You know how it is:
You're a successful movie director and have recently completed one of the most accomplished sequels in movie history (Aliens) and, in the back of your mind, an idea is forming about another sequel, one with Arnhult, Asta La Vista and GnR warbling over motorcycle sequences. Trouble is, Linda Hamilton isn't available for a few years and Arnhult has prior commitments up to his nutsac.
What to do?
Well, why not direct an underwater sci-fi spectacular, making use of one of the most expensive and elaborate sets ever designed to whet your appetite for future projects?
Eh?
Eh?
Why not just go and direct The Abyss?
Well?
Beautifully shot, much admiration must be expelled in the general direction of Cinematographer Mikael Salomon for the visuals which truly captivate, right from the off.
The plot: An American nuclear sub' has been lost and it is up to an expedition led by a young looking Ed Harris and the weirdly sexy Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio to seek, locate and extract anything useful, be that people or equipment. A bunch of Navy SEALS are sent along to assist, though they seem to have an agenda all their own whilst, most worryingly, it seems they may not be alone in the depths as something altogether alien stirs.
Whilst this is essentially a monster movie, it is a monster movie with a difference. Here, the gribbly-ibblies aren't befanged and hungry for human flesh, instead they are more cerebral, content simply to float around and look beautiful in a vague attempt to make contact, seeming more curious than threatening.
At times heart-stoppingly evocative, the film does occasionally delve into mawkish territory, particularly the soap opera-light relationship shared by Harris and Mastrantonio, which is the single reason this did not gain top marks.
An excellent, ideas driven sci-fi movie that will, if you have any semblance of humanity in your cold, empty heart leave you simply breathless.
Showing posts with label movie directors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movie directors. Show all posts
Saturday, 24 July 2010
Transformers (2007) Dir. Michael Bay
Seriously folks, if I could give a movie a zero rating, I would.
This is dire from beginning to end.
Michael Bay, a man seemingly hellbent on forging a directorial career that consists of nothing but smearing excrement across a cinema screen brings to life the nostalgic mecha-dudes of yore, The Transformers.
If you are of an age, the very mention of the word Transformers brings a teary glisten to the eye, and you hurtle mentally back to days playing in a friends bedroom with the robot warriors, trying to decide if Jazz was cooler than Bumble Bee.
If you were hoping to recapture those carefree days with this, forget it.
In an incredible accomplishment, Bay manages to spunk forth some five hundred gazillion dollars on this feature, rendering unto the screen a lifeless, soulless, uninspiring mess of a movie.
CGI overload is a frequent hazard, but it is the woeful script that really shines through, in all the wrong ways.
Alleged 'comedy' moments leave you squirming in embarrassment, unsure whether to laugh at the ineptitude of the lines on offer or piss blood from your own eyeballs and, worse still, we have the cardinal sin of weak script writing whereby every single black character is 'wacky', 'loud' and 'zany', as well as being overweight, outdated representations of the Whassup brothers from the Budweiser adverts.
Come on guys, you can do better than that.
Outrageously awful in every respect, I genuinely hope, and I don't say this lightly, that Bay is struck down with some form of visual impairment, to prevent him despoiling future projects so capably. Nothing life threatening, just enough to prevent him directing. Ever. Again.
Terrifyingly, the sequel is even worse and, more frightening still, Bay is down as producer on the Nightmare on Elm Street remake. Holy shit.
A truly dreadful movie.
This is dire from beginning to end.
Michael Bay, a man seemingly hellbent on forging a directorial career that consists of nothing but smearing excrement across a cinema screen brings to life the nostalgic mecha-dudes of yore, The Transformers.
If you are of an age, the very mention of the word Transformers brings a teary glisten to the eye, and you hurtle mentally back to days playing in a friends bedroom with the robot warriors, trying to decide if Jazz was cooler than Bumble Bee.
If you were hoping to recapture those carefree days with this, forget it.
In an incredible accomplishment, Bay manages to spunk forth some five hundred gazillion dollars on this feature, rendering unto the screen a lifeless, soulless, uninspiring mess of a movie.
CGI overload is a frequent hazard, but it is the woeful script that really shines through, in all the wrong ways.
Alleged 'comedy' moments leave you squirming in embarrassment, unsure whether to laugh at the ineptitude of the lines on offer or piss blood from your own eyeballs and, worse still, we have the cardinal sin of weak script writing whereby every single black character is 'wacky', 'loud' and 'zany', as well as being overweight, outdated representations of the Whassup brothers from the Budweiser adverts.
Come on guys, you can do better than that.
Outrageously awful in every respect, I genuinely hope, and I don't say this lightly, that Bay is struck down with some form of visual impairment, to prevent him despoiling future projects so capably. Nothing life threatening, just enough to prevent him directing. Ever. Again.
Terrifyingly, the sequel is even worse and, more frightening still, Bay is down as producer on the Nightmare on Elm Street remake. Holy shit.
A truly dreadful movie.
The Mist (2007) Dir. Frank Darabont
Based on a novella by Stephen King first published in the anthology Dark Forces this is, quite simply, an astonishing movie. Directed by Frank Darabont, a man with a clear love of King's output (The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile were also adaptations of King's work), this is bleak, thought provoking and challenging movie making.
The plot: A small town in Maine (where else?) suffers a severe thunderstorm, with trees blown down and general chaos wrought. The following day, the locals are packing the supermarket, picking up supplies to clear up the weather borne detritus when a mist rolls into town from the nearby hills, with one man racing into the supermarket, blood dripping from his face, claiming that there is 'something' in the mist. The natives are skeptical, right up to the point when tentacles emerge and snatch one of their own from under their noses. The place is locked down, with stocks piled up against the glass front of the building but, within, a new threat emerges: a vehemently religious woman who claims it is God's vengeance for our impure ways.
Tense, with an atmosphere so sharp you could shave a fourteen year olds scrotum with it, this is less a monster movie and more a focus on the extremes we will go to when pushed.
Several things about this movie stand out and elevate it above standard 'creature feature' status, not least of which are the performances. A cast of relative unknowns deliver excellent, believable portrayals of normal folk in peril, and the heart strings are plucked throughout, though in an intelligent, logical way, not in a 'make's you want to puke out your own kidneys' sense.
Darabont makes fine use of lighting and, crucially, the score is an accompaniment, not the dominant feature, adding substance to scenes rather than overwhelming them, something that the Michael Bay's and Zack Snyder's of this world would do well to note.
It's impossible to talk about this movie without mentioning the ending (I won't ruin it, but skip the next sentence if you'd rather know nothing) which is nothing short of astonishing. Poignant, heart wrenching and with such humanity it brings a tear to the eye, something few, if any, horror movies achieve.
Whilst delivering the goods in terms of gore and violence, this movie is so much more than that and one I would recommend to all, not just the usual sick in the head blood fiends.
You know who you are.
The plot: A small town in Maine (where else?) suffers a severe thunderstorm, with trees blown down and general chaos wrought. The following day, the locals are packing the supermarket, picking up supplies to clear up the weather borne detritus when a mist rolls into town from the nearby hills, with one man racing into the supermarket, blood dripping from his face, claiming that there is 'something' in the mist. The natives are skeptical, right up to the point when tentacles emerge and snatch one of their own from under their noses. The place is locked down, with stocks piled up against the glass front of the building but, within, a new threat emerges: a vehemently religious woman who claims it is God's vengeance for our impure ways.
Tense, with an atmosphere so sharp you could shave a fourteen year olds scrotum with it, this is less a monster movie and more a focus on the extremes we will go to when pushed.
Several things about this movie stand out and elevate it above standard 'creature feature' status, not least of which are the performances. A cast of relative unknowns deliver excellent, believable portrayals of normal folk in peril, and the heart strings are plucked throughout, though in an intelligent, logical way, not in a 'make's you want to puke out your own kidneys' sense.
Darabont makes fine use of lighting and, crucially, the score is an accompaniment, not the dominant feature, adding substance to scenes rather than overwhelming them, something that the Michael Bay's and Zack Snyder's of this world would do well to note.
It's impossible to talk about this movie without mentioning the ending (I won't ruin it, but skip the next sentence if you'd rather know nothing) which is nothing short of astonishing. Poignant, heart wrenching and with such humanity it brings a tear to the eye, something few, if any, horror movies achieve.
Whilst delivering the goods in terms of gore and violence, this movie is so much more than that and one I would recommend to all, not just the usual sick in the head blood fiends.
You know who you are.
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