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Screengrab 2009 Preview: Andrew Osborne's Picks

Andrew Osborne — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 18:00:00 GMT

Not to sound morbid, but it occurred to me recently (whilst contemplating my own mortality) that someday – hopefully some far distant day -- I’ll read an Entertainment Weekly Spring/Summer/Fall/Holiday preview issue and/or watch a flock of coming attractions trailers for a whole bunch of movies I won’t, in fact, live long enough to see.

In Zelig, Woody Allen’s chameleon character dies with just one regret: that he never got to finish reading Moby Dick. Imagine Zelig’s disappointment if he’d been a Harry Potter fan in November, forever denied the opportunity to see the cinematic adaptation of Half-Blood Prince (let alone the Deathly Hallows)? And Lord knows at this point whether any of us will live long enough to see Zack Snyder’s much-litigated version of Watchmen. (Ironically, another movie that most of us seem destined never to see is Fanboys, about a cancer-stricken geek in 1998 determined, in yet another layer of sad irony, to see the as-yet-unreleased Phantom Menace before he dies...but I digress.)

Anyhow, with my wife and I both fighting various wintry ailments (and going on a solid week of sleep deprivation thanks to the itchy throats and sinus pressure of the damned), it’s hard to look forward to anything at this point beyond still yet more mucus...but if I should manage somehow to survive this relentlessly cold, snowy New England winter (good Lord...it’s only JANUARY?), then here are the five upcoming 2009 releases I’m most looking forward to:

5. HARRY POTTER & THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE

I originally posted this in my 2008 Fall Preview before Warner Bros. saw fit to switch the release date of the sixth J.K. Rowling adaptation to 2009, but the following still holds true: I haven’t read a single word of Ms. Rowling’s fantastically popular and beloved series of novels, but I’ve followed the relatively unprecedented blockbuster cinematic serialization religiously. I’ll go on record here as a big fan of Christopher Columbus’ unfairly maligned adaptation of Sorcerer’s Stone, and I thought Alfonso Cuarón’s Prisoner of Azkaban was bizarrely overpraised, but in general, the series just keeps getting better and better, and I can’t wait for the next episode.

4. STAR TREK

Yes, I’ve heard the Star Trek 90210 jokes, and no, the last few Star Trek movies have not exactly instilled fans with a lot of confidence in the franchise -- but as with J.J. Abrams’ day job, the increasingly ludicrous and exasperating Lost, I simply have no choice in the matter: I’m still going to watch. My Dad recently reminded me of the time he drove my geeky pubescent ass to a Star Trek convention through a full-scale Perfect Storm blizzard just so I could buy myself a Tribble and hang out with bosomy fangirls dressed like Yeoman Rand. So yes, good or bad, I’ll definitely be seeing this one – (alone, notes my wife).

3. WHIP IT!

I couldn’t find any clips of Drew Barrymore’s upcoming directorial debut about a misfit teen (Ellen Page) who joins an Austin, Texas roller-derby team. Instead, the trailer above is for Hell On Wheels, an astonishing documentary about the girl-powered rockabilly roller derby revival that sparked in Austin and spread across the nation. In the film, director Bob Ray captures the birth and hilarious, harrowing growing pains of the Lonestar Rollergirls, an all-female, D.I.Y. enterprise that transforms from weekend lark to serious business when big money and crippling injuries raise the stakes of a burgeoning start-up, leading to shattered friendships (and fibulas) and a fiery schism between two factions of fiercely independepent entrepeneurs. Short skirts + third wave feminism + breathtaking banked track action + Marxist/capitalist tensions + a fascinating cast of real-life characters & a kick-ass soundtrack = one of the best movies of 2007. I doubt Whip It! will be as good, but with Barrymore, Page, Kristin Wiig and Juliette Lewis strapping on the skates and kneepads, I’m more than willing to give this one the benefit of the doubt.

2. INGLORIOUS BASTERDS

When I saw John Waters interview Quentin Tarantino on a panel at the Provincetown Film Festival last year, the erstwhile Mr. Brown said he’d set himself the goal of finishing his “guys on a mission” World War II spaghetti Western lollapalooza (starring Brad Pitt, Maggie Cheung, The Office’s B.J. Novak, Freaks & Geeks’ Samm Levine and...really? Mike Myers?) in time for this year’s Cannes Film Festival. With the exception of roughly 42 percent of Death Proof, Tarantino has never yet steered me entirely wrong (I didn’t even mind his segment of the disastrous Four Rooms), and when he’s on his game (as he could easily be with this project) he is, like the wallet says, a Bad Motherfucker. It’s possible, of course, he won’t finish the film in time for a 2009 release...in which case, be looking for Basterds at the top of my 2010 movie preview list.

1. THE MEAT CITY BEATNIKS

As I mentioned on Thanksgiving Day in the 2008 Screengrab Holiday Special, I began shooting this ultra-low budget guerilla indie musical about screenwriters on the make and a drug deal gone bad (co-scripted by my esteemed Screengrab colleague Scott Von Doviak, based on a short story by Jim Dryden, with music by Eric Jacobson) way back in January 2008 (or possibly the late fall of 2007...it’s all a bit hazy at this point). Of all the releases I hope to see in 2009, this tops the list if only because it will mean (A) I’ve finally finished post-production and (B) it actually got released. Like Basterds, though, I’m not betting the farm on this one actually seeing the light of day before 2010...but if ever there was a year for hope, it’s this one!

HAPPY YEAR OF THE OX!

Related Stories:
The Top 50 Movies of 2009
Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds Unleashed

Trailer Review: Star Trek

Paul Clark — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 17:00:00 GMT

One of the many cinematic sins that George Lucas should probably be held accountable for is the rash of “prequels” that infested the moviegoing landscape once Phantom Menace hit the scene. Oh sure, the idea was nothing new, from “origin story” comic books to the occasional movie like Butch and Sundance: The Early Years. Yet had Lucas not gone to the Star Wars well one- OK, three- more times a decade ago, I doubt we’d be seeing this rather feeble reboot of the Star Trek franchise nowadays, in which fanboy fave J.J. Abrams has gotten Paramount to bankroll something that’s essentially a bit of fanfiction. Now, I’ve got nothing against movies that are unapologetically geeks. I suppose that what bugs me most about this isn’t so much that the characters we grew up on are being played by a cast of new and largely clean-scrubbed actors, as that I honestly don’t feel like it’s necessary for a movie to exists that explains away the younger days of the old Trek gang. I mean, gee, who would have guessed that the young Kirk was a rebellious little punk (if this movie shows him reprogramming the Kobayashi Maru scenario, I’ll throw something at the screen)? Really, isn’t enough that we glean their natures from the way they behave in the original movies rather than seeing how they got there?

21 Stars We Hate (Part One)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 20:00:00 GMT

Three weeks ago, we paid tribute to Paul Newman, a fantastically decent and charitable movie star possessed of great taste, artistic integrity and that elusive hat-trick of looks, talent and charisma that elevated him to the status of beloved international icon and left the world a sadder place when he left it.

Newman’s passing (and, to some extent, his dressing) got us thinking about other Leading Men and Leading Ladies we loved, or at least admired, or who at the very least satisfied most of the basic requirements of stardom: unforgettable performances in memorable films, a uniquely fascinating persona and maybe even some crazy knee-wobbling sex appeal for good measure.

But in the midst of all our recent celebrity praising, we couldn’t help noticing the preponderance of past and present “stars” who could more accurately be described as black holes: a whole lotta nothing endowed with tremendous powers of suck...false matinee idols who never really earned their overpraised, overpaid stations in the pop culture firmament, or genuine icons who long ago squandered whatever legitimacy they once had, and now just bug the shit out of us.

Given the fleeting, fickle nature of fame and the contrarian curmudgeonliness of your friends here at the Screengrab, you may notice a few of the names we praised less than a fortnight hence are back this week as figures of scorn and ridicule...

...but hey, that’s show biz, kid, so let’s get ready to RUUUUUUMMBLE!!!!!!

SHIA LABEOUF

Like Sarah Palin (but far less scary and secessionist), “The Boof” was plucked from relative obscurity and forced down America’s collective throat despite a staggering lack of qualifications for a job that any number of people could do better. Unlike Palin, whose ascendancy was engineered for cynical political advantage, I have no idea why Hollywood in general (and Steven Spielberg in particular) picked LaBeouf as their Gen-Y A-List representative...but for now I guess we’re stuck with him (and since I already posted a longer rant on the subject back in April, I’ll leave it at that...at least until Stockholm decides he’s ready for his Nobel Peace Prize for, y’know, bein’all peaceful an’ shit).

ROBIN WILLIAMS

I'll grant you that this one is like shooting fish in a barrel – but if you're going to set a barrel of fish in front of me and hand me a gun, what am I supposed to do? Anyway, it's not as if I'm a lifelong Williams hater. I was there when he debuted as Mork from Ork on a 1978 episode of Happy Days; I even remember taping the show (on audio cassette – this was pre-VCR) and listening to it over and over. (This was perhaps the 374th dorkiest thing I did in 1978. Number 212 was dressing up as Mork for Halloween, although my mother did a fabulous job with the costume.) I had his comedy album, Reality, What a Concept, some of which I even understood. He was a fine Popeye, and although it's been many years since I've seen either The Survivors or Moscow on the Hudson, I remember liking them at the time. So when did it all go awry? Some would point to Dead Poets Society, and certainly the seeds of sentiment and sanctimony were planted there, but I would argue in favor of Awakenings, in which those seeds sprouted into the Sensitive Man Beard. Into the early '90s, Williams could still garner critical acclaim by hacking through the same eight voices he always uses in Aladdin, but after a sickly stretch including Jumanji, Jack, Father's Day, Patch Adams and Bicentennial Man, defenders were harder to come by. (Somewhere in there he won an Oscar by breaking out the SMB again for Good Will Hunting, but I'd like to think a re-vote today would send it to Burt Reynolds for Boogie Nights instead.) After a brief but failed flirtation with a "dark phase" (including One Hour Photo and Insomnia), Williams has returned to serving up his patented cocktail of shtick and schmaltz. By 2007's License to Wed, even he seemed to be tired of his own act.

EWAN McGREGOR

McGregor first attracted attention for his work in the films of director Danny Boyle, with whom he was supposed to have some Scottish, post-MTV Scorsese-and-De Niro thing going on. In Boyle's debut feature, Shallow Grave, McGregor had the most prominent and sympathetic of the three main roles, alongside Kerry Fox, who made him her bitch, and Christopher Eccleston, who out-acted him into the next county. They followed that up with the much bigger hit Trainspotting, where Robert Carlyle swabbed the screen with him. The Boyle-McGregor partnership finally came to an acrimonious end when Boyle cast Leonardo DiCaprio as the lead in The Beach, thus sparing McGregor the chance to have his clock cleaned by Tilda Swinton. (They also worked together on A Life Less Ordinary, another movie full of actors who might have easily stolen it from Ewan, except who would have wanted it?) On his own, McGregor has provided evidence of an adventurous spirit by agreeing to star in several of the most unpleasantly misconceived big projects of the last dozen years, including Peter Greenaway's pervy art exhibit The Pillow Book, Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge, and David Mackenzie's lyrical ode to post-coital depression, Young Adam. McGregor also acted and sang in Todd Haynes' glitter rock movie Velvet Goldmine, where his famous and often-exposed physique, while certainly hunky enough as the physiques of pampered, hard-drinking young Scottish actors go, looked a little marshmallowy for someone who was meant to be Iggy Pop; however, we like the suggestion brunted by some admiring reviewers that this made it easier to accept that he was really meant to be Iggy and Lou Reed. His most high-profile role since Trainspotting was, of course, that of the young Ob-wan Kenobi in George Lucas' Star Wars prequels. Better actors than Ewan had trouble making their presence felt in those pictures, so it would be wrong to be too hard on him for that chapter of his career, though it does seem amazing that anyone could picture this guy someday turning into Alec Guinness. One hates to be too hard on McGregor for anything, really: unlike some names on this list, not to mention a whole lot of more talented people, he seems like a nice guy, and he's generally not painful to watch. It's just that, seeing him acting in a movie, you often find yourself staring at him and wondering where the rest of the donut went.

CLINT EASTWOOD

Sergio Leone, the director who made Eastwood a star with the Italian Western A Fistful of Dollars, once told an interviewer that, "When Michelangelo was asked what he had seen in the one particular block of marble which he chose among hundreds of others, he replied that he saw Moses," adding that he cast Clint after experiencing the same epiphany, except in reverse: watching Eastwood in action, "What I saw, simply, was a block of marble." The canny Leone would make some terrific pictures with that block of marble, and once the marble was established as the biggest international movie star in the world, he would go on to make a lot of other, shittier movies with a lot of lesser directors, a roll call that includes himself. During his peak years as a movie star, Eastwood established himself as the king of his thing: monolithic, inexpressive, yet implicitly self-righteous in his need to dish out retributive (and pre-emptive) violence to anyone who had it coming to him, which in most of those movies is anyone who's on-screen who he isn't fucking or who isn't played by an orangutan. Back in those days, the conventional wisdom on Eastwood was that it might be fun to watch him pistol whip people on screen, but that you wouldn't want to admit to being a fan if you were applying for a government job. But whatever you think of his earlier action hits, for the last couple of decades we've been sharing the planet with Clint the Auteur, the increasingly hard-to-listen-to, sinewy old guy with the glare of an Old Testament prophet and the voice of a rattlesnake's death rasp who keeps sliding behind the camera to direct a long string of ever more obvious movies with creaking joints that are invariably hailed as masterpieces by people who must need to get their eyeballs oiled. It's easy to think of other cases where it took the critics a while to catch up with an American original, but sometimes they do get it right the first time. John Huston -- who Clint impersonated in White Hunter, Black Heart, something he had as much business attempting as Huston himself would have had playing Shirley Temple -- said in Chinatown that politicians, ugly buildings, and whores all become respectable if they last long enough, and there's a little of all three in Eastwood.

NICOLE KIDMAN

Between Dead Calm, the 1989 Australian thriller that was her first film released in the U.S., and her Hollywood debut the next year in Days of Thunder, Kidman's onscreen image seemed to lose ten years and at least that many brain cells. Her '90s screen partnership with her then-husband Tom Cruise, which also resulted in Far and Away and Eyes Wide Shut, was like some post-modern parody of the public marriage and tie-in movie career of Liz Taylor and Richard Burton, itself no great moment in the history of human dignity. By the time it was over, any personality or expressive qualities that Kidman ever had were smothered in "glamour." If she's really a star, then she's a star of a very strange kind, with an odd, limited sort of appeal: she's had her greatest successes playing characters who the audience is meant to want to strangle (as in To Die For and Malice) or in movies where somebody already beat us to it: her best performance, by miles, was in the ghost story The Others, where she was completely convincing as a woman so tightly buttoned up and horribly repressed that she didn't even know she was dead. Since the divorce from Tom Cruise, in which she seemed to win official custody of the media and the industry's solicitous respect, she's picked her roles like a politician with a desire to cover as much ground as possible without offending anyone, and they've been a testament to the awfulness of her taste: jumping at the chance to miscast herself in Oscar-bait literary adaptations like The Hours, The Human Stain, and Cold Mountain while courting the groundlings in terribly misconceived remakes of The Stepford Wives, Invasion (as in "of the Body Snatchers"), and the TV series Bewitched. Having some arch, boring glamourpuss making movies for them seems to give studio heads a kick, at least for a while: in 2006, Kidman was the most highly paid actress in movies, even though a look at the returns on her films made it seem that she couldn't draw crows to a cornfield at sundown.

Click Here For Part Two, Part Three & Part Four

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Scott Von Doviak, Phil Nugent

Yesterday's Hits: The Sixth Sense (1999, M. Night Shyamalan)

Paul Clark — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Compared to what Screengrab’s resident box office prognosticators had predicted for it, The Happening’s $30-odd million opening weekend gross was something of a surprise. However, judging by the peals of laughter which accompanied the Friday night screening I attended- combined with mostly dumbfounded reaction to his previous films Lady in the Water and The Village- I think it’s safe to say that M. Night Shyamalan’s reputation among the public has gone down the tubes. It’s strange to think that it hasn’t even been a decade since Shyamalan was Hollywood’s resident whiz kid, turning a low-key chiller into one of the biggest sleeper hits of the 1990s. Today I’ll be taking a second look at that film, 1999’s The Sixth Sense.

What made The Sixth Sense a hit?: In this age of focus groups and micro-managed marketing campaigns, surprise blockbusters have become exceedingly rare. In fact, it seems like the only box-office surprises left are the flops. But The Sixth Sense pulled it off through a mix of numerous elements. First, there was the film’s late-summer release, arriving just in time when slam-bang effects and big-budget bloat was beginning to wear down audiences. Then there were the trailers and TV spots, which wisely played up the story’s big hook, which was nearly encapsulated in one unforgettable four-word line (that would be “I see dead people,” not “keep moving, cheese dick”). And of course there was that final twist, which at a time before every genre film felt obligated to include a twist came as a legitimate surprise to most viewers.

But while all of these elements might have combined to make The Sixth Sense a hit, it would take more than that to take the film’s grosses to nearly $300 million in the U.S. alone, second only to Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace among 1999 releases. Credit good old-fashioned word-of-mouth for the film’s ultimate success. The Sixth Sense was, quite simply, a movie that got people talking, with those who raved about the film convincing their friends, family and coworkers to check it out for themselves. Word of mouth is the hardest kind of buzz to harness properly, but if you can make it work for you, there are few better ways to tap into the zeitgeist, and The Sixth Sense is proof of that.

What happened?: If surprise blockbusters are few and far between, rarer still are huge hits that don’t experience some kind of backlash, and no sooner did The Sixth Sense become one of the most popular movies ever than the backlash began in earnest. The primary target for the naysayers was the famous twist, with people calling the film a one-trick pony and even claiming (truthfully or not) that they saw it coming.

But even more damaging to the film’s reputation in the long run was Shyamalan himself. The Sixth Sense turned the young filmmaker from Philadelphia into one of Hollywood’s marquee directors. The trouble began when Shyamalan began to buy into the hype that had arisen around him. His presence became increasingly ubiquitous in the marketing of his films, with Shyamalan claiming proprietary credit for all of his subsequent efforts to date. Likewise, his attempts to recapture the box office magic of The Sixth Sense have resulted in ever more misguided marketing ploys- remember the awful television “documentary” just before the release of The Village?

Most of all, Shyamalan’s films seem to have suffered due to an need on the director’s part to re-create the success of The Sixth Sense by sticking as closely to his original template as possible. Looking at his subsequent efforts, one notices Shyamalan’s trademark combination of funereal pacing, domestic drama, and the use of an often profoundly quiet soundtrack to build tension. While these stylistic tropes suited The Sixth Sense perfectly, they haven’t fit his other stories nearly so well. However, with Shyamalan’s increased clout has become a maverick tendency on his part to be unreceptive to constructive criticism from others (Exhibit A being Bob Balaban weaselly film critic character in Lady in the Water). As a result, Shyamalan’s recent films have become increasingly schizoid in tone, with goofball humor clashing with tense moments in a way that deflates any suspense the film is trying to create. The films are sometimes interesting- Lady in particular has a crazy charm to it- but it doesn’t make them good.

Does The Sixth Sense still work?: Sure does. Not having seen the film since its initial release, I wasn’t sure whether my knowledge of the twist would spoil the film for me, but I was relieved that it didn’t. In fact, knowing how the film plays out makes one more mindful of the clues Shyamalan sprinkles throughout the film, and watching the film again, I was impressed by how little Shyamalan cheats in order to make the twist happen. He reveals just enough to let the audience know that something is afoot, but never fudges the rules he’s set forth in the story, and if you look closely enough- or know what’s going to happen- you can see this.

Of course, none of this would have worked in the first place had Shyamalan made the audience feel like they were watching a “twist movie.” But to his credit, the film’s drama is compelling enough on its own that first-time viewers aren’t simply waiting for the other shoe to drop, narratively-speaking. Bruce Willis gives one of his best performances in The Sixth Sense as child psychologist Dr. Malcolm Crowe, who can’t understand why his career and marriage have gone completely to hell after his shooting by a former patient. Likewise, his scenes with Haley Joel Osment as Cole, the forlorn, pint-sized medium in his care, are nicely-performed and written, with Willis proving remarkably patient with his gifted young costar, and Shyamalan giving both some real opportunities to interact onscreen rather than piecing Osment’s performance together in the editing room as one sometimes has to do with child stars.

But the real heart of the film comes in the scenes between Cole and his working-class mother Lynn, played by Toni Collette. Shyamalan is often dismissed as being beholden to his twists, but in The Sixth Sense he creates original characters with very specific relationships, and this- not plot manipulation- is what drives the film. The relationship between Cole and Lynn is always completely convincing, not only because of the performances by Collette and Osment, but also because of the details Shyamalan injects into their scenes together. By the end of the movie, I legitimately cared about these people, and Shyamalan rewards this by saving their best scene for last, when Cole finally decides to confess his secret to his mother. Many of Shymalan’s later films have also attempted one last final tug at the heartstrings, but generally without the same emotional investment, which makes these scenes feel gratuitous at best, and laughable at worst. Perhaps if Shyamalan would put as much care into creating his characters as he would formulating his storylines, he might be able to capture the public’s imagination again the way he did with The Sixth Sense.