Disappointment of the Week/DVD review: 'Safety Not Guaranteed'

To the best of my awareness Safety Not Guaranteed is the first -- and thus far only -- film to take a real classified ad as its inspiration. Although 'real' might not be the right word. The ad was filler for a magazine, but it was well written filler; it had a good hook, simple concept, deadpan delivery. The internet lapped it up. In tone and conceit the film is true to the ad's spirit, but well written it is not.

The story -- well, 'story' is probably too strong a word, but it'll have to do -- focuses on Darius (played by the Queen of Deadpan: Aubrey Plaza), an intern at a magazine where she's mostly ill-used. Her sort-of superior Jeff (Jake Johnson) pitches an idea for a piece based on a classified ad he's seen, which reads: 'Wanted: Somebody to go back in time with me. This is not a joke. You'll get paid after we get back. Must bring your own weapons. Safety not guaranteed. I have only done this once before.' Jeff is given leeway to chase down whoever wrote it, so he ropes in Darius and shy retiring intern Arnau (Karan Soni), and goes on the hunt. What follows is rather too lacking in plot or character to be worth transcribing. There are no credible hurdles for these characters to overcome, no relationships that ring true, no arc on which they're taken. On a script level the film is inert.

Plaza, although interesting to watch, is one-note in the role of Darius (a name which I will forever associate with the Persian King circa 550BC. When I first heard someone use her name, which wasn't until the halfway point, I thought it was a code name... ). Her perpetually deadpan delivery works well in moderation, ideally as part of an ensemble; here she's the focus - so not so much with the moderation and the ensemble in this instance. The casting isn't much better when it comes to the rest: Johnson is likeable as Jeff, when he probably shouldn't be, Soni is wooden rather than his true aim: emotionless, and Mark Duplass -- who plays the possibly doolally writer of the ad -- is lacklustre; giving off the impression that he's in the film as a favour to the director, first timer Colin Trevorrow.

Problematic as some of the casting and editing may be, the real problem is the writing. Subplots are dropped or forgotten, and one particularly odd sequence involving a prosthetic was seemingly included just to pad out the running time. When Arnau is hastily given a truncated subplot of his own during the last third it, in essence, wraps up with the messages 'Don't be yourself!' and 'Peer pressure. It works!' Writer Derek Connolly, also a first timer, hints at interesting subject matter, raising themes of loneliness and belonging, only to meander around them in his conclusion-less script.

Safety Not Guaranteed is a comedy. I know this only because IMDb and Wikipedia, as well as the film's production notes, tell me so, because the film is never knowingly funny. Instead it appears to be aiming for the easier, broader target of generic-quirky-indie. A hodgepodge of a word, but the right one.

Overall: 4/10

Disappointing Cult Classic of the Week: 'Repo Man' (1984)

Urban dictionary's definition of a cult classic:

1) Something that's really hip with a select group of people.
2) A popular [...] movie, which has gained a large following.  (NB: Pretty much the opposite of definition 1, but that's not an uncommon occurrence when looking for definitions of 'cult classic'.)
3) A movie that is weird as f**k.

The urban dictionary has some fascinating interpretations for words and phrases - honestly you could lose an afternoon (and what little is left of your innocence and naivety) to the website - but its third definition for 'cult classic' is as good a fit as any for Alex Cox's disjointed, but unfortunately never disarming, Repo Man.

The story follows teenage punk rocker Otto Maddox (Emilio Estevez showing his range by playing Emilio Estevez) who, after getting fired as a stock clerk, starts working for a car repossession agency after being tricked into helping a repo man steal a car. And that's pretty much it for Otto's story. There are several subplots going on around him - a mad scientist driving a Chevrolet Malibu full of dead aliens, a rival car repossession agency, some punk rocker thieves who turn up every so often to liven up a scene, an underground group trying to spread the word about aliens, and an FBI agent dressed as Michael Jackson circa 1979 - but they all feel aimless and displaced, as if they've been cut from a much larger whole. Whenever Otto happens across these other storylines he often doesn't even notice them, focused as he is on the thrill of taking other people's cars and getting paid for it.

The film's slapdash (and supposedly 'raw') quality is the main thing that's endeared it to people over the years; that and a punk soundtrack which for many was era defining. You can see how the film has become a cult classic (depending on the definition you're working to), praised as it was for its wry sense of humour and an irreverent approach to storytelling which ran counter to most everything else being made at the time; but it's possible you need to have come of age in the Reagan era to appreciate how unusual it was. Watching it almost three decades after its release what's supposed to be irreverent feels directionless and meandering. A section in which the 'hero' is tortured is introduced so abruptly, shot so oddly, then abandoned with almost as much immediacy that I was left wondering if I'd imagined it. In fact that's very close to how the film felt as a whole: abrupt. Sequences that should have been left on the cutting room floor, in which characters spout cod philosophy, go on and on and on; and yet other scenes, like Otto's torture at the hands of not-Michael Jackson, which actually have the opportunity to further story or character, are given only a cursory spot in the film's 92 minute running time.

That such an oddball film could make it through the studio system is considered wonderful, but baffling. That anyone would hope for more of the same I find just as baffling.

Overall: 2/10

Oscar Disappointment of the Week/DVD Review: 'Flight' (2012)

Click to enlarge

If Flight's opening were a sign of how it meant to go on, it'd be a thrilling film. Denzel Washington's airline captain has to wrestle his plane out of a nose dive that, according to all the rules of physics, is impossible to get out of. It's a great sequence, but it's undercut by cutaways to Kelly Reilly's heroin addict, who's about to have her own very bad day. Every time we see Reilly it's like the film's admitting 'Yes, this plane stuff is quite interesting, but unfortunately that's not really the film you're going to be watching, it's this bland one over here with the strangely good looking addicts.' If Robert Zemeckis (directing live action for the first time in more than a decade) had managed to put us in Washington or Reilly's headspace for even the briefest of moments, giving us a chance to understand what their addiction means to them then the following 120-minutes might have had some worth. Instead we get a barrage of christian imagery and a lot of talk about God's plan; which apparently consisted of both felling the plane and saving the plane. (Shouldn't he have just picked one?) It's not even clear why there's all this talk of God, since at no point does Washington pay any of it much mind.

There's an interesting film hidden under Flight's framework: a question that's asked throughout is whether Washington's mental state had anything to do with the crash, but what's more interesting is whether the state he was in had anything to do with the second somewhat more important part: not crashing. No other pilot would have even considered doing what he did, but since it was God that helped Washington achieve the impossible there's apparently no point asking if there were any non-God based factors.                  

Despite spending all 139-minutes with Washington we never get an idea of what's going on under the bonnet. For comparison watch Smashed with Mary Elizabeth Winstead. It's not a perfect film but the normally pretty and pristine Winstead looks tired and harried (unlike Reilly and Washington) and her decline is completely believable; possibly because Smashed was written by someone who'd been through it and knew what they were talking about. Watching Flight you can't help but feel Zemeckis et al haven't a clue what they're talking about.

Overall: 4.5/10
     or
Opening: 8/10
The Middle-Bit: 2/10
Final Act: 5/10

Disappointing Supposed Classic of the Week: 'Lady Snowblood' (1973)

Random fact of the day: Lady Snowblood's mother wasn't really called Doris. It's just funnier this way.

With a title like Lady Snowblood you’d figure you’re definitely onto a cult classic. I’d heard that it heavily influenced Tarantino’s Kill Bill, but made little note of it at the time beyond registering that it had a fantastically pulp-y title. So when American author Michael Chabon mentioned it over and over in his most recent novel I took it as a second vote of confidence and promptly hunted it down.

Its structure is the twin of Kill Bill’s (what with Tarantino stealing it wholesale): it’s a revenge tale following a striking young woman (Meiko Kaji) who’s after the four people that killed her father and brother, and raped her mother. During her journey she keeps her sword ever at hand, promising bloodletting.

It’s an often beautiful film, but rarely an engaging one. If only Toshiya Fujita (he that directed it) had invested some money in the fight choreography rather then investing it all in the set design. A man runs at Kaji’s Lady Snowblood! She turns! SWISH! Bit of blood. Then death. A man runs at Kaji! SWISH! Bit of blood, etc, etc, repeat ad nauseum. If the story had some nuance, if the dialogue wasn’t just 97-minutes of exposition, if it had one decent fight sequence, then I could understand its cult classic status. Instead it has immaculately designed sets.

As for the lead, Meiko Kaji, she’s certainly striking, but she conveys nothing. She’s supposed to play like a female version of the Man with No Name-type seen in practically every Clint Eastwood western (most notably in the Dollars Trilogy). But the reason he works so well is because we know nothing of his past and where he comes from, making him rather more enigmatic than Kaji; plus: Eastwood had charisma to burn. Kaji is neither enigmatic nor charismatic.

Despite having a plot that’s simplicity itself, Fujita still manages to overcomplicate things, jumping backwards and forwards in time for no reason, and adding little details here and there, convincing you that they’ll pay off down the line; making you believe there’s a masterplan we’re not picking up on. But no. There isn’t. Instead what we get is: SWISH! Instant death. SWISH! More death. 

Overall: 2/10 

Disappointing Would-be Pulp Classic of the Week: 'I Saw The Devil' (2010)

The setup for I Saw The Devil couldn't be more pulpy, or more promising. A secret agent takes slow bloody revenge on a serial killer after his fiancee becomes the latest victim of the madman; as he exacts his revenge he finds himself becoming ever more like his prey.

The problem is that the film doesn't really want to explore what this would really do to Byung-hun Lee's secret agent. It's not like Kim Jee-Woon, the director (best known for the chilling K-horror A Tale of Two Sisters), doesn't have time to delve into it. At 2 hours and 21 minutes it's almost a good hour longer than its Roger Corman-esque premise needs, but it only alludes to Lee's journey to the dark side when it suits it. 

Instead the film plays out as a series of contrivances (one example (and there are many) is in the sketch above) strung together by fairly regular over-the-top moments of bloody mayhem. These sequences are fun enough, but you won't care whether anyone comes out of them alive. 

The sole redeeming factor is Min-sik Choi's serial killer. (Why is he a serial killer? It's best not to start asking questions; you'll just get annoyed.) Choi seems to be tapping into his inner Lecter, which, in a film this problematic, is a blessed distraction. It's that, or fall asleep.

Overall: 3/10

Disappointing Supposed Classic of the Week - 'Leaving Las Vegas' (1995)

I've long avoided Mike Figgis's Leaving Las Vegas as I thought it would be the filmic equivalent of being dragged through a hedge backwards. What would normally follow that sentence is a 'Boy, was I ever wrong', but it turns out preconceptions are, at times, spot on.

For those who don't know, the story follows an alcoholic scriptwriter (Nicolas Cage) who goes to Las Vegas to drink himself to death after he loses his job. Shortly after arriving he 'befriends' a prostitute (Elisabeth Shue) - who of course has a heart of gold, because apparently that cliche wasn't old yet in 1995 - and they strike up a non-interference pact: she won't stop him drinking, he won't judge her career choice.

The film was lauded at the time of its release for the gritty cinéma vérité performances. Roger Ebert held it in particularly high esteem, putting it at #8 in his 'best of the decade' list. I think the problem with watching it so many years later is that we know the ticks and mannerisms that an actor uses. The less accomplished the actor, the quicker these reveal themselves. We're all well used to Manic Cage; practically Nicolas Cage's default setting these days - although there was a brief blip when he bothered to act: Adaptation (2002). Because of this the performance no longer feels raw and grounded; instead it looks like an actor using his limited resources to bother the Academy (the Oscars) for a nomination. Elisabeth Shue doesn't fair much better. The character isn't believable for more than five second stretches, and if it were, Shue is even less credible as a prostitute than Julia Robert's ever was.

Behold! Manic Cage!

                                                                                                 
Practically everyone in the film has sped towards irrelevancy since making this: Figgis hasn't been on anyone's radar since his digital experiment Timecode; Shue had a few lead roles post-Vegas, but was immediately forgettable in each one, and has since only cropped up in bit parts; Julian Sands, who plays Shue's pimp in the film (a job the filmmaker doesn't seem to really comprehend), hasn't been good in anything, ever, but is somehow still turning up in the odd minor role; whilst Nicolas Cage... Does anyone really care about Nicolas Cage at this point?

Overall: 2/10

I'd give it 1, but the film isn't hateful or moronic (and I've seen plenty that are), and it's credibly shot and edited. Everything else: not so good.