Avatards

Neveldine/Taylor are no strangers to inherently flawed concepts. But it seemed as if they could still manage to do something with them. Even Crank: High Voltage, while a let down from its surprisingly stunning predecessor, was able to sustain some level of anticipation. But Gamer does more than collapse under the weight of its invalid (and, at this point, tired) concept. It fails at every point along to the way to create any sense of urgency or to make any character’s motivations clear beyond immediate survival.

There is a plot, to be sure, and it isn’t a difficult one to follow. But nobody in the movie seems to really notice. Usually, a movie like this will force characters to do things counter-intuitive to what any reasonable person would do in order to preserve a few moments that can be easily marketed in a trailer. Gamer though, has no trouble moving its characters into any situation it wants; given the subject matter it could all make a quasi kind of sense. And yet, the extras have more illogical actions than any major character does. Instead, they just plod along with a boring single-mindedness that makes the violence surrounding them seem like a minor annoyance rather than anything actually dangerous.

The craziness that makes the Crank movies so watchable is barely evident here. It’s as if Neveldine/Taylor are uninspired impersonators of their own style. The shock editing and cartoony sound work is just dull when it isn’t actively annoying. There is absolutely no context to any of the in game battle scenes around which this movie is ostensibly built. Even the very premise is only talked about in expository objectivity for half the movie. When Simon (Logan Lerman), technically the titular character, finally shows up, it’s long past the time when he could have been relevant (which is a shame because his scenes with interrogator Keith David are the only pieces of this mess worth saving.) And maybe the movie is aware of this, because almost as quickly, it renders him obsolete, even removing him from his part in the climax when everything points to him being the mastermind behind it.

Supervillain Ken Castle (Michael C. Hall) is the thing you can hold on to, look forward to maybe, but mostly because he’s so fascinatingly terrible. In fact, comparing him to Brad Pitt’s similar performance in Inglourious Basterds illustrates the fine distinction between a good actor having fun with his part and one allowed off his leash completely and disappearing into inevitable self-involvement.

Castle’s plan to smoke out his nemesis, the Humanz movement, is a good one and would have been a satisfying twist if any of it had been shown beyond ghostly flashes after the fact. Not that we got to know any of the Humanz operatives very well anyway, but it’s impossible to feel dread on their part if it’s just explained to us that they’re dead now.

A bizarre musical bit comes way too late to be anything other than appalling and laughable. It’s supposed to show Castle’s manipulation abilities, and it does, but it’s also supposed to set up the climax to an action movie. So when Kable (Gerard Butler) beats these dancing henchmen to anonymous pulps, it feels more like a hate crime than victory.

Man, It’s So Loud In Here

In the same way that a lot of mysteries or courtroom dramas feel out of place in the theater now, when they’re so plentiful on television, I’m not sure what purpose a musical documentary (which doesn’t even seem the appropriate term for It Might Get Loud) serves.  There’s even a show (Inconoclasts) specifically designed to accomplish what this movie seems to be after (albeit in a much more general way.)  In and of itself, getting Jimmy Page, The Edge and Jack White to sit on a stage together isn’t a monumental occasion.  But It Might Get Loud seems to be counting on you thinking it is.

Of course, none of this means it’s poorly done.  It doesn’t even mean it isn’t interesting.  It just doesn’t seem like a worthwhile endeavor for somebody going to the movies.  I like all these people.  Jimmy Page is one of the most fascinating figures in rock history.  But that’s neither taken for granted nor explored.  There’s a sort of brief vague biography given, but it’s more interested in informing the things The Edge will ask him when they’re all together later than providing anything terribly new or personal.  Taking The Edge back to the high school where U2 not only formed, but practiced, was a great idea and, and while maybe not fully realized as this was not just about him (it should have been), was impressively satisfying, especially the final moment at the bulletin board upon which Larry Mullen posted the band’s call to arms.  However, the parallels of Headley Grange and Franklin, Tennessee for Jimmy Page and Jack White (respectively) are not only incongruous, but terribly inadequate.  Led Zeppelin IV is one of the most pored over albums in the history of albums.  There isn’t a lot of new to be had there, even in bringing its chief architect back to it.  Never mind that the idea driving It Might Get Loud seems to be getting to the genesis of these men’s careers in music, not the pinnacles.  Jack White’s beginning seems like it’s too insular and goes too far back.  Until he plays Son House for us, then it’s clear we’re seeing exactly what we should be seeing.  But the inclusion of a falsified 9 year old Jack, at one point playing “Sittin’ On Top Of The World” with “current age” Jack, is off putting in an otherwise staid presentation, not to mention completely void of any impact on anything being done.  It’s the only way for the movie to allow Jack to speak without speaking to the camera, but that’s what everyone else is doing, and he seems to do fine on the occasion that he does it, so I’m not sure why it was necessary.

The conclusion seems odd too.  Despite the esoteric guitar reference, for them to all get together and play “The Weight” doesn’t at all seem appropriate or challenging.  Nor does it turn out to be very good.  But after seeing the strange, forced situations the rest of the movie presents us with, it’s kind of a precious flash of actual documentary.  There is one moment that maybe makes the whole thing worthwhile though.  As they work their way through the song, you can see in everyone who and what they are to the annals in which they are such revered figures:  Jack White takes charge with the false bravado of the rebel spirited teenager he is to rock n roll while The Edge quietly follows along, humoring him with a smirk of an amused parent.  And Jimmy Page sits to the side, effortlessly filling in the spaces, watching it all like the god who’s grown bored with omnipotence and has decided to see what the mortals are up to.

In The Suck

It is such a relief when you know you’ve seen the worst movie of the year. With so many things out there, the worst of which are usually the most difficult to see, it’s always hard to accept that there isn’t something floating around that’s just that much worse than The Ugly Truth. For me, what this leads to is a run on the worst Blockbuster has to offer throughout the month of December. But December is going to be so much more enjoyable this year because I have seen what will be, without any doubt, the worst movie of 2009.

I suppose you could just read the description of Grace and, even if it’s trying to sell you on it, get the feeling that it’s going to be terrible. But that’s just a common kind of terrible. Surprise triggers badness just as much as it does the best movies. And so, as always, I would encourage you not to do that (and as such, to stop reading this right now and come back when you’ve seen it – it’s out on video September 15th, one month and one day after its release in theaters) as I have to imagine not knowing where this movie is headed only adds to the dizzying disbelief of where this movie is headed.

Where it’s headed (which you know because you just watched it, right?) is toward the land of baby vampires. See now, if you disobeyed and didn’t watch it, you’re thinking this is some sort of Twilight/Baby Geniuses mashup, and if that’s the case, you’re going to be disappointed. Because nothing could be that awesomely terrible. But you’ve only yourself to blame, for you were warned. Anyway, no, Grace is the only baby vampire. And they never actually say that word. To do so would ruin the carefully constructed “reality” into which Grace is born. The first third or so in fact, is all about holistic vs. hospital births. And it’s boring when it isn’t annoyingly self-righteous (the hospital side is never really given a chance), but it does competently serve as a distraction from the absurdity to come. Except for expectant mother Madeline’s odd choice to watch meat processing videos, there’s no indication this will ever be anything but a meditation of this counter-culture debate that almost no one actually has. And thank goodness.

Not only does that make the appearance of a newborn who can only be sated with blood (whether it’s the siphoned juice of store bought meat, a stray rat, or direct from her mother’s breast) the kind of head spinning twist that causes you to miss what anyone says for the following two minutes as you strain to collect yourself, but there’s just no way to sit through that kind of movie when everyone in it is so thoroughly terrible. Only Jordan Ladd’s Madeleine scrapes by as passable, maybe because she mostly gets to do scenes with her baby and even though there are no weird effects of sparkling skin of scrunchy faces, there’s just no way you’re paying attention to anything else when an infant vampire is onscreen. I wonder though, if it matters at all what sort of performance any actor could give in this movie anyway. More often than not, they are awkwardly shoved into spaces far too small to accommodate even the few people in the scene, leading to even more awkward interaction amongst them. It’s shot so poorly that even though there’s only one scene where anything physical takes place, it’s very difficult to tell what’s going on or where anyone is at any given time. There’s one scene in particular where two characters disappear into the blown out background of the room they’re in and continue talking for at least another minute. There’s a lesbian subplot involving the stalking midwife (Samantha Ferris) who had a relationship with Madeline and is only too happy to have her ex-lover/student back in her life. She shows up as a savior when those brash doctors want to induce labor (it was just heartburn – or something) and parks in front of the house Madeline holes herself up in after Grace is born. And yet, when things are clearly going awry with the baby, Madeline finds it impossible to get a hold of her. Seems the midwife’s assistant (Kate Herriot) has a crush or relationship of her own and won’t give her boss/lover the messages. If only Madeline could remember anybody else’s cell phone number! I guess when your infant daughter is literally sucking the life out of you, you’re lucky you can remember one number.

The horror of this horror movie is obviously of the psychological variety. There aren’t any scares and there aren’t supposed to be. But we are supposed to be creeped out by the lengths a woman will go to in protecting her baby, no matter how self-destructive it may be. But when everyone around is a weirdo [the aforementioned stalker and message-hoarder, a mother-in-law (Gabrielle Rose) who desperately wants to produce breast milk (and does), and a law-challenged doctor (Malcolm Stewart) who wants to taste said breast milk (but doesn’t)] it’s not so crazy to want to keep your “miracle” baby to yourself. The final line, “She’s teething,” is meant to send you from the theater shuddering at the thought, haunted for days, but I mean, yeah, babies do that. It’s kind of stupid of you to not see this coming. Also, why are you still breast feeding, dummy? That has not worked out well once since this baby was born. These are the kinds of conversations you have with the worst movie of the year. And you wouldn’t trade these moments for anything. Except maybe a sequel.

Talking Points

Is this what comedy is in Britain? No wonder they don’t think we’re funny. Although, judging by In The Loop, we do seem to have the same basic programming: repeat the same joke incessantly until somebody gets angry. Or, to change it up a little, start out with one or two people angry already. The guy in front of me certainly thought the barrage of pedestrian and profanity-laced insults spit out by Malcolm Tucker (Peter Capaldi) were comic genius. But maybe he was British. I don ‘t know, I didn’t talk to him. Why would I talk to him? He thought this movie was funny. We clearly weren’t going to get along.

It’s a little bit dangerous saying you didn’t think this “brilliant satire” of the state of politics today was anything but hilarious. Apparently, that sounds as if you’re saying you didn’t get it. But there’s no way to not get In the Loop. Even if you manage miss it the first few times, there are so many more opportunities to hear Malcolm call someone by the name of a somewhat comparable figure in popular culture (or maybe a clever combination of two of them!) or watch Linton (David Rasche) forget someone’s name (but not care!) or suffer through another awkward public embarrassment Simon (Tom Hollander) has walked into (or been led into by those darned politicos.) There’s a sense that by virtue of being British, the filmmakers are automatically smarter than us and if we don’t laugh with them, they’re going to be laughing at us.

Ratcheting up that sense of elitism is the nature of the political material. It’s purposely short on specifics (because they can’t possibly matter in the actual world), but it handles that necessity more adroitly than other entities trapped within the same imagined guidelines (i.e. 24, anything Aaron Sorkin does.) Still, except for the last second manipulating by mastermind Malcolm, it’s all a bunch of nonsense. And yes, maybe that’s the point, that none of it matters anyway, but that is not the sentiment we’re led to glean from the rest of the movie. So much of the supposed comedy comes out of the idea that it’s these idiot egomaniacs that are running our lives. So if what they’re talking (and talking and talking) about has no impact, then why is it funny that these idiot egomaniacs are in charge of it?

It’s not without bright spots. Lieutenant General George Miller (James Gandolfini) is a walking set up, but undercuts that by delivering his lines with affable cynicism.  Simon Foster is a Michael Scott clone, but his dubious nature seems perfectly normal under the circumstances and in one of the best scenes, we get to see him be good at his job (which is why he is more Michael Scott than David Brent, despite the nationalistic affiliation.) And there is the climax consisting of a hastily concocted, but ultimately satisfying maneuver that wraps up (some of) the various threads pulled throughout.

However, that piece of clever gamesmanship comes from a character that’s chiefly despicable throughout the rest of the movie. Not that there are many present who aren’t, so the choices are limited, but why in the world would we want this guy to be the one to win [and that is how we’re supposed to take it, as a win (things go back to normal, even if we’re still probably going to war with whoever it is)] when all he’s done is scream insults at people we like at least a little more than we do him? This may have to do with Malcolm Tucker being the one holdover character from the BBC series The Thick Of It from which this movie is an offshoot. But that’s hardly an excuse.

Orphanage Rage

I should warn you right up front that I most certainly cannot keep a secret.  But then, neither can anyone involved in the marketing of Orphan because without being able to recall specifically where or how, I definitely knew that Esther, the titular orphan, was going to turn out to be an undersized adult.  And, as I guess should go without saying, a crazy one.

What I did not expect, however, was that I wouldn’t be thinking about that fact at all until about the time it is revealed onscreen.  I feel like this is at once a fault of and tribute to the rest of the movie.  On the one hand, it’s great that this kind of picture especially, wasn’t hanging its entire impact on one final (literally) unbelievable twist.  But on the other, if there’s a mystery that’s somehow the crux of your story I should maybe at least wonder about it once or twice before it’s introduced as an answer to a largely unasked question.

Still, it’s shocking that this revelation was the only point in the whole movie where the audience seemed to wonder what was happening.  For something that at first blush appeared as though it had the potential to be one of the most laughable so-called horror movies in awhile, Orphan turned out to be a fairly well made, if kind of droll, drama for an hour and a half.  Only for its final half hour did it become that laughable horror movie.

Discounting that concluding portion, which does have one of the funniest played-for-serious moments in cinema history, there are entirely too many stunningly affecting performances in a movie that barely deserved one.  Little James T. Kirk (Jimmy Bennett) as original son Danny is probably the weakest link, and clearly he has nothing to be ashamed of, being the cast member with the most credits this year.  Aryana Engineer as original daughter Max, who is deaf, gives as amazing a child performance as you’re going to see, showing the fear and fealty of and to her new sister without being able to tell you about it in the overly precious or (worse) inappropriately mature way in which most child actors would be called upon.  Isabelle Furhman’s Esther isn’t really creepy in the way she’s supposed to be, but it might be better this way because at least as far as demonic children go, she sneaks up on you.  So it’s not so ridiculous that nobody sees it coming.  Better yet, some do see it coming, but she’s so practiced it doesn’t matter.  Best of all is Vera Farmiga as tortured mother Kate who is saddled with the unfair burden of being a struggling alcoholic adulturee with a clichéd passive-aggressive mother-in-law, in addition to serving as mother to a rebellious son and a daughter whose deafness is inarguably her fault.  And that’s before she adopts a kid that wants to kill her.  So that she gives maybe one of the best performances of the year through all of that ridiculousness is beyond remarkable.  Her reaction to Esther’s condescending revelation that her piano lessons were taken out of pity (among other things) is absolutely incredible and leaves you wondering why she wasted it in this.

In the end though, once Esther tries to seduce her adoptive father (Peter Sarsgaard) and unbinds the adult(ish) body she’s (again, literally) been keeping under wraps (why she doesn’t switch the order of those events is beyond my comprehension) it turns into exactly the sort of fare you were expecting.  It doesn’t matter as much by then, you count yourself lucky to have received what you did, but it’s still a little disappointing to wind up in that place when for so long it seemed as if perhaps it would be avoided.

Do The Twist

“…the major difference between movies that make money and movies that make real money is repeat business. A Perfect Getaway should make a killing, because audiences will be heading back before the credits are over just to see if the damn thing made any sense. “

That’s from the Washington Post review. And it’s true (except for the part about A Perfect Getaway making any money.) I almost don’t want to think about what I think about this movie before seeing it again because there are certain things that just can’t possibly make sense given the ending, despite the infuriating grainy black-and-white recaps movies of this ilk are apparently contractually obligated to do. But it seems almost as unlikely that something otherwise so competently done would allow such glaring inconsistencies to exist. As it stands now anyway, A Perfect Getaway, whether you see the “twists” coming or not, is a fantastic thriller that doesn’t seem to need any of the tired trappings that sort of description tends to accompany.

And it shouldn’t really come as much of a surprise. Writer/director David Twohy (Pitch Black, Below) gives us one of these every few years. Under the radar genre movies with semi-stars somehow coaxed into doing something different and yet still doing what they do best. In fact the only misstep he’s had came as a result of the temptation to establish a bloated franchise in The Chronicles Of Riddick. A Perfect Getaway is about as far from that as he can get.

There are some annoying things floating around, such as the constant talk of screenwriting (or screenplay writing as Timothy Olyphant’s Nick likes to call it), but equally as annoying is how these things become important and integral to the story and make you feel just a little bit stupid for questioning their inclusion the whole time. But even were they not addressed and left to infect the rest of the movie, there’s enough that you might not have cared. From the painfully accurate wedding video testimonials to the infuriating choices of etiquette over survival made by newlyweds Cliff and Cydney (Steve Zahn and Milla Jovovich) there’s nothing that seems false or forced, even as events grow further and further from any kind of reality. None of the red herrings (or red snappers as Nick insists they’re called) are terribly convincing but you believe they believe it, and that’s all that matters.

Script Doctor

Even when things ultimately work out, movies about movies always seem bitter. And even though it’s unfair, that bitterness is always going to seem unearned. And it’s a no win situation. Because we’re watching your movie. So you were successful. So you can’t have the bitterness lead to failure or it won’t feel true. But you also can’t have it lead to success or we’re just going to think you’re gloating. Or worse, think you knew it was going to work out the whole time.

Unfortunately, Shrink isn’t only about a struggling screenwriter. It’s moreso about a psychologist with whom he has some distant and convoluted relationship. And some other people who you wouldn’t believe are all interconnected but they totally are in totally surprising and innovative ways. Like sharing a drug dealer. Oh, I’ve given too much away.

Director Jonas Pate, who has directed a bunch of episodes of Friday Night Lights and co-created one of the most fantastically acted science fiction series there’s ever been in Surface, abandons his twin brother for this project and leaves me no choice but to assume they’ve been splitting their duties this whole time. Because while Shrink looks and sounds like an episode of Friday Night Lights, it doesn’t feel like anything. Just generic reconstructions of things we’ve seen a thousand times before. One of the most important plot points is a character finding a script based on her life laying on the sidewalk. Yes, it’s passingly motivated by it being dropped by someone else she doesn’t know, but really it’s the byproduct of this forcibly constructed web the movie clearly thinks is going to get a gasp out of you every time the link between two characters is revealed.

And in the end, the lesson seems to be if you write a really good script in two days, all the awful stuff you may have done to people in order to find the inspiration to do so will be forgiven. So maybe this movie-about-a-movie success is more wish fulfillment on the author’s part than usual.

Poster Children

There are three major releases due out on July 24th: The Orphan, G-Force and The Ugly Truth. And all of them are trying their damnedest to make sure we resist the temptation to go see them.

The image on the poster for The Orphan achieves its intention well enough. You’d think as a nation we’d have gotten over this whole creepy kid business by now, but this is an orphan. You have no idea where she came from. I mean, there’s paperwork and all that, but who can trust facts and documents? Look at the period clothes she’s wearing. Something’s got to be wrong with her.

Oh. That’s the tag line? So there is something wrong with her, for sure. I guess that’s not ruining anything, though it does seem redundant at this point. And I guess the makers of this poster sensed that. So they included an auxilliary tag line: “Can you keep a secret?” And this one’s written in red, so it’s extra menacing. Or, more likely, they just wanted to make sure you didn’t think the two tag lines were related or anything simply by virtue of being on the same poster with not much else going on.

I really hope that the secret I’m supposed to be keeping isn’t that there’s something wrong with Esther. Because then it might be too late. You really should have thought about how to arrange your double-pronged tag line assault. Also, I’m typing about it right now, so you’d kind of have to assume the answer is “no.”

Is this G-Force poster saying that its heroes aren’t going to be enough for the task at hand? That’s admirably honest of it, but I’m not sure it’s the best marketing plan.

The Ugly Truth has seen the mistakes of its competition and decided to abandon the tag line approach altogether. It’s found a way to incorporate a sort of visual tag line that becomes the poster. Genius. They’ve summed up their movie with a (relatively) subtle image that not only stands alone, but works in tandem with the title, which just so happens to be the only other thing prominently displayed.

But then they must have decided we were too dumb to get it and that we definitely aren’t going to see a movie about barely-defined monochromatic bathroom gender indicators. No matter where they keep their disproportionate hearts.

He looks extremely awkward, but Gerard Butler is sort of keeping with the theme established by his predecessor. Katherine Heigel, however, has apparently decided everyone needs to see her and the calculated cute face she’s making rather than make any sense. Is she throwing her heart away? Does she thinks she’s using it to bid on something while simultaneously flirting with the auctioneer? She certainly doesn’t seem concerned with it. And now I have no choice but to conclude that this poster is saying that while a man may keep his heart in his pants, a woman considers it an accessory and is likely to forget she even has one. And hey, maybe that is what the movie’s message is, how would I know? In which case I’m going to owe The Ugly Truth an apology. I just hope it understands me through the uproarious laughter it is clearly poised to inspire.

He wouldn’t, Woody?

It doesn’t seem like Woody Allen could possibly be worried about what we think of him.  But with Whatever Works, he seems kind of angry, so just in case, he’s put Larry David in the line of fire.  Normally, when an actor isn’t used for anything more than a mouthpiece, it’s fairly annoying.  But it’s become exponentially less tolerable to watch Woody Allen do the things he’s always done on screen (never mind off) and it seems as if he’s aware of that (he hasn’t appeared as the lead in one of his own movies since 2002’s Hollywood Ending.)  And maybe this realization is somehow allowing him to say some things he’s been holding back from us.  Because Boris Yelnikov (Larry David) is a more caustic, more elitist, more aggressively insulting (of everyone, including those of us in the theater) embodiment of the self-obsessed character Allen has inhabited himself over the years.

This might be the only way in which Whatever Works strays  from the Allen template of old.  And really, it’s more of an amplification than it is a new direction.  And much has been made of this.  Recalling Kenneth Branagh’s ridiculous impression of the director in Celebrity seems to be unavoidable in trying to find Larry David’s place in the line of Woody stand-ins.  Recalling how he’s explored the same themes countless times before and to much the same conclusion seems a necessary slight for anyone searching for some way in which to respond to the barrage of insults they just endured at the hands of a man they desperately want to love the way they once did.  But he hasn’t made this movie since Mighty Aphrodite.  And it’s not as if I’m advocating that a writer can distract us for fifteen or so years with flawed meta-ensemble pieces (Deconstructing Harry, Hollywood Ending), painfully clichéd suspense dramas (Match Point, Cassandra’s Dream) and brief glimpses of earlier brilliance (Everyone Says I Love You, Small Time Crooks) only to come back and serve the same thing to us again and not expect to have to hear about it.  But it seems unfair for our memories to collectively end somewhere around the early 90’s and then constantly hold a person’s new product in the relatively glaring light of what came before and expect it to not seem a dim reflection of that time.

Some of these detractors have even gone so far as to suggest Woody Allen curb his efficiency and maybe not put out a movie every year (or more) the way he’s done ever since the two year gap between Love And Death and Annie Hall.  Never mind that years of inactivity do not equal quality in any way (i.e., Terence Malick and Francis Ford Coppola), but it’s the promise that there’s another 90 minutes of whatever hodgepodge of stars he’s decided to stir together in his usual recipe that ought to allow us to shrug off any misstep he might take along the way.  That’s how we got over the appalling dullness of Scoop so quickly anyway.

Strict Adherence

Much the way I don’t see how the general viewing public is going to put up with the ridiculous and needlessly complicated world of Lost as it reveals itself, I can’t imagine the casual Watchmen watcher is going to be OK with the hypothetical tangent timeline in which the story exists. Clearly, this is fine, even uncompromisingly expected by the legions of devotees the graphic novel possesses. But a movie obviously needs to appeal to more than even the “most acclaimed” comic book ever could. And it’s not an issue of them getting it, it’s will they want to bother? And should they? The answer has to be no, of course. But not just because it’s so bizarre and outdated. I’m not sure those things can necessarily be overcome, but I’m certain they can’t be overcome by monotonous line readings, monotonous action and monotonous sex scenes.

Watchmen is 75% backstory to begin with. Which is the same problem most first installment comic book movies run into. Difference here is that there isn’t anywhere else to go. There will be no follow up where all this minutiae will be assumed as common knowledge, leaving more time to do the other things a movie, comic-related or not, is supposed to do. At the root, the problem with Watchmen comes from the devotion to the book. Harry Potter fans got over it. Twilight fans got over it. You know who didn’t? Psycho fans. That’s what strict adherence gets you. Because Roarshack’s relentless monologuing might read pretty good, but when it’s growled voice over, it becomes background noise. At best. At worst, it’s the equivalent of Mohinder’s pretentious babbling on Heroes. It also might look neat when he fends off a SWAT team with an aerosol can and some matches, but even in stop-start slow motion you’re left wondering why one of eight cops can’t manage to get a shot off, never mind can’t just knock the stupid thing out of his hand. And unless you do something different with them, costumes that were intentionally generic send ups of comic book hero costumes are going to look like terrible costumes. Because you aren’t making a movie satirizing comic book movies, you’re making a movie based on a comic book satirizing other comic books. There is no direct translation.

Sure, the ending is different, and in theory, better than the book’s, especially considering the groundwork necessary for making a giant squid menace make sense. But why would the world unite to fight a thing they have no hope of defeating and have been shown to worship? And why is this the only thing that was necessary to change? It’s as if they just gave up on a pledge to stay true to the source material when it got too tough. Which shows that strict adherence, while it might feel like the tricky road, with all the invented pressure, is the easiest one there is. Coming up with a way to make an Orwellian story relevant today is a lot more difficult than replica casting and copying a color scheme.