Noah: Aronofsky's Guide to Adaptation.

Singin' in the rain, just singin' in the rain.

In many ways, Aronofsky has done with Noah what I've been begging someone to do for a long time.  He's taken a story that everyone's familiar with and adapted it into a twisted nightmare for everyone who was hoping for a faithful adaptation.  Sure, I was hoping for a twisted adaptation of a beloved young adult novel (C'mon, R-rated Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants), but this will do for now.

Zero Dark Thirty, or They Killed My Monkeys.

Hey, that's not funny, bro.  My dad died in 9/11.

Dear Kathryn Bigelow,

One of the few popular criticisms of Zero Dark Thirty is that it just might go on a little too long.  I kind of agree.  I think it was about two hours too long.  I think I could have watched Zero Dark Thirty for thirty-seven minutes and been at least mildly entertained.

In reality, I think my enthusiasm lasted about fifteen minutes.  The opening torture sequence, while not particularly engaging, set the stage well.  A CIA agent tortures a captive, says, "dude", "bro", and "man" a whole lot, and we've got the opening to our story.  At least it was a scene.  The scene began, the scene developed, the scene ended.  It wasn't a particularly excellent scene.  There weren't really any lines of dialogue or deep thoughts to take from it, but it told a story.  It began a plot.  And then, the rest of the movie happened.

Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery of the Recycled Piece of Cinema.

Tony Stark goes back in time to flirt with Jude Law and kill zombies.

Dear Guy Ritchie,

I thought your endless string of crap was over. I thought you had redeemed yourself for the train wreck that was Revolver. That maybe you had finally made a movie that wasn't a complete piece of trash.

You failed. Not that Sherlock Holmes deserves to be thrown out entirely, but you made the most promising trailer of the year out of a film that is essentially a well-polished piece of trash that we've all seen a thousand times. Don't get me wrong; I expected some recycling. But the dialogue is cliched and tired, the plot is tedious, and I half expected Robert Downey Jr. to put on a metallic suit and fly to Iraq. We might as well just accept that Tony Stark was Sherlock Holmes in a previous life. Robert Downey Jr.'s "unique spin" on Sherlock Holmes is certainly unique to the character, but it's not a unique character; we all saw Iron Man last year and it was a hell of a lot better than Sherlock Holmes.

The Fake Kind, or Jovovich Goes PG-13.

Dear film studios,

Please stop making fictional films and advertising them as based on real events. I understand that if people think something is based on a true story--especially one involving aliens or ghosts--they are more likely to see it, but you're constructing a false reality that gullible human beings are going to accept as fact. It's not this film in particular that worries me, but I'm starting to wonder where you're going to draw the line. You have the money and the influence to completely rewrite history, and a large majority of Americans are too dumb to even consider you might be lying to them.

Now, I realize I just described the government, but c'mon! You're better than them, aren't you? You're just a couple of guys looking to make a quick buck. Wait...are you the government?

But anyway, The Fourth Kind was hyped pretty well. People thought it was real; a lot still do. A quick google search will debunk that claim. If Dr. Abigail Tyler actually exists, she needs to show up on a talk show and show us some ID.

I do like the marketing campaign, and the hype surrounding the film; but it would have been nice to have some honesty--maybe after the credits? I'm not that big of a fan of after-the-credits content, but I like to imagine Ashton Kutcher showing up after the film and letting everyone know that they got Punk'd.

Anyways, forget marketing. Forget the lying scum that is Hollywood. Forget what happened that weekend your uncle babysat you...

The Fourth Kind was entertaining. Granted, I just saw The Box so I probably would have thought I Know Who Killed Me was entertaining too; but The Fourth Kind kept me intrigued. It certainly had its problems: The sheriff character was absolutely ridiculous, the broken fourth wall was a contrived cheap shot, and the dialogue was nothing to be proud of. However, the combination of "archive" footage and dramatization intertwined nicely to create a pseudo-documentary atmosphere that kept the film at a nice pace. I think enjoyment of the film hinges on whether you approve or disapprove of this stylistic choice.

This film will likely be panned by many for the wholehearted assertion that it is based on true events, when it is in fact complete fiction. But if one were to assess the film on its own merits, I can't see any reason to drastically raise or lower it above or below any other film of its kind. Due to the timeliness of its release, it will likely be compared to Paranormal Activity which everyone (except my sister apparently) knew was fake from the get-go. The "documentary" footage of Paranormal Activity was still unsettling to many, so there's no real reason to discredit The Fourth Kind just because it's claim of a realistic portrayal is a hoax.

Anyway, I was entertained. I don't really care about this one. Say what you want, masses. The only real purposes of this film are to entertain and to stimulate the viewer's thoughts on whether aliens exist or not. It's not that stimulating. Especially without Milla Jovovich's industry standard full frontal shot.



P.S. Maybe we should question Roman Polanski on the whereabouts of Tyler's daughter.

P.P.S. Yes, I used both the "forgettable" and "worth seeing" tags. Aren't most movies both those things?

Where the Sleeping Theatre Goers Are, or Spike Jonze's New Music Video.

Dear Spike Jonze,

If I wanted to watch eight children argue, I would take up babysitting. Where the Wild Things Are will forever be my ultimate reminder why I do not.

Certainly you've captured the elaborate capacity of childhood imagination and accompanied it with a phenomenal soundtrack, but that, sadly, is about all the film has going for it. Perhaps you should have made a music video instead. Any relevant or entertaining content is so thinly disbursed between random fits of brattiness and fort building/dirt throwing/pile making/[insert random childhood action here], that I would classify Wild Things (Not to be confused with the Neve Campbell film) as surrealism if the events had any driving force behind them whatsoever. But nope; It's just some kids playing. Oh, and some of them happen to be giant furry things.

At least the climactic metaphor (Max's "birth" from KW) actually made sense and gave the film some semblance of closure, but every other action Max and the nonhuman characters partake in seems like an exercise in time wasting. Thank the heavens this was just over an hour and a half; any longer and I would have taken a nap. There's more indie music/random event combos in this than there were in Juno.

What bothers me the most is that the first fifteen minutes of Wild Things are great. Kid feels neglected, throws a hissy-fit and runs away: a fine articulation of childhood frustration. When Max arrives at the island, the frustration wanders off and is replaced with a mess of childhood imagination tied together by thinly veiled tidbits of Max's actual life. The problem with this, is that all the characters on the island are Max; in that they are figments of his imagination, and therefore cannot possess any capacity for thought or emotion beyond his own. As a result, all events on the island are shaped by a grade-school auteur, and the characters can do little more than behave like whiny children.

I held out with the hope that once Max returned home the film would dazzle me at the end (with at least a fuzzy moment to make me feel good), but no such luck. Max's final scene at home is shorter than the end credits. Apparently, when a child runs away he should be rewarded with cake.



P.S. KW is a total pothead.