Watching Tron

So, I watched Tron today for the first time in a long while.

Tron's one of those movies (along with The Road Warrior, Star Wars, Taxi Driver and Conan the Barbarian) that I've seen so many times I can recite the dialogue from memory. It was also in the first batch of movies I ever rented when my family got our first Betamax back in 1983/84 (along with Swamp Thing and Night of the Living Dead.) So me and Tron have what film noir calls "a history."

There's a quaintness to Tron that I've always chalked up to Disney's inherent lack of cool. Along with The Black Hole and Watcher in the Woods, Tron is a fun film that just lacked the edge and vision of its contemporaries. All three were attempts at making "modern" films by a studio mired in its own history.

Watching Tron today, though, I saw something else bubbling beneath the surface of the film. Tron's lack of narrative vision makes it timeless (in it's own way) because it is totally unhinged from the cinematic fashions of its day. It wasn't made in a vacuum, but it's artistic relatives are much older than they ought to be, given the subject matter. To me, this makes the proto-cyberpunk story of life existing within computers all the more interesting.

Watching Tron, I was reminded of classic Hollywood films like March of the Wooden Soldiers, made when studios went balls to the wall when producing escapist fare. There's no trace of cynicism, detachment or condescension in March of the Wooden Soldiers, The Wizard of Oz, Universal's horror films or other fantasy films from those days. And I don't think it was innocence or naivety. Instead, it was a commitment to creating a world for the audience to enjoy for two hours, and cynicism would rightly be interpreted as hostility toward the audience. Camp can only be enjoyed from a place of privilege and is an utterly alien concept for many people. I doubt there are many people in Ethiopia who understand what "so bad it's good" means.

I think I came to respect this gee-whiz aspect of Tron today for the first time today. For example, I've always had a problem with the relationship between Alan Bradley and his avatar (if you'll pardon the expression) Tron. Bradley is not a very likable character and it's never clear why Lora dumped Flynn for this whiny, insecure dork.

But that's the cool thing about the movie: it doesn't underline its own story elements as though the audience is too dumb to keep up. Bradley is Clark Kent; Tron is Superman. They are two aspects of the same person and both barely have an inkling that the other exists. Their "secret identities" are only secret from each other.
Meanwhile, Flynn is a repressed adolescent who fights only for himself and seems to have no hidden depth. You might even say his representation of maturity - Clu - is an early victim of the story.

As a movie, Tron wants to be liked and there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, I think its earnestness actually offsets some of the issues with the film. If something like the preposterous "grid bugs" scene popped up in one of The Mummy movies I'd have called bullshit. With Tron, though, it was just an honest attempt to squeeze one last idea into a film already bursting at the seams with ideas.

Below is a new trailer for Tron, edited with modern tastes and sensibilities in mind.

Matinee: Metropolis

It's been a while since I've posted a Matinee entry so I thought I'd dig something out of the vaults: a newspaper piece I wrote almost 10 years ago about Fritz Lang's Metropolis. This might qualify as filler depending on your familiarity with the film. I was writing for an audience that was, shall we say, unsophisticated when it came to their taste in movies.

Not that I'm a film scholar, mind you. The ability to memorize useless trivia doesn't make someone an automatic expert on a subject, but most of my readers preferred to swim in the Adam Sandler end of the pool. I'm convinced that most movies are the cinematic equivalent of Dr. Jack Kevorkian's suicide machines: tools to let you quietly bleed out a pointless life two hours at a time. Movies are supposed to remind you that you're alive, not help you forget.

The end result was that I learned to hate writing about movies. For a while I think I even learned to hate watching them, because my role as critic meant my readers had a constant seat inside my head. My own sense of self was consumed so slowly that it took years for me to notice it was gone.

But it wasn't the end of the world. I eventually changed jobs and put some distance between me and "red state" movie criticism and fell in like with movies again. Below is what I had to say about Fritz Lang's Metropolis back in 2002. Just so you know, the irony of bitching about class issues in journalism during an introduction to Metropolis is not lost on me.



SCIENCE FICTION certainly existed before Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, but it had never before been rendered with such finality of vision on the silver screen. The movie is something more than ground breaking ... it is ground making, a cinematic equivalent of the Rosetta Stone for fantasy films.

Based on a novel by Thea von Harbou, the story is a not-too-subtle criticism of the “realities” of labor. The movie is about a class-struggle between the two populations of a mythic city: a class of people that toil endlessly underground, and the “Masters of Metropolis” who live in the peaks of the city’s vast skyline.

The meat of the tale concerns Johhan Frederson, a young master of Metropolis who begins to doubt the merit of his lifestyle. After a mysterious woman named Maria shows him some of the wretched youth of the city, Frederson ventures below to get a better look at how the other 99 percent live. The children he sees are as different from Frederson’s people as the living are from the dead, and the world below comes across as an industrial-strength Hieronymus Bosch painting.

During his visit, he watches as workers struggle to keep up with the vague demands of the city’s machinery. Disaster strikes and, as workers begin to die, Frederson takes the place of one and learns first-hand the rigors of hard labor.

Frederson doesn’t operate the machine as much as battle it, and barely survives the experience.

After the disaster, the city’s elite learn that the workers are planning a revolt, and Frederson’s father puts a plan into motion that he thinks will weed out the malcontents. Rotwang, a wizard/inventor, supplies him with a robot that merges man with machine. “Now we have no further use for living workers,” he proclaims and unveils the real star of the show: a decidedly feminine robot seated at the base of a giant, inverted pentagram.



Rotwang eventually replaces Maria with a humanized version of his robot, who stirs the workers to violent revolt rather than peaceful resolution. Frederson gets caught up in the revolt, trying to establish peaceful change as the masses threaten his own father and family.

If the setting doesn’t make much sense, it’s with good reason. “Metropolis” isn’t as much a movie as a window into the dreams and anxieties of a long-passed and foreign world. While the method is dated, the message is not. The threat of Rotwang’s vision of inhuman humanity, as well as the need for a careful balance between society and industry, is possibly more relevant today than it was in 1927.

For mostly external reasons, it’s a very difficult movie to evaluate. So much of it’s grace may be found in the quaint nature of silent films, with its broad pantomimes and exaggerated gesturing. But Lang created a world with an endless landscape ... not many people ever question the location of the story. Where is Metropolis? How big is the city, and does it have any boundaries? How can the majority of a city’s population be employed by a single entity, and what exactly are they producing? None of these questions have ever really mattered because Lang knew the story — as do all stories — takes place entirely in the heads of his audience.

Elektra

So, I was watching the 2005 movie Elektra the other night ...

It had been a while since I'd seen it and my memories of the film were vague. Critics and fans were repelled by it, but I don't remember being especially offended.

But I also don't remember liking it much, either.

I came across a super-cheap DVD of the director's cut recently and thought I'd give it another spin. The elements I liked the first time still held up, particularly the photography and overall look of the film.

The film has the ambiance of a '60s European action film and earthy supernatural elements that set the film apart from Marvel's other productions. The decision to move the character to a rural setting for most of the story was also ballsy move.
Though there are a few splashes of red here and there, most of the movie is colored in stark greens and blacks. On screen, Jennifer Garner looks like a living silhouette. Even when standing in broad daylight she looks like nothing less than a shadow.

Elektra looks and feels nothing like any other "superhero" film released ... well, ever.



But the movie's problems undermine all the elements that could have made this film special. Halfway through my most recent viewing I found I'd stopped paying attention. The set pieces became increasingly mundane; most of the villains were just put through the predictable "fight/defeat" rhythm of a video game (a problem shared by the Ghost Rider movie.)

As Elektra dropped a falling tree on one of the bad guys I asked myself "If this wasn't based on characters from Daredevil, would I care?"

The answer was "No." If this didn't have ties to comics I already loved I doubt this movie would ever have registered with me. It might even be one of those cases where the movie's ties to a comic was actually a hindrance, where efforts to remain (even peripherally) faithful to the comic character kept the story from going in more dangerous - and interesting - directions.

Technically, it's not a terrible film. The physical aspects are well crafted but, as a story, Elektra fails. It has a lot going for it, particularly a strong female protagonist with very real, easily relatable problems. It's just a shame they couldn't have found a better story to insert her into.

Night of Blood (Yawn)

It's amazing the kinds of "traumas" that kids take for granted.
What might seem horrible to an adult, though, is just business as usual for children. You don't begin to idealize childhood until your own is over, and we tend to forget just how normal the abnormal can be.
Example: a few days ago a relative was telling me about a "lock in" event my oldest niece was attending. For the uninitiated, a "lock-in" is when a bunch of well-meaning adults (usually a youth center or church) let young teens hangout together all night. Even though they are supervised, you can bet that most of these kids will find a few moments alone for some distinctly unsupervised behavior.
Anyway, my sister-in-law was telling me the names of some of the movies they were showing at the upcoming event. I forget what they were ... probably the usual saccharine Disney stuff always dumped on kids though.
But she was appalled to learn what movies were shown at the lock-in that I attended back around 1985 or so when I was 13.
Jaws.
Day of the Dead
Silent Night, Deadly Night

Now, Jaws isn't a big deal. I'd already seen it about a dozen times by that point (if not more) and there was a cool "hook" to this showing. There was a swimming pool at the community center and organizers hung sheets over a fence and played a 35mm print of the movie while we were swimming.

Later that night, though, things took a turn for the nasty. Someone put a couple of high school students in charge for the night. And, apparently, they weren't in the mood to watch something as benign as Teen Wolf. So out came the videotapes of Day of the Dead and Silent Night, Deadly Night.




While parents might be horrified to hear about their kids watching zombie orgies, rape and serial murder at a "youth center" event, I think we were adequately entertained. And it's not like I wasn't already primed for these movies. Night of the Living Dead (along with Tron and Swamp Thing) was one of the first movies I ever saw on videocassette (ahem ...Betamax,) and I'd seen Dawn of the Dead a year or so earlier.

And the media had done a fair job of creating a panic over the poster to Silent Night, Deadly Night and the "threat" it's existence allegedly posed to children. So, it's not like these movies were unknown to me.

Still, we live in a world where parents think they can keep the dangers of the world at bay by simply shielding the idea of these things from them. And that's all movies are: ideas. While I don't recommend the local Sunday School turn viewings of Silent Night, Deadly Night into a holiday tradition, movies (and art, in general) never become problematic until you start using them as tools of indoctrination.

And all we did that night was watch a couple of movies. Off the top of my head, I could rattle off about 10,000 worse things that could have happened. In fact, I still kind of like those movies ... so my hat's* off to my former teenage chaperones.

(* In case you're wondering, my hat is a blue-denim ball cap with a Nostromo patch.)

Matinee: Buckaroo Banzai (1984)

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

The Trailer:



The Plot: After failing to gain a foothold on Earth in the 1930s, aliens from an alternate dimension make another bid for invasion. Standing in their way is brain surgeon/rock star/scientist/adventurer Buckaroo Banzai and his team of Blue Blaze Irregulars. Banzai faces the evil Red Lectroids, as well as the more benevolent (though no less dangerous) Black Lectroids - who are willing to destroy the Earth to keep the Red Lectroids in check.

The Heritage: Buckaroo Banzai didn't generate much in the way of merchandise. The Marvel Comics movie adaptation (illustrated by Mark Texeira, who also drew the Swamp Thing movie adaptation for DC) was well received. There was also a strategy game released for personal computers, written by Questprobe's Scott Adams. But that was about it for Buckaroo.

The Response: Tepid. Critics didn't get it, and audiences turned a cold shoulder to it. The end of the film announced a pending sequel that never materialized and, for mainstream audiences, Buckaroo Banzai faded into oblivion. (If you pay attention to the dates, the 71% "fresh" rating on Rotten Tomatoes doesn't exactly reflect the consensus of critics in 1984.)
But the movie found a small, rabid fan base that has since generated its own memorabilia. Decades of patches, badges and fan fiction eventually lead to a comicbook series from Moonstone Books.
Other efforts to revive the characters on film have not been as successful. In 1998, Fox made an effort to develop the concept into a TV series, but it was not picked up. A few years later Frank Darabont began development of another Buckaroo Banzai show but it, too, failed.


The Film: Buckaroo Banzai has its charms. At its heart is a terrific idea - a post-modern Doc Savage who's equal parts Leonardo DaVinci, Indiana Jones and Adam Ant.
Unfortunately, the movie is not very good. There's a cheapness to the spectacle that often drags the story down:

• Why does an internationally famous rock star (who has his own comic book, no less) play to a sparse audience in some dingy New Jersey nightclub?
• The press conference where Banzai first sees the the Lectroids for what they really are was obviously shot at a local hotel convention room that wouldn't have been big enough to hold the average comicbook convention.
• The President of the United States, who deals with Banzai from a hospital bed, looks like he's being treated in a ramshackle VA hospital that should have been closed years ago.

All of this serves to undermine the "do it yourself" aesthetic of Banzai's science, which is all stitched together from left over garbage like bubble wrap and tin foil. Alone, it's an interesting concept. Dropped into the middle of a film that looks equally hodgepodge, though, and the aesthetic fades into the background.
But I want Buckaroo Banzai to work. Every few years I return to the film, always hoping that I'll connect with it the way the creators want me to. And every time I tune out about half way through the film and fall into a daze.



The Music: Pretty neat. I'm not a fan of using electrical instruments in film scores, though there are exceptions (Blade Runner comes immediately to mind.) But the soundtrack firmly anchors BB in its time without ever coming across as camp. The melodies are solid and the overall texture has a proper B-movie vibe that never falls into actual B-movie mediocrity. And who can forget the closing credits of the film with the cast walking down an abandoned drainage canal in step with the final cue?

BONUS: Here's a download link to an expanded (and unauthorized) version of the soundtrack, courtesy of The Inferno Music Vault.


The Cast: Amazing. I think this is the real reason the fans love Bucakroo Banzai. As the lead, Peter Weller plays Buckaroo with all the earnestness of Adam West and shows he understands the kind of film he's making. Ellen Barker, on the other hand, straddles genuine drama with "damsel in distress" antics and provides a bit of balance to the film. Add in a supporting cast that includes Clancy Brown, Jeff Goldblum, Christopher Lloyd, Dan Hedeya and others and you've got a winning recipe.
The show stealer is, of course, John Lithgow as the deranged Dr. Lizardo. I've got no clue what his inspiration for the role was. At times Lizardo comes across like an Italian version of Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein. The rest of the time he's just batshit insane.
Not long after Buckaroo Banzai was released, Lithgow got to reprise Lizardo on an episode of Saturday Night Live. Sadly, there doesn't seem to be any video of it available online.



End of Line: Buckaroo Banzai ought to work, but doesn't. It's as crazy a movie as you can imagine but falls into incoherency toward the end, and lacks a visual punch to differentiate it from the average television movie. There's a lot to love, but it never really gels.

MATINEE: Krull (1983)

KRULL (1983)

The Plot:

The Plot (Shortform): The primitive world of Krull is invaded by aliens from a nameless planet. During the marriage of Prince Colwyn and Princess Lyssa, these creatures — called the Slayers — invade the festivities and kill most of the wedding party. They also ride off with Lyssa, leaving Colwyn wounded but alive. Colwyn undertakes a journey to the aliens’ ship to rescue the princess from the Black Fortress.

The Heritage: Krull got a decent rollout from Columbia Pictures in 1983, and is among the last films of its kind (i.e. shameless knock offs of Star Wars.) While Columbia apparently didn’t have enough faith in the film to generate the kinds of toys and trading cards seen with similar films, they did secure an arcade game based on the film (and it was pretty damn good.) There was also a board game and a movie adaptation published by Marvel Comics. If you’re of a certain age, you might have a little undeserved love for Krull.

Response: With a budget of $27 million, the film had a big opening weekend but faded quickly. Ultimately, it took in only $16 million domestically.

But that doesn’t always spell death for a film. The Beastmaster found its fans through television showings, while Eddie and the Cruisers and Highlander picked up followings on video. Considered a flop in 1984 (for reason I’ll get into in another column,) Dune’s fanbase only continues to grow.

More than two decades later, though and Krull has still failed to find a receptive audience. Still, there are a few random Krull tribute pages at MySpace. Tell them I sent you.

Fansite #1 Fansite #2

The Film: Just because a story has been told 1,000 times before doesn’t mean it can’t successfully be told again. Unfortunately, the story to 1983’s Krull’s is essentially “Hero’s Journey 101,” only without any particular thought or attention given to establish it’s own character. All of the basic story structures are there, from the recent death of the hero’s father, to the friends he picks up along his quest, right down to the climax of the movie. The only problem is that these facets are grafted to the movie’s few original ideas without finding an organic way to integrate them into the story.

For example is Ergo, the “wizard” character, who literally drops out of the sky as Colwyn journeys to the Black Fortress. He comes from nowhere, has no stake in the story and joins Colwyn for no obvious reason other than he’s supposed to.

The same can be said for the motley group of criminals who join Colwyn on his trek. These are all prisoners who had presumably escaped his father’s rule and, when learning they have his son captive decide to follow him on his suicide mission to win the freedom they already have.

While the movie fails on the script level, director Peter Yates (who is always confuse with Peter Hyams and, oddly, Mike Badham) fares a little better. There are a lot of great ideas in the film, though their presentation leaves much to be desired. The movie’s concept is like Star Wars in reverse. While Krull’s obvious inspiration was a science-fiction film that used elements of fantasy, Yates creates a world of fantasy with elements of science fiction. “The Black Fortress” is actually a huge spaceship, but it’s never referred to as such because the characters have no vocabulary for such a thing. Someone mentions the Slayers come from another world, but they could very well have been talking about angels or demons.

The photography and special effects are frustrating. Some of the effects are surprisingly good (even by today’s standards) but the photography betrays the film at every turn. Whenever the camera steps away from the action you get some very beautiful work, but anything that deals directly with the characters is overlit and pedestrian. Whenever we get too close to the characters, Krull feels significantly older than it’s age.

The hero’s special weapon is also problematic. By this point we’d already seen Luke Skywalker, King Arthur, Indiana Jones, Perseus and others kick some ass using their special weapons, but you don’t get to see Colwyn use his until the final few minutes of the movie. Called the “glaive,” it’s essentially a dull throwing star with extending knifes at the tip of each point. It’s neat looking, but is a "use once and discard" kind of weapon.

The Music: James Horner rehashes a lot of his ideas from the Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan soundtrack, but that’s okay. STII’s score is amazing, so I’ll forgive him. It’s not his best work, but it gets the job done — and constantly tricks me into thinking it’s a better movie than it really is.

The Cast: Better than it’s generally given credit for. Ken Marshall takes a lot of shit for his performance as Colwyn, which I think is unfair. He’s a good-looking guy and falls snugly into the Errol Flynn role the film desperately needed. The script doesn’t require any more from him than that. Besides, Josh Hartnett has spent his entire career coasting on less talent.

The presence of Lysette Anthony and the even lovelier Francesca Annis don’t hurt either (though Annis is buried under some unflattering make-up and Anthony’s voice was re-dubbed by American actress Lindsay Crouse.)

Along for the ride are Freddie Jones (who would re-team with Annis in Dune the following year,) Robbie Coltrane and Liam Neeson. In 1999, Neeson would appear in another Star Wars knock-off called The Phantom Menace.

End of Line: Krull is not without it’s charms, but I couldn’t really recommend this film to anyone outside of The Geek Generation. It gets extra points for nostalgia (mostly because emotions refuse to listen to reason) and I can’t really separate the film’s weakness from my memories of shoveling quarters into the video game. Krull is a curio you might not like, but you probably won’t regret watching.

And in case you need a cultural marker to understand how old Krull is, here’s a clip of the Atari 2600 version of the arcade game.