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.

More on the "They Wouldn't..." Factor

As Oscar years go, it's hard to get excited.

One of the Best Picture noms is Babel. An almost aggressively adequate movie. It doesn't have the urgency or unity of a Syriana, the reversals of a Traffic, or the divisive quality of a Crash. But it remains very watchable. And one of the reasons is its use of the "They Wouldn't..." factor.

Movies are agreements. Generally, we understand what we have agreed to going in. When we go to a comedy, we know that no one will really get hurt. In horrors, lots of people will get hurt-- but not the hero. When we see a drama, we know characters are going to experience discomfort and even pain, but that may be what's needed for that character to be transformed and emerge in a better place.

Basically, we agree that it'll be fair.

But sometimes a movie refuses to play fair. We don't know exactly what we've agreed to going in. The movie doesn't promise to, say, protect innocents and children. Such is the case with all of the above ensemble dramas as well as Babel.

Babel makes good use of "They Wouldn't...". In particular, it encourages its audience to think: "They wouldn't really let those kids die of thirst in the middle of nowhere, would they?" and "They wouldn't really let that damaged Japanese girl have sex with that cop, would they?" among other worries.

But anything seems possible. We're set up from the get-go that it's a world where things just aren't fair. It's not fair that the tourist got shot. It's not fair that the kid who shot her (by accident; he's a kid) is going to pay and pay. It's not fair that the housekeeper is put in the position of looking after her charges or attending her son's wedding. It's not fair that it's so hard for the deaf girl to make human connections. None of it is fair, so you just don't know how far the movie will go.

Keep it in mind. Sometimes it's nice to feel like truly anything could happen.

Dial-an-Arc

A little while ago, I caught Jurassic Park III (imagine that claw-slashed typeface there) for the second time. In the theatre, I remember being disappointed-- but it's still a pretty good time. Especially if you have a thing for Sam Neill's "you people are fools" face. And I do.

This time around, a couple of really obvious not-good story points stuck out at me. The first is the annoying case of the character-arc-that-isn't. In this case, I'm talking about the divorced couple working together to find their son, who end up getting back together in the end.

This is the perfect recipe for a strong arc for these two. The couple hate each other, have moved on, don't even understand the other person anymore... but because of their shared love of their only child, they put their petty grievances aside and work together. Through this mutually agreed-upon peace, and through the many dangers they face while on the island, they see each other anew and let the positive memories back in. They realize they still love each other-- or, even better, they fall in love all over again.

Except, you know, none of that happens. Not a bit of it. They work together on the island without a single real moment of tension between them. There's no conflict, no old bitterness... in fact, they seem to quite like each other from the get-go. It's weird-- based on the reunion in the end, the film seems to believe these characters have really changed, and that the reunion is a surprise!

But when they do get together in the end? That silence you heard in the theatre? That was the sound of no one caring.

That's what happens when it all seems too easy.