunshine. About a Boy. Any one of them could have had their comic teeth extracted, and a solid story would remain. Instead, they reached higher.

With their comic teeth. Or something. You know what I mean.

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?