Friday, July 15, 2005

Using History and Legend for Stories


Troy is an appallingly bad movie. At least to me. As I watched it grind through a sequence of plot points from a different time, a different day, using all of Hollywood’s tricks to add grandeur to a bunch of grown men running around in the sand with swords, I wondered if it would have been any good on its own. I mean, Scorpion King was certainly no better in any measurable way. In fact, in terms of acting, plot, story, sets, and scope, Scorpion King sucks way more than Troy. But Scorpion King is fun to watch, because it is what it is. Troy is Brad Pitt and a host of good-looking people trying to recreate medieval chivalry in an ancient Greek setting. To make sense of it, they invoke one of the oldest, most enduring epics in our literature.
Anyone who has ever marched through the book in an English course remembers the highlight, the section that made the professor grow excited. “And now we get to the Rage of Achilles.” Achilles is the ultimate Greek warrior, full of pride, skill, anger, and loyalty to himself. Good and Evil is defined purely in terms of his own ability to reach out, grab, and hold. Achilles had divine blood, and his version of honor is a form of worship of all things he holds. When Patroclus falls, it brings forth a righteous rage, a wrath which must be slaked with the blood of hundreds. Men not only die on the battlefield, captives are killed and thrown on Patroclus’ funeral pyre. Then Achilles goes off to kill Hector and drag the body seven times around the walls of the city.
Achilles’ rage is central to the nature of Achilles. Without it, he could be any of a million warriors over time who’ve killed their fellow man in the name of tribe, state, religion, pride, or even just homicidal instinct. The skill of Achilles is legendary, but in any warrior society there will always be one “greatest” warrior.
Brad Pitt stomps his foot and huffs a bit. He does put on his armor and calmly ride down to the city walls, where he challenges Hector to come out and fight him. All the press prior to the movie indicated that the film-makers where very, very proud of this section. The fighting was supposed to be well choreographed and dramatic, the background gave the simple fight the resonance of a duel that was not only historic, but legendary. The only thing missing was the rage.
Another movie that uses legend as source material is King Arthur. Like Dracula, this is a story that has gone through many versions, in print, on stage, and on screen. The latest version, directed by Antoine Fuqua, claims to be based on the “historical’ Arthur. What this apparently means is that they’ve stripped magic and the weight of destiny from the story we’re familiar with. Instead, we get a story supposedly placed near the end of the Roman occupation of Britain. This placement of the movie creates two powerful engines of expectation, dragging against the actual power of the movie itself.
The movie itself is a classic Hollywood epic, fully compliant with the conventions of heroism and sacrifice, beauty, principles, and love. The story is told adequately, the action is pretty good, and Keira Knightly manages to be very hot, especially for a woman who comes from a simple hunter-gathering society and then spends time locked in a dungeon. Then she gets covered in blue paint. The only thing that could make it better would be some nudity, at least in the “unrated” version. But no.
Still, the movie is unwatchable. The reference to the Legend of Arthur raises a standard of chivalry and nobility that nobody in the movie seems to even approach. The Legend of Arthur is about the creation of England, this story is about the rescuing of some villagers. The scope suffers by comparison. Also, maybe all that magic wasn’t real, but it’s a very real part of the story of Arthur. Without it, he’s just a guy with a sword.
The reference to an “historical” Arthur is equally destructive. The characters in this movie are melodramatically good and bad. The situations are artificial, from the timing of the discharges to the relationship between Arthur and the Picts. The story is decent, but doesn’t have the randomness, grittiness, or telling details of an authentic historical movie.
So why tie a movie to legend? Or to historical events that have become legend? One possibility is that the filmmaker wants the story itself. The fall of Troy is a legend because people love the story, both on a grand scale, and in the many little stories that surround it. Obviously you could write a fictional account of the struggle and fall of a walled city, but it takes time and there’s this one, just lying there, ready. Also, the back-story is familiar. Perhaps not to every viewer, but to enough that someone can fill in the gaps or at least say “yes, the book explains all that.” That doesn’t explain why you would take a story like Arthur, refer to it, then drop it entirely in favor of a more “historic” telling.
Another explanation is that the filmmaker wants to appeal to the cultural tropes and resonance of the legend itself. Arthur is the archetype for unifying kings. Achilles is the archetypal proud warrior. Taking on these legends is an almost irresistible challenge to the storyteller.
But the problem is that much of the source material is not sifted for a 21st century movie-going audience. Achilles not only “loves” his shield-bearer, he takes captive brides, sulks for years on end, and drags a corpse by its heels. The excuse that he is part divine doesn’t work with modern audiences.
The cynical answer is that filmmakers take on existing legends for the same reason that they take literary franchises to the big screen, built in audience. Every movie stands a better chance of bombing than succeeding. A built-in audience is a cushion, limiting the damage. This is why there are so many sequels and re-makes. Movies cost so much to make that cannibalizing the past is a way to cushion the investors from complete loss.
This decision probably isn’t made consciously. Filmmakers probably push a range of projects. But over time, the ones that attract investment and get greenlighted are more likely those that can show at least come guarantee of return. The return may not be in proportion to the cost of the project, either. Attaching a known literary or legendary source to a project might be enough to gain that early funding that gives films like Troy an advantage in getting made.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Batman Begins, worth a second and third look, at least

The third time I watched Batman Begins, I loved it even more. There should be a rule: only Christopher Nolan can direct Batman movies. Tim Burton was great, but it was always Tim Burton, with a heavy dose of Jack Nicholson. Batman Begins is really about Bruce Wayne and Batman. Christopher Nolan gets this. He takes the story, takes the true source material, and makes it real.

After watching this movie, we understand how and why a good-looking young man with a pretty girlfriend and lots of advantages manages to become a dark, angry icon, wearing black costume and talking in a harsh, deep voice. Maybe we should expand the rule: only Christopher Nolan should be allowed to direct Batman movies and Star Wars sequels.

A really great story can be read many times. Though the plot turns are no longer surprising, they are still wrenching if well done. And each moment, each scene, resonates with the weight of the movie as a whole. The early scenes are darker when we understand all the meaning therein. This movie holds up under that kind of reading. It isn’t just about action, good guys and bad guys, it is about anger and futility, the power to act, the thin line between being strong for yourself and destroying others with your strength.

Yes, the end of Bruce Wayne’s transformation is a man in a batsuit, running around at night beating up criminals. But after watching Nolan’s version, we see this is what really has to happen. A word about the actors: perfect. List out the cast and you’ll find twenty really good performances. Even Katie Holmes, generally described as the weak link, bothered me very little after the first time. If she hadn’t been over-exposed so much, I think I might not have noticed the weakness of her role.

The authenticness of this movie comes out best in the way that it solves not only the internal questions, but all those nagging questions we’ve had about the Batman character all these years. Why is his world so theatrical? Why bats? Where does the style of sneaking around and fighting come from? What kind of billionaire runs around at night jumping off buildings and beating up criminals? Can’t you hire someone to do that for you? After watching this movie those questions can’t even be asked. Of course, the answers are inherent in the figure himself.

As one friend said, “I knew it, Batman knows F^%$*ing Ninjitsu!” The movie hadn’t just explained the answer, it had brought him to an epiphany in which he realized the answer had always been there.


Monday, July 04, 2005

War of the Worlds: Family Values and Extermination

What would you do if aliens beamed down to our planet in lightening bolts, into clumsy tripod-driven machines they had long buried, and started mowing down everyone with “frickin’ lasers”. I mean after you got done wondering why they couldn’t just blow us up. Or maybe just use those lightening bolts in the first place. Or, well, if you start asking technical, scientific, or even tactical questions, you won’t get far with this movie.
The “what would you do” question is more about character and family. Do you steal the only working car in the neighborhood? Cajole and bully your alienated children? Become a man instead of the childish absent father you’ve always been? Would you kill a man to keep him from revealing your daughter’s location? Would you let your son go off to fight? I don’t know what I would do, not exactly. I’m not really sure what Tom Cruise would do, but I’m pretty sure he would take his shirt off at least once. Dakota Fanning, apparently, would scream a lot. Oh, and use those haunting eyes to fell enemies and advance the plot.
If aliens were going to blow up the planet tomorrow, and I had time to watch ten movies before we all died, this one would not be on the list. If the extermination was scheduled for one year from now and I could watch 1,000 movies, I still would not watch this one again. If I wake up one day knowing that someday I will die, one of my resolutions will be not waste two hours watching Tom Cruise ran madly through an apocalyptic landscape with no clear direction or purpose, waiting for the Deus Ex Machina to fell the Aliens in the Machines.
Horror, and this movie should be properly classed as horror, works as a bootcamp for the mind. We live through the unthinkable, letting our minds and bodies turn new corners and create new pathways. Back in the real world, where things are less grim, we find ourselves ready for that long line at the DMV.
But nothing in here is new. The best scenes are straight out of Jurassic Park, except that Velociraptors are far more menacing. The play of ideas is played out, and the inner lesson, the graduation of boy to man, has been done better in many other Spielberg movies. I could mention Spielberg’s obvious father issues, but he’s making a lot of money off of them, therapy is probably a bad idea.
Is this movie authentic in any way? Well, it’s certainly not as frightening as the H.G. Wells story or radio show. The alien machines are retro in a way that refers back to the 19th century. But everything else is very 21st century. A few scenes hark to classic Japanese monster movies, but there’s no guy in a rubber suit stomping on cardboard buildings. Just CGI everywhere.