Hey folks, Harry here - sorry I haven't reviewed anything new in forever, but I enjoyed taking a month and a half off of modern films. I feel such a love of film right now, while other bitter fucks like Massawyrm are shitting on obviously lite fun descents into the kiddy macabre worlds of stop-motion are ripping at its bones. Of course, he could be right, but really... what are the odds of that?
Hola all. Massawyrm here. You know, there are just some times you dread writing a review. Times when you hear the jeers in advance, times when you can read the talkbacks hours before they’re posted, times when you know Harry’s going to preface your review with the words “Retarded” and “Monkey”. And this, my friends, is just such a time. With the eyeliner and lunchbox set already gearing up to declare the Corpse Bride tormented genius (that means really good in gothspeak) it’s no doubt that we’ll be seeing and hearing about this movie in all the Hot Topics of all the world for years to come. And with the film loving set ready to declare anything Tim Burton breaths on as misunderstood brilliance (that means really good in criticspeak) it’s no doubt that this film will become the demarcation point for many to declare just how much of a film lover one really is in many a coffeehouse conversation. The expectations are high and the fevered hype is growing. After all, Tim Burton is doing something that only Tim Burton has done before. But that’s the problem. Corpse Bride has been done before.
Tim Burton reminds me of a bi-polar ex-girlfriend I once had – the highs were incredible periods of magnificent wonder, filled with dreams of what could be, and the lows, well…the bitch tried to push me down the stairs. I love some of his films, really I do, just as I hold a sentimental place for those perfect moments with that girlfriend in those times when there was no question why I loved her. But one finds it hard to gloss over the bad days – the Big Fish, the Planet of the Apes, the Batman’s and the Sleepy Hollows – those times when Burton just couldn’t live up to the promise of what his talent was on the good days. And already I hear those fingers approaching the keyboards in defense of Burton. Of course they are – it’s fashionable to like Burton. As film lovers we’re supposed to love those who see the world differently and who share their unique vision with us. But there comes a time when that vision is no longer unique, a time when we’ve seen every trick in your book, every weapon in your arsenal. And when it comes time when those tricks and weapons are all you have to rely on, well, you’re in trouble. And that time for Tim Burton is the Corpse Bride.
There is nothing in Corpse Bride whatsoever that Burton hasn’t shown us in some way before. It’s all old hat. And if it’s not something Burton has showed us, it’s something Burton lifted entirely. Now as Harry likes to say “Stealing’s okay, as long as you do it better than they did.” But here it’s not better, not by a long shot. Corpse Bride is tedious monotony at 24 meticulously shot frames per second.
It’s a gimmick, nothing more. Burton’s chosen method of delivering his own brand of bizarre fairy tales. And there’s something to be said for that. But this time around it’s a fairy tale that could barely be padded to being told in a half hour rather than the 76 long minutes he gives us here. The plot is telegraphed, the storytelling altogether uninspired, and the characters disastrously thin – with motivations like “I love you because you played the piano” “I love you because you watched me play the piano” and “I love you because you’re the only person who would actually marry me, even if you didn’t mean to…and we played the piano, together.” Sure, it’s a cute story. Were it condensed down to a 24 page picture book I might read it to my nephews. But as a film, well, I’m guessing it looked a hell of a lot better as storyboards.
One of the biggest problems with Corpse Bride is the pallet. First of all, the trailer you’ve all seen, well, it’s bullshit. Watch it again. It just pops with color. The strange flesh tones, the vibrant outfits against gray skin – it’s hypnotic and unique. And it’s not in the movie. It’s been doctored and colored for the trailer. Everything that occurs in the land of the living, every character, every article of clothing, every object, is colored in shades of gray and black. That’s it. And it’s interesting – for about five minutes. Clearly Burton is trying to give us a sense of drudgery, portraying the land of the living as bleak, hopeless and weighed down by its fear of death. It reminded me of the first fifteen minutes of Joe vs. The Volcano – the fifteen minutes that makes us want to commit suicide with Joe.
But then we go to the land of the dead and it is positively alive. The pallet of the dead is wonderful. Muted tones of aged film mixed with vibrant greens and blues. I get it. Really I do. The dead, having nothing left to fear, are far more alive than the living. So they get color. And if, like the Wizard of Oz, we spent the rest of the film in the land of the dead, I could enjoy that black and white segment for what it was. Unfortunately, we don’t. The bulk of the Corpse Bride is spent in the drab, uninteresting doldrums of the living. And for a film hoping to wow you over with its visuals rather than its storytelling, this is a tragic misstep.
But it’s not just the color scheme that proves to be boring. This movie tries to be funny. Sure, most Tim Burton films do. But here every gag is the same. It’s bones falling off, cracks about being dead and, oh dear god, by the twelfth time an eye popped out of a socket for comedic effect I wanted to pop my own eyes out. We get it, they’re dead; their eyes don’t want to stay in. Move on. But it doesn’t. Eyes keep popping out and bones keep falling off and the dead keep pulling sharp implements out of one another. Over and over again.
But I know, I know. I’m supposed to be impressed by the process. It is, after all, a stop motion film – something we just don’t get anymore. Now I love stop motion. Big Harryhausen fan. There’s something about good stop motion that just looks alien, strange and unlike anything else outside its medium. So it’s my sad duty to inform you that stop motion has progressed so far that it’s reached the point that it now looks like good CG. Some won’t be able to even notice the difference. It’s pretty and many of the dolls are masterfully molded – there’s genuine talent in the character design – but the film just doesn’t have that alien quality about it that Nightmare Before Christmas had, that any of the Harryhausen films had. It simply looks like a bizarre CG project helmed by Tim Burton or someone who had watched a ton of his movies. Except for the land of the dead of course. Those sequences, easily the best in the film, really feel like stop motion at its best. But as I mentioned before, those sequences are too short and too sparsely distributed in the film to make up for the monotony of the rest of it. And of what worth is the process if the end result wasn’t worth it?
Corpse Bride is just dull, dull, dull on every level – a serious let down from what it looked like it could be, from what Burton’s talent is capable of on those good days. But it will be praised, no doubt. So go for it, you know you want to. Let me have it. Tell me how I just don’t get Burton and you do. Talk about how I liked a Reese Witherspoon comedy and was bored by this. Giggle about how Harry actually referred to me as retarded. Believe me, there’s not a talkback you could write at this point that I haven’t already imagined – not a conversation I’m going to have with my friends this week that hasn’t already rolled through my head a couple of times.
I hate this kind of movie – the kind that you will come to be judged for, the kind that some will laud as genius no matter how it came out, the kind that people will draw a line in the sand marking the “cool” who get it and those that don’t. I have a strong feeling that this is ultimately going to be that kind of film. I really hope you enjoy it, but me, it bored to fucking tears.
Until next time friends, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em. I know I will.
Massawyrm
Send More Death Threats Bitches!
Ok - while you should totally ignore Massawyrm's above review, I have no doubt he's right about the next film. Cuz even a cancer-ridden mind like his could see FLIGHT PLAN for what it was..
Hola all. Massawyrm here. For anyone who thought The Forgotten just wasn’t silly enough, for anyone who thought the villain’s plot in Red Eye just wasn’t implausible enough, and for anyone who thought the twist in Saw just wasn’t ridiculous enough – I present to you the despicably infuriating Flightplan. Easily the biggest piece of unmitigated dogshit to cross my eyes this year, Flightplan sent me out of the theatre in a rage unlike any I’ve suffered in quite some time. Is it the worst film I’ve seen this year? No, admittedly it’s not. Does it have a single excuse for being as bad as it is? No. Not a one. Some movies are just bad. Flight Plan is diabolically retarded.
There’s nothing that pisses me off like wasted talent, and watching two hours of Jodie Foster acting her ass off in a script that would have been rejected in the first round of even the most piss poor of film festivals just makes me want to pull my hair out. But I can’t just blame the writers. Some writers are just bad. No. Flightplan is a complete failure at every level of the system. This should have never been greenlit – hell, this script should have never been shot out of the other end of a studio copier.
First and foremost, the movie is simply boring as all hell. Virtually nothing happens. Jodie Foster is on the plane with her daughter, then she’s not on the plane with her daughter and we spend the next 75% of the film watching her wig out while looking for her daughter. And that’s all that happens for that part of the film. But all the while, Flightplan keeps tugging at you. Is she crazy? Is she not crazy? You just don’t know. But it keeps nodding to you, saying “Don’t worry, the big twist is coming. It’s coming and it’s going to be a doozy.” It’s a thriller, that’s what thrillers do. Of course, thrillers are supposed to be, well, thrilling. Flightplan is not.
But when the twist finally rears its ugly head, boy howdy is it a doozy indeed. Quite possibly the most far-fetched, weak ass, miserable excuse for a twist that I’ve seen in God knows how long. Oliver Stone driving through the desert on mescaline couldn’t come up with a conspiracy plot this convoluted and full of holes. And it’s the twist the entire film is predicated on, the grand notion that we’re supposed to be wowed by and walk out of the film discussing the nuances of.
Oh, we discussed the nuances of it alright. Every last, pathetic, mind numbing little detail. But I’m not going to spoil it for you all here. No No. For those of you who want to stay pure so you can enjoy it in all its glory, I’m saving that little ditty for a super special spoiler section. So for those of you who want to duck out, now’s the time. Just know that it’s not worth a lick of your time – it’s nothing but a god forsaken miserable thriller Ashley Judd would have turned down, tarted up with Jodie Foster and a big budget. It makes Redeye look like genius and the Forgotten something worth remembering. The best I heard out of the audience was that it was alright. The worst, well, we bitched for the better part of a half hour. Total crap. Enjoy.
SPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILER
Okay, now that it’s just us, let me lay it down. She ain’t crazy, but you probably knew that. No, what the truth turns out to be is much more insidious than a mere rehashing of the psychologically fractured character film (i.e. Hide and Seek, Secret Window, High tension, Fight Club.) Flightplan is actually a Rube Goldberg machine just waiting to fall apart. The villains in the film, the sky marshal and a stewardess have hatched this brilliant plot. See if you can follow along.
First find someone who knows about planes. Jodie Foster. Check. Kill her husband by somehow luring him onto a roof then pushing him off. Check. Have our mole the coroner plant plastic explosives in the coffin while filing a bogus death certificate. Check. Make sure Jodie Foster and her daughter want to take back her husbands body to the states immediately. Check. Make sure Jodie Foster is on the flight that both the stewardess and the air marshal are scheduled on. Check. Make sure the crew is completely incompetent and won’t be able to remember whether the passenger that boarded first, when only passengers with children or special needs are allowed to board, actually had a child. Check. Make sure that not a single one of the 425 passengers on board the flight will remember seeing Jodie Foster and her little girl – not in the terminal or when sitting anywhere near her. Check. Make sure that the stewardess is actually able to alter the passenger manifest on both the plane and at the terminal. Check. Make sure Jodie Foster doesn’t wake up when you take her daughters boarding pass out of her hip pocket. Check. Make sure when you snatch the child, not to wake her up or have her resist in anyway, despite being on a cramped plane. Check. Make sure no one on the plane so much as looks up at someone walking past them with a child. Check. Stash the child in a hard to get to part of the plane without being seen. Check. Let Jodie Foster run loose like a crazy woman. Check. Pray the captain doesn’t demand that she immediately be cuffed and removed from the passenger portion of the plane when she goes batshit crazy. Check. Let Jodie Foster escape, on a plane, so she can search the hold and enter her special password into the coffin holding her husbands body so we can retrieve the plastic explosives later. Check. Make sure she doesn’t look around the corner where we hid her daughter. Check. Escape long enough without being seen to set up the plastic explosives. Check. Tell the captain that Jodie Foster has set up plastic explosives and wants $3 million transferred to an account or she’ll blow the plane. Check. Pray that the airline will actually, effortlessly, negotiate with a hijacker. Check. When the plane lands, make sure none of the snipers on the ground that have a clear shot at Jodie Foster actually take it before we can blow the cargo hold, vaporize her daughter, shoot her ourselves and plant the detonator in her hand. Check. Accomplish all of this before Jodie Foster figures it out and we have to get into a cat and mouse chase through the largest plane designed by man. Damnit! This plan is idiot proof. How could it possibly go wrong?
Now don’t for one minute tell me I’m overthinking the film or that I have to operate under a suspension of disbelief. Suspension of disbelief? How about suspension of all rational thought. I believe a man can fly. I cannot believe any criminal in their right mind would agree to participate in a plan this buttfuck backwards. And I cannot believe that any studio, producer, or actress of any worth would sign on to something in which the twist requires all of these things to happen without incident in order to make any sense whatsoever. One or two of these things I’d buy. Hell, maybe even a half dozen if the movie moved along well enough. But god damnit son, all this? Really? None of this ever bothered you folks? This goes well beyond the realm of training oil drillers to be astronauts. This is just retarded.
You know, maybe if the movie moved a little faster, maybe if there were some hints of actual character development, maybe if this film gave me something, anything at all to enjoy while watching it, then maybe I wouldn’t hate it so much. But it doesn’t. The entire film hinges on this big twist and the revelation of all these things having occurred. I don’t know, maybe if this plot were told from the point of view of the plotters and we had to watch how they managed to finagle each of these things, I could buy it – at least somewhat, in an Ocean’s 11 kind of way. But presenting it here, with a ramp up to a surprise that is only surprising because it makes no fucking sense whatsoever, just proves to be a monumental waste of time, money and one hell of a fine actress.
Brian Grazer – Dude, seriously? What the fuck were you thinking?
Until next time friends, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em. I know I will.
Massawyrm
I want an Oscar to masturbate with!
