Cloud Atlas (2012) Movie Review

Cinema has reached a crucial turning point. That's what pop-movie alchemists, The Wachowskis, and Tom Tykwer have established with their grand-scale art experiment adapted from the 2004 David Mitchell novel. Spanning generations of human existence from the past to our distant future, and presenting metaphysical concepts of reincarnation, cause, effect, and the eternal bonds shared by all souls is visually expressed by way no major film has done before, and is even further bolstered by the audacious use and re-use of its cast (including Hugo Weaving, Jim D'Arcy, and Keith David) in various eras, locales & circumstances, all interweaving and in service of each other. Unlike the novel, the film takes a riskier route by intercutting all six stories into a tapestry of lives, often impacting each other unknowingly, and even carrying over certain consistencies, seemingly ready to repeat themselves until a cycle is found broken, thereby creating new paths. And as a film, it is a thing of often unwieldy beauty, punctuated by lapses in subtlety that have remained a Wachowski staple since the beginning.

Of the stories we experience..


On the Pacific Ocean, 1850..Young, and sickly notary, Adam Ewing(Jim Sturgess) has his morality tested as he befriends his ship's newly aquired slave, all the while he is slowly being deceived by the doctor Henry Goose(Tom Hanks), who claims to be capable of curing him, but only seems to be furthering his demise in hopes of stealing his inherited fortune.



Belgium, 1931. Young musical genius, Robert Frobisher(Ben Whishaw) seeks his fortune by attempting to become the assistant to long quiet composer(Jim Broadbent), only to find himself at the mercy of those who would ruin his future (even his inspirations) in a divided society. In letters, we are shown his loves, his secrets, and dreams shared with one Rufus Sixmith - a man who could very well be his lover.


San Francisco, 1975 where reporter, Luisa Rey(Berry), daughter of celebrated journalist finds herself at the center of an ecological conspiracy after a chance meeting with an elder Sixmith. With chance meetings and unexpected turns, things go from mysterious to deadly.


The UK in 2012, where panicked and aging publisher, Timothy Cavendish (Broadbent) finds himself tricked by his own family into living in a prisonlike retirement home. It is here that he re-examines his choices, that ultimately fuels inspiration for a great escape.


Neo Seoul, 2144. Humanoid fabricant, SONMI-451(Doona Bae) recants a record of her life as a restaurant server in a largely techologized future, where she awakens to the horrifying plight of her kind after being liberated by Hae-Joo Chang(Sturgess), a man who believes she is key toward revolution.


The film is bookended by a tale told through the eyes of Zachary(Hanks), an elder with a story that charts the turning point from his days as a primitive villager, to his role in humankind's great turn after the fall of civilization. It is in the meeting of the enigmatic, Meronym(Berry), his fears and faith are tested as she comes, an emissary from an advanced people on the brink, with grave purpose.

So when the film takes on the bold task of intercutting all six stories in a manner antithetical to the more standard anthology format, the viewer is continuously whisked between characters' worlds, and what is clearly meant as a tribute to universal onenness, and eternal recurrence that is bound to divide, and likely confound. So when my impressions come off as more than positive considering a film that requires more than a little active viewing, it's all in the name of running one's hands through the sands of this major project in order to better figure out why it may not to be everyone's taste. And in doing so, for all the things that make the film an ambitious joy to experience, it is also (much like the Oshii-meets-HK action favorite, The Matrix) far more shallow than it purports to be. As each tale remarkably works as a showcase piece for some good to startling performances, there is always the spectre of a lack of complexity within what is meant to be a far more literary examination. By taking the cinematic route, much of the film's intended human subtext is often lost within a general love of all things film history.


That's right. In the end, Tykwer and The Wachowskis have fashioned not only a grand, loving tribute to movie mythology, but a summation of the works that have made them famous. Just as much as the stories involve causality, and the threads we weave, it is also a set of stories about seemingly ordinary pawns who awaken to their respective systems, only to find their way out of them. Whether it be by way of broken chains, hover bike, or gunshot, the spirit of rebellion punctuated by the kindness of others lies at the heart of the film. And even when these attempts fall flat in sections (most ineffectively in areas that likely shouldn't) there is certainly a celebration of visual language on display that perhaps will offer more upon repeat viewings. It's film education by example, and at places, says far more than most works explicitly about the medium, and its power to illuminate.




The issues that at least upon first viewing, kept me from a full catharsis remain in the hands of The Wachowskis who remain masters of pop filmmaking, only squeaking the surface of the drama, and often fashioned at arm's distance. This aversion to the more humanistic nuts and bolts contrasts largely with the 1975 segment, which has its own issues, but at least carries with it a weight that reverberates throughout. Tykwer clearly has a more personal stake in the project and it shows. And as stories that require more than the usual amount of intimacy, this comes as a series of minuses that dogs a lot of the film despite all the spectacle Cloud Atlas brings to the fore. Hanks, Berry, and the rest of the cast deliver universally well despite makeup issues that may as well serve as consistent thematic points.

But please don't allow the minuses outweigh the pluses, the genre-busting gymnastics of Cloud Atlas are a wonder to behold, and are far more invigorating than a dozen Avatars.

 To quote a certain inspiration, " And where does the new cinema go from here? The frame is vast and infinite.."

The Ending Of Fight Club & The Science Of The Exploding Shark

Spoilers lie for Fight Club & Jaws. You Have Been Warned!

Imagine if you will; your nth draft of your proposed film project has finally been green lit, and with a respected name director attached to helm it. The production process works like a dream. It all seems to be going beautifully, despite the fact that we're months off from final edit, and its pretty foggy at this point as to whether or not we know that the vision of the film works as a potent, cohesive whole. Millions of dollars spent on what can fairly be called something of a massive gamble. From the signs of all involved, all seems well.

But then a creeping worry arrives.

Your finale leaves the reader/potential viewer in a bit of a quandary. The hero needs that one last push. That final bit of oomph that can take the project into a potentially crowd-pleasing stratosphere. Problem is, that up until shooting, the film was hewing pretty close to some manner of reality. And the only logical thing to do with a story that has done so well until now, is to take a risk, and do the possibly unthinkable.

That's right....We pull an exploding shark.

Now what prompted all this was an old discussion regarding the Jeff Uhls penned, David Fincher directed subversive cult classic, Fight Club, when many have complained regarding the final denoument. As our narrator (namelessly played by Edward Norton) has finally revealed to us, not only his long-in-denial alternate personality in hunky mangod revolutionary, Tyler Durden (an unforgettable Brad Pitt), but their mad plan for destroying several blocks of credit card company buildings as part of their now nearly out of control, Project Mayhem moves into legend territory. The "hapless" captive in "narrator" soon realizes that in order to defeat Tyler from his mind, there is only one logical conclusion seeing as how the gun in Tyler's hand moments before, is really in his. The ensuing gunshot into his mouth, is seen coming out of the back of his cheek which soon is clocked by Tyler who smells smoke, and then succumbs to what looks like a perfect bullet wound out of the back of his head. While much of this is close in many ways to the Chuck Palahniuk novel of the same name, the big change comes when the thought captured Marla Singer comes back into the picture to find our narrator with the bullet wound, and very much alive as the bombs go off, setting everything back to (possibly) zero.

Mixing this with the giddy/creepy strands of the Pixies classic, "Where Is My Mind?, we are given the Tyler Durden special before credits roll. Now the complaints come as this in many ways seems unjustifiably bizarre, and not to mention screwy as the novel ends with narrator in hospital, tended to by nurses who seem to know that certain plans are still in motion. Now as much as I love that book's ending, it is by no means cinema-worthy. Especially in a film so rife with some of the most uncompromising notions, and actions ever captured in a mainstream release. The explaination I often offer is that in 1999, there was a great anxiety regarding the coming milennium that had been building up over the years prior, and perhaps that was in perfect alignment to even allow Palahniuk's novel to be opted into a large-scale production complete with name stars, some astounding CG-animation, special effects, and product placement so brilliant, it could only be IN a novel. Fight Club is simply a film that has NO place in a multiplex, and yet there it is...for all to see..Black blood & all.

Which leads me to something I mentioned via Twitter earlier today. Perhaps a means must be shared to help explaina way the difference between mediums. Especially the difference between independent, and large scale films. As well as films versus literature. And since film is cemented in the language of the immediate, there are varying ways to play with source material that doesn't stray too terribly far, and yet seems..well..out of this world.

So in the spirit of Jumping The Shark, or Deus Ex Machina, and for internet's sake, let's just call this phenomenon #explodingshark.

This is when a film is working on a multitude of levels, and by some minute decision, a change is made to the main character's final actions that border on straining whatever credulity that the preceding two-hours had established. Or maybe not straining so much as takes liberties with them in a final wild push.

The name, naturally comes from the story of possibly the ultimate surprise success story, the production of JAWS when the then still up-and-coming Steven Spielberg, beset by a number of production problems, came up with a peculiar new death for the film's titular Great White menace. Upon bringing this up to original novelist, Peter Benchley, a fairly knowledgable name regarding maritime life, and oceanic survival protested that for Brody in the now nearly completely sunken Orca, to in fact shoot the aqualung recently shoved in the shark's maw, the ensuing reaction would be nothing as aqualungs do not explode when shot.

Spielberg's response is nothing if not iconic, and telling:

"I have the audience in the palm of my hand by this point. They will believe anything I tell them!"

And how much was that decision worth? Oh, well over $260,000,000 in its initial run, the birth of the summer blockbuster, and a firm place in Hollywood history.

What Benchley eventually granted to Spielberg, was that film language by its very nature is very different. The emotional release from that film's wild assortment of tension, and memorable characters hit home in all the best populist forms. But this is far from a fix when regarding films made years after. We've seen time and again that it takes a certain alchemy of stoytelling, editing, performance, and energy to captivate an audience and suspend disbelief with such efficiency. And as audiences have grown to become more discerning by the year, the challenge becomes even greater when considering this rarely used narrative trump card.

Now again, only certain films with a certain propulsive quality that seem to be working on multiple levels can earn an #explodingshark card. These things are not cheap by any means, and can only be used once per film. Overplay these, and the audience can turn on you. (see M.Night Shymalan) The operative idea is for filmmakers to pick their shots, and only use them when instincts seem in alignment with the planets. Films need to earn moments like these, and often they don't, and just come out of the blue. (strangely enough, the last Gamera film I reviewed does have this problem at the very end, but the film is so lightweight in many ways that it hardly bears mentioning.)

So an #exploding shark is something that can be considered anathema by most major studios, particlarly in a time most desperate for a definitive financial success. The race has become even more intense due to changes in moviegoer habits, and has many studios running scared of taking even the most innocuous of risks, which is a shame. So in looking back at the mentioned Fight Club change, it seems more than understandable for a near 50 million dollar production to go in what can still be considered a (literally) ballsy fashion. Laughing mockingly at a coming decade of eschewed risk, and diminished returns. More and more, it seems like a perfect choice. And if not perfect, fitting (which is still great considering that this is a film that with it's rampant anti-consumerism, and near -again, mockingly- fascist bent, in no way could ever be green lit by a studio now. It remains a monumental rarity in the landscape of Hollywood.).


So naturally, a caveat had to be made. Especially a caveat in spirit of the often incredibly dark and freewheeling humor the film heaped upon its audience. To perhaps view the finale as a sort of surreal, alternate reality in the narrator's mind seems very much in keeping with the established themes, and in many ways, doesn't step beyond the bounds of what the film had established. It's catharsis by anarchy. (Catharsis being the operative word in the reason, even if it doesn't fit within common logic's rhyme. )

Have you ever found yourself at the mercy of an #explodingshark? Was there a final movie moment that seemed particularly created just to amp up the vibes coming off the screen? Let us know!

2005: The Year Genre Broke? (Serenity/Battlestar Galactica)

                                     While there will likely be discussion regarding this, and at much greater length by much more qualified geeks, but it must be said that the timbre of genre expectation has splintered into wildly divergent factions. It can be argued that while we have seen many works made recently that offer the realms of Fantasy/Science Fiction/Horror something reminicent of notions that it's all in good fun, genre fan friendly, nonintrusive, and guaranteed to win fans of all types, there has also been the more recently baggage of a heightened wish for grit, realism, and even literate take on what was once merely a forum for entertaining fantastical ideas while winking at the audience.

                              And since the "oughts", it has also been made clear that in the post-internet age that there was also a long-hidden viewer contingent ready for something more than fantasy for its own sake. Can it simply be pointed toward technology? It's the reason that a film such as AVATAR, while massively successful can also be seen as a 90s film with 00s visuals. But this is only a single component, as many shows naturally could only wish to have the budgetary, and directional might of a Jim Cameron. With the advent of not only visual effects, and production capability, writing has also come under a microscope, in many ways forcing television and screenwriters to alter the trajectory, and to offer something in less of a popcorny vein, leaving many viewers harder than ever to satiate. And there is no place more telling of this than in television.

While it can more properly declared that geek expectations transgressed into something far more complex sometime around 2007-2008, a part of me can't help but feel that the seeds of this change took place during 2005.

And it is this disconnect between a television series made into a feature film, and a reimagined tv series that began at roughly the same time that seems to carry much of the weight of this pop culture event horizon.

                              So when I mention the Joss Whedon's short-lived Fox science fiction western, Firefly, and its miracle film continuation, Serenity, it is by no stretch to say that the show's irreverent take on not only space operas, westerns & caper shows is a jumbled tribute to television of the century left behind. From Nathan Fillion's complex and disarming rogue in Cap. Malcolm Reynolds, to the colorful cast of crew members on his trusty Firefly-class ship, containing a mixture of both traditional western favorites, to cleverly remixed versions of them. Both traditionally well executed, and often witty-to-the-point of bemused annoyance, the 2001 series was practically killed on the runway before it ever had a chance, and yet it became one of the first truly successful shows to survive on dvd, creating an even larger fan following that hepled Whedon & Co. move from Fox, and to make a one-time feature film version to be released in 2005. And watching it with 2011 eyes, it has become more evident than ever as to the preoccupations of genre at the time it was released, let alone almost feeling dated upon arrival, which may have also contributed to its less than stellar theatrical performance. But considering the legion of fans the show garnered in the time since the show left the airwaves, and the continuing support the show collected via the inernet, the very idea of a film being made is something of an unheard of event that still must be considered today. And in the second half of a decade grappling with dramatic world changes, a shift in notions, and a general shake in security outlook, it became apparent that merely looking back to look forward was not going to be accepted by all.Which may be partially why Firefly/Serenity never connected with many admirers of science fiction, especially in lieu of fans more acclimated to either allowing a show to breathe beyond the creator's idiosyncratic habits, or containing more grit & science. As fun as this show is (and I admit to being a fan during its heyday), it certainly requires a certain freewheeling, aloof with irony mindset to the whole thing. The more one is familiar with the tropes, and cliches that Firefly is circumventing, the more amusing it can be.

                                 But when considering the decisions made with the feature film version, watching it now, it really does feel like a visually original, funny, and yet hopelessly rushed cap to a series that never really had a chance to show it's inherent advantages. And considering that Whedon clearly knew that this was a miraculous last chance at visualizing something of a dream prject for him, he and crew give it their all for themselves, and for fans, but it also grounds the show heavily within the era of its making. Whether it's making good on it's anti-Lucas stance by having Reynolds shoot an unarmed villain, or having the show's tabula rasa in Summer Glau break out into the so-trendy for the early 00s Wo-Ping-style kung-fu, the world of Firefly revels in its timely "coolness". So much in fact that it almost comes as something of a turn-off at this point in time. Now granted, science fiction also has this almost doomed stigma of always being dated upon the time of release, but there have been examples made in time that help the work transcend this problem. And it is within the writing that this can occur. And for someone with as much writing chops as Whedon to just run hog wild with the post-modern, it just grounds the film in this sphere of time that leaves it all in a campy realm that cares less about how it feels later, and remains hopelessly self-conscious.

                                Especially interesting considering that nearly two years before, a miniseries rendition of a late 70s network tv cult classic was released in the wake of historical events to paint a bleak picture of future space, complete with enough political and philosophical allegory to fill an entire decade's worth of genre material. When Eicke & Moore's take on the much-adored Glenn Larson series Battlestar Galactica was to experience an almost complete revamp featuring many of the names and iconography in his "mormons in space" allegory, the initial response was the expected type to come when anything is retrofitted for the new. And yet the unexpected success of the miniseries event led to the then Scifi Channel's decision to contract an episodic series to be made of a parrallel humanity's interstellar run from a relentless assault by a machine race they once created in the hopes of finding a new home in the mythical planet known as "earth".

                                While in all respects still a "remake", much of what fuels the current Galactica is a loosening of the reins of overt reflexive self-consciousness in the dialogue, and greater emphasis in immediate danger. Commander Adama (Edward James Olmos), & Laura Roslin (Mary McDonnell) form the parental backbone of humanity as it remains endless in its search for a means to survive neverending plots by the Cylons who have now advanced to almost perfectly replicating the appearance of humans, and have now begun to infiltrate the remaining poulace. It's a startling thematic symbol for the decade in which it was produced, and are notions that continue on to this day. And it is here that the series both excels, and suffers. It is a delicate balance to walk since viewers can easily see the time within many of the plots the show tends to throw out there. But the big difference remains in general attitude, and execution, which could easily make or break a series like this.

And while it can be said that Galactica had the advantage of being based on a culty, yet much respected series from genre past to become something that had a lot more storytelling fuel that lead to a moderately sucessful four and a half-season run (much longer than Firefly), it can also be seen as evidence that notions of change regarding how we look at material like this were indeed happening. And it was after an initial season starting in 2004, that it became clear that an audience for darker, headier, and less ironic talespinning was bubbling underneath the surface. Sure, the use of shaky, hand-based camerawork has been regarded as the current "cool", but it can also be seen as a compliment to the dialogue we hear. There's something to be said about dialogue in the immediate that can be considered timeless as long as it's done well. Just as soon as stationary cameras, stagy lighting, and clearly touched-up dialogue for its own sake can come off as artificial, and unrelatable, we have been in a sort of hydra-shaped plane of existence, offering multiple means of digesting our fantasy. And lending us new ways to experience stories, which is not so much a matter of quality, but of taste. And while this writer happens to admire both of these creations, they are for obviously different reasons. But if I had to pick a show for prolonged posterity, it would likely be alongside Adama & Co. No way I'd trust my hide with the likes of those on that little piece of junk.

The Geekiest Post In History (or most redundant..)

Okay. Blame it on Plinkett. The Zoidberg-like voiced ne'er do wrong of RedLetterMedia's hilariously on point Star Wars Prequels reviews. For those unfamiliar with what I just said, watch on..


For The Rest (Including the all-new Episode II Review!)


The man has essentially piqued my good roomie's curiosity to finally get her first crack at these gargantuan pieces of cinematic carrion to see what the old psycho was talking about. And unexpectedly, she didn't loathe on them nearly as much as many of us did upion their initial run. Especially with the climactic chapter. Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith where she was relatively affected by it. Now it must be said that she is a very astute and often extremely observant film fan. But her views on the quality of these films comes from more personal connections to what was happening internally, as opposed to all the political shenanigans happening all over the place resulting in gobs of unnecessary digital waste.Just glad to see these films through the eyes of someone who never grew up with the original films, and therefore no context to how it felt to have a singular large event myth like that unfold over the course of seven years.

This all considered, going back into these films reminded me so much of not only what Mr. Plinkett said in his sprawling reviews, but also helped me remember what I personally wished to have seen in the third, and most crucial installment of the Fall of Anakin Skywalker.


Particularly, the rushed, underimagined/executed finale. Goodness help me, I'm resorting to redundant Star Wars suggestions on my blog.

Let's get to it, shall we?



1) The Murder of The Younglings:

Now this sequence has always troubled me as a most obvious point of contention when talking Anakin's sudden turn to the Dark Side. So many have tried to overuse the tired, lazy excuse that he was obsessed with saving Padme Amidala to the point that he would easily be Palpatine's drone at this point.

Seriously now. If I were lucid enough to exclaim, "what have I done?", I'd still stand by the idea that I had some kind of say in what it is I'd do exactly, versus what I wouldn't. Which is why I always found his killing of children to have no real basis in simple human behavior, lest this character was either possessed or a psycho from the getgo. Personaly speaking, I would have created a reason for this to happen. A means to push Anakin into this heinous act. Being accidentally discovered by a little Jedi in training seems to make a great deal more sense. The child/children being discovered peeping would add much needed tension to the scene, and further make Anakin's actions a little more understandable. (not that swinging a laser-sword into a large group of kids is, really. Even if there are days when we fantasize about it.)


2) Obi-Wan, You Jerk:

Now this one isn't so much about story so much as it is about character. Now personally, if I had come to the end of a 20-plus year friendship that ended so ugly, and I truly felt that my companion's pain of being multi-amputated, burned from top-to-bottom, I'd at least end his pain by decapitating him. Just leaving Anakin's burnt, writhing carcass laying on a hill is a bit of a cold move on Obi-Wan's part. Again, I guess I'd rather that Anakin had fallen into an unreachable crevasse where Obi-Wan could not see him. This would allow Obi-Wan to deliver his "you were the chosen one!" lines as more of a soliloqy, never knowing of Anakin's anguished state before leaving to get Padme."I raised you like a son. We grew together as practically brothers. And now you turn against all that is good in the galaxy, until soon this happens. Shit. That looks painful. Later!"

3) Losing The Will To Live (!?):

Again. I'm almost certain I'm not the first person to have suggested this, but the incredible negligence to allow the medical droid to utter the line " We are losing her...She's lost the will to live." is so beyond frustrating that it begs to be reconsidered and reshot. When in only a few minutes before, Padme had expressed her shock and dismay at the revelations that her beloved Anakin had become a traitor & mass murderer. To which his perturbed response was only to pull a "force choke" on her briefly while exclaiming that Obi-Wan had turned her against him only to release it seconds later. The ensuing damage,while potentially traumatizing in no way constitutes anything life-threatening.

-And this is where an idea germinated within me...(combined with what we recalled in Return Of The Jedi, when Luke asks Leia about her memories of mother-To which she replies that she remembers her vaguely. Recollections of a person, beautiful and kind, but sad...)

Now...this is where a big suggestion falls into place that at least to me seems more in keeping with continuity, and could have thrown viewers into some interesting territory.

What if Padme's mental state deteriorated after the birth of the twins instead of merely dying? To see her fall into an inescapable chasm of despair seems to be a much more potent means of ending her arc than merely killing her. In fact, this coupled with Emperor Palpatine still informing a newly born Darth Vader that he had "killed her", seems to be a much more believeable, and tragic outcome for the doomed couple. Following this with perhaps dialogueless montages of Bail Organa & his wife raising Leia, leading to a delicate moment with the young princess peering into a near closed door only to see a dementia-riddled, broken elder Padme looking out of a sunlit window before being led away by one of many royal nannies, or a governess. The idea that she died a thousand deaths to a broken heart over time seems a lot more in keeping with the tone of a fantasy saga. It's just a mental image I still see to this day, and perhaps still apply to the Star Wars prequel in my mind. I've always loved the fairy tale's ability to plumb human depths with familiar imagery, and Padme Amidala's fall seems to make more storybook sense in this manner as opposed to merely dropping dead.

And the idea that Anakin now thinks she's dead. Crusher. (of course, some would argue that he would sense her to be still alive. I would argue that with his body in such a modified manner, I wouldn't put it past Palatine to place a block of sorts into his mind in order to keep the lie in place.) I'm looking at matters in regards to dramatic weight, and with canon well in mind.

The long and short, the Star Wars prequels do have their values, albeit in ways perhaps George Lucas and cohorts mever expected. Despite their kaleidoscope array of flaws, they do offer more than mere bombast and misguided writing. They offer us a chance to share discourse, and to work out what it is we love about our collective mythology. it challenges what we know, versus what we are longing for. And perhaps this alone is a legacy worth blogging about.