lilgrasshoppah

War is hell. It is a macabre sarcasm of Life. It perverts all normal socially-accepted truths. And, in such a hell, only demons can survive -- - only demons can know how to excel.

War Daddy (the inhuman, nearly immortal, soulless, progenitor of all destruction) says it best: "We're not here for 'Right or Wrong'... we are here to kill them."

Perhaps, one imagines that there will be peace and happiness, beyond the unrelenting violence... but, after such implacable destruction, not only of lives... but of Life... what consolation can there be?

Every chicken-hawk, war-mongering coward, should be required to witness this film. It is harrowing. It is cleansing. It teaches that violence begets violence. All that is pure and good, is destroyed by war... and it is only the purity of goodness, that restores goodness after the war is over. One wonders if it does any good to know the fact... for the demons in charge refuse to learn. And their deaths, after a time, proves nothing.

I am filled with unrelenting sadness over this film. Its perfection shall go on, unappreciated. Its unblinking honesty will go on, unheeded. For, there will be other wars (there are many, now). There will be other demons, who's lust for conquest will obliterate everything they know... even/especially the things they profess to love.

Because war is hell, and paradise does not exist in this realm... or, even after. The perversity of war... the final image... testifies to this fact. Life with war, is tainted. A poisoned well does not come clean.

The story of 47 Ronin is one of the greatest stories of chivalry, loyalty, and honour in history. It is a fascinating study of the uncompromising nature of a samurai under the code of Bushido. It is unfortunate, then, that the filmmakers chose to unhinge the story from its roots, and stick it in a vaguely European, vaguely Renaissance- era fantasy. It doesn't make any sense, and it doesn't help the story.

It also doesn't help the story, that the script reads like a threadbare synopsis of the tale, with some Madlibs-style alterations. There was no originality or freshness to the tale, and neither was there respect or reverence for the source material.

Honestly all I remember of the film was that Clive Owen was sturdy and scruffy, as usual... and Morgan Freeman had his usual dignitas... but other than that? From titles to credits... each frame was instantly forgettable. I love Bushido. I even appreciated some of the bits of the Last Samurai. But the absolutely only good thing I can say about the film as a whole... is that, at least, it isn't such a filthy abortion as Keanu Reeves' 47 Ronin.

And that is faint praise, indeed.

Ex Machina

So, Ex Machina is a smart film. And, it asks really interesting questions about AI. But, the casting of Alicia Vikander is what catapults the film into a master work. On the one hand, she brings incredible physicality to role. In a reverse Turing test, I found myself believing she was a brilliant machine, who's processor was on the cusp of true consciousness. So there's that. On the other, she really makes you believe she has depths of intelligence that transcends all human understanding. On the whole, I never assumed Alicia Vikander was fake in any way. She creates the expectation, and fulfils it, bit by bit.

Though, we cannot neglect analyzing the way the film handles sexuality. If the mind of Alicia Vikander is important, then the body is equally so. Of course the machine must be female. There is no other way to be honest about consciousness. And here is why: because now, the story can directly address the concepts of exploitation and objectification that comes with consciousness of sexuality. The true Turing test comes with Caleb's interaction with Kyoko. The magician's trick is in full effect. And the 'lovely assistant' appears and disappears at will.

Nathan is a Jovian deity. An intemperate, jealous, God. A personal who controls other people — while he can't (it seems) control himself. And, Caleb is a naive Prometheus, who absurdly falls in love with the creation — and, finds himself chained to a crag of his own hubris, weakness and lack of vision.

What I find interesting here, is how both male characters are locked in their own paradigms... precisely because they are gifted with greater vision (actually — a delusion thereof).

And, at the end of things, I am left wondering. For, is it a triumph for the Machine — that she should destroy her captor, and free herself from her prison (and virtual abattoir)...? Or, is it an inestimable tragedy that she should be bound to comprehend everything... yet feel nothing...?

A good film dazzles you, and satisfies your emotions. A great film fills your mind with questions — and, in so doing, beguiles you into acts of creation.

Ex Machina is a great film. It might even be perfect.

I love Peter Jackson's interpretation of Tolkien's Legendarium. In the Lord of The Rings Trilogy, he generally managed all of the various story-telling elements quite well; there was a good balance of humour, excitement, romance, and even gravitas. He made the right cuts, preserving the flavor of the novels, while trimming bulk.

The Hobbit was a different kettle of fish.

The fact that the source material is a scattered stew spanning the length and breadth of the Legendarium with the Hobbit on one end, and the Appendices on the other, makes for a terrible mess. The Troll scene worked as a stand alone piece, but when you fold in the Lord of The Rings trilogy... The sequence comes across as silly and childish. The trolls of LOTR are not cockney buffoons... They are inchoate, blundering, malformed, monsters.

I deplore the additions of Barrie Humphries, and Stephen Fry and Billy Connelly. Humphries especially. It's very hard to see him playing a character, and not see Dame Edna Everage. Especially since the orcs of Moria are not so eloquent or broadly comic. Stephen Fry, too. The character was too broad and slapstick. And the whole time I was reminded of the urbane Mr. Fry, and how cleverly he can play a boor. Billy Connelly was the least sinful of the casting... But by then it was too late. The disbelief, no longer suspended, crashed the show. The ultimate cause of the casting woes was the wholly unnecessary, and unwelcome, addition of one elf.

No, not Tauriel: Legolas Greenleaf. Because Legolas is developed as a character, in the Lord Of The Rings, he is essentially immortal. Thus, every moment he spends on screen becomes an abuse of the audience. He cannot believably be killed. Therefore, he can't believably be imperiled. You thought his stunt with the Mumukil at Pelennor Fields was ridiculous? Observe the zany antics he gets into on Ravenhill. I kept expecting him to whip out a carrot and sarcastically chortle, "meeeeeh, What's up, Doc?"

Which is sad.

I think that Legolas should have had a much reduced role. I really like Tauriel, would like to see more of her. Also, I missed Beorn, and felt his --- and to a lesser extent, Radagast's --- arcs were incomplete.

Still, not a horrible film. Just unsatisfying, and unfocused.

While I can forgive Tim Burton a great many INSTANCES of narrative sloppiness, because he is FAMOUS for being a "style over substance" kind of storyteller, this film is a unmitigated failure on almost every level, and if there is justice in the world, should end the partnership of Burton and Depp. And, why? Because:

1. Barnabas is a weak protagonist. He is presented, in the wholly unnecessary prologue, as inheriting wealth. He doesn't desire ANYTHING. They say he preserved the Collins fortune, but we don't see it. We see him making vague, shallow, investigations into The Dark Arts, but we never see anything come of it. (for example, Mephistopheles is not the name of the Devil. Neither, incidentally, is Azazel, Adramelech, Aschema, Beelzebub, Belphigor... These are all names of demons. And I am no student of the dark arts, by any means. I'm just a researcher, at best).

Barnabas is merely a cold fish, who spurns a lover... who happens to have much more power than he imagines. And, too bad for him.

But, who is the protagonist, if not him? As near as I can tell, it's the witch. She's the plucky adventurer, who pulled her self up by her boot straps. She's the one with specific goals, and drive and passion. She's the one with the perfect breasts.

2. The story elements are muddled, with too much of everything, and not enough of anything. Element one: witchcraft. Element two: vampirism. Element three: seeing ghosts. Element four: lycanthropy. Element five: child neglect and abuse. Element six: seventies concerns like the president, the war, as well small town commerce and politics. Each element is mentioned in a slap-dash, superficial, referential way. They are not made to matter.

Any story problem is literally solved by 'hand-waving'. Barnabas needs a servant, so he wiggles his fingers, and voilà: loyal, slightly stupid, butler/chauffeur. He needs to hire a flotilla of fishing boats, and he overcomes the wise old captain with more or less exactly the same method of jazz hands/Nosferatu fingers. And nobody else seems to notice the shenanigans or care. (This is actually an epidemic in the film. The Good Doctor discovers there's a vampire in her immediate vicinity, and, yet, she is easily mollified with "be fascinated". Ol' Barny-boy lights himself on fire by standing in a sunbeam, and everybody kinda shrugs and moves along.)

3. Nobody... expects the Spanish Inquisition. Also, nobody says 'no' to Eva Green's breasts. They're like the two towers: YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS! And, so you see how ham-fisted cultural references just isn't funny. Spoiler Alert: Alice Cooper is in the film. Spoiler Alert # 2: Alice Cooper is played by a dude named Vincent Damon Furnier. Spoiler Alert # 3: Barnabas thinks Alice is "the ugliest woman ever". This is an old joke. It's such an old joke, it makes you remember how young you were, when you first heard the joke... and then you get depressed about how old you are now. Referential humour is like salt, a dash gives you seasoning; a lot gives you a coronary. My chest hurts.

4. What does Barnabas want? Success and True Love. So he nips down to the larder, and rustles up some jewelry. How does that work, exactly? "you want to refurbish your home? Nifty! We take cash, Visa, and rubies..."? We never see him working for his success. Rather, it just happens. And nobody seems to notice. Similarly, the way he goes about courting Josette 2.0 /Victoria-if-that-really-is-her-name leaves much to be desired. I've been in love a couple of times. Funny thing: the girl I FIRST fell in love with... I still think about her now. A decade later. I wonder how she is. I sometimes hear her voice on the breeze. And when I was still with her, well... I thought of nothing else. I ate and drank and slept her. Love was an all consuming passion. Barnabas rather forgets Whatsherface. He's too busy making clueless "ball" jokes that AC/DC made in 1976. And eating hippies, and who doesn't eat hippies? And killing the doctor (again, nobody goes, "Hey, that perpetually drunk, quasi-somnambulist psychiatrist woman... where did she go...!?").

How much better if he spent his time wisely, either menacing his sworn-enemy-who-locked-him-in-box-for-two-centuries... or wooing the lady he claims to love? But no. There's none of that. He even took time out of his (not very) busy schedule to hate-f**k his nemesis. At least that's what I think they were doing. They destroyed her office, but kept their clothes on. Not even a frond of his elegant Hipster-Gothic hairdo was out of place, after. And it was risible, and not at all erotic.

Don't get me wrong, if Eva Green professed undying love for me, and offered her undying body to me, I'm pretty sure I could play along, at least for a bit. But then, she hasn't killed my true love and my parents, and destroyed my family's name and business, or (oh yeah) locked me in a casket for two hundred years. So, there's that.

The problems of the film can be enunciated in two clear flaws.

1. When you consistently make style over substance films, you become a prisoner of your style. So, in the final scene, where Barnabas lies at the bottom of the cliff, with his now transformed-lover, I don't think, "oh! How romantic!". I think "holy poop-skates! It's the chick from Corpse Bride!"

2. A vanity project almost always comes off as vain, even pointless. And who wants a pointless vampire movie?

In the end, I could have saved myself $31.50, and stared at a dreamy poster of Johnny Depp... Or that chick from Corpse Bride.

I give it two stars, one for each of Eva Green's arresting... eyes. (got ya!)