I love Snake Plissken. "Escape from New York" is one of the best b-pictures ever burned onto celluloid. Its concept alone is absolute genius. It's 1997. The island of Manhattan has been turned into a maximum security prison. When Air Force One crashes inside the city, and the President's taken hostage, a one-eyed ex-soldier turned criminal (Kurt Russell, doing a brilliant Clint Eastwood impersonation) is sent in to rescue the commander-in-chief. It's a post-apocalyptic spaghetti western, directed by John Carpenter at the absolute top of his game. This is the "Godfather" of drive-in movies. And it has the breathtaking Adrienne Barbeau.
"Escape from L.A.," a sequel/remake released by Paramount back in '96, was screened at the Nuart last night. I originally had seen it in theaters on my 17th birthday and had been somewhat impressed by the film. But upon viewing in a handful of times since then, it's not nearly the classic that the original is. Still, as follow-ups go, the film isn't by any means as craptacular as the belated "Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines." So I boogied down to Nuart for the midnight screening.
"L.A." begins, like "New York," with an expository voice-over, narrated by an uncredited Jamie Lee Curtis. In 1998, Los Angeles was pulverized by an earthquake that separated the entire county, not the mention the O.C. from California, creating an island that -- well -- got the Manhattan treatment; it was turned into a prison. A neo-conservative President (Cliff Robertson) is elected for life, he turns the United States into "a no smoking country," and in 2013, his radicalized daughter Utopia (A.J. Langer) goes apeshit and crashes Air Force Three in L.A.
Fortunately, Snake Plissken has just been arrested and is drafted by the United States Police Force to go into the city and retrieve an EMP weapon that Utopia's delivered to her Che Guevara lookalike boyfriend (George Corraface) on the inside. He's also infected with a fast-acting designer virus that will kill him within 8 hours unless he gets out in time. It's a virtually identical setup to the first film. Cameron reinvented the wheel with "Terminator 2," and the end result had just enough uniqueness to surpass his first effort; here, the opposite is true. It's a movie that seems to be afraid of being too different, but every so often veers into newer and occasionally clever territory.
The film satirizes the touchy-feely, PC '90s, yet is strangely prophetic in regards to casting the President as a god-fearing, fascistic, pro-death penalty Red Stater. Also, the concept of incarcerating people for their political and/or religious ideologies, at the time of the film's release, seemed like pure ficition. There was only a creeping fear in the '90s that our liberties were being stripped from us, the police department was becoming more militarized, and by God, did Bush II make that all come to pass. John Carpenter is Nostradamus.
Because the film was made in the mid-90's, there's an overabundance of CGI, bad CGI, the kind of CGI that makes Gumby look like a documentary. It simply has no weight or texture. Carpenter was clearly uneasy about digital graphics, so you get the sense that the effects are in the film to meet the audence's demand for piss-poor CGI, nothing more.
The audience's demand for Steven Buscemi to be in every fucking movie made in the '90s is also met. He's an actor I like, particularly in "Reservoir Dogs" and "Living in Oblivion," but in this film he seems to be doing an impression of himself.
Perhaps the weakest element in the movie, though, is Corraface's Cuervo Jones. You cannot improve upon Isaac Hayes' Duke of New York in the first film; you just simply can't. In this entry, Jones barely registers as a signifcant threat to Plissken. He's just not dangerous. Bruce Campbell, who cameos as a freakshow plastic surgeon, would've chewed every bit of the quake-damaged scenery if he were the central baddie. The way the film plays out, though, there's a strong anti-immigration undercurrent; America is about to be attacked from the south by the Mexican and Cuban militaries. Again, Carpenter's crystal ball doesn't miss a beat.
But all that being said, I still like the movie to some degree. I wouldn't pay money to see Snake Plissken to read the phone book, but I would pay to watch him in a mediocre remake/sequel -- a re-quel. If you ever read the word "re-quel" again, remember, Brad Lohan thought if it first.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Thursday, December 7, 2006
Mel Brooks Banned from Laugh Factory for Using the N-Word in 1974 Film
WEST LOS ANGELES - Writer-director Mel Brooks has been indefinitely banned from the Laugh Factory when TMZ.com recently discovered that his 1974 film, "Blazing Saddles," contains over two-dozen uses of the "n-word." Brooks is comedian du jour who has come under fire for injecting his material with racial epithets, following Michael Richards, Andy Dick and Damon Wayans.
When reached for comment, Brooks stood by his film, "'Blazing Saddles' is a modern comedy classic that deals with racial issues in a satirical way. And it was co-written by the late Richard Pryor. I actually insisted that he be the one to type the 'n-word' each time it appears in the script. That's why I hired him in the first place."
However, Paul Rodriguez, co-owner of the dubiously named Laugh Factory, stands by his call to ban Mr. Brooks from performing. "The film 'Blazing Saddles' absolutely is racist and not nearly as funny as my barrier-busting masterpiece, 'A Million to Juan.' Brooks, although he's never performed here, is no longer allowed to perform here; he is still alive, right?"
Following Michael Richards' onstage meltdown during which he used the 'n-word' multiple times in response to a heckler, the slur has fallen out of favor in the entertainment community, but not entirely because it is highly offensive. Some say that once a has-been like Richards starts using the word, it's not unlike when your mother gets a tattoo; it simply isn't "cool" anymore.
"Richards blew it for all of us c-listers," sighed comedian Damon Wayans, who's also been banned from the Laugh Factory. "Now I've gotta go back to making 'safe' jokes about hotels and air travel. Meh."
Calls to Michael Richards were immediately returned with a tidal wave of apologies. And for some reason, Seinfeld called us as well.
When reached for comment, Brooks stood by his film, "'Blazing Saddles' is a modern comedy classic that deals with racial issues in a satirical way. And it was co-written by the late Richard Pryor. I actually insisted that he be the one to type the 'n-word' each time it appears in the script. That's why I hired him in the first place."
However, Paul Rodriguez, co-owner of the dubiously named Laugh Factory, stands by his call to ban Mr. Brooks from performing. "The film 'Blazing Saddles' absolutely is racist and not nearly as funny as my barrier-busting masterpiece, 'A Million to Juan.' Brooks, although he's never performed here, is no longer allowed to perform here; he is still alive, right?"
Following Michael Richards' onstage meltdown during which he used the 'n-word' multiple times in response to a heckler, the slur has fallen out of favor in the entertainment community, but not entirely because it is highly offensive. Some say that once a has-been like Richards starts using the word, it's not unlike when your mother gets a tattoo; it simply isn't "cool" anymore.
"Richards blew it for all of us c-listers," sighed comedian Damon Wayans, who's also been banned from the Laugh Factory. "Now I've gotta go back to making 'safe' jokes about hotels and air travel. Meh."
Calls to Michael Richards were immediately returned with a tidal wave of apologies. And for some reason, Seinfeld called us as well.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Why SUPERMAN RETURNS Doesn't Need Continuity
Tonight I picked up "Superman Returns," Bryan Singer's love letter to Richard Donner's 1978 film, "Superman: The Movie." I'm surprised the i's in the opening credits sequence weren't dotted with hearts, considering how faithfully (on the surface, at least) the movie follows the continuity of the original and to some degree the Richard Lester-directed sequel. John Williams' Superman theme shatters planets across the galaxy during the opening credits, Marlon Brando's resurrected via CGI for a second turn as Jor-El, and Lex Luthor's a broadly played criminal mastermind with a menagerie of hairpieces. But these and many other elements carried over from the first two acts of the Christopher Reeve quadrilogy effectly mire "Superman Returns" in assorted continuity gaffes and give the film an indistinct voice; it feels more like a work-for-hire than a BRYAN SINGER FILM.
Having grown up on the Christopher Reeve "Superman" films (in fact I was in utero when my mother saw the original), I look upon them as sacrosanct, save for part four which is just an unholy piece of dogshit. Singer's intention to have installments one and two exist as a "vague history" to his film sounds brilliant on paper -- or in a hyperbolic blurb on Aint-It-Cool.com. The end result, however, cherry-picks elements from the first and second movies -- the Fortress of Solitude having been spawned by a crystal, Superman and Lois' implied sexual congress, Lex's imprisonment -- and jettisons other story points that drill holes in the plot.
Lex's doomsday device, a Kryptonite continent that actually looks uglier than parts of Spokane, tops his previous land-grab scheme from "Superman: The Movie." Unfortunately, the creation of this landmass, as it is portrayed in the film, is impossible by the series' own internal logic. The transparent crystals in the Fortress of Solitude -- the ones that he steals in "Superman Returns" -- contain archival data from Krypton, as demonstrated in "Superman: The Movie" and this film. It's also in "Superman: The Movie" that young Clark Kent discovers a single, green-glowing crystal which he uses to build the Fortress. That one crystal alone can create a Kryptonian palace. The others, the clear ones? They're simply glorified books on tape. So it is simply against the continuity of the first film for Lex to create his own super-continent out of random crystals snatched from the Fortress.
In "Superman II," the Richard Lester version, Superman professes his love for Lois Lane. This being the case, his mother Lara -- via an artifically intelligent hologram in the Fortress -- insists that he relinquish his powers and live as a mortal. So he enters a chamber that bathes him in rays from a red sun. Powerless, he and Lois consummate their love. This, presumably, is the only time that Superman and Lois Lane are sexually intimate. That said, how can a de-powered Superman impregnate Lois with a child that in "Superman Returns" hurls a grand piano?
What is so bizarre about "Superman Returns" is that the less familiar a viewer is with the previous films, the more accessible the movie is. Paradoxially. the more accessible the movie is to non-fans, the less important the previous films become. Was there any real demand for a "Superman II.5," pr a "SupermanIIIA?" Why make a sequel to a franchise that's been dormant for almost twenty years?
Christopher Nolan proved just last year that it's best to throw the baby out with the bathwater when it comes to reinvigorating a comic book icon, though I would've preferred he nixed the black Batman costume in favor of one that's gray and blue for the sake of really trying something different. But Nolan dared to hit "Ctrl+Alt+Delete" on a frozen franchise, where Singer seems uneasy about owning Superman. He tried to direct with Richard Donner's eye.
Where will the neo-franchise go? I've read that a "Superman Returns" sequel is in development for a 2009 release. Will Singer step out of Donner's shadow and direct his own vision for the character? Or is Singer's vision too clouded by the original film? "Superman Returns" isn't a bad film, but it's a movie that's simultaneously too much and not enough.
Having grown up on the Christopher Reeve "Superman" films (in fact I was in utero when my mother saw the original), I look upon them as sacrosanct, save for part four which is just an unholy piece of dogshit. Singer's intention to have installments one and two exist as a "vague history" to his film sounds brilliant on paper -- or in a hyperbolic blurb on Aint-It-Cool.com. The end result, however, cherry-picks elements from the first and second movies -- the Fortress of Solitude having been spawned by a crystal, Superman and Lois' implied sexual congress, Lex's imprisonment -- and jettisons other story points that drill holes in the plot.
Lex's doomsday device, a Kryptonite continent that actually looks uglier than parts of Spokane, tops his previous land-grab scheme from "Superman: The Movie." Unfortunately, the creation of this landmass, as it is portrayed in the film, is impossible by the series' own internal logic. The transparent crystals in the Fortress of Solitude -- the ones that he steals in "Superman Returns" -- contain archival data from Krypton, as demonstrated in "Superman: The Movie" and this film. It's also in "Superman: The Movie" that young Clark Kent discovers a single, green-glowing crystal which he uses to build the Fortress. That one crystal alone can create a Kryptonian palace. The others, the clear ones? They're simply glorified books on tape. So it is simply against the continuity of the first film for Lex to create his own super-continent out of random crystals snatched from the Fortress.
In "Superman II," the Richard Lester version, Superman professes his love for Lois Lane. This being the case, his mother Lara -- via an artifically intelligent hologram in the Fortress -- insists that he relinquish his powers and live as a mortal. So he enters a chamber that bathes him in rays from a red sun. Powerless, he and Lois consummate their love. This, presumably, is the only time that Superman and Lois Lane are sexually intimate. That said, how can a de-powered Superman impregnate Lois with a child that in "Superman Returns" hurls a grand piano?
What is so bizarre about "Superman Returns" is that the less familiar a viewer is with the previous films, the more accessible the movie is. Paradoxially. the more accessible the movie is to non-fans, the less important the previous films become. Was there any real demand for a "Superman II.5," pr a "SupermanIIIA?" Why make a sequel to a franchise that's been dormant for almost twenty years?
Christopher Nolan proved just last year that it's best to throw the baby out with the bathwater when it comes to reinvigorating a comic book icon, though I would've preferred he nixed the black Batman costume in favor of one that's gray and blue for the sake of really trying something different. But Nolan dared to hit "Ctrl+Alt+Delete" on a frozen franchise, where Singer seems uneasy about owning Superman. He tried to direct with Richard Donner's eye.
Where will the neo-franchise go? I've read that a "Superman Returns" sequel is in development for a 2009 release. Will Singer step out of Donner's shadow and direct his own vision for the character? Or is Singer's vision too clouded by the original film? "Superman Returns" isn't a bad film, but it's a movie that's simultaneously too much and not enough.
Friday, November 24, 2006
My Ex-Girlfriend's a Body Builder
10 years ago, I took an astoundingly gorgeous girl from the Ukraine to homecoming. We dated very briefly, only about a month or so before she got a job at McDonald's and dumped me. Yes, her reason for breaking up with me was because she'd gotten a job at Mickey D's. Life has rarely -- if ever -- been good to me.
This evening I Googled her name just out of curiousity. It's not often I Google my exes; well, I tell people it isn't often. At any rate, not only did I find Zhanna, I found her Web site: zhannarotar.net. She's now a professional body builder. Holy cats!
She looks amazing, not overly developed like some of the 'roided up She-Hulks that you typically think about when you hear the term "female body builder." Her hair's no longer auburn, but dishwater blonde. She still has that adorable nose and those doe eyes. And she can pick up a car. So that's pretty cool.
I sent her an e-mail via her Web site: "Hi, we dated...your life seems to be way cooler than mine...blah, blah, blah." I wonder if she'll write back. She's probably got a boyfriend or a husband that tow a big rig with his teeth. I get winded walking up a flight of stairs.
But, hey, at least I got to take her to homecoming.
This evening I Googled her name just out of curiousity. It's not often I Google my exes; well, I tell people it isn't often. At any rate, not only did I find Zhanna, I found her Web site: zhannarotar.net. She's now a professional body builder. Holy cats!
She looks amazing, not overly developed like some of the 'roided up She-Hulks that you typically think about when you hear the term "female body builder." Her hair's no longer auburn, but dishwater blonde. She still has that adorable nose and those doe eyes. And she can pick up a car. So that's pretty cool.
I sent her an e-mail via her Web site: "Hi, we dated...your life seems to be way cooler than mine...blah, blah, blah." I wonder if she'll write back. She's probably got a boyfriend or a husband that tow a big rig with his teeth. I get winded walking up a flight of stairs.
But, hey, at least I got to take her to homecoming.
Monday, November 20, 2006
FUTURE FORCE: Four-Star Review
Last week I read David Carradine's book, "The Kill Bill Diary," and realized that I'd seen very little of his oeuvre outside of Quentin Tarantino's film(s). I remembered years ago seeing a DTV title of his at the neighborhood video store -- something with him sporting a bionic arm -- that looked promising. A quick search on IMDb provided me with the film's title, "Future Force." I then found a used VHS copy on Amazon.com that was going for a penny. This is precisely the reason why I will never discard my VCR.
"Future Force" (dir. David A. Prior) is set in the far flung-future, circa 1991. Law enforcement has been privatized, and now Hell's Angels apparently are the judges, juries and executioners. Carradine's character John Tucker drives a beater Jeep Cherokee and sports a sleeveless denim vest; incidentally, no effort is made on the part of the filmmakers to establish whether or not his character is any relation to the lead in "John Tucker Must Die."
His bionic "arm," featured prominently on the cover art, is actually a glove that he puts on periodically when he wants to shoot lasers. It also grants him augmented strength, particularly in the scene where he prevents a car from driving away by placing his hand on top of the roof and holding it there. Later it's established that the glove can be operated by remote control and fly around and punch bad guys in the face, all with the touch of the same button.
Clearly, this movie is one of the best I've ever seen. It contains all the necessary conventions of a detective film, thus elevating it to the status of "Chinatown" or even "Beverly Hills Cop II." Director Prior knows that no crime can be solved without at least one trip to a titty bar. In this film, there are two. Policemen can't possibly make it through all six reels of a movie without getting shot in the arm during a gun battle, however, said injury will not impede the hero's ability to throw a punch in any way. And no protag is complete without his own catchphrase. "Future Force" provides many to choose from, but I think "I'm gonna kick some fuckin' ass" stands apart. The fact that Carradine says it while hugging the female lead and cocking his pistol really sells the line.
Carradine brings something to the role that no other actor could. As he's recounting the story of how as a rookie cop, he entered a house and shot a 6-year-old boy in the back then "always sort of looked out for him after that," you find yourself fighting back not only the urge to laugh, but to cry at the very same time. I'm certain that Carradine found the core of Tucker by shooting dozens of children in the spine while researching the role. It's something that any consummate artist would do in the interest of honing his craft.
The plot revolves around a tape that contains evidence of wrongdoing on the part of the bureaucracy in control of C.O.P.S., the corporate entity in charge of policing the country. We're never shown what's on the tape, but news reporter Marion (Anna Rapagna) does hold the tape up so we can see it during her newscast. I believe that leaving it up the viewer to decide what sort of heinous images may be on the tape is a wise decision on the part of the filmmakers, especially writer-director Prior. It engages us as an audience and makes us use our imagination. A lesser director, like Michael Mann or some dick, would've gone ahead and shown the footage.
Marion's report, though it's really just a tease, is considered treason; neo-conservativism was as strong as ever in '91, apparently. And it falls on Tucker to kill her dead for a bounty of $100,000. He, however, allows her to execute her "right" not get eat a bullet and tries bringing her in. But the hunter becomes the hunted after he blows away a couple of his fellow cop buddies that have their own plans for Marion. What follows is a series of car chases that eclipse "The French Connection" and that last Michael Bay film that nobody saw. Then comes a showdown in a junkyard at midday. When a thug threatens Tucker with the line, "I'm not finished with your ass yet," I was absolutely certain our hero was done for.
"Future Force" is the perfect action film. It's something that, as an aspiring filmmaker myself, reminds me I have so much more to learn before I can become the next David A. Prior. This movie is a master class in filmmaking. So much can be learned from every shot composition, musical cue, and ultimately the unnecessarily long take of the the jeep driving away before the credits roll. I will study this film, and its sequel, until I've unlocked all of its secrets. That should require at least one more viewing...and Corona.
"Future Force" (dir. David A. Prior) is set in the far flung-future, circa 1991. Law enforcement has been privatized, and now Hell's Angels apparently are the judges, juries and executioners. Carradine's character John Tucker drives a beater Jeep Cherokee and sports a sleeveless denim vest; incidentally, no effort is made on the part of the filmmakers to establish whether or not his character is any relation to the lead in "John Tucker Must Die."
His bionic "arm," featured prominently on the cover art, is actually a glove that he puts on periodically when he wants to shoot lasers. It also grants him augmented strength, particularly in the scene where he prevents a car from driving away by placing his hand on top of the roof and holding it there. Later it's established that the glove can be operated by remote control and fly around and punch bad guys in the face, all with the touch of the same button.
Clearly, this movie is one of the best I've ever seen. It contains all the necessary conventions of a detective film, thus elevating it to the status of "Chinatown" or even "Beverly Hills Cop II." Director Prior knows that no crime can be solved without at least one trip to a titty bar. In this film, there are two. Policemen can't possibly make it through all six reels of a movie without getting shot in the arm during a gun battle, however, said injury will not impede the hero's ability to throw a punch in any way. And no protag is complete without his own catchphrase. "Future Force" provides many to choose from, but I think "I'm gonna kick some fuckin' ass" stands apart. The fact that Carradine says it while hugging the female lead and cocking his pistol really sells the line.
Carradine brings something to the role that no other actor could. As he's recounting the story of how as a rookie cop, he entered a house and shot a 6-year-old boy in the back then "always sort of looked out for him after that," you find yourself fighting back not only the urge to laugh, but to cry at the very same time. I'm certain that Carradine found the core of Tucker by shooting dozens of children in the spine while researching the role. It's something that any consummate artist would do in the interest of honing his craft.
The plot revolves around a tape that contains evidence of wrongdoing on the part of the bureaucracy in control of C.O.P.S., the corporate entity in charge of policing the country. We're never shown what's on the tape, but news reporter Marion (Anna Rapagna) does hold the tape up so we can see it during her newscast. I believe that leaving it up the viewer to decide what sort of heinous images may be on the tape is a wise decision on the part of the filmmakers, especially writer-director Prior. It engages us as an audience and makes us use our imagination. A lesser director, like Michael Mann or some dick, would've gone ahead and shown the footage.
Marion's report, though it's really just a tease, is considered treason; neo-conservativism was as strong as ever in '91, apparently. And it falls on Tucker to kill her dead for a bounty of $100,000. He, however, allows her to execute her "right" not get eat a bullet and tries bringing her in. But the hunter becomes the hunted after he blows away a couple of his fellow cop buddies that have their own plans for Marion. What follows is a series of car chases that eclipse "The French Connection" and that last Michael Bay film that nobody saw. Then comes a showdown in a junkyard at midday. When a thug threatens Tucker with the line, "I'm not finished with your ass yet," I was absolutely certain our hero was done for.
"Future Force" is the perfect action film. It's something that, as an aspiring filmmaker myself, reminds me I have so much more to learn before I can become the next David A. Prior. This movie is a master class in filmmaking. So much can be learned from every shot composition, musical cue, and ultimately the unnecessarily long take of the the jeep driving away before the credits roll. I will study this film, and its sequel, until I've unlocked all of its secrets. That should require at least one more viewing...and Corona.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
DOUBLE-O ZOMBIE: The Novel?
I think I'm writing a book. I don't know for sure. The last time I sat down to "write a novel," I ended up with a dozen pages of what I eventually deemed "butt rags" and quit. So this go around, I'm not admitting to myself that what I'm doing is actually writing a book.
It started with a short story, a sequel of sorts to my criminally unread script, "Double-O Zombie." I loved the character, loved the possibilities of the world I'd created but didn't have enough material to churn out another script.
The short story, subtitled "Above Ground," picks up shortly after the events of "Double-O Zombie." John Bryce, the hero of the piece, has been brainwashed by MI6 and forgotten that he is in fact undead; extensive plastic surgery has repaired his severely damaged dermis. One of the major events in "Double-O Zombie" (SPOILER ALERT) deals with Bryce's soul returning to his body after his brains are blown out. Though I didn't delve too deeply into the metaphysics of zombiism, I suggest in the script that when someone is turned into a zombie, their souls are in limbo. A gunshot to the head frees them so that they can go to heaven. Bryce, however, choses to return from the afterlife to his corporeal form so that he can complete his mission (END SPOILER).
So in "Double-O Zombie: Above Ground," Bryce wakes up to find himself chained to a nuclear device aboard a B-17 bomber that's minutes away from Washington D.C. He finds two bullet holes in his chest and a slug from his Baretta wedged against what feels like a metal plate beneath the flesh of his forehead. Then he meets PFC Francis Merchain, formerly of the United States Army, a failed super-soldier candidate who's now confined to a haz-mat suit; he and his company were exposed to high levels of gamma radiation by the military in the '50s to craft a new breed of warriors. He's the only survivor -- bald, toothless and tumorous. The suit traps the high levels of radiation he gives off.
Merchain drops Bryce and the bomb on Washington. Plummeting towards the nation's capital, Bryce has to disarm the weapon before it explodes at 17,000 feet. He opens an access panel by unscrewing the bolts with his teeth and ultimately headbutting it in frustration. The blow to his skull jars loose some memories of his previous mission that help him come to realize why he's still alive; he'd been suffering from acute amnesia in regards to the events surrounding his last assignment. But now he has total recall. What happened to him on the uncharted island off the coast of Jamaica was something his own organization -- MI6 -- wanted him to forget. He's been brainwashed. If only he can disarm the nuclear bomb he's astride and survive a 35,000-foot drop, he can make his superior at MI6 pay for what was done to him...
That's pretty much the first chapter. I'm about 50 pages in right now, non-commitally writing a couple more when I find the time. I don't have much of a story beyond "a man hates his job and wants to kill his boss," which I think is a universal theme. I have to give inject it with the standard spy and zombie film trappings; before he can kill his boss, his sense of duty has him accept one final mission to assassinate a reanimated Soviet agent, a woman whose death was one of the two that earned him his "double-o" status. He also learns that Merchain is still alive and has exhumed and resurrected Bryce's late wife.
I did at one point think to give the story a "global threat," the standard super-villain WMD. A reanimated army of Cossacks was one idea I entertained. I might just keep things stripped down and gritty. But having a mass grave of dead men, women and children bubble up with rotting, shambling, ravening cadavers is too good of an idea to put on the shelf.
It started with a short story, a sequel of sorts to my criminally unread script, "Double-O Zombie." I loved the character, loved the possibilities of the world I'd created but didn't have enough material to churn out another script.
The short story, subtitled "Above Ground," picks up shortly after the events of "Double-O Zombie." John Bryce, the hero of the piece, has been brainwashed by MI6 and forgotten that he is in fact undead; extensive plastic surgery has repaired his severely damaged dermis. One of the major events in "Double-O Zombie" (SPOILER ALERT) deals with Bryce's soul returning to his body after his brains are blown out. Though I didn't delve too deeply into the metaphysics of zombiism, I suggest in the script that when someone is turned into a zombie, their souls are in limbo. A gunshot to the head frees them so that they can go to heaven. Bryce, however, choses to return from the afterlife to his corporeal form so that he can complete his mission (END SPOILER).
So in "Double-O Zombie: Above Ground," Bryce wakes up to find himself chained to a nuclear device aboard a B-17 bomber that's minutes away from Washington D.C. He finds two bullet holes in his chest and a slug from his Baretta wedged against what feels like a metal plate beneath the flesh of his forehead. Then he meets PFC Francis Merchain, formerly of the United States Army, a failed super-soldier candidate who's now confined to a haz-mat suit; he and his company were exposed to high levels of gamma radiation by the military in the '50s to craft a new breed of warriors. He's the only survivor -- bald, toothless and tumorous. The suit traps the high levels of radiation he gives off.
Merchain drops Bryce and the bomb on Washington. Plummeting towards the nation's capital, Bryce has to disarm the weapon before it explodes at 17,000 feet. He opens an access panel by unscrewing the bolts with his teeth and ultimately headbutting it in frustration. The blow to his skull jars loose some memories of his previous mission that help him come to realize why he's still alive; he'd been suffering from acute amnesia in regards to the events surrounding his last assignment. But now he has total recall. What happened to him on the uncharted island off the coast of Jamaica was something his own organization -- MI6 -- wanted him to forget. He's been brainwashed. If only he can disarm the nuclear bomb he's astride and survive a 35,000-foot drop, he can make his superior at MI6 pay for what was done to him...
That's pretty much the first chapter. I'm about 50 pages in right now, non-commitally writing a couple more when I find the time. I don't have much of a story beyond "a man hates his job and wants to kill his boss," which I think is a universal theme. I have to give inject it with the standard spy and zombie film trappings; before he can kill his boss, his sense of duty has him accept one final mission to assassinate a reanimated Soviet agent, a woman whose death was one of the two that earned him his "double-o" status. He also learns that Merchain is still alive and has exhumed and resurrected Bryce's late wife.
I did at one point think to give the story a "global threat," the standard super-villain WMD. A reanimated army of Cossacks was one idea I entertained. I might just keep things stripped down and gritty. But having a mass grave of dead men, women and children bubble up with rotting, shambling, ravening cadavers is too good of an idea to put on the shelf.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Blunt Instrument: CASINO ROYALE Review
Retroactive continuity. It's not uncommon in comic books. Take a character like Spider-Man, someone who's been a Marvel comics staple since 1962's "Amazing Fantasy" #15. His radioactive spider bite origin has been rebooted for our post-Y2K sensibilities in the pages of "Ultimate Spider-Man," where a younger, more Edward Furlong Peter Parker got his powers from a genetically engineered arachnid. Radiation, it seems, lost its luster after the Berlin Wall fell.
James Bond, like Spider-Man, is a product of another time. And some would argue -- critics anyway -- that 007 was in need of some retroactive continuity, a shakeup of his origins rather than his Vodka martini. The Soviet Union is no longer a threat to us; Islamo-fascism is. The War on Terror needs on-screen foot soldiers. And since the entertainment industry is too dickless and insecure to make a film about our military adventures in the Middle East (for now, that is), it falls upon Her Majesty's Secret Service to dispatch Ian Fleming's author surrogate to save the world for the 21st time. Or would it be the first?
"Casino Royale" (dir. Martin Campbell) takes the retroactive continuity approach to Bond. It's not set in 1953 when the Fleming novel -- the first of his 14 entries -- was published, nor does it take place in the '60s when Sean Connery's James Bond fathered the spy sub-genre in film. No, "Casino Royale" is set in the present day. The Cold War is over, as Dame Judi Dench flippantly laments, and it's a post-9/11 world that newcomer Daniel Craig's James Bond inhabits. Disfigured henchmen carry cell phones, GPS tracking capsules can be injected beneath the skin, and 007 even has an e-mail account.
Does "Casino Royale" discard the previous 20 Bond films? Was there anything but loose continuity within the series anyway? Sylvia Trench appears twice, once in "Dr. No" and again in "From Russia with Love," as Bond's sometimes-lover; George Lazenby's god-awful turn as Bond makes reference to "the other fellow," presumably Connery; Roger Moore's Bond visits the grave of his late wife, Tracy, in "For Your Eyes Only;" Tracy's also referred to -- though not by name -- in "Licence to Kill;" and gadets from various Bond films are all on museum-like display in Q-Branch in 2002's "Die Another Day."
Judi Dench returns to the role of M for her fifth time, but if "Casino Royale" is Bond's first assignment, then that shoots to hell any continuity with "Goldeneye," where it's made clear that her M had had a "predecessor" that Bond answered to. But even Connery sat out one film, "On Her Majesty's Secret Service," before returning in "Diamonds Are Forever." So the film series isn't one for embracing continuity. With a 44-year history, how could it be? In the Fleming novels, Bond reflects that he'll have to retire from field work at the mandatory age of 45. Even if every Bond film were a direct sequel to the one previous, he'd have had to turn in his Walther PPK 7.65 mm pistol some time ago.
So the previous 20 films have been, to some degree, jettisoned in favor of contemporizing Bond. Brosnan had the dubious honor of being one of the better Bonds in what have amounted to generally lesser installments. His final turn in 2002's "Die Another Day" may have earned the most money -- in unadjusted dollars -- of all the Bond entries, but short of having him throw down with Freddy and/or Jason, the "style" of his films had reached an apex of absurdity.
"Casino Royale" is bold. From the casting of dark horse Daniel Craig over the presumably more expensive favorite Clive Owen to the "Year One" approach to the character, it's the riskiest of the recent Bonds. The stripped-down and gritty nature of the film does borrow from the "Bourne" franchise and Christopher Nolan's "Batman Begins," but one must remember where those films owe many of their influences. Jason Bourne is an Americanized Bond with poor short-term memory; Batman is -- on film at least -- a womanizing urbanite with an arsenal of gadgets and a rogues gallery of malformed uber-baddies. But "Casino Royale" exceeds those other two franchises in scale.
Action films of late have devolved into video games with star-studded cutscenes. Too much CGI, too little character development -- these are the ingredients to a Michael Bay film, but not "Casino Royale." This film makes the audience see Bond as a man; he can be hurt, he can bleed. We empathize with Bond. He's not simply a self-propelled action figure that perforates the villains and escapes from the jaws of certain death unharmed. In "Casino Royale" we see Bond as realistically as he's ever been portrayed. That is the filmmakers' most stunning approach to the character, giving Bond a soul.
Craig deconstructs the template Bond and then refashions him in a newer -- and as many detractors have noted, blonder -- mold. With a little financial success and ostensibly two or three more outings, he'll have staked a claim on the character that'll be parallel only to Connery's. The 22nd film is rumored to already have a release date prior to a completed script, May 2008. I'm eagerly looking forward to what's next for a franchise that's just experienced its rebirth.
James Bond, like Spider-Man, is a product of another time. And some would argue -- critics anyway -- that 007 was in need of some retroactive continuity, a shakeup of his origins rather than his Vodka martini. The Soviet Union is no longer a threat to us; Islamo-fascism is. The War on Terror needs on-screen foot soldiers. And since the entertainment industry is too dickless and insecure to make a film about our military adventures in the Middle East (for now, that is), it falls upon Her Majesty's Secret Service to dispatch Ian Fleming's author surrogate to save the world for the 21st time. Or would it be the first?
"Casino Royale" (dir. Martin Campbell) takes the retroactive continuity approach to Bond. It's not set in 1953 when the Fleming novel -- the first of his 14 entries -- was published, nor does it take place in the '60s when Sean Connery's James Bond fathered the spy sub-genre in film. No, "Casino Royale" is set in the present day. The Cold War is over, as Dame Judi Dench flippantly laments, and it's a post-9/11 world that newcomer Daniel Craig's James Bond inhabits. Disfigured henchmen carry cell phones, GPS tracking capsules can be injected beneath the skin, and 007 even has an e-mail account.
Does "Casino Royale" discard the previous 20 Bond films? Was there anything but loose continuity within the series anyway? Sylvia Trench appears twice, once in "Dr. No" and again in "From Russia with Love," as Bond's sometimes-lover; George Lazenby's god-awful turn as Bond makes reference to "the other fellow," presumably Connery; Roger Moore's Bond visits the grave of his late wife, Tracy, in "For Your Eyes Only;" Tracy's also referred to -- though not by name -- in "Licence to Kill;" and gadets from various Bond films are all on museum-like display in Q-Branch in 2002's "Die Another Day."
Judi Dench returns to the role of M for her fifth time, but if "Casino Royale" is Bond's first assignment, then that shoots to hell any continuity with "Goldeneye," where it's made clear that her M had had a "predecessor" that Bond answered to. But even Connery sat out one film, "On Her Majesty's Secret Service," before returning in "Diamonds Are Forever." So the film series isn't one for embracing continuity. With a 44-year history, how could it be? In the Fleming novels, Bond reflects that he'll have to retire from field work at the mandatory age of 45. Even if every Bond film were a direct sequel to the one previous, he'd have had to turn in his Walther PPK 7.65 mm pistol some time ago.
So the previous 20 films have been, to some degree, jettisoned in favor of contemporizing Bond. Brosnan had the dubious honor of being one of the better Bonds in what have amounted to generally lesser installments. His final turn in 2002's "Die Another Day" may have earned the most money -- in unadjusted dollars -- of all the Bond entries, but short of having him throw down with Freddy and/or Jason, the "style" of his films had reached an apex of absurdity.
"Casino Royale" is bold. From the casting of dark horse Daniel Craig over the presumably more expensive favorite Clive Owen to the "Year One" approach to the character, it's the riskiest of the recent Bonds. The stripped-down and gritty nature of the film does borrow from the "Bourne" franchise and Christopher Nolan's "Batman Begins," but one must remember where those films owe many of their influences. Jason Bourne is an Americanized Bond with poor short-term memory; Batman is -- on film at least -- a womanizing urbanite with an arsenal of gadgets and a rogues gallery of malformed uber-baddies. But "Casino Royale" exceeds those other two franchises in scale.
Action films of late have devolved into video games with star-studded cutscenes. Too much CGI, too little character development -- these are the ingredients to a Michael Bay film, but not "Casino Royale." This film makes the audience see Bond as a man; he can be hurt, he can bleed. We empathize with Bond. He's not simply a self-propelled action figure that perforates the villains and escapes from the jaws of certain death unharmed. In "Casino Royale" we see Bond as realistically as he's ever been portrayed. That is the filmmakers' most stunning approach to the character, giving Bond a soul.
Craig deconstructs the template Bond and then refashions him in a newer -- and as many detractors have noted, blonder -- mold. With a little financial success and ostensibly two or three more outings, he'll have staked a claim on the character that'll be parallel only to Connery's. The 22nd film is rumored to already have a release date prior to a completed script, May 2008. I'm eagerly looking forward to what's next for a franchise that's just experienced its rebirth.
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