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The Men Who Stare at Goats

I can’t muster the strength to really bag on The Men Who Stare at Goats. Partly because I remain firmly under the spell of my Heterosexual Man Crush on The Last(?) Movie Star, George Clooney (not to mention that of my former Hetero Man Crush, Ewan McGregor); partly because I love whenever Long-hair Jeff Bridges shows up in a movie (more on that later); but mostly because this offbeat, breezy, non-committal lark of a film never really asks much of the viewer. Doesn’t give much back, either, but there you go…

The Men Who Stare at Goats is based partly on true stories of how the U.S. Army has been dabbling in New Age psychic warfare for decades, as reported by Jon Ronson in his 2004 non-fiction book. Things like remote viewing, phasing through solid objects, and yes, killing the enemy—or poor stand-in goats—by staring at them.

However, where Ronson’s book is more a collection of oddball tales painting an overview of Army Psy Ops efforts since the '50s, the film version, written by Peter Straughan and directed by first-time Clooney writing-producing partner Grant Heslov, tries to herd things into something resembling a plot. “Tries” being the operative word here: The film is jam-packed with humorous gags and easy, likable performances, but it never really finds an overriding point or purpose. Heslov and Straughan have cobbled together a narrative, but they never quite get hold of a thematic or cinematic purpose. There's no "why" here.

What they do have is McGregor’s down-and-out journalist character Bob Wilton stumbling first into the story of the military’s ‘80s-era attempt at building a “New Earth Army” comprised of psychic warrior monks: “Jedi warriors,” as goes the wink-wink joke at Ewan’s expense. Off to Kuwait at the start of the 2003 Iraq War, Wilton then runs smack dab into one of the warrior monks, Clooney’s Lyn Cassady.

Clooney is forever afraid of believing his own Sexiest Movie Star Alive press, so he often flocks to characters like Cassady, where he can let his inner dork roam free. (A la the Coens’ O Brother Where Art Thou, Intolerable Cruelty, and Burn After Reading.) Cassady is classic goofball Clooney: A puffed-up, mustachioed, self-serious goon who believes his own B.S. delusions.

He Said / He Said: In Defense of the New Christmas Carol

I’m an odd person to be defending the most recent screen adaptation of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. I’m one of Robert Zemeckis’s longest-lingering detractors. I don’t think Zemeckis lost his storytelling soul when he turned to performance capture animation in Polar Express and Beowulf—I think he gave over to the seduction of technological trickery 25 years ago with Back to the Future II. That’s right. While I don’t hate the Back to the Future films, I don’t love them much, either. Nor am I charmed by Who Framed Roger Rabbit (or the news of a sequel). And I loathe Forrest Gump. All because I feel, as James pointed out in his review, that Zemeckis cares more about technical trickery than the human condition or solid storytelling.

But I have to admit, I liked some of the dazzling visual aspects of Beowulf. I know Zemeckis has continued to lose more of whatever artistic vision he once had (in Used Cars!) the deeper he dives into performance-capture film making, but I applaud this about his obsession: He’s using it to bring true literary classics to a new generation.

That’s why I like his new version of A Christmas Carol. Yes, the constant visual showing off, the flying and diving, the "oooh look we recreated all of Victorian London" gimcrackery is obvious and a bit irritating. But on the other hand, wow, they really did recreate all of Victorian London. The literary buff, Anglophile, and history buff in me can’t help but be impressed, even dazzled by that.

And more impressive is how faithful an adaptation this is. Disney was in a pickle trying to promote it—after all, you say “Jim Carrey” and “Scrooge” and immediately people leap to the obvious conclusion: That this will be The Grinch Part Deux, with Carrey doing his rubber-faced mugging and riffing, throwing out the wacky voices and silly pop-culture shtick. But it’s not. This is Dickens done (for the most part) straight. The dialogue, the vocabulary, the mannerisms, the story details are all reverent and authentic. In the film’s first two-thirds there is little pandering to modern or pre-teen audiences. No one slows down to explain what Scrooge or the ghosts are saying or meaning when they converse in Dickens’ Victorian language.

For those of you saying it’s all too dark and depressing, too scary, well read your classics. Dickens’ tale is just as much a ghost story as it is a Christmas yarn. Sure the film opens on a corpse, but it’s Dickens for Chuck’s sake. Throughout the novella, he’s making a very heavy point about the suffering of humankind and men like Marley and Scrooge’s obliviousness to it. The majority of A Christmas Carol has to be grim and gloomy in order to sell the joyful redemption at the end.

And much of what seems over-the-top grotesque in Zemeckis’s film is from the original text: Marley’s jaw falling off, the Ghost of Christmas Present revealing the horrifying children (Ignorance and Want) under his robe? All right there in Dickens. Nor was Dickens about gently coaxing his characters into holistic change—he knew that to truly get people to change their selfish, misanthropic ways you have to hit them hard over the head with scary visions of their own miserable, lonely, burning death.

Disney's A Christmas Carol

With the release of Robert Zemeckis'  A Christmas Carol -- his latest movie crafted through capturing the motions of real actors and then draping them in computer-generated forms and putting those figures in animated backgrounds -- we have what you could interpret as the meeting of a classic tale and cutting-edge technology. Charles Dickens' timeless story of Ebenezer Scrooge's Christmas Eve visions and redemption has been brought to the screen over and over again -- but this time, it would be with 21-st century movie making magic. Jim Carrey would not only play Scrooge, but all the Ghosts of Christmas! Victorian London would be recreated in a magnificent way! Computer-generated images would be used to bring the story to life like never before! Watching A Christmas Carol, though -- in IMAX 3D -- I was curious about who, exactly, watched previous versions of A Christmas Carol and thought the problem with them was that the camera's point of view did not fly through the center of a wreath, or that there was no scene where a shrunken-down Scrooge slipped down a drain pipe like it was a waterslide before slamming his face and groin into a number of icicles.

In recent years it seems like technology has given moviemakers everything (or, rather, what seems like everything, but more about that later), but it's a double-edged sword: Advances in digital technology have given moviemakers opportunities from light-weight cameras that can capture an image almost as well as film at a fraction of the cost to the ability to create ancient cities, futuristic robots and other visions that as little as a decade ago would have been technically impossible or prohibitively expensive. Technology, however, cannot provide a reason for a film, a compelling reason to make it, and this seems to be the number one problem with Zemeckis' A Christmas Carol from the jump: There doesn't feel like any push behind it other than the fact that Zemeckis would like yet another chance to refine, re-invent and re-use the motion-capture technology that he previously used for The Polar Express and Beowulf. Pixels aren't passion; three-dimensional images are no substitute for three-dimensional storytelling.

The Fourth Kind

There's a couple of interesting things going on in The Fourth Kind -- it's trying to mess with our heads, suggesting that it's a fictional version of real-life events that offer evidence of alien abductions around Nome, Alaska a few years ago, combining dramatizations (featuring actress Milla Jovovich and actor Will Patton) with "documentary footage" of the videotapes and audio recordings that depict the startling, supernatural secrets of these (entirely phony) events. There's an intriguing idea here -- the split-screen contrast between the "real" interviews and the re-enactment, the contrast between real life and the Hollywood version, the straight-faced suggestion that Nome was plagued by creepy space aliens going in and out of people's houses as easily as Santa Claus and a lot more often -- but The Fourth Kind is so clumsy and clunky and stiff it's like watching someone attempt an intricate card trick while wearing oven mitts.

After a brief introduction where star Jovovich looks into the camera to introduce herself and explain the film's device and warn s that "some of what you're about to see ... is extremely disturbing," director Olatunde Osunsanmi interviews the "real" Dr. Abigail Tyler, who looks pale and shaken. We then see how Tyler, a psychiatrist, was trying to complete a sleep study she was doing alongside her recently-murdered husband; Abigail's husband was stabbed while they lay in bed, and the killer's yet to be found .. and all the participants in the sleep study, haunted by restless nights, tell of an owl who they've seen outside their window, or in their bedrooms, staring at them with implacable eyes ... that isn't an owl.

James' Latest Radio Spot

Wanna hear James give his take on last week's DVD releases, including Ice Age 3, Orphan and The Maiden Heist, as well as films currently in theaters, including Michael Jackson's This Is It and Paranormal Activity?  Then click here to listen to his spot on KPAM's Bob Miller Show this past Friday.   

You'll also learn what scary movies James likes to watch on Halloween.  Nope, I'm not going to spoil the surprise -- you have to tune in yourself!

Michael Jackson's This Is It

I can only assume that many people will feel the way I did about going to see Michael Jackson's This Is It: apprehensive.  Would Michael, who died of cardiac arrest on June 25 of this year, appear frail, sickly, or under the influence of drugs? Would the rehearsal footage for his 50-show run at London's O2 arena be too harrowing to watch, knowing that it was shot just weeks before its star's untimely passing? With the ongoing controversy surrounding Jackson's death, is it even right for this film to come out less than four months after his funeral?

While I can't answer that last question, I can reassure anyone who is on the fence about This Is It that this behind-the-scenes look at the preparations for what was set to be the King of Pop's final tour is anything but depressing. In the nearly two hours of footage that director and choreographer Kenny Ortega assembled from rehearsals in Los Angeles, Michael's voice sounds wonderful, his professionalism is unwavering, and he still busts out those jaw-dropping, how-does-he-DO-that moves just as effortlessly as he did in the '80s. If you tear up at any point while watching it (as I admittedly did), it will be because you know how Jackson's life played out, not because anything overtly upsetting was shown on-screen.

Which brings me to my next point: This Is It is much more of a behind-the-scenes tour-production documentary than it is a concert film. Those expecting to be treated to the equivalent of a dress rehearsal -- with Michael singing and dancing his heart out on song after song, in front of the impressive whiz-bang pyrotechnics, 3-D videos and finalized sets and props that were planned for the show -- might be disappointed. I, however, thought that This Is It was infinitely more interesting precisely because we got a glimpse at what went into creating such a huge spectacle. Michael knew exactly what he wanted the audience in London to experience, he knew exactly how the musicians should sound and the back-up dancers should move and look, he knew exactly how all of the special effects should work, and he was not afraid to make his opinions on those topics known. He was the epitome of a perfectionist, but by no means did he ever exhibit any sort of diva-like behavior.  Always quick to add "God bless you," "It's all for love," or a quick, shy smile at the end of any request or practice segment, Jackson guided his team with a firm hand, but also seemed to want the experience to be fun for everyone involved. It was fascinating to see Michael in such a normal setting, where he didn't have to be "on" or act guarded for the press. I walked out of the theater with a new appreciation for his tireless dedication to his craft, his passion for music, his unparalleled artistry... and his surprisingly dry sense of humor. 

Redbloggers on the Radio

You missed our voices, didn't you?

Fear not... here are the last three radio spots we redbloggers have done for the KPAM Bob Miller Show.

James talks about Year One, Imagine That, Assassination of a High School President, Couples Retreat and A Serious Man.

Locke gives his take on Where the Wild Things Are, Law Abiding Citizen, Land of the Lost and Drag Me to Hell.

And I (Erika) weight in on Astro Boy, Cirque du Freak: The Vampire's Assistant, Amelia, and the film I just luuuurved (I kid), Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. 

Astro Boy

When I eventually go on Oprah (or Celebrity Rehab) to talk about all the deprivation in my childhood that made me the spectacular mess I am as an adult, exhibit A will be:

Anime never came to Iowa.

Growing up with four channels, we had ‘60s sitcom reruns, locally-hosted afternoon cartoon shows, Saturday morning cartoons, and the stop-motion Davy and Goliath morality tales. But no Speed Racer, and no Astro Boy.

All of which is to say I’m not sure what to do with the new feature-film version of Astro Boy, a pillar of the anime genre. (Debuting in the ‘60s, it’s considered one of the first anime series.)

With animated kid’s films, like every other type of movie, the number of “eh”s far outweigh the “wow”s and the “ugh”s. And coming off a week when we’ve all been talking about Where the Wild Things Are in the context of both what makes for magnificent, passionate (or alienating) children’s filmmaking; and what is or is not appropriate for what kids of what ages, Astro Boy lands with a resounding “eh.”

It does have a fun setting: Metro City is a retro-futuristic floating city, populated by both people and their faithful robots. And yet, even that bit of light imagination comes tinged with heavier undertones: The city was elevated to the clouds because humans over-polluted the earth. And those goofy, friendly robots? Well, they are very much a slave class, blithely and laughingly considered disposable and replaceable.

Father of this New Frontier of Robotic Luxury is super scientist Dr. Tenma, voiced by Nicolas Cage and even sporting the trademark Cage Rooster Hair (circa Raising Arizona). His young son Toby (Freddie Highmore) is a mathelete superstar, on track to surpass his father in science-y things. Until, well, Toby is killed in a military robot weapons test gone wrong. Vaporized. Only his ball cap remains.

Yep, that’s right. If you were not familiar with the basic premise of the original Astro Boy series (there the son died in a car accident), take fair warning: Toby dies within the first 15 minutes of the film. However, while sad, the child’s death has a weird “bright” side. Dad goes a little mad scientist—he takes his dead son’s memories and downloads them into a new super boy robot that looks just like Toby, except he can fly and is indestructible.

Paranormal Activity

P.T. Barnum and William Castle would be proud.

The sideshow/circus impresario and the film-making master of such goosing PR gimmicks as electrified seats at The Tingler knew exactly how to wind an audience tight. They knew that presentation was everything—you have to get your marks so jacked up and full of excited anticipation that the shared emotional experience would be enough to smooth over anything, um, lacking in the actual show’s content.

And kudos to Paramount and the promoters of Paranormal Activity for following that blueprint beautifully. After weeks of hearing about “the scariest movie ever” and how even Spielberg himself was shaken to his thrill-loving core; after having to scramble to get tickets to one of the select, rare midnight screenings in only a handful of cities back in early October; after watching that trailer, well even I—an old horror-movie veteran—was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to sleep after subjecting myself to the mind-blowing, gut-wrenching terrors of Oren Peli’s ultra-low-budget 2007 film.

I slept just fine, thank you.

Now before I lower the expectations on Paranormal Activity back down to normal, manageable levels let me just say that all that hype and anticipation, all that “will I be able to handle it?” nerves? Well, that’s half the fun, right? Barnum and Castle knew that. And the screening I attended Saturday night at midnight had a delicious air of communal fear even before the lights went down. There’s a lot to be said for joining several hundred strangers in the dark, all of you wound up and ready for something extraordinary.

Paranormal Activity, the film, plays one note over and over again: Dread. Bone-chilling dread of what might be coming, of what might be outside the door, of what might be watching you. And by getting the audiences completely pre-scared before they ever sit down, the marketing and hype campaign has done most of the film’s work for it. Like a trip to the local Haunted House with pals, you’re so ready to be scared, so wanting to be scared, so kinda sorta nervous about “what if it’s just plain too scary?” that it doesn’t take much in the film to get you jumping and screaming.

Which is the point, since there’s really not that much in the film. Without all this building word of mouth and careful “Demand it” release campaign, Paranormal Activity probably wouldn’t survive long in the mainstream cineplexes. Yes, you survivors of the Summer of ’99—it’s Blair Witch all over again. A nifty little horror film that comes off as a wonderfully nasty little find at a film fest, but feels pretty slight when exposed to super-high expectations.

This is one of those cases where the less you know about the film and its plot, the more fun you’ll have with it, but here’s the basic premise: Unspooling what is said to be (like Blair Witch) police-evidence found footage, we see a young San Diego couple—Micah and Katie—trying to find out what weird supernatural presence seems to be messing around in their nice, clean, boring house/condo.

Cirque du Freak: The Vampire's Assistant

More and more these days, movies are presented to us not merely as films in and of themselves, not as something as simple and strong as a single story well-told but, rather, as the first installment of the franchise the studio would like to start up and running. You can sense it in the film's shape and structure; all laborious set-up, a climax that feels more like the lead up to the halftime whistle, the introduction of too many characters and an overall feel of pained, panicked over-exertion that's about as appealing as watching your waiter grow sweat-stains under the armpit of his shirt at a restaurant.

Cirque du Freak: The Vampire's Assistant is based on a series of young adult novels by Darren Shan; interestingly, or creepily, the hero's name is Darren Shan (Chris Massoglia), a good-hearted teen drawn a little to the dark, who is eager to bear witness, along with his friend Steve (Josh Hutcherson), when the creepy Cirque du Freak comes to town. One of the Cirque's lead performers, Mr. Crepsley (John C. Reilly) is a showman to die for who's never going to die; he's a vampire. And soon -- to save Steve's life -- Darren is as well, and hurled into the war between the immortal-yet-moral vampires and their bloodthirsty brethren, the vampineze, while the malevolent Mr. Tiny (Michael Cerveris) looks on waiting for a long-prophesied war to begin ... which, yes, sounds like pretty much every other work of young adult fantasy in the past 100 years, doesn't it?