Musing on: The Ruins

(WARNING: spoilers abound)

This movie fascinates me. What a graphic, disturbing piece of film. My personal genre leanings rarely take me toward horror, mainly because it's so often equated with slasher. Here lies an under appreciated movie with enough gore to satisfy the most jaded of horror junkies.

Typically a review uses its length to argue an opinion of whether the movie is good or bad, should be seen or left alone. I'll skip the foreplay and just come out with it: the movie, in my opinion, is good and is worth seeing (although perhaps this advice should not be applied to everyone, depending on preferences and level of gore tolerance). But the quality of the film is not what I want to focus on.

The Ruins follows a handful of young people vacationing in Cancun who fall victim to a truly heinous plant growing among the Mayan ruins. I'm fascinated by the aspects of the movie that have nothing to do with the plant or its demonic powers (although that in and of itself is fascinating as well).

Imagine what this story would be like if it took place in present day, maybe an urban environment. Same youths, same relationships and interactions, different setting. Instead of dying off, the characters just leave or move away. Instead of an actual set of vines carnivorously and parasitically picking off their victims, the characters are strangled by an abstract concept. But what is it? My best guess is the pressures of their transition to adulthood.

First, let's explore some of the topics touched on, and see if they don't appear elsewhere in the movie in a more subtle manner. Near the beginning of their entrapment atop the Mayan pyramid, Jeff rationalizes to the rest of the group that they will get rescues. He says, with some certainty, "Four Americans on vacation don't just disappear." His sense of entitlement comes through quite clearly: they're not meant to be in this situation. They're Americans. This doesn't happen to them. Just like magical realism. That doesn't happen, in real life. Plants that eat humans don't really exist. Plants that can mimic sounds don't really exist. But they do. They do exist, just like Americans can get trapped on the top of an old Mayan temple and get picked off, one by one, with no retribution. No law applies, nothing can save them.

Another thing that leaps out in the film is that Mathias, paralyzed early on, is rarely spoken to. They do not include him in discussions or decisions. They do not check on him to make sure he's not uncomfortable or lonely. When they make the decision to amputate his legs, the people who don't want to only seem to not want to look at the carnage. It's too dirty of a deed, nevermind he might die otherwise. Mathias, it seems, is merely a catalyst in the story. Though he is a conscious character he has no development or interaction. There is no one pining after their love Mathias, or mourning their good friend Mathias. Mathias is a burden, representative of the responsibility they inherit in their transition to the reality of adulthood. Woken up from their feelings of entitlement (as discussed before), they now have to face the hard decisions that come with life.

And with this transition to adulthood comes reinforcement of gender roles. Though the film makes no overarching statement about this, it does touch on the topic every so often. The women (Stacy and Amy) can't work the crank, can't watch the amputation. One of these women, Amy, is the only one to live through the ordeal, per Carol Clover's final girl theory. But she's not a tomboy, supposedly not a virgin, and furthermore, it is implied that she's been unfaithful to the boyfriend that eventually sacrifices himself for her survival. Not keeping with the theory in its totality, but an interesting deviation.

The way Jeff distracts the Mayans from Amy's "dead" body is to talk to them about his identity. They don't understand him; he could be reading the phone book for all he knows. And yet, he chooses to tell them about his name, his life, his hopes and dreams. What does it matter? In this sea of sameness that he sees in front of him, the world of adulthood, his individual identity is threatened. His last act of individuality is to sacrifice his life, choosing not to move forward into the next level of maturity that comes with such assimilation.

What struck me about this movie is the relatively short amount of time spend within the pyramid; most of the run time is spent on top, out in the open. Horror movies have the tendency to use confined spaces to enhance claustrophobia: the secluded hotel, the boarded up school gym, the spaceship (I was thinking Psycho, Carrie, and Alien respectively, but there are hundreds more that use these settings). The characters in The Ruins are forced to spend most of their time outside the pyramid. Expectations would lead to an exploration of the ruins, perhaps unearthing some sort of sordid history that long ago set the events of the movie into place. But there is no such exposition; neither the characters nor the audience are aware of how the vines came to be so abnormal.

And yet there is always a sense of confinement present. They are surrounded by the vines on most sides, and by the Mayan villagers at the bottom. The only way out is straight up. Why does this atypical setting work so well to create terror in much the same way its opposite does? It's because what is surrounding them so entirely is nature. Nature and its aspects suffocate in their own way, from the side, just as well as a full claustrophobic area would.

There are some questions left after viewing: Why did the vines not suffocate them from the beginning? Why did they wait for the characters to attack each other? Why did they leave the steps open for them to walk down?

Leave further questions, answers, arguments, refutations, or complaints in the comments. I love debating movies.

The Oscars in Review

(originally published in The California Aggie at UC Davis, 2/26/09)


Best Supporting Actress: Penelope Cruz, Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Sharing the screen with such attention-grabbing actors and Javier Bardem and Scarlett Johansson can’t be easy, but it was Cruz as the garrulous and passionate artist that stole the show.

The other nominees held little hope of winning. Little-known Viola Davis’s role in Doubt received critical praise but lacked commercial success and audience receptivity, and Amy Adams in the same film fell by the wayside. Marisa Tomei, though an underrated Oscar darling, played the overdone role of “hooker with a heart of gold” in The Wrestler. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’s Taraji P. Henson, a newcomer onto the scene, hasn’t yet paid her dues as an actress.


Best Supporting Actor: Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight

In the year since Ledger’s death, the entertainment industry has been abuzz with awe of his final farewell to acting. His untimely passing surely didn’t hurt his chances at winning, but few would contest that Ledger’s nuanced, harrowing interpretation of the psychotic comic book villain truly stood out from the pack.

Though Ledger delivered hands-down superior performance, it is unfortunate that The Dark Knight was released in a year with so many worthy supporting actors. Josh Brolin as Milk’s city supervisor, murderer and (in some ways) catalyst very nearly stole the show from Best Actor winner Sean Penn. In Revolutionary Road, Michael Shannon displayed another type of psychosis that acted as more of a catharsis for the stifled audience. Philip Seymour Hoffman and Robert Downey, Jr. (in Doubt and Tropic Thunder respectively) are both talented actors who will no doubt get their day at the Oscars, but this was not the year for them.


Best Actress: Kate Winslet, The Reader

Before Sunday night, Winslet had been nominated five times without winning, all before the age of 32. This is a severe lack of appreciation for the rare and gifted actress she’s touted to be. The Academy chose to honor her body of work, whether or not the mediocre role of Hanna Schmitz was the worthiest portrayal.

Midyear Anne Hathaway seemed a shoe-in for the award with her moving portrayal of a rehabilitated drug addict in the family drama Rachel Getting Married, shocking those who had her pigeon-holed. A win for her would have been well deserved. Angelina Jolie, stony-faced off-screen but heart-wrenchingly expressive in Changeling, would have also been a welcome alternative.

Sadly, Meryl Streep’s record fifteen nominations has resulted in her competing against all her previous stellar roles instead of the other women in the category; this year her role in Doubt was not up to her own set par. And poor Melissa Leo’s film Frozen River was simply too obscure even for Oscar voters.


Best Actor: Sean Penn, Milk

Sean Penn has the uncanny ability to bypass amateurish impressions and completely inhabit his character. Especially in comparison to historical footage of Harvey Milk, Penn’s portrayal is a real tribute to the man himself. His meticulous acting is enough to dispel (or at least make negligible) any allegations of a liberal Hollywood merely rewarding a politically leftist movie.

Penn probably was the most deserving lead actor this year. Penn’s main competition was Mickey Rourke’s celebrated return to form in The Wrestler. The least deserving nominee was arguably Brad Pitt, whose performance in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button amounted to little more than excellent make-up and special effects.


Best Directing: Danny Boyle, Slumdog Millionaire

Danny Boyle tends to create a world of intrigue and optimism in his movies, whether that world exists on a spaceship in the future, in post-Apocalyptic zombie-ridden London, in the drug dens and sketchy nightclub haunts of addicts, or most recently in the slums of Mumbai.

Danny Boyle had this category all locked up. All four of the other directors possess some of the most impressive resumes in the industry, but none can match Boyle’s films’ effortless charm.


Best Picture: Slumdog Millionaire

There’s something about this movie that people love, and even movie executives can’t seem to put their finger on what it is; the film almost went straight to DVD. The film is highly courageous and rarely condescending. The movie holds up both to scrutiny of formal aspects as well as to the critical eye of general public, which is quite the impressive feat.

Slumdog Millionaire, for the above-mentioned reasons, blew the competition out of the water.

Review: He's Just Not That Into You

(originally published in The California Aggie at UC Davis, 2/12/09)


You might just be into He's Just Not That Into You
Comedy with commentary is hit and miss


The good thing about going into movies with low expectations is that you are rarely disappointed.

Since it is inspired by the ever-popular self-help guide by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo (which was itself inspired by a single line of dialogue on "Sex and the City"), He's Just Not That Into You automatically has hurdles of preconceptions to overcome. Thankfully, common aspects from each are only recognizable if the audience member is very familiar with both media; the film does a respectable job at standing on its own.

The movie operates on the premise that there are various myths and misinterpretations in the dating arena begging to be dispelled, and it employs a handful of intertwining stories to attempt to conquer all of them at once.

Depending on individual perspective, the movie may be insulting or flattering. In the pessimistic vein, the movie portrays nearly all women to be desperate and delusional. But from another viewpoint, they are also painted as hopeful, earnest and determined.

It is the unfortunate fact that when dealing with generalizations, reinforcement of stereotypes tends to be inevitable. The individual plotlines are well-worn tales of women waiting for a guy to call, hoping for a marriage proposal and obliviously trusting a cheating man. Though these inevitably do occur in the real world, the familiarity of witnessing them in character form is exhausting.

The movie's tone is hard to pin down; as soon as one character says something unbelievably dense and cliché, another swoops in with a witty burst of humor.

The logic of the movie is at war with bigger ideologies regarding behavior and gender roles, but the main assertion seems simple. If a guy is interested in a girl (or "into" her, as the title colloquially phrases it), he will ask her out, he will call when he says he will, he will sleep with her, he will want to marry her and he will never cheat.

The events of the movie make this theory seem like common sense (and consequently, the women like blundering fools); however, a return to the real world brings the concept into further question.

The whole movie is spent emphasizing the inexplicable way women rationalize obvious signs of rejection. With the brief introduction of the under-explained "exception to the rule" in the last few minutes, it effectively backtracks upon itself and negates its entire intended message.

Review: Taken

(originally published in The California Aggie at UC Davis, 2/5/09)


Taken for a ride
Fun action flick has dark undertones


Taken has all the key aspects of a typical action movie. It starts with the basics: trustworthy main character, dire situation and linear storyline.

Then come the fun but still familiar aspects. The movie is peppered with realistic, claustrophobic fight sequences reminiscent of the Bourne series. The protagonist has implausible but forgettable means of gathering information. The villains of the movie are identified by their nationality (instead of “the Russians” or “the Germans,” Taken’s resident baddies are “the Albanians”).

Finally, there’s the twist. Its existence is necessary to distinguish Taken from every other action movie out there, especially because most of the film’s aspects, though well done and entertaining, aren’t terribly original. This twist is one that could make or break the film.

The impetus for the action is familial love. Liam Neeson plays our righteous protagonist Bryan Mills, a retired government agent who now exists solely to rebuild the fractured relationship he has with his daughter.

The film dwells on this foundation for a good portion of the first half. This awkward, stagnant lingering is designed to indicate the pivotal role that the relationship is destined to play, but the filmmakers’ tragic overemphasis risks seeming condescending to the audience.

When Mills’ teenage daughter is kidnapped upon arriving in France for an unsupervised summer vacation, he snaps into action to find her. The kidnapping itself, however, isn’t the scary part; Mills’ sources reveal a fate in store for her much more terrifying and harrowing than a quick death.

People will have to decide for themselves if this is a positive or negative aspect of the movie. On one hand, the tortuous future looming for her is enough for fatherly love to justify any of Mills’ morally questionable actions. It also brings something new to the table, choosing to go where action films tend to avoid in favor of lighter, obviously fictional fare.

On the other hand, the sight of the gritty European underbelly of crime and abuse toes the line between entertainment and "Dateline" exposé. The brutality may be distracting at best, but could be completely off-putting at worst.

Review: Revolutionary Road

(originally published in The California Aggie at UC Davis, 1/29/09)


Revolutionary Road not that revolutionary
Conventional themes sink film, buoyed only by strong performances


Revolutionary Road is essentially a reworking of 1998's The Truman Show, instead using themes of abstract (rather than literal) confinement.

The film's lack of linear plot renders it rather difficult to describe. It spends very little time with back-story, instead choosing to jump directly into what might be termed the conflict. This permeates every part of the film, never allowing the characters or the audience a chance to catch their breath.

Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio play '50s suburban couple April and Frank Wheeler, who are surrounded by a contrived world that offers them only enough individuality to foster complacency. Their existence in this white-bread life revolves around their own perceived superiority.

When they realize they are in danger of surrendering the rest of their lives to a mind-numbing humdrum existence, they make spontaneous plans to move to Paris.

It is probably a stretch to call this the plot of the movie, but it is the best that can be done. The majority of the scenes occur independently of this thread-thin plot line, and many seemingly act as redundant filler scenes. For the most part, the film is simply an uninvolved observer to their sepia-toned suffering.

Director Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Road to Perdition) obviously expected the film's themes to be significant, but instead they come across as dull, familiar and unimpressive. The typical representation of overwrought emotions results in a rather unsympathetic audience. The film is saved by dedicated performances by Winslet and DiCaprio, who are a credit to their profession with the electricity they bring to the roles.

Revolutionary Road uses futile displays of anger to question the subjectivity of love, happiness and contentedness, but falls flat on all counts. All in all, it's not a very accessible film. It's simply an exploration of the stifled desperation and permeating ineffectuality of people.

Review: Slumdog Millionaire

(originally printed in The California Aggie at UC Davis, 1/8/09)


New breed Slumdog steals the show
The charming and gritty story is a triumph


Slumdog Millionaire doesn’t just “have heart,” as some people say; this movie runs on heart. Heart is all it knows, its entire raison d’être, its focus and emphasis at the same time.

It’s a classic story with enough creativity to avoid feeling stale. The plot follows Jamal Malik through his childhood in the abject poverty of Bombay slums, eventually leading to his fateful appearance on India’s version of the game show “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” and his attempts to reconnect with the girl he loves.

During the story, the city changes from Bombay to Mumbai, Jamal changes from boy to man, and being chased by the police changes from an exciting childhood adventure to a terrifying game of chance. But Jamal is someone who knows who he is through and through, even when the world around him is constantly in flux.

The parts of the story come together like two hands interlocking fingers. The expert execution of flashback storytelling is a testament to director Danny Boyle’s adherence to form. His organic approach to directing, allowing the genre to lead his filmmaking process, has brought Boyle critical success dabbling in genres like zombie movies (28 Days Later), science fiction (Sunshine) and drama (Trainspotting).

It may be an optimistic story, but there is a reason it is rated R. This movie with heart is not for the faint of heart and some parts are downright hard to watch. There are no warm fuzzies in this one, but it does showcase one person’s pervasive, enduring and unadulterated faith in love. And in that way, one can’t help but think that the determined protagonist is on the right track.

Though the general feeling walking out of the theater is positive, calling it a feel-good film would be a misnomer. The point is not that the movie makes you feel happy or feel hopeful or feel sympathetic; the most important part is that it simply makes you feel. And experiencing that through film is relatively rare.