Watchmen

Once considered the “unfilmable” graphic novel, Watchmen held a status of reverence which has placed it among the “100 Greatest Novels” by Time Magazine. Unlike most superhero movies, its source material is far less widespread, with a mere twelve issues making up its entire pantheon. Interesting, too, is its rabid fanboy devotion which will surely pick apart every scene with a kind of hair-splitting fervor that’s often reserved for legalistic religious scholars.

Zack Snyder picked up the director’s reins for Watchmen, having wowed mostly-male audiences with the overly graphic 300. Unlike most superhero films, none of its characters are on the lips of the average American (quick, can you recite the complete back story of the first Night Owl?), which makes this film an especially great challenge for any writer or director.

For any film to be successful not only with audiences but critics, it must stand on its own, despite its source material. Watchmen’s greatest faults are highlighted by the faults of any graphic novel, particularly the pacing and storytelling. On the plus side, nearly every scene was filmed as if they were pulled from the panels of its drawn counterpart, resulting in some of the most beautifully rendered images ever seen on film.

For the uninitiated, Watchmen tells a story in an alternate version of 1985 where costumed heroes weren’t the stuff of comic books (that realm was dedicated to pirate stories), but were a part of their recent history. So recent, in fact, that the government (with Nixon still in the White House) had passed a law that outlawed costumed heroes.

The opening credits are easily the most memorable of the film, which establish beautifully the “alternate history” of the movie, costumed weirdos and all. The difference between the heroes in Watchmen and our own comic – er – graphic novel pantheon is that none of the heroes had any real powers, except for one. The lone hero with authentic powers is an-often-naked-blue-dude name John Osterman who calls himself Doctor Manhattan.

The story of the film pretty much follows the source material panel-for-panel with a few exceptions. Edward Blake (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) is thrown out a window, and iconic smiley-face button gets stained with blood. The crime is investigated from the shadows by Rorschach (played perfectly by Jackie Earle Haley), whose deadpan voice and colored-shape shifting mask is far more than just an alter ego.

The film carries Rorschach as he interviews his old pal Dan Dreiberg (Angels In America’s Patrick Wilson) who longs for his past as the gadget-genius Night Owl. When we’re first introduced to Doctor Manhattan (Billy Crudup) in all his CGI-rendered blue, glowing, naked glory, he’s forty feet tall and totally detached from the world in which he lives.

To say more would require several dozen pages and a bazillion plot spoilers, so I’ll leave it at that.

The target of this film is clearly for those who are fans of the original comic series by writer Alan Moore and artist Dave Gibbons. When Moore was asked what he thought of the film, he succinctly stated that he would “never see that (word that rhymes with ducking) movie.” So, there’s not much love there. Not that he’d ever give it a chance.

The rest of us, though, meet the film with a cautious eye, hoping that it won’t completely tear apart the source material, and still have a good movie. The good news and bad news in all of this is this: Indeed the original story is intact. The bad news is that a few points have been changed (some for the good, some not so much). Because of this, die-hard and devoted fans may be up in arms over the film’s changes.

Of course, there’s also the big blue penis, which isn’t nearly as distracting as one might think it would be. See? Male nudity can be done tastefully. Still, I can’t help but wonder if the guys doing the CGI were snickering the entire time while modeling Osterman’s male appendage.

There’s plenty to like with Watchmen, but there’s also plenty of yawner scenes that could have been easily cut. It’s not terrible, but it’s also not great. Yet, I find myself wondering if it could have been any better than it is. Without the decades of encyclopedic material that support the Batman and Spider-Man franchises, Watchmen finds itself in the only frames and stories it knows how to tell. Much to our delight, it’s a decent story, leaving Watchmen well in the category of a successful translation from panel to screen.

Films like Wanted appeal to just that kid-on-the-cusp-of-adulthood mentality that most adult men share, driving all of us to wonder just what we’ve done with our lives. Since most of us who shell out our eight bucks to see this kind of movie aren’t interested in anything but violence, guts, sex, and profanity, director Timur Bekmambetov (with his first American film) delivers all of these elements within the first five minutes of the narrative.

That’s not to say it’s a bad movie, really. Bekmambetov’s style is clearly an attempt to capture the equally-adult comic book in film, a task which is largely successful. Having never read the comic (I know, they’re supposed to be called “graphic novels,” but frankly, I don’t care. They’re comics.), I was able to look at the film as its own entity. Since the vast majority of the film’s audience is equally ignorant of its source material, that’s probably a good thing.

Set around a nobody-cubicle-dweller named Wesley Gibson (played with passion by James McAvoy), we realize just how much we have in common with this character. But then, we’re shown just how much of a super-loser he really is to the point that it’s ridiculous. But hey, that’s the point, isn’t it? After all, doesn’t every loser have panic attacks?

We’re then introduced to the ultimate femme fatale, Fox (a perfectly cast Angelina Jolie), who manages to pull Gibson out of the fire of a particularly nasty assassin’s attack. Not only does Gibson join the ranks of the assassins, he takes the pleasure of telling off his mundane manager and walks out the door of his cubicle world triumphantly. Thus begins a white-knuckle romp of turning a zero into a hero, who happens to be one of the world’s elite super assassins.

In fact, the movie tells us, this group of the deadly elite is called “The Fraternity.” Obviously, this is a far pitch from the beer-guzzling frat boy antics such a name might suggest, with a mission to save the world. Their method is obviously questionable, but it’s one of which Star Trek’s eminently logical Mr. Spock would approve: Kill one to potentially save thousands.

Morgan Freeman provides the leader-with-a-nasty-secret as Sloan, and as always manages to elevate the film just with his very presence. I don’t know why Freeman has taken to playing darker characters in recent years, but it’s an interesting switch. His take on Sloan isn’t all too different from his role as the Boss in the 2006 film, Lucky Number Slevin. Personally, I liked him better as God in Evan Almighty. Even still, Freeman’s skill as an actor and his screen presence are always welcome, and Wanted is no exception.

It’s McAvoy who emerges as the film’s true star, with his piercing blue eyes and his deep intensity that’s not often seen in film these days. He first gained notice way back in a silly Sci-Fi Channel production of Children of Dune (2003), and stayed with television roles until a breakout performance as Mr. Tumnus the faun with a conflict in The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. With other stellar supporting roles in The Last King of Scotland (2006) and Atonement (2007), McAvoy has top billing in Wanted. Clearly, his star is rising high, and his performance merits all the attention he’s been getting.

Wanted could have been just another exercise in mediocrity, but stellar performances by McAvoy, Jolie, and Freeman give the film a much-needed shot in the arm to actually make it enjoyable. It’s not for the faint-of-heart, though, since there’s enough blood splattered to make a Hellraiser fan happy, and the action is as brutal as it is intense.

The climax of the film brought back memories of The Matrix, and gives a massive body count that’s actually a pretty big payoff. It’s far better than average, but not as great as it could have been. Wanted is a testosterone-filled race through curved bullet paths and head-shot assassinations that’s just what our gung-ho society really doesn’t need. But hey, it’s an action movie, not Shakespeare.

It’s by no means a bad movie. In fact, it’s really quite good. Director Steven Spielberg, Producer George Lucas, and Harrison Ford all fit back into their old clothes quite nicely, especially the latter as he puts on the famous hat and title role once again. To put it plainly, he’s still got it. Harrison Ford is Indiana Jones. He owns the role like a seasoned Rolex, and there’s no sign that he ever let it go.

Set in 1957, nearly twenty years after the events of the Last Crusade, Crystal Skull picks up in an eerily-familiar warehouse that supposedly houses a particular artifact that Soviet KGB officials seem to require. The Soviets are led by Irina Spalko(Cate Blanchett), one of the least-developed villains in the entire series. Blanchett has done well with her Russian accent, but aside from that, there’s really not a whole lot going for her.

David Koepp, a long-time screenwriting ally of Spielberg, has delivered a capable script, presenting great dialogue between the lead characters. One of the downfalls of this sequel is the same with most sequels: an assumed knowledge of previous films. Koepp reunites Jones with Raiders flame Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), which could have been a great moment in the film, but turns into little more than a rehash of the last time they were together.

Allen retains much of the spark and passion that gave her character such a boost in Raiders, but her involvement seems to be more contrived than a real necessity to the film. In fact, this only illustrates one of the film’s greatest weakness: it tries too much to be another Raiders.

Shia LaBeouf appears as greaser slacker “Mutt” Williams, who enters Indy’s life just while everyone else is looking for him. Of course, this is yet another setup for an action scene for the old teacher and young man who has a knack for getting out of tight spaces.

Rounding out the cast is the quirky and entirely too underdeveloped Professor Oxley (John Hurt) who was widely rumored to be cast as Dr. Abner Ravenwood. Well, the rumor wasn’t true, but Hurt’s contribution is sadly a little too trite for my taste, and is a bit of a waste of his talents. Both Marion and Oxley could have been great characters, but they are mere shadows of what they could have been.

The film culminates in an ancient tomb and temple, and its ultimate payoff will leave many audiences satisfied with its grandeur. But then, it’s no Raiders. It’s better than Temple of Doom, and it’s still a great bit of fun. Hey, it’s Indiana Jones! It’s a story that is filled with action, sword fights (yes, sword fights), betrayal, big explosions – REALLY big explosions, and plenty of McCarthyism-era atmosphere to give chills down the spine of anyone familiar with that era in American history.

What makes these films work is that they are a kind of nostalgia in and of themselves. The first three films were a throwback to the old movie serials, and gave 1980s summer audiences a hero to root for no matter how bad things got. This new film carries on that legacy quite well, and adds 1950’s science fiction schtick into the mix. Not only that, the nostalgia for its own predecessors.

Spielberg, Lucas, Ford, and Allen appear to all be looking to relive a time when summer adventure movies were still thought of as a risk, and and everything had to be big and bold in order for it to work. LeBeouf adds a new element to the mix, and his smarmy smile is a perfect fit for a tale set in a rather dark time in America’s history.

Their latest collaboration is indeed a success, giving us another chapter in both ancient legends and modern heroes, with a glimpse of a new generation of yet another Jones to take the reins in future films. Early in the film, Indy is goaded by his Russian captors about how great communism is. His response is distinctly American: “I like Ike.”

For me, despite all of its very real flaws, “I like Indy.”

With that, you can imagine how I was ready to unload with both barrels on Bay’s latest film. Imagine my complete and utter frustration when I came to realize that I actually liked the movie.

Transformers is a summer action film which is clearly aimed at a testosterone-driven audience. I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that I screened the film in a theatre filled with local soldier boys, geeks, dweebs, and their pals who came to see lots of explosions and hear bad dialogue. Indeed, they got their money’s worth.

There’s a lot to hate about Transformers. It’s long, and it’s loud. It appeals to nearly every conceivable alpha male stereotype with sexy girls, anti-gay jokes, masturbation quips, and at least two incidents where urination is used for the sake of humor. My, how we’ve come in a society where bathroom jokes are the norm.

The action scenes are difficult to follow, and when the robots are fighting, it’s just a blur of explosions and metal. There’s not a lot of motivation for the evil Decepticons, either. They’re just evil. And they like to blow stuff up. I always wondered why the Autobots never could fly in the cartoons. It would have been more of a fair fight. I still wonder about that.

The robots’ dialogue is simply horrible. The Decepticons were never able to master English, which is a good thing. At least we only had to read the subtitles when they deliver their atrocious lines. The Autobots, on the other hand, were able to learn our language “on the World Wide Web.”

Transformers is a 144-minute commercial. No, wait. It’s three commercials in one: 1) the Hasbro toy line (After all, the opening credits list Hasbro as a financer for the film), 2) General Motors, especially the new Chevrolet Camaro (Notice that all of the Autobots (except Optimus Prime) are from the GM line, and the Decepticon police car is an evil Ford Mustang), and 3) the Army (they need to recruit new folks for Iraq, you know).

Put simply, Transformers is garbage. But it’s good garbage. It never takes itself too seriously, and is clearly marketed for those of us who have a limited attention span. Even with so much to hate, I still liked the movie. Oh, how I wish I could hate it. I wanted to hate it. But I just couldn’t!

After all, gosh darn it, I’m a fan. The movie somehow… miraculously… appealed to my inner twelve-year-old. Even as bad as Optimus Prime’s dialogue was, Peter Cullen’s voice was enough to make me believe in him again. “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings,” he said. Heck, he even repeats a line that’s from the 1987 animated film. No, I’m not telling you which one.

The story revolves around this ancient cube from Cybertron called the Allspark. Apparently, it would turn our own technology against us, so the Autobots have to find it before the treacherous Decepticons do. The only one who has the key to find it is a teenage boy named Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf). Sam is the typical smartaleck kid who has just gotten his first car. It’s LaBeouf that shines as the overall star of the film, and might even outshine the robots themselves.

The first act of the movie revolves around the fact that Sam’s 1979 Chevrolet Camaro is actually a robot in disguise called Bumblebee (sorry fanboys, he’s not a VW Beetle). In a nod to the cartoon, there’s a yellow beetle right next to Bumblebee in the car lot where Sam and his dad are to buy his first car. Bumblebee is heroic, and apparently has earned the respect and admiration of the much larger Optimus Prime. He also shows the most depth of character of any of the robots.

There are plenty of cardboard characters in Transformers, especially the ones played by Josh Duhamel, Jon Voight, and John Turturro. The only reason they’re there is to ooh and ah at the robots, and of course, serve as moving targets. The second and third acts of the film are much more explosive, and they serve well to pump testosterone through the hearts of teenagers (and eternal teenagers) everywhere.

Now if you’re not a teenage boy (or a boy trapped in a man’s body) that’s ready to check their brain and any semblance of plausibility at the door, then stay far, far away from Transformers. The rest of us can have a good time.

There are plenty of us out there who grew up with the Transformers, which is what Dreamworks is counting on. This movie brings them to life like only Michael Bay can, with enough decibels to deafen a boom box. That is, unless the boom box is a transformer. Oh, there’s that too.