White House Down

Dear David Loveday, Senior Pyrotechnician,

You blew it, Dave.

I know you were badly outgunned. I know the numbers were stacked against you. But you should have fought harder. When faced with a modern high-tech enemy, one hell-bent on rendering you obsolete, you need to stand your ground. It’s the basic principle of every action movie—even the really bad ones (ahem). Instead, you let Hollywood supervillain Roland Emmerich win the day. His cheap, labour-saving, 90s-grade digital explosions undermine any sense of emotional stakes White House Down could have hoped to earn. When that first CGI flash erupted in the Capitol building, the only loss I mourned was your profession.

There’s just no substitute for real fire. It’s the reason Backdraft will still hold up 50 years from now*. Bad computer-generated flames lack any sense of danger and presence. They’re an easy stock effect included in even the most basic consumer-level editing programs. Big budget movies usually manage to blend the practical effects with the computer wizardry, but this desire to integrate the real deal says something.

Hell, the fact an old-fashion fire-starter like you was even hired says everything.

Seeing a real pyrotechnic display really gets the blood going. It could be an actual hospital building, like in The Dark Knight. It could be a splintering miniature of the White House, like Emmerich previously blew up so effectively in Independence Day (which becomes a surprisingly unlaboured meta-reference in this, his new film). But a well-placed, well-executed blast accomplishes everything an action movie sets out to do. And trust me, this movie needed all the help it could get.

Where to start? The plodding pace that fails to generate an ounce of tension? The choppy slow-motion thrown in as an afterthought? The ham-fisted attempts at iconic moments, like the diplomatic president who, after being taunted for his “…mightier than the sword” philosophy, eventually stabs a villain with a ballpoint pen while shouting: “I choose the pen!” Yup, that actually happened—despite how hard the sound designers tried to bury it in the mix. But at least that moment was trying to do something new.

This is just another Die Hard cut-and-paste job. Even the title is lazy (another way that Olympus Has Fallen proves itself a superior film). From the self-narrating hero to hackers who cue up Beethoven music, White House Down is paying tribute in the worst way possible; by being derivative without being ironic. The tone is even insultingly mawkish, with spectators gathering outside the White House during a 9/11-level attack, cheering the military as if they’re watching a rock concert. The film eventually devolves into a full-out comedy— well, at least I burst out laughing at the way the day was finally saved.

When everything feels fake, we’re allowed to laugh. When things look great – like the wide shot of the crumbling Capitol building – we can’t help but marvel. And that draws us in. There are a number of well-crafted moments in which the danger feels at least a little bit palpable, and in those scenes I can feel your work. But even Channing Tatum’s undeniable charm isn’t enough to bring the house down. Further down, I guess.

All fired-up,

Christopher

Status: Return to Sender (2/5)

*I’m amazed it took me this long to finally reference my favourite film growing up.

Before Midnight

Dear Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick, Actor,

Was it hurtful when your parents put you forward for the role of Damien, aka. The Antichrist, in the 2006 remake of The Omen? Don’t take it too personally, I’m certain they meant well. The casting-call for the role probably just stipulated ‘intense’, not ‘creepy’, ‘chilling’, ‘terrifying’, or any other such synonyms. Yes, I’m sure of it. And anyway, don’t be disheartened, thanks to your performance in Before Midnight, you’ve successfully shrugged off being typecast as Satan’s spawn by portraying the most affable and least obnoxious teenager in the history of film.

Before Midnight continues the distinctly modern romance of Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy). Nine years after the events of Before Sunset – and a staggering eighteen years since they first met in Before Sunrise – we find that, while the couple has aged, they haven’t necessarily matured. This time, it’s less star-crossed lovers and more crossed wires. In the domesticated adult world, bearing the responsibilities of parenthood and the stress of working life, Jesse and Celine are much more grounded than we might anticipate—after all, these are two people fated to be together, right? But what may come as quite a shock to fans of the previous two instalments is that in many ways, they seem like a rather average, even ordinary, couple.

I realise, Seamus, that I’m assuming you’ve seen the previous two films. I hope you have!  I was only six-years old when Before Sunrise was released. I watched it when I was about your age. Most fifteen-year old kids are into action -movies, but some are just born with a sentimental streak.

In case you haven’t seen them, let me fill you in. Each film in this quietly brilliant trilogy has explored what love means at different stages of life. As the protagonists age, as priorities shift and change, their viewpoint on that essential question evolves. Before Sunrise—set when your character, Hank, was just a glint in young Jesse’s eye—was full of youthful optimism and burgeoning romance, with only a hint of world-weary cynicism. Before Sunset flipped that balance, and was more about love lost than love gained.

In contrast, this latest film has an equal balance of romance and pessimism. But the romance has changed. The emphasis is on long-term commitment rather than idealistic and ephemeral one-night encounters in picturesque European cities. Instead of sprawling existential discussions, we have comparatively banal chats about work and kids, interspersed with fiery and tempestuous rows. Seamus, I think it’s clear that Hank is the catalyst for these arguments, as Jesse struggles to reconcile his position as an absentee father with his commitment to Celine. Despite your limited time onscreen, you make a significant impression upon the audience. Especially from Jesse’s guilt-ridden perspective.

Many would have predicted (myself included) that Jesse and Celine would exist in some kind of lover’s paradise following Before Sunset. Yet Before Midnight is much more intelligent than that. It asks serious questions about what it really means to spend your whole life with just one other person. Love may change, but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful or any less real. Jesse and Celine remain a fascinating pair to spend time with, and if this is indeed the last we’ll see of them, it’s a fitting and emotional farewell.

Will there be a sequel nine years from now? Will we catch up with Hank (and, by extension, you)? I’m not sure. But hopefully, in the meantime, your parents won’t recommend you for any more films involving the Prince of Darkness. Like Jesse, I’ll bet your folks mean well. But damn, being pigeonholed as the origin of all evil is enough to get any kid down.

Yours hopefully,

Ross

Status: Priority Post (5/5)

We Steal Secrets: The Story of WikiLeaks

Dear Robert Stein, Errors and Omissions Counsel,

Micro-budget filmmakers are allowed to hate you.

Well, not you specifically, but what you represent. After working for free, calling in a million favours and stretching every last dime they raised (and then some), a lucky filmmaker might earn a small commission to actually release their passion project. The catch is that it’s usually just enough to cover your famous errors and omissions insurance. Distributors require this liability protection against the unauthorized use of titles, formats, characters, ideas, or other potential lawsuits against defamations of character, breaches of contract or invasions of privacy.

You have to admit: in the age of WikiLeaks, this all seems rather hilarious.

Only a few years ago, a rabble rousing Aussie named Julian Assange almost single-handedly convinced millions of people to throw up their middle fingers at everything you stand for.  And yet here you are, working for a film about him. It’s almost as ironic as the story of WikiLeaks itself.

According to Oscar-winning director Alex Gibney (and this very slick, non-low budget documentary film), the legend of Assange begins in 1989. A group of Australian hackers, for which Assange was part of (sorry, allegedly part of – we need to cover those legal bases), attacked NASA programmers with the WANK worm. It’s not as disgusting as it sounds – basically, just a self-replicating computer virus used to show off their hacking skills and promote an anti-nuclear agenda. Still, pretty scary stuff when lives are on the line during a shuttle launch.

Fast-forward to Iceland in 2006 and the creation a WikiLeaks – the infamous whistleblowing website used to publish internal and classified documents. Through a collection of archival footage and home videos, Gibney provides an impressive-looking but sometimes slowly paced portrait of one of the 21^st century’s most controversial figures. The storyline of the film, much like that of the WikiLeaks website, is impossible to separate from Assange himself. It is told through interviews with security experts, people once in Assange’s inner circle, and Gibney’s own voiceover. Assange himself did not participate,requesting a $1 million appearance fee to be in the film. Apparently, he doesn’t realize how many documents on him already exist and can be exploited without his consent…

I know. You’re allowed to laugh when he calls you threatening a lawsuit.

So does the film contain erroneous claims about Assange? Maybe. Does his omission hurt the final film? A bit, but it also feels appropriate. The hypocrisy, and brilliant strategy, of the government simply targeting Assange and not the major news networks who published the same documents is well articulated by others. Bradley Manning, the arrested U.S. solider who actually accessed the original major military documents, is also absent (for more sympathetic reasons) and only given voice through his old chat messages. This, however, allows us to build a compassionate and tragic story around him – arguably, one that’s even more compelling than Assange’s.

Plus, for those infamous “legal reasons”, we know Assange wouldn’t have addressed certain issues anyway, including the (strange) sexual assault charges which have clouded his entire WikiLeaks mission. But that’s okay. I rather like the amateur theory floated his friend – that Assange, the vagrant father of four children to four different women, has a deep psychological need to plan his “roots” somewhere; hence the unprotected sex stories. Like The Social Network’s central premise that Mark Zuckerberg was a social misfit who created Facebook to be accepted, Assange’s personal legacy is now in the hands of others to piece together from whatever they can dig up.

Transparency isn’t so easy after all, is it?

Saving up for my own legal fees,

Christopher

Status: Air Mail (3.5/5)

Monsters University

Dear Tom Myers, Sound Designer,

I wonder if someone in your profession prefers to work on an animated film like Monsters University, where your contribution is easier to understand.

Sound design has to be one of the great misunderstood arts of filmmaking. If you do your job right, no one knows you even touched the film; your design feels as natural as the world we re-enter afer the credits roll. But you know better. Almost every sound accompanying the onscreen images is completely crafted. And yet, most people are unaware of the ingenious ways you recreate real world sounds with the most unlikely items.  Watermelons hit with rubber hoses become punches to the head. Fresh celery broken in half is snapping bones. I don’t want to know how you solved the challenges presented to you in Zack and Miri Make a Porno.

But even when you’re working on an animated film – a prequel, no less – do you ever find yourself returning to the same bag of tricks? After 86 movies, are you still reusing your existing library of roars, screams, and crashes, or creating something new? I couldn’t help but think of this while I watched Monsters University, but probably not for the reasons you think.

Yes, as a follow-up, there are plenty of callbacks to Monsters Inc., the 2001 film that introduced us to Mike Wazowski (Billy Crystal) and Sully (John Goodman). Those two, plus a few other familiar characters (like Steve Buscemi’s slithery Randall Boggs, who I was particularly pleased to see), are training to harness children’s screams in order to power, well, whatever that world they inhabit is called. It’s not the familiarity of these elements that struck me, though. It was, instead, the film’s structure: that of a 1980s-era college comedy. Revenge of the Nerds, to be specific.

An R-rated sex comedy might not seem like the obvious template for a G-rated family film, but it works surprisingly well. Taking the confident heroes from the first film and remaking them as the oddball campus castoffs is just enough to make things feel fresh. This approach also gives you a new palette to work with. Instead of the industrial soundscape of Monsters Inc., you’re forced to ground things a little more in the real world to emphasize elements of a slapstick buddy comedy.

Hey, maybe all your work on Kevin Smith’s projects prepared you more than I thought.

As happy as I was to watch Mike and Sully follow the college comedy blueprint – the stern dean (Helen Mirren) who takes an instant dislike to them, the jock fraternity who rejects them, the loser fraternity they’re forced to join, etc. – I wasn’t sure if children would understand this nod to a very specific sub-genre. But like Pixar’s best films, Monsters University works just fine without that context. Director Dan Scalon relies on solid filmmaking, valuing character over “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” in-jokes to get his laughs.

The references children will connect with come from your sound design. And that’s where Monsters University faltered a bit for me. In it’s third act, when as the film comes closer to Monsters Inc.’s world of clanging portals and screaming humans, Monsters University starts to feel familiar in that been-there-done-that way. A revelation in Monster’s University’s denouement even, unfortunately, undermines the power of my favourite sound in the original: children’s laughter. 

Overall, though, Monsters University, like your sound design, takes something familiar and changes the context just enough so it feels like it was always meant to be that way.

Listening, always listening,

Casey

Status: Air Mail (3.5/5)

Trance

Dear David Oakley, Hypnosis Consultant,

Most people don’t understand hypnosis, do they? Some dismiss the technique as pure theatrics, while others assume it only works on weak-minded individuals. But I know better. On multiple occasions, I’ve been fully hypnotized in front of hundreds of people, and recently took hypno-birthing classes with my wife. Suffice to say, I understand the power of the mind to overcome fears, fool the senses, and even – according to this film – recover suppressed memories. All it takes is strong focus, trust in your ‘storyteller’, and the ability to suspend your own inner narrative. In other words, exactly the same techniques required to enjoy a movie as silly as Trance.

Directed by the hyper-kinetic hand of Danny Boyle, the story follows an art auctioneer named Simon (James McAvoy) who gets mixed up in the robbery of a rare painting. The answer to how everything went wrong is buried deep within his subconscious, so a hypnotherapist (Rosario Dawson) is recruited to help unlock the mystery. Although Simon was knocked out at one point during the crime, he’s the only one who could know how the heist went wrong. Simon claims he wants to retrieve the painting (in fact, his life depends on it), yet he struggles to piece together the puzzle during sessions. This is not unlike the people who rush to the stage at a hypnotist show claiming to be willing participants, but who can’t fully commit to “going under”. It’s probably the most realistic aspect of hypnosis in the film.

When Simon does start to see answers, they are often a mash-up of his own personal desires and convoluted past experiences. This allows Boyle to do some funky mindbending, and opens the door for some of the film’s most striking visuals. But overall, the film remains routed in the colourful but controlled world Boyle is famous for. It’s a stylized reality where characters are pushed to their moral limits and forced into desperately uncomfortable situations.  But hey, they’re just characters in a film – you can do that.

In reality, it’s a lot more complicated. At one point we’re told that five per cent of the population is considered to be “highly suggestible” and can be made to do “just about anything”. That’s a great line for the trailer, but obviously is a crock. Hypnosis merely harnesses a person’s own freewill and, at best, lowers inhibitions (not unlike alcohol). Simon, for a large part of the film, is a great example of that. We understand that he has made certain decisions voluntarily leading to his predicament. But what the hypnosis reveals about his true personality doesn’t just stretch the limits of hypnosis, but good screenwriting.

That said, I have to say I rather enjoy being under Danny Boyle’s spell – even if I feel a little embarrassed for it when walking out of the theatre.

Getting sleepy, 

Christopher

Status: Standard Delivery (3/5)

World War Z

Dear Marc Forster, Director, 

We love you, Marc. You know that, don’t you? We care for you. We just want the best for you. That’s why we’re writing this letter. Because you have a problem. Everyone sees it. They see it, but they don’t necessarily understand it—and that’s the heart of the issue: common sense, comprehension, spatial logic. You’ve given up on these things. You’ve given up on us, Marc. You’ve given up on your audience.   

You’re an addict. 

There…I said it. 

How did it start? Did some older kids trick you into it? You’ve been hanging out with that Paul Greengrass again, haven’t you? And now you’re hooked on the crystal meth of cinematographic styles: the hand-held shaky-cam. Cheap, easy thrills—that’s what you’re after. And it’s clear, with World War Z, that you just can’t handle them. 

I can’t help but feel like this is partly our fault. Much of the respect for Monster’s Ball and Finding Neverland was accorded (disproportionately, maybe) towards the actors: Halle Berry, for her Oscar-winning performance; Johnny Depp for his Oscar-nominated performance. The knock on you, Marc, was that you were invisible behind the camera. In an industry so obsessed with style, that praises big personalities not for their talent or skill but merely for their bigness, the proletarian competence of your filmmaking went unnoticed. And I feel like maybe you took that inattention to heart.   

And so we ended up with Quantum of Solace. It was…not good. While Hollywood might sometimes fall short in delivering coherent narrative or moral complexity, it rarely produces something as ugly as your follow-up to the dashing James Bond reboot Casino Royale.. It’s one of the most incomprehensible studio films. Ever. Of all time.   

Don’t bother with the excuses, Marc. I’ve heard them all before. Sure, yes, it was your first pure action movie and maybe you were overcompensating for your inexperience. And, yeah, all the other cool directors were doing it, too: JJ Abrams, Alfonso Cuaron. But you took their spasmic kineticism to a whole new level. You mistook agitation for excitement, obscurity for intensity. You thought that your epileptic camera and impressionistic editing mimicked the turmoil taking place within the world of the movie, when, in fact, it was causing sensual turmoil in the world of the movie theater. It was assaulting. You assaulted us, Marc.  

And here you are, making the same mistakes in World War Z.

Sure, the eye adjusts—after a while. But by then it’s too late. We’ve already missed much of what happens in the opening action scene, as we follow a former United Nations diplomat/mercenary/doctor (Brad Pitt’s professional history is about as clear as the camerawork) and his family as they escape from a Philadelphia traffic jam overrun by the sprinting undead. Later, he’s trapped in a stairwell. And attacked (I think). And (somehow) escapes. Then (possibly) runs. 

It’s an imitation of action. And a bad one. But worse, it clouds some potentially interesting moments. When Pitt and his family find themselves trapped in a drug store besieged by looters, a policeman appears, seems about to help them, but instead walks past and starts pulling items off the shelf. What we are just barely able to catch a glimpse of (since the inattentive camera immediately swings back for a reaction shot) is that the officer is sweeping boxes of baby formula into his arms. What could have been a poignant way to demonstrate how individual desperation leads to collapse of the infrastructure is, instead, a gimmicky, meaningless misdirect. 

But I wouldn’t be writing this intervention letter to you, Marc, if I didn’t think there was light at the end of the tunnel. You’re not a lost cause. As much self-destructive obfuscation as there is in World War Z, there is hope, too.

After an hour-and-a-half of messy chase scenes and generic CGI shots of hundreds of thousands of human bodies hurling themselves against walls and windows and sometimes twining together like a colony of ants, the climax of the movie take place in a quiet laboratory, and unfolds slowly, silently, with a clear sense of the surrounding space and how the characters are moving through it. Finally your camera settles down (the operator’s arms got tired, I guess) and we get a sequence that captures the queer tension inherent in all zombie movies, the isolation, the creeping sense of danger.

It’s credit to you, in a summer season that seems the apex of Hollywood’s penchant for inhuman, empty spectacle, that this mostly-inhuman, mostly-empty spectacle resolves in a moment of complete stillness. It’s the one part of the film that works. 

Please, Marc. We love you. We want you to get better. And you’ve already proven that you can. Please give up the hand-held shaky-cam. It’s destroying you. And it’s destroying us (seriously, I think I’m developing astigmatism).

There’s a car waiting outside. We’ve already packed a bag for you. 

The rest of your life begins right now.   

Sincerely, 

Jared Young

Status: Standard Delivery (2.5/5)

The Kings of Summer

Dear Tyler B. Robinson, Production Designer,

Even if you end up having a long and illustrious career in Hollywood, I’ll bet good money that The Kings of Summer will forever be your calling card. Every frame feels carefully populated with joy, heartbreak, and hope. Your production design in this film isn’t just impressive – it’s moving. Like an emotional time capsule, each set piece transported me back into adolescence. Not by recreating a specific era, but by evoking an overall feeling. That’s a rare gift to get from a film.

Frankly, I never wanted to leave this rebellious teenage world you built in the wilderness.

If that wasn’t enough, I think you’ve also patented a hot new architectural style: shabby nostalgia chic. And boy, does it work. 

The “shabby” part of your designs are obvious but endearing. The story opens with Joe (Nick Robinson) rushing to finish one of the sorriest looking birdhouses ever assembled. The lopsided construction and mismatched materials are good for a laugh, but also contribute to building his character; Joe’s class project doesn’t represent hard work or professional aspirations, it’s just a sloppy last-minute failure. He’s a good looking, well-off suburban kid who can’t seem to get along with his dad (Nick Offerman) and takes out his pent-up frustration one slow-motion hammer blow at a time. When Joe, his best friend Patrick (Gabriel Basso), and tag-along Biaggio (Moises Arias) decide to run away to the forest together, that haphazard birdhouse proves to be a dry run for the sanctuary they plan to build.

This summer project depends on a collection of discarded items, from recovered building materials to pieces of a port-a-potty.  The way these elements all come together to create this fortress of solitude feels both authentic and “only in the movies.” Like the film’s slick cinematography, with its beautiful long-lens shots, your work also qualifies as “chic”. In other words, simultaneously elegant and unhinged. The film, as well, is glossy enough for a wide theatrical release, but doesn’t suffer from the glaze of studio money that often imposes nicer homes, over-aged “young stars”, watered-down writing, and all the other pitfalls that give coming-of-age films that suffer from a sense of detachment from the material.

The true master stoke of this film is the most intangible: nostalgia. This is a dangerous influence to incorporate, being highly personal and potentially alienating. But instead of setting the film in the past and filling it with pop culture references, we get a contemporary story where wistful feelings arise simply by letting director Jordan Vogt-Roberts expose the seams and rough edges of youth. The love story in the film between Joe and Kelly (Erin Moriarty) is appropriately clumsy and frustrating, and the friendship between the boys bounces between silly and serious with the appropriate momentum of a teenage mood swing.

The final film swings back and forth in style and tone, too, but ultimately everything comes wonderfully together.

Championing this film by design,

Christopher

Status: Priority Post (4.5/5)

Man of Steel

 

Dear Christopher Nolan, Producer,

I barely even know where to start.

I mean, I certainly understand why DC Comics trusted you to oversee Man of Steel and the relaunch of the Superman franchise. No one’s going to argue that your Dark Knight Trilogy – which successfully walked the line between honouring the source material and presenting it with a fresh vision – isn’t loved (for the most part) by both mainstream audiences and devoted fans of the comics. And, like any influential piece of pop art, the dark, gritty style of those films became de rigueur for superhero movies looking to be taken seriously.

But here’s the thing: not every comic book movie needs that sheen of self-importance to be successful. If nothing else, Joss Whedon recently proved as much with The Avengers; good execution and joyous storytelling can impress as strongly as the darkest tragedy. You just need to know when to play which card. Batman, a character born of tragedy and anger, naturally falls into step with a dark vision. Superman, however, is no Batman.

You might think that I’m picking on you a bit. Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of blame to go around. Screenwriter Davide Goyer and director Zack Snyder have to shoulder a lot of the responsibility for this misfire, but you also share story credit with Goyer, and Man of Steel has your fingerprints all over it. So much so that it actually feels like you and Goyer simply took the structure form 2005’s Batman Begins and slapped it onto the Superman mythology. Like that earlier film the backstory of Kal-El (Henry Cavill), last son of Krypton, is told through nonlinear flashbacks, jumping back and forth in time trying to tell a familiar story in an unfamiliar way creating a composite built from the character’s past experiences.

Unfortunately this creates a major structural fault, as the entire first act of the movie, which begins with Kal’s birth, would not exist in his memory. The solution seems to have been to ignore this issue and rush headlong into the story, forcing the audience to catch up. While I’m a fan of narrative economy, the entire Krypton sequence had more of a “lets get this over with” feel than “try to keep up with us.” Jor-El (Russell Crowe) and the evil General Zod explain (well, more yell) their backstories to each other – nothing is shown. Instead, you and Snyder seem more interested in creating a version of Krypton that is so visually busy, it would have felt more at home in a Star Wars prequel.

This rush might have made sense if Man of Steel was rushing toward the revelation of Superman himself, but the film seems strangely embarrassed by it’s own hero. Instead of embracing the innate goodness of Superman, you’ve added a layer of grime, as if to let the audience know you think he’s too square for a modern blockbuster. Henry Cavill, in his chiseled perfection, certainly looks the part of Superman, but he doesn’t feel the part.

There’s a lot of looking-but-not-feeling going around in Man of Steel. The film is stuffed with good actors: Michael Shannon as Zod; Amy Adams as Lois Lane; Lawrence Fishburne as Perry white; Diane Lane and Kevin Costner as Ma and Pa Kent. But apart from Costner and Lane — both of whom bring some much needed warmth to the film — everyone registers more as name checks than actual characters. Jimmy Olsen has been reinvented as Jenny Olsen, but her character is so insignificant, I didn’t realize who she was until reading over the credits a day later.

And, in a depressing trend for blockbusters this year, Man of Steel seems more interested in creating a reaction from the audience by linking it’s imagery to a post 9/11 world. There is so much wanton destruction as Superman battles Zod in the film’s climax, that I was sure I was witnessing tens of thousands of deaths every minute in the background as the film focuses on the foreground action. What’s worse, Superman never does anything to stop this. The only way to see Superman save anyone in the Man of Steel is to watch the third act in reverse.

And if anything in this film is truly tragic, it’s that.

Still waiting for Superman,

Casey

Status: Return to sender (2/5)

The Purge

Dear Aaron Becker, Main Title Designer,

There’s something rather brilliant about the set-up for The Purge. One night a year, all crime is made legal throughout a reconstituted United States and citizens are encouraged to “purge” their inner demons. Basically, it’s a feature film treatment of George Orwell’s “Two Minutes Hate” from 1984. Security footage in your opening sequence introduces us to the concept, depicting acts of grainy savagery with convincing realism. Seeing these violent outbursts from across the country effectively ignites our imaginations about all the narrative possibilities that exist – that is, until the movie turns into a pretty standard home invasion thriller. 

See, despite the intriguing premise you helped establish, The Purge focuses exclusively on home security salesman James Sandin (Ethan Hawke). We first see him cruising around his well-to-do suburb, making sure his clients are ready for the big night. His own middle-class mansion is also fully equipped for lock-down, hoping the mechanical steel shutters will protect his wife Mary (Lena Heady), wayward daughter Zoey (Adelaide Kane) and gadget-loving son Charlie (Max Burkholder). But when bleeding heart Charlie let’s a wounded vagrant in off the streets for protection, the family becomes the target of a group of “hunters” who, on principle, refuse to allow this act of sanctuary go unpunished. The result is some good moral philosophizing within the family under intense pressure, and a bold mid-point decision that dictates how the rest of the story will unfold.

This first half of the movie worked me over perfectly. I knew the film was a low-budget production (about $5 million, from the savvy producers of Paranormal Activity) and I could respect the decision to insulate the action. I assume, as well, that an infinitely scalable “Purge” series is also coming, rotating stories within this dystopian world and maybe eventually dealing with the political puppet masters. However, in this first incarnation, we’re stuck with a group of characters that too often make ridiculous decisions in the service of formulaic scriptwriting – be it arbitrarily separating the family for added tension or delaying inevitabilities to set-up “surprises” (which most people will see coming a mile away).

And yet, The Purge finds a way to work overall. Early on, it does a good job suggesting that the low national crime rate is more a bi-product of an annual genocide that “purges” society of the lower classes than it is the result of successfully regulating violence.  This adds a welcomed layer to the conflict, even if the story’s murderers are psychotic slow-walkers in that typical movie villain way. The whole time, I couldn’t help thinking about your titles sequence, and the clumsy, awkward, and desperate violence in the streets. 

Hopefully I’ll see you again in the next purge. For the right reasons.

Sincerely,

Christopher

Status: Standard Delivery (3/5)

This is the End

Dear James Rawlings, Photo Double,

Don’t you think there’s something dangerous in the very premise of This Is The End? A special effects meta-comedy featuring young Hollywood stars playing (versions of) themselves? Doesn’t it sound kind of self-indulgent, prideful, decadent—a big inside joke that the audience will never be more than fractionally a party to? Even more worrisome: Seth Rogen co-wrote and co-directed the movie with his best pal Evan Goldberg, cast all his friends from Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared, and, from start to finish, stuffed the film so full of cameos that it risks playing out like an episode of TMZ irradiated by gamma rays.

But big risks like this offer big rewards. And just as much as Rogen and Goldberg (and the rest of the cast) take a chance by putting themselves (literally) in the middle of a big-budget apocalypse scenario, so too does the audience bear a good amount of risk in watching it unfold: there’s nothing more unpleasant than spending two hours (and twelve bucks) watching a bunch of attractive people cracking wise and having fun with no concern for whether the audience is having fun, too (see Ocean’s Twelve).

But you and the filmmakers (and me and my fellow filmgoers) can rest easy. Even though its artistic ambitions aren’t lofty, even though it’s one of those crowd-pleasing, impossible-to-quantify, eye-of-the-beholder-type movies (like all pure comedies are), I’m pretty comfortable saying This Is The End is the best flick I’ve seen so far this year.

How?

The skill that makes you good at your job, James, is what makes the performances – and the film – so great; you’re a lookalike who approximates the presence of one of our heroes for long shots and second unit stuff, and, in a sense, the actors are doing the same thing: standing in for themselves, approximating their own behavior, and doing it with such restraint, such sincerity, that nothing about the way they react to the decidedly outrageous situation they find themselves in (specifically, The Rapture) feels false.

What helps to anchor the story in realness is the central relationship between Jay Baruchel (Jay Baruchel) and Seth Rogen (Seth Rogen). Jay arrives in L.A. to visit his old buddy, they go to a star-studded party during which, lo and behold, a lava-spewing sinkhole opens up, beams of light suck the penitent into the sky, and boner-sporting demons begin roaming in the streets. The buddies find themselves barricaded in an ultra-modern concrete mansion with Jonah Hill (as an overly-earnest Jonah Hill), Craig Robinson (as sensitive soul-man Craig Robinson), Danny McBride (in full Danny-McBride-as-Kenny-Powers-mode) and James Franco (as the dicknosingest James Franco that ever dicknosed). 

Like last year’s 21 Jump Street, the central friendship gives the story a sweetness that, as circumstances become increasingly fantastical, keeps things steady, relatable, honest. Compare that sort of humanist approach to The Hangover Part 3, in which the two most eccentric characters are consistently subverting every social/moral/quantum rule with nonsense behavior that’s supposed to be funny because of how unfunny it is (I think that’s what they were going for, anyway).

A movie like This Is The End is all about the audience’s relationship with the characters, and, with a bunch of notable pop culture figures playing themselves, their natural urge might be to parody themselves. Winking at the camera becomes a clever way to disprove the rumors, disarm the internet trolls. But what fun would it be to watch a bunch of caricatures? What Rogen and Baruchel and Hill and McBride and Franco and Robinson – and the countless others who pop up throughout – are able to conjure, by never taking the self-parody too far, is an effortless likability. The funny stuff that results is much more genuine than if I had they’d been compelling me to laugh at them. 

But comedy is completely subjective. So I guess all I can really say with any certainty is that This Is The End made me laugh. A lot. More than I’ve laughed in a movie theater in a long, long time.   

And, in the end, that’s all that really matters.

Sincerely,

Jared Young

Status: Priority Post (4.5/5)