Tinuvielas

N.B.: Wer den Trailer gesehen hat, kann problemlos auch folgende Kritik lesen, ohne sich um Spielverderber sorgen zu müssen! Bezug genommen wird lediglich auf Figuren und Genre-Versatzstücke.

Nach seinem missglückten Ausflug ins Fantasy-Genre („10.000 B.C.") hat Roland Emmerich sich auf seine ureigenen Fähigkeiten als „Master of Desaster" besonnen und mit „2012" die „Mutter aller Katastrophenfilme" abgeliefert (wie er unbescheiden, aber völlig berechtigt selber sagt). Mit Gusto inszeniert Emmerich diesmal nichts weniger als den Weltuntergang, der von den Mayas für den 21. Dezember 2012 vorhergesagt wurde – zumindest endet an diesem Tag der 5125 Jahre umfassende Maya-Kalender. Seit der enttäuschenden Normalität des Jahrtausendwechsels gilt „2012" daher in der New-Age-Bewegung als aktuelles apokalyptisches Enddatum.

Doomsday naht auch in Emmerichs Filmversion, und die internationale Politik hat ein ernstes Problem: Während der Jahrmarkt der Eitelkeiten auf Erden langsam aber sicher seinen Totenreigen tanzt, befassen sich pragmatische Politiker und Wissenschaftler in aller Stille damit, zu retten, was zu retten ist und das Überdauern, wenn nicht der Menschen, so doch zumindest der Menschheit zu sichern. Bald wird die altbekannte Wahrheit offenbar, dass viele arbeiten und sterben müssen, damit einige (gut…) leben können.

Unterdessen erkennt der Underdog des Films, der glücklose Science-Fiction-Autor und geschiedene Vater Jackson Curtis (John Cusack), dass die allgegenwärtigen Zeichen einer sich anbahnenden Naturkatastrophe entgegen den Beschwichtigungsparolen der Obrigkeit tatsächlich unheilvolle Frühwehen einer Katastrophe gigantischen Ausmaßes sind: „Wenn sie euch sagen, keine Panik, dann ist es Zeit zu rennen!" Und das tut er, mitsamt Ex-Frau, deren Mann, Tochter und dem nicht zufällig benannten Sohn Noah, im zweiten und dritten Akt des 150 Minuten langen Films.

Souverän und gekonnt integriert das Klasse-Drehbuch im Folgenden alle denk- und verfilmbaren Katastrophenszenarios in die ultimative Weltuntergangs-Geschichte einer neuzeitlichen Sintflut, zitiert Genre-Klassiker ebenso wie kulturelle Topoi von Boëthius' "Trost der Philosophie" über Shakespeare bis zur englischen Queen und besticht mit amüsanten politischen Spitzeleien (es ist wohl kein Spielverderber zu erwähnen, dass der italienische Ministerpräsident dem Weltuntergang betend vor dem Petersdom entgegen sieht, während der protestantische Held tatkräftig die eigene Haut zu retten sucht?).

Durchgehend treffen Emmerich und sein Co-Autor Harald Kloser die richtige Balance zwischen erdumfassender Katastrophe und tränenrührigem individuellem Schicksal, politischer Intrige und geballter Action-Achterbahnfahrt. Das US-Verhältnis zur Welt nutzen sie immer mal wieder für kleine Witzchen (die zu verraten leider tatsächlich ein Spoiler wäre). Hierin, wie auch in der globalen Thematik, offenbart sich ein verändertes amerikanisches Selbstverständnis. Selbst die obligatorischen patriotischen Reden funktionieren – vor allem deshalb, weil sie (meist unfreiwillig) kurz sind.

Zum zu erwartenden Erfolg dieses Films tragen insgesamt drei Faktoren bei: Die richtungweisenden Special Effects, die über 50 Prozent der Filmzeit ausmachen (was aber lobenswerterweise nicht unangenehm auffällt); das überzeugend agierende Darstellerensemble; und der nicht völlig unrealistische Subtext von globaler Bedrohung und moralischem Dilemma. John Cusack spielt Curtis als „supernormalen Typen", so Emmerich im Vorfeld des Films, „der noch nie etwas im Leben gemacht hat" – wenn so einer zum Held wird, dann ist das für den Regisseur und Co-Autor „die total ideale Filmgeschichte". Unterstützt wird Curtis von gestandenen Mimen wie Woody Harrelsen als ebenso durchgeknalltem wie hellsichtigem New-Age-Propheten Charlie Frost, Danny Glover als US-Präsident sowie von Chiwetel Ejiofor, der 1995 als Othello am Londoner Bloomsbury Theatre debütierte und einer der ganz großen britischen Mimen ist; als junger Wissenschaftler Adrian findet er sich unerwartet im Zentrum des Geschehens wieder. Last but not least darf Oliver Platt seine Politikerrolle mit einer gehörigen Portion moralischer Ambivalenz versehen und das Motto des Films formulieren: „Life is unfair!" Denn bei aller politischen Korrektheit: „Es geht darum," so der Regisseur, "wenn unsere Welt zuende geht und es einen Weg gibt, etwas zu retten – wen oder was rettet man? Das halte ich für eine interessante Frage". Es ist Emmerichs vorrangig als spannendem Popcorn-Blockbuster konzipiertem Film durchaus zugute zu halten, dass er diese Frage mit einer gewissen Ernsthaftigkeit stellt – und mit einem mitunter fast zynischen Realismus beantwortet. Natürlich überleben, den Konventionen des Genres entsprechend, die selbstlos Guten – aber eben nicht alle; natürlich sterben die Skrupellosen – aber eben nicht nur sie. Allerdings sollte niemand befürchten, während des Kinobesuchs Gefahr zu laufen, über diese Frage länger nachdenken zu müssen. Dazu haben weder er noch die Protagonisten Gelegenheit. Wie heißt es doch im im Trailer: „Ich dachte, wir hätten mehr Zeit…".

Kaum ein Bild eignet sich besser, um die widersprüchlichen Aspekte menschlichen Daseins anschaulich zu machen, als der Sternenhimmel – Forschungs- und romantisches Anschauungsobjekt, zugleich fern und nah, unerreichbar und voller Assoziationen. Seit jeher bieten die Sterne Raum für phantastische Projektionen. Sie stehen für die Ewigkeit und kosmische Unveränderlichkeit angesichts menschlichen Strebens und Leids; in Form von Sternschnuppen, Sternbildern und Planeten symbolisieren sie Wunschdenken und Vergänglichkeit ebenso wie menschliche Charaktereigenschaften, die Götter und die große Liebe.

Nicht zuletzt um letztere geht es in Eva Dahrs norwegisch-deutsch-spanischer Koproduktion "Das Orangenmädchen" nach dem Roman von Jostein Gaarder – einem wunderbar fotografierten, erfrischend europäischen (um nicht zu sagen, un-amerikanischen) Film, dem es ganz nebenbei gelingt, auch alle anderen oben erwähnten Aspekte des Lebens und Sterbens unterzubringen.

Der Film beginnt – und endet beinahe – mit einem Off-Dialog zwischen einem Vater und seinem kleinen Sohn über die durchs Teleskop vergrößerten Sterne. Dabei ist es natürlich kein Zufall, dass die Venus, der Stern der Liebe, genau so aussieht wie eine Orange, das Symbol der titelgebenden Frau. Diese bereits im Vorspann angelegte Gegenüberstellung von groß und klein, kosmisch und alltäglich, weit und nah ist ein Stil-Merkmal, dass sich durch den gesamten Film zieht.

Im folgenden erzählt dieser zwei parallele (Liebes-) und eine Generationenkonflikt-Geschichte(n): diejenige der magisch anmutenden Liebe zwischen dem Studenten Jan-Olaf (Harald Rosenstrøm) und dem mysteriösen Orangenmädchen (Annie Dahr Nygaard), das immer wieder in seinem Leben auftaucht, nur um sofort wieder zu verschwinden; und diejenige von Georg (Mikkel Bratt Silsett), Jan-Olafs Sohn, einem pubertierenden Hobby-Astronomen, der an seinem 16. Geburtstag drei Briefe seines inzwischen verstorbenen Vaters ausgehändigt bekommt. In diesen Briefen schildert Jan-Olaf rückblickend die Geschichte der "Apfelsinenbraut", wie sein erfrischend geerdeter Kommilitone und Mitbewohner die flüchtige Fremde nennt. Während diese Liebe ihn bis in das mit leuchtenden Farben gezeichnete Spanien führt, reist Georg auf Skiern in den hohen Norden Skandinaviens, um dort einen Kometen zu beobachten, der nur einmal im Menschenleben die Erde streift. In den abgelegenen Hütten trifft er auf eine bunte Gesellschaft junger Leute, die Ostern beim Skiwandern verbringen – darunter auch die sommersprossige, stupsnasige Stella (Emilie K. Beck), deren Name bekanntlich „Stern" bedeutet und die so gar nicht dem gängigen Schönheitsideal Hollywoods entspricht...

Großartige Landschaftsbilder aus der verschneiten Weite Norwegens und die klassische Schönheit des spanischen Sevilla wechseln ab mit extremen Detailaufnahmen wie zum Beispiel einer Sternschnuppe, die sich im Augapfel spiegelt. Und am Ende reden Georg und seine Mutter (Rebekka Karijord), die sich über dem zu frühen Tod des Vaters entfremdet hatten, wieder miteinander. Schön ist das, und rührend – ein würdiger Eröffnungsfilm für die nordischen Filmtage, die vom 4. – 8. November in Lübeck stattfinden.

Ambitious experimental project produced by Germany's Theatre Channel "ZDF-Theaterkanal", only recommended for viewers familiar with the play since it delivers a lot of fragments instead of a story: Distinguished German Actors play/sing/interpret various scenes (or, in the director Herbert Fritsch's words, "visions") from Hamlet, the whole thing adding up to a huge patchwork-puzzle of interpretations. Herbert Fritsch's basic assumption is that through the filter of "Hamlet" every possible story can be told. The end-result is a collage of silent-movie, animated, experimental and conventional sequences, surprising, diverting, confusing and very avant-garde.

Take a thousand year old heroic subject matter, spice it up with a dose of „modern" morals such as „men's only weakness is women" , add a few females according to type – e.g. saints and whores – and shoot this script as a CGI-mix of „Shrek", „300" and popular computer-games: The result is Robert Zemecki's version of „Beowulf". Works alright, the flick, as long as you don't take it seriously. However, whenever the „Shrek"-Elements dominate the scene, the film runs into problems. Queen Wealtheow for instance fatally resembles the green Oger's mom. Besides, almost all Characters have a squint that would make Christopher Lambert at his best look good. Wet hair is still a problem of computer-graphics, too. Otherwise, the film is technically well made and gives you an idea how far Ralph Bakshi might have gone with his concept of graphically alienated live-action.

Still, over long stretches the motion-capture-technique is too reminiscent of computer-games to be convincing, and thus one is left with the question which audience this film is aimed at. Gaming kiddies can't watch it because all the ripping and tearing is far too bloody; adult Lord-of-the-Rings-fans will miss the depth of the original poem, despite some nice touches in the script – such as King Hrothgar talking of „Scops" or giving out rings to his thanes in the initial sequence, or Grendel and his mother seeming to talk Anglo-Saxonish. The linguistic climax of the movie is elsewhere, anyway: King Hrothgar, embodied (well, sort of) by Anthony Hopkins, telling his followers that Beowulf „killed the monster and laid his mother... in her grave". How do you translate that for synchronized versions? This sequence gets to the heart of the difference of plot between the script and the heroic poem, i.e. the introduction of the eternal female temptation as motif for the hero's curse. Not a bad idea, really, especially in view of the traditional sword-penis-symbolism that is being exploited thoroughly in this film. Unfortunately, the way they put the idea on screen is cheesy to say the least. Thus Angelina Jolie's computerized curves seem designed to lure the average movie-goer, male, mid-twenties, meager intellect (is that according to statistics?). The hero Beowulf (one can't speak of actors or characters in this film) is modeled on the Gladiator but lacks his character; the monster is a crossbreed of Ent and skinned Gollum; the jokes are laconic (example: "How is your father? – Dead."). Amusing – and once in a while appealing in a darkly beautiful manner, especially when a whiff of northern Epic or landscape transcends the CGI. In these moments one gets an inkling of what might have been done with this script. Even the final fight with the dragon is impressive. But why does the dragon have a heart, small as a cow's? Why does the coast-guard sit in front of his fire in the pouring rain? And why does the final, unbearably long shot have to be so unbearably kitsch? Shame, really. You can either have grim realism, or you can have exaggerated, bad-taste fantasy. Try to amalgamate both, and the thing falls apart.

A short advance review – I saw the film last night and I won't bother with a summary here: „The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" is disappointing from the moment the child-actors enter Narnia, and it becomes outright bad after Father Christmas passes by on his sledge. Unlike „The Lord of the Rings'"Middle-Earth, this fantasy-land never quite comes across as real. The reasons for this are four:

1.) The Special Effects are very mixed: some work, others don't. While the wolves are impressive and Aslan seems hyper-realistic, if somewhat like a giant talking toy-animal, many of the other creatures are lifeless or rather, soulless. Worse, the wintry landscapes recreated on sound-stages are plainly artificial, and the matte paintings in some scenes are simply awful, as is the breaking ice on the CGI-river. Then there's the lack of attention to detail. Why on earth do Mr. Tumnus' ears never move? They seem like nothing so much as fur-covered rubber-attachments, which in fact they are. (Otherwise Mr. Tumnus, played by James McAvoy is one of the film's few highlights.)

2.) More importantly, the child actors are obviously out of their depths when it comes to acting in front of a blue-screen. A lot of "The Lord of the Rings" works because the actors convincingly interact with each other as well as with the fantastic environment . In this film, that doesn't happen. The children are also hopelessly foundering when asked to portray the admittedly difficult process of turning into kings and queens. It's not enough to dress them up with some live action role playing costumes and hand them a sword for them to have them overcome their apparent awkwardness when faced with their roles.

3.) Some of the above may be due to the fact that director Andrew Adamson doesn't have much experience with live action movies, but comes from a Special Effects background. One example: When Edmund – incidentally the only child whose acting was impressive (but then, unlike the others, he had some character-development to portray) – stumbles into Narnia and falls backwards into the snow, he doesn't even bother to shake off the wet stuff that must have entered his clothes at the neckline. Anyone ever went skiing and fell? Or got hit by a snowball? See what I mean?

4.) Then of course some of the problems lie with Lewis'book. An amalgamate of fairy-creatures from all the myths in the world that don't really have any important dramatic justification just isn't to everybody's taste (it certainly wasn't to Tolkien's, a fact which caused their friendship to cool considerably). While such a miscellaneous fairy-world may work in print, i.e. in children's minds, it certainly is difficult to portray on screen without going heavy on the cliché-side.

Thus the tag of a „Lord of the Rings"-for-kids used to describe this film is misleading. It marks perhaps the aspirations of the filmmakers, but not the final product, rather underlining once more the unique achievement of Peter Jackson (whose LotR-films, I haste to say, I didn't wholly like either; see my reviews). It also draws attention to some obvious parallels: The monsters, the final battle, the way Jadis walks up to and fights Edmund – this last very reminiscent of Lurtz fighting Boromir, who was also a traitor, and Aragorn, who was also a king.

The one thing I liked about this movie was Jadis as the Evil White Witch, played superbly by Tilda Swanson. I also thought that the costume-designers/make up artists did a nice job when they endowed her with a neat black and white imagery that underlined the black-and-white-opposition of good and evil that Lewis' plot is based on: The evil witch is white as ice, but her eyes never light up. The Faun opposing her is dark and rugged, but his eyes shine.

Thus in the end, with Jadis, Edmund and Mr. Tumnus respectively standing out, if not redeeming this film, „The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" is another instance of the fact well known since Dante's Hell and Milton's Paradise Lost, i.e. that it is always a lot easier to portray the absolute evil than it is to portray the absolute good.

the fourth Harry-Potter-film (and the first to be directed by an Englishman) is a fun ride. Not for the youngest fans, perhaps, because like Rowling's novel it marks the point where Harry's story transforms from a children's tale into darker, maturer fantasy. In this sequel, Harry's arch-enemy Voldemort rises again and, as the movie's tag-line has it, "dark and dangerous times lie ahead."

More immediately, Harry finds himself an unwilling participant in the dangerous Triwizard tournament – a doubtful Honor that alienates him from his schoolmates and even turns his friend Ron against him. And the teenagers' trouble doesn't end here. They also have to face the three unforgivable curses – mind-washing, torture and murder – as well as the pangs of disappointed love. Harry and Ron are pathetic when it comes to girls, and director Mike Newell ("Four weddings and a funeral") makes the most of his actor's efforts when they try to secure a female companion for the Christmas ball. Ron's dismay when faced with his fancy, decades-out-of-date-dress-robe alone is worth seeing the film.

In fact, it's the teenage angst topic rather than the magical plot that distinguishes this film. I was asked about the best spell in the film after the press screening, and I couldn't come up with a single one. OK, there's several "expelliarmus'" and "accio's", as well as spectacular Special Effects, but "magic"? Less than in the previous Potter-adaptations, I should say. At least it's less central. Mike Newell – who earned one Million Dollar directing "Goblet", one tenth of the sum pocketed by Chris "Home alone" Columbus – certainly achieved his aim to shoot "a classical thriller with lots of action, something along the lines of 'North by Northwest', without disregarding the often funny teenage angst".

Thus the pacing in the first half of "Goblet" is impeccable, whereas towards the end it gets a bit rushed. Still, "Goblet" manages to tell the complex story and capture most important moments of the book – even if it means that certain subplots are only hinted at. One would love to see more of Rita Skeeter (Miranda Richardson), for instance, or of the death-eaters at the Quidditch Championship: a dark initial sequence, which, together with the repeated dream-sequence, sets the tone for what is to come.

On the other hand, there are enough shots involving secondary characters to offer emotional or even comic relief, such as Neville dancing or Filch loping wheezily across the Great Hall. The Yule ball alone is a visual and musical feast: Hogwarts decorated with icicles and frozen seafood, the couples dancing formally to Patrick Doyle's romantic soundtrack before the whole thing evolves into a wild party featuring stage-musicians from Pulp and Radiohead.

A few words about the performances. The young protagonists (especially Rupert Grint as Ron) were inspiring to watch, writhing in the grip of puberty. Daniel Radcliffe impressed me by managing to look very young, fearful and confused in some scenes and handsomely mature in others, especially when fighting Voldemort. In these scenes, one can almost see the grown man in him.

Equally impressive is the fact that Radcliffe did some stunt-work himself; in the scene where he falls off the roof fighting the dragon, for instance, he bungee-dived 13 meters down. He took diving lessons for the underwater sequence and spent 41 hours acting in a deep pool, in murky darkness, with only the assistant's voice in his specially devised earphones giving him directions. In the short takes underwater he had to hold his breath, remember not to let out bubbles, react to non-existent monsters, then swim back to the divers to receive air – not a mean feat.

Of the secondary characters, I liked Miranda Richardson as flamboyant, sensation-creating journalist, although she didn't turn out as nastily insinuating as the book-character. I was less happy with Brandon Gleeson who wasn't sinister enough as Mad-Eye Moody, giving the character a comic edge it shouldn't have. The Triwizard champions, too, were mediocre: Clémence Poésy's Fleur Delacour is pale and nondescript, not the fascinating, haughty part-Vaala of the book. Worse, she's apparently hardly equal to the Triwizard tasks simply because she's female. While Stanislav Ianevski made a passable if too handsome Viktor Krum, Robert Pattinson as Cedric Diggory hardly got the chance to develop his character, which should have had a charisma equaling Harry's. The only thing that redeemed him is the scene of his death, which is appropriately chilling.

Last but not least, the two great wizards, Dumbledore and Voldemort. Sir Michael Gambon simply can't make up for Richard Harris' loss – and it doesn't help that he's playing Dumbledore as an old man afraid and out of control. Whoever came up with this interpretation, it does not suit "the only one Voldemort ever feared". Dumbledore shouldn't be hasty, or perplexed, or making pompous speeches, nor should he shake Harry's shoulders in panic after Harry's been chosen as champion.

Ralph Fiennes, on the other hand, is genial casting. He embodies the Dark Lord with uncanny charisma, evilly human, undergoing sudden changes of mood: not a serial killer, but a scary madman. With minimum makeup – a thin layer of latex applied onto Fiennes shaved head, arms and breast, giving the impression of pale, translucent, veined skin – and digitally created nostril-slits, Fiennes makes a truly frightening, eerily handsome Voldemort. Dressed in a billowing black silk robe, a "floating reptile", as Fiennes describes him, barefoot, long-nailed and displaying a weird, suggestive body-language, he reminds one of a dark version of Cate Blanchett's Elven-sorceress Galadriel in "Lord of the Rings".

A final comment on the CGI: I loved the dragons, great and small. Absolutely adored the scene when the horntail climbed over those rooftops to get at Harry. And I was happy to read, in the final credits, that "No dragons were harmed in the making of this movie."

More than the average bunch of journalists showed up at the Hamburg press screening of David Cronenbergs suggestively titled "A History of Violence", eager to see the R-rated film that had caused quite a bit of discussion (and uncomfortable laughter at the exaggeratedly graphic scenes of violence) in Cannes. It turned out to be a very refreshing experience indeed. Although this is easily Cronenbergs most accessible film, one that may disappoint old fans but will certainly win him lots of mainstream viewers, it's still a long shot from the cliché-ridden thrillers one usually gets to review. A clever, manipulative take at the title-giving topic, oscillating between relaxed mid-western realism and the extreme, almost comic brutality one has got used to in the wake of Lynch, Woo and Tarantino.

Very minor plot spoilers in the following two paragraphs: "A History of Violence" is the story of simple, good – not to say good-looking, though his film-wife Maria Bello calls him just that, in a slightly ironic moment typical of the film's many Hollywood-references – family man Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen), who's suddenly faced with a couple of brutal killers walking into his coffee-shop with every intention to wreak havoc. He rises to the occasion, surprising himself, his employees and the audience by deftly finishing the villains off, and becomes the rather unwilling all-American hero of the day.

Unfortunately, in the wake of Tom Stall's sudden fame, an evil big-town gangster (Ed Harris) shows up, black limousine, scar-face, bodyguards and all, who insists on recognizing Stall and mistaking him for someone else – someone with, precisely, "a history of violence" behind him. The gangster lingers in the vicinity, threatening Stalls idyllic small town family life, raising questions and suspicions. And of course, eventually, the situation gets out of hand…

What really distinguishes this mistaken-identity plot of the type "innocent-man-is-faced-with-violence-and-has-to-act" from other, similar films (Dirty Harry and many Westerns come to mind) is the way Canadian David Cronenberg manages to deconstruct the US-culture of visual violence and armed self-defense by seducing his audience to embrace that culture, to like his characters in spite of their brutal actions, to have fun and feel uncomfortable about it at the same time.

In addition to that, Cronenberg also takes his audience on a ride through the total range of human emotions from loving tenderness to blazing hatred, portraying every possible human relationship, each of which features an aspect of violence at some time – sexual relations certainly included, though those may not feature in full-length in the US theatrical versions... Man and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters, boys and girls, old friends and young bullies – you get it all, portrayed by an excellent, carefully chosen cast of actors that manage to make their characters come realistically to life in spite of – or rather in juxtaposition to – the topical story.

Cronenberg in fact took pains to choose actors who aren't just charismatic, glamorous stars taking care of their image, but who have a reputation for embracing their roles, for being somewhat eccentric and therefore willing to go beyond the usual acting limits. Next to Viggo Mortensen, Maria Bello and Ed Harris, there is also William Hurt who appears later on as a criminal and who, quite obviously, really enjoyed his role. The final scenes between him and Mortensen are easily the most drastically violent ones in the movie, reminiscent of the graphic novel by John Wagner and Vince Locke this film is based on. They are also the ones that had the critics laughing – although it was the kind of laughter that sticks uncomfortably in the throat.

"Spiderman 2" is that rare case of an almost perfect film.

It's funny, emotional, romantic and exciting, in that order. It's

Marvel-ously entertaining for young and old alike (we grew up with

this stuff, after all). And it's got the little touches that make an

entertainment-movie worth watching twice – at least…

But above all, it's a film that's solidly grounded on its characters,

and the actors behind them. Unlike action-revue-flicks like

"Batman' or, more recently, "Van Helsing', "Spiderman 2' does not

rely on the CGI-stuff alone to thrill its viewers. Instead, the tricks

and gimmicks actually serve to enhance the story and underline

the character-development. This, of course, revolves around

Spidey's identity issue, about his coming to terms with his destiny

of being a super-hero in spite of the havoc thereby wreaked on his

private life. He's a comic-book super-hero, and at the same time

"he's just a kid' – that's the formula that makes this movie work.

FROM HERE ON THERE BE MINOR SPOILERS: A perfect example

comes in one of the first scenes, when Peter Parker, who works

part-time in a Pizza-delivery-service, is late and has to resort to his

spidery powers in order to try and make the delivery deadline. It is

quite significant and sets the tone of the film that in spite of his

effort, Peter fails to arrive in time, thus losing his employee the

payment for the pizza and himself the job. The fact that he has

netted a few more criminals on the way does not quite make up for

that defeat…

This film being a true sequel and not just another installment of

the same story, the plot of course picks up where the first film left

off – after an amazing, colorfully animated title-sequence that

recapitulates what has happened before. Peter Parker alias

Spiderman (Tobey Maguire, who in "The Ice-Storm' wasn't casted

as Elijah Woods brother for nothing: they're both able to portray

that blue-eyed mix of vulnerability and hidden strength) has

decided to sacrifice his private life because "with great power

comes great responsibility'. He has abandoned the love-of-his-life

Mary Jane Watson (played once more beautifully by Kirsten Dunst),

telling her that he feels nothing for her (he will do so several more

times in this movie). His studies go from bad to worse and his rich

buddy Harry (James Franco) keeps questioning him increasingly

roughly about Spiderman, whom he holds responsible for his

fathers death. Peter bears all this and more patiently – until his

powers start to fail him… This is the perfect moment for the villain

to enter the scene, the classical brilliant scientist overpowered by

his powerful invention, played adequately by Alfred Molina. (I know

others were more impressed by Molinas performance, but hey,

what can you expect of a guy who had to do most of his acting for

the role suspended in front of a blue-screen, supposedly being

carried around by virtual tentacles... though I'll admit the heads of

the tentacles are nice enough – snakelike, "Matrix'-like living

machines.)

Talking about "Matrix': Later on in the film, Spiderman falls off a

building in a jumping-scene that is once more strangely

reminiscent of "The Matrix'. Still later, when he has passed out, he

is being carried overhead by several people, stretched out in a

crucified position, just like the one adapted by Laurence Olivier

and Kenneth Branagh in their "Hamlet'-films. Coincidence? I think

not. Or is it really just another chance that we are given a ghost

urging his son to take revenge? But then, what has "Hamlet' got to

do with "Spiderman'? Go see the film and puzzle it out for

yourselves!

In Germany, there is a saying that sort of fits this film: Operation successfully completed; patient dead. Which means that in spite of the technical perfection, the obvious dedication of cast and crew and the overall grandiosity of the whole enterprise, somewhere along in the movie, a strange feeling of shallowness and lack of emotional involvement creeps up. Lest fans now abandon this article, let it be said that "Two Towers" is nonetheless a hugely enjoyable viewing experience. The first part left me saying "wow" to myself several times and thinking that this might turn out the perfect adaption which "Fellowship" wasn't. The introduction with Gandalf and the Balrog falling down into the abyss is breathtaking, and Grimas performance (strangeley enough, my favourite in this film) has a shakespearian intensity. The "let's hunt orcs" sequence of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli is all you could ever dream of while reading the book, and seeing the hosts of Rohan storm over the plains is alone worth the ticket. Also the filmmakers again managed to fit quite a number of little details from the book into the film, which will draw gratified smiles from the readers and probably go unnoticed by those who don't know the books. But even so, after two hours or so, somewhere between the fifth grunting uruk hai and the third cute Rohan refugee child hiding at its mothers breast, I found myself wondering why I was lacking the emotional involvement with the characters that is so strong in the book. Looking at my watch half an hour later, I found myself thinking: "o no, it's almost over - and where's the climax?" A sort of interruptus: Great foreplay, but sadly unsatisfactory act. Actually, this is quite a fitting metaphor, not least because this movie obviously is only part two of a three-act-play. And while the beginning in medias res works beautifully, the ending provided by the script only enhances the lack of a proper end of the story. But it also fits because all the orc-chopping going on towards the end of the film, all the surplus action invented by the filmmakers (as if there wasn't enough in the story anyway!) is probably going to appeal mainly to young masculine fans. Ok, we do have a rather kitsch horse-sequence and the flashback and -forward romance of Aragorn and Arwen for the ladies; but while scenes of fights and battles crowd the screen, the other elements of the story (like humour, legend or poetry) get rather trampled. More unfortunately for the film though, its concessions to popcorn-culture (and probably Jacksons own taste) are also often taking precious screen time away from the characters, who are again played beautifully by the great cast. This dominance of action over character is the more grievous as the film has to follow three story lines instead of one, the fellowship being split up and each party pursuing their own way against Sauron or Saruman. In the book, this works well enough because the first part of "The Two Towers" is dedicated to Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, who in the end rejoin Merry and Pippin, while the second part follows Frodo and Sam, so that each part leaves off with a cliffhanger ending of its own. Obviously, this structural solution could not work in the film, but Jacksons frequent intercutting between the three story lines does make for some confusion - especially since all three subplots in the film end up in simultaneous action. And here one may at least ask why the heck Jackson didn't rather adapt Tolkiens original cat-and-mouse-play between Faramir and Frodo and Sam, thus contrasting a quieter, more suspense-filled storyline to the impressive CG-battle at Helm's Deep and the destruction of Isengard by the ents. But no, again he opts for action and has the hobbits carried off into the midst of Osgiliath under attack by the Nazgul. Frankly, who will follow? Those who know the book will grieve for the character of Faramir being corrupted (though played well enough by David Wenham otherwise!); those who don't will probably lose track of who's fighting who. All told, the film works well as long as the script follows the novel; it grows superficial when unnecessary action-sequences are added. Do we really need to see Legolas go surfing down a staircase while shooting at orcs? Do we need to see Gimli thrown (again?) Or have Aragorn, attached to a Warg, fall down a cliff to (apparent) doom and witness the grief of his friends, just as when Gandalf fell in the "Fellowship?" I suspect that here the unholy land of sequels popped up its head, which will have a successful device in the original movie repeated and exaggerated in the sequel. So, too, in the repetition of the "temptation scene": In "Fellowship" it's the powerlusty Boromir who tries to take the ring from Frodo; in "Towers" Faramir steps in his shoes, which is not at all true to the book and yields a rather weak sort of suspense as well as a very unlikely, abrupt and incredible change of mind in Faramir when he decides to let Frodo go in the end. Would Faramir otherwise really have been too statical a character, as the filmmakers will have it? The answer, of course, to all the above rhetorical questions is (in this critics opinion) no.

Here's a not overenthusiastic review from a german Tolkien-devotee:

Jacksons adaptation of Tolkiens novel is certainly a milestone in fantasy-filmmaking – which it had to be, considering the reputation of the book(s), the expectations of fans world-wide and the incredible devotion and work that went into its making. It is not perfect though, neither as a film seen by itself nor as adaptation of the book. Having read LOTR (and Tolkiens other work) several times, I will leave it to others to elaborate on how this action-packed, visually exploding film will work with people who haven't read Tolkien. I suppose it will polarise them as Tolkiens trilogy polarised its readers: They love it or fall asleep reading (as the actor of Gimli the dwarf, John Rhys-Davis, allegedly did). For readers of the book however I would like to mention some (only some!) strong points and weaknesses of Jacksons film.

The major strong point is, to me surprisingly, casting and characterisation. Jackson and his actors put a lot of emphasis on the characters, and though I had my doubts when I saw the trailers and previews, in the film I find they all work exceptionally well. You leave the theatre almost unwilling to part company with the fellowship (were it not for the urge to visit the bathroom after almost three hours). Ian McKellens Gandalf is quite the wizard (though I didn't enjoy the duel between him and Saruman, see below), and he did manage to make you forget the unforgettable Richard III he once portrayed. Orlando Blooms Legolas, though not quite as airy as one could have wished, is yet intensely sympathetic, as is Viggo Mortensens Aragorn, who emanates the savage intensity one had barely dared to hope for. Regrettably, the actors of Sam, Pippin and Merry have too little room for developing their characters, but Elijah Woods Frodo, wow; he comes as a big, positive surprise. Even in this first movie he manages to hint at the burden and the sadness involved in bearing the ring without making it appear blatantly sentimental. They really caught the spirit of the book there.

Another positive point is the fact that Jackson and crew did manage to bring out central themes like friendship in spite of adversity (of course inherent in the plot), the importance of compassion (a rare moment of quiet dialogue, Gandalf talking to Frodo, taken quite literally from Tolkien) or nature vs. "industrial' evil (the forging of the uruk hai from mud, the pulling down of trees). But – and here the buts start –, all these themes do come a little short in the midst of all the breathless exposition and journeying plot, and will probably, hopefully be elaborated on in the sequels. In this first film they remain episodes that could have done with more scope (difficult of course, given the running time). Merry and Pippin, for example, seem to follow Frodo out of pure chance, not out of friendship and deliberate intrigue (one of my favourite scenes in the book thus being completely ignored). And the pulling down of the trees in Isengard is a bit pathetic, compared to what we see on a rather bigger scale happening world-wide.

Talking about the drawbacks, they are, obviously less surprisingly, generally to be found in the fields of perspective and time, and thus at least in part inherent in the process of transforming words into pictures. In Tolkiens book and especially in "The Fellowship', the action is almost completely told from the point of view of Frodo and the hobbits. All the big action – from Isildur hewing the ring off Sauron's hand to the duel between Saruman and Gandalf – is only indirectly portrayed, told to Frodo by Gandalf, and thus very far removed from the main time (and space) of the action. In the film we get to see all this directly, in mighty computerised detail, literally stunning and visually mostly effective (though not when Saruman clashes Gandalf repeatedly against a wall and twirls him round on the floor). The effect is one of immediate, overwhelming action and violence, rather than of building suspense and ancient, long-forgotten events that creep up on you. Another example: Frodos and his friends flight from the shire is filmed as one breathless stumble through the woods, the black riders constantly at their heels or even appearing in front of them, so that one wonders how come they don't get him right away. Of course, Jackson has to quicken up events in respect to the book, but one major feature of Tolkiens mythic work is thereby lost: the epic dimension. Time thus runs differently in the film, it shrinks, even though the filmmakers try to stretch it by using dialogue. "We will walk along these mountains for forty days' (but on the screen it takes rather less than five minutes); "it will take us four days to get across (Moria)' (but two scenes later they arrive at Balins tomb, and from there fight and flee their way pretty quickly to the other side).

Of course this effect has to do with the different relation of action and description in novel and film: In a novel, the sequence of description, dialogue, thoughts, poems and action creates by itself, by the reading process, an illusion of time (and especially in a rather long novel like LOTR). In a film, all these elements occur simultaneously, and only the single action remains standing out. It has to be said in Jackson's favour that he took what he could from Tolkien's descriptions to create the background of Middle-Earth in rich, astonishing, loving (if sometimes rather sterilely computerised) detail – as shown in the terrific stills of the filming. But it remains the background, one great scene following another, mountains, forests, cave-complexes, too fast to linger there as one lingers in Tolkien's universe. Hardly avoidable, perhaps, yet regrettable nonetheless. Those are to be envied who see the film without knowing the books and have the chance to read them leisurely afterwards for the first time! For the rest of us, there's only the long wait for "The Two Towers', which by its comparative lack of action will hopefully give even more room to the fantastic cast of characters.