By now you've seen Pirates of the Caribbean. Probably twice. You loved it. Come on, admit it. It's really hard and churlish not to like it. It has scares, thrills, laughs and chills. And it's beautifully photographed. And then, of course, there's that Depp character. You loved him. Come on, admit it. In the great tradition of the original Rat Pack (not the Brat Pack) we were privy to one huge mega gonzo star hamming it up, smirking all the way to the bank, and we cheered every step of the way. It's like Casino Royale's entire cast rolled into one. Insta-bedlam. To quibble with the movie (too long, too confusing, too unresolved, too many effects) would be missing the point.
Now that I've got that out of the way, I'll quibble. Not with the picture -- borrowing from Apocalypse Now and Indiana Jones and many of my nightmares -- but with the picture business.
No one would have thought four years ago that R. Kelly could record anything more infamous than the tape allegedly showing him engaging in sexual activities with a minor. That video earned him a day in court. But late last year he released the long-form video of his hit Trapped in the Closet that is a masterpiece of Ed Wood proportions.
His "urban operetta" purports to tell the story of Sylvester (Kelly) who wakes up in a strange woman's bed one morning. And this being an operetta, he starts to singing. He realizes he has to get home to his own wife and sings about that as well. But then her husband arrives. And then the husband's boyfriend. And all of that has to be sung about, too.
Set some decades in the future, V For Vendetta is really a product of the past. Not just because it grew out of comic writer Alan Moore's resentment of Maggie Thatcher and everything that she came to represent at the time the original story was conceived, but because it draws so heavily on a fantasy of what the future might look like from a radicalized perspective that emerged from the post-'60s/punk era. In fact, had the picture been made twenty or thirty years ago, we might be recalling it as having been a bit prescient about how a campaign of fear might engender a totalitarian regime, the same way that 1984, a story that can certainly claim parentage to this picture, looked to the invasive eye of a malevolent authority.
The word is out â€“ and the word, apparently, is â€œcowboys.â€ As the year limped to a close and filmmakers made their last, frantic stabs at Oscar glory, two of the most-talked about films are, basically, Westerns turned inside out. Although Walk the Line and Brokeback Mountain may not have much in common (apart from the fact that they are both, at times, very good), they are decidedly more country than rock â€™nâ€™ roll.
Cowboys have always been a way for filmmakers to explore the frailty of human nature.
King Kong. The critics are loony for it, audiences love it, and itâ€™s certain to make the kind of money most often seen these days by the top shelf superhero franchises. No wonder, really, since thereâ€™s a double barrel branding at work, Kong, the big ape, himself, and the other 8000-lb. gorilla, director Peter Jackson.
The fact is, Kong is an astonishing achievement and authentically spectacularâ€”no CGI creation has ever seemed this realâ€”and the film cries out for huge screens and state-of-the-art sound systems. This is not a movie for the DVD footdraggers.
But those imagining this might be a revisionist look at the original Kong are going to miss the fact that while the 1933 version was a simple story, the new version is equally simple, with a similar amount of clunky undertow.