The Daily Procrastinator

Rule #34: See this film immediately

Zombieland, and I mean this in the most admiring way, is a fast-food movie. Just as Super-Sonic Cheeseburgers aren’t wolfed down for their nutritional value, Zombieland is mindless fun: it’s hilarious, winks at the audience continually, and takes well-deserved shots at the now-established traditions of zombie flicks.

No where are these shots more obvious than in Columbus’ (Jesse Eisenburg) rules for survival (“Rule #1: Cardio” – as scenes of fat guys being chased down by zombies are played). Throughout the film, Eisenberg’s rules are displayed on screen as those who fail to follow the rules end up as human tartare for the zombies. The gore of these kills, though, is more cartoonish than frightening, and only serves to elevate the humor of the film. Dispatched zombies (of which there are plenty), are always accompanied by satisfyingly large splatterings of blood and bile as it’s vital not to forget Rule #2: the Double Tap.

Batter up!

The plot (okay, the term is used a bit loosely here) of the movie centers around Eisenberg’s milquetoast, who is attempting to make his way back to his hometown (Columbus) to see if his parents are still alive. This journey is interrupted by Tallahassee (a screamingly funny Woody Harrelson), a man with two drives in life: revenge against zombies and a quest to find Twinkies. These two later take up with two other survivors, Wichita (Emma Stone) and her 12 year old sister Little Rock (Abigail Breslin). The city names are references to their hometowns, as Tallahassee wishes to avoid any emotional attachment (which, in the movie’s only truly sentimental moment, is revealed why later). The four end up traveling together to California to search for zombie-free areas.

The cast of Zombieland

So much of the fun of the movie is seeing the relationship develop between Tallahassee and Columbus, as their back and forth bantering and antagonization of each other reveals real comic timing. But, of course, the true hilarity of the film comes with the creative zombie deaths – look for the “Zombie Kill of the Week” performed by a nun with a piano. And a certain movie star’s cameo is inspired (don’t look at imdb’s credits if you want to be surprised).

At a running time of just about an hour and a half, Zombieland never has a chance to go stale, and remains pitch perfect in its blend of humor and horror. But don’t be fooled: this movie is first and foremost a comedy, and the frights only serve to set up the reactions from the film’s players. If you’re looking for a post-apocalyptic film with a message, wait for Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. If you want some fries with your zombies, though, Zombieland‘s being served at a theater near you.

Months ago, when I saw the first film trailer for the movie Where The Wild Things Are, I freaked out with anticipation. Images of Maurice Sendak’s big furry beasts galumphing through the wilderness in a wild rumpus immediately flooded my mind. I had flashbacks to lying in my bed as a kid and trying to figure out how that one monster could possibly have lizard legs, buffalo horns, tiger stripes, and bear paws and yet still intend no harm to little Max.

Since I was a kid, this has always been my favorite image from Wild Things.

I had high hopes that the movie would echo the idea, so prevalent in the book, that not everything (or everyone, more to the point) that looks scary is actually a threat. My hopes were sorely denied.

Apparently, Spike Jonze (who is now on my List Of People To Punch In The Nose On Sight not only for his mistreatment of Wild Things, but also for his ridiculous deliberate misspelling of his assumed last name) didn’t think that the original text of the book was important to the making of the film. Instead of being the benevolent beasts of the book, the Wild Things in the movie are a bunch of whiny, self-obsessed, violent conflict-mongers.

When Max arrives on the island, his first encounter with the Wild Things involves watching the monster pictured above (named Carroll in an apparent homage to the creator of the Jabberwock) as he destroys the homes of his fellow Things for no apparent reason. We soon learn that he’s pissed because one of his fellow Things, K.W., has run off. No explanation for K.W.’s behavior is ever offered, though, and the plot of the film never regains any sense of purpose. This first encounter does, however, set up the complicated relationship that Max and Carroll will share throughout the rest of the film.

In one of the film's best moments, Carroll gives Max a lift.

To complicate matters further, Jonze (and collaborator Sendak, the book’s original creator) decide to make the Wild Things clearly male and female, and two different pairs of them are couples. The Things Judith and Ira, a bumbling oaf of a guy and a narcissistic bitch of a woman, plague the film with their relationship. Likewise, Carroll’s anger over K.W.’s departure seems to be based on a relationship that the two may or may not share. It’s never really clear.

When K.W. brings back some new friends to the Things’ fort, the rest of the gang, especially Carroll, refuses to accept them as part of the group. Carroll turns to Max to solve the situation, since he’s serving as their erstwhile king, but he doesn’t have any answers. It seems that Jonze is trying to make a political statement about how we and our leaders treat those unlike ourselves, but the issue is left unresolved and only serves to complicate an already unnecessarily complicated film.

Although the plot of the movie is disastrous, Where Wild Things Are is interesting to look at. The costumes of the Things are fantastic, accurately duplicating the images from the original art. The film offers many close-ups of the Things as they speak, and their big furry faces clearly register a variety of emotions that must have required untold hours of either mechanical animatronics or computer animation. The Things’ eyes, in particular, are beautiful. As the adage suggests, they give us a view of each Thing’s soul.

As the Things rumble around the island, they often jump to great heights, and the animation of their jumps is wildly amusing. They seem to rise into the air as if by levitation, springing toward the treetops despite their stumpy legs and thickly built bodies. In fact, they jump exactly the way the monsters in a little boy’s imagination might jump, which I find perfect, as all the events on the island happen in Max’s imagination.

Q: What have learned so far? A: While the plot is bad, the visual effects are good. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. The plot isn’t a complete loss, though. I need to mention a couple moments that stand out as high points. As I mentioned above, the scene in which Carroll lets Max ride on his back is sweet. Also, there’s a scene in which all of the Things sleep in a giant pile, calling good nights to one another as they collectively drift off into huge, furry slumber.

Finally, the scene in which Max leaves the island (don’t groan about spoilers; you knew it was going to end this way) is simultaneously beautiful and infuriating. All the Things gather at the beach to watch Max as he sails back to his home, and their howling as he sails into the surf is heart-wrenching. Visually, it’s a beautiful scene, and the music, camera work, and sound effects are perfect. I wish I could stop writing about the scene now, but I can’t. Although Max’s farewell is a fantastic moment, it’s also ridiculous because there’s never any explanation of why Max chooses to leave the island. It’s as if he just randomly decides to split in the middle of the conflict on Thing Island. The implied theme: When you mess things up really badly, run away; that will make things better.

It makes me want to scream like a Wild Thing.

Occasionally, Jonze's adaptation is beautiful.

I wish I could tell you to go watch Where The Wild Things Are. I wish I could celebrate the successful translation of a classic children’s book to the big screen. I wish I could tell you to take your children to the movies. I can’t do any of those things, though. (I especially can’t recommend the film for kids. This is NOT a children’s move. They’ll be alternately terrified and bored. I promise.) Frankly, I’m saddened that future generations of kids will say things like, “Where The Wild Things Are is a book, too? I didn’t know that!”

Do yourself a favor: preserve your love of Where The Wild Things Are by avoiding this film. Let your imagination give life to the Things. If not for yourself, avoid the film for your kids’ sake. They deserve to see the Wild Things like this:

Let’s start with a basic fact: I read lots of novels. In the course of my literary wanderings, I encounter dozens of new authors every year, ranging from the talented and interesting to the banal and bound for unemployment. Rarely, though, do I read an author who makes me sit up and truly take notice–the sort of author who I immediately recommend to my friends. I’m pleased to announce that I’ve discovered just such a rare and fantastic writer. Procrastinators, say hello to Jeffrey Lent.

I'm sure he's pleased to meet you.

My experience reading Jeffrey Lent began when a traveling book liquidation company set up shop in my local mall a few months ago. Because all hardcover books were priced at four dollars, I went on a spending spree. (Seriously? Four dollars? I was in heaven.) Since they cost less than a foot-long sub, I bought a huge armload of books by authors I’d never even heard of. Why not? Among them was Lent’s novel Lost Nation.

As soon as I started reading, I felt that Lost Nation was different from anything I’d read in a long time. It’s the story of a mysterious man, known only as Blood, who travels into the Vermont territory during the years when its control was still contested by the United States and Canada. Along with the wagon-load of goods Blood intends to use in setting up a general store, he also brings with him a young woman named Sally, who he recently won while playing poker in a brothel. Lent uses her relationship with Blood to examine issues of lust, love, obligation, rejection, and acceptance. About midway through the novel, some long-lost acquaintances show up in Blood’s life and add further complications to the plot. The backdrop of governmental bickering over Vermont (which materializes as backwoods hit-and-run warfare) establishes an ominous tone that looms over the more personal aspects of Blood’s story. When the interconnected plotlines of the territorial dispute, Blood’s dealings with people from his past, and his relationship with Sally all reach simultaneous crescendo, the novel delivers a conclusion every bit as dramatic and nerve-wracking as The Fall of the House of Usher.

While the plot of Lost Nation, in and of itself, is enough to convince me to recommend the novel to my fellow readers, Lent’s style is every bit as important and impressive. He employs a stark, blunt style that brings echoes of Cormac McCarthy to my ears. Lent neither shies away from nor celebrates novel’s the often dark and tragic developments. The reader is left to come to terms with Blood’s world and its implications. I suspect that some readers may feel uncomfortable with the burden Lent lays upon them, but I found it rewarding.

Since reading Lost Nation, I have also purchased and read A Peculiar Grace, which I enjoyed even more. In a future post, I’ll review it. I promise. I’ve also bought Lent’s first novel, In The Fall, and I intend to buy the recently published After You’ve Gone. I’m literally thrilled with the expectation of reading them both. If they live up to my expections, you’ll hear about them.

In the meantime, track down a copy of Lost Nation. You won’t regret it.

Greetings, procrastinators! I have returned from my foray into The Great White North! I hope all of you have been well in my absence. Now that my vacation is over, I can return to procrastinating, full-time. For starters, I want to tell you about a book I read (sort of) on my trip.

Nineteen hours each way is a LONG time to drive, and staying awake can be a bit of a challenge, since I like to drive straight through rather than lose vacation time by splitting the drive over two days. In the past, I’ve taken big stacks of music CDs, reserving the loudest and angriest ones for the last few hours of the drive. This strategy worked fine, but my mother was starting to get concerned that I always showed up at her house muttering about “Cowboys From Hell” or a “South Texas Deathride.” In an effort to stay awake without getting all hopped up on music that scares children, I decided to make the drive with an audiobook this time. It was a good call.

It just LOOKS good.

The Geographer’s Library by John Fasman is a 384-page tome in its hardcover incarnation, and it’s over 15 hours long as an audiobook. Honestly, this is why I chose it. I needed a book for a long drive. Considering that my selection was simply based on the length of the book, I feel that I got extraordinarily lucky. The Geographer’s Library is a remarkable, interesting, complex historical novel.

The book centers on two main plotlines. The first involves a Spanish Muslim cartographer, historian, and linguist named Al-Idrisi who served King Roger of Sicily in the 1150s. Al-Idrisi devoted considerable time and energy to collect fifteen priceless artifacts from all over the world, each of which was thought to be vital to the art of alchemy. Before he could fully understand their powers, though, the entire collection was stolen, and the individual objects  found their way to all corners of the world over the course of centuries.

Enter Paul Tomm, a journalist working for a small-town newspaper. When he is assigned to write a simple obituary for oddball university professor Jaan Puhapaev, his simple questions about the man’s life soon reveal that Puhapaev may not have been the man everyone thought he was. In fact, it seems he’d been trying to reassemble Al-Idrisi’s collection. But why?

Between these two storylines lie the individual tales of each artifact as they are bought, sold, stolen, and killed for throughout the course of history. Each one is an intriguing plot unto itself. Fasman’s descriptions of exotic settings throughout the Old World make these chapters especially rewarding to read.

Although I’m caught up in praising the book, I will say that The Geographer’s Library is not an easy read. I think that listening to it while I drove, which is far more passive than actually reading the book, probably simplified the process for me. I imagine that reading it might be a bit slow in some passages. Nonetheless, for readers who appreciate a remarkably well-written and researched book, I highly recommend Fasman’s tome. Imagine The DaVinci Code more intelligently written and without inflammatory intentions. I’m going to buy a hardcover copy of The Geographer’s Library for my bookshelf, and you should, too.

With The Watchmen hitting theaters this past weekend, and the reports of its levels of violence, sexual scenes, and grim themes, it’s time that Hollywood re-tool its ratings system to bring it more in line with sanity and reason.

Honestly, I have no idea what “R” means to Hollywood, other than that it means the film is for restricted audiences, i.e., the 17 and over crowd (side note: parents, if you take your pre-teen kid to The Watchmen, you are an imbecile and proof that we should require licenses to become parents). Beyond that, it seems to have no real definition. Let me illustrate: There Will Be Blood and The Watchmen received the same rating. Gladiator and the new Friday the 13th received the same rating. Wedding Crashers and Hostel received the same rating.

Do you see something wrong here?

The MPAA website defines each rating here, explaining that an ‘R’ movie “contains some adult material. An R-rated motion picture may include adult themes, adult activity, hard language, intense or persistent violence, sexually-oriented nudity, drug abuse or other elements, so that parents are counseled to take this rating very seriously.” I could probably make a case that The Dark Knight deserved an R rating based on the above criteria, but it was given a PG-13. This is a movie where, among other scenes, the Joker slams a man’s head onto an upright pencil, another man has a cell phone rigged with explosives sewn into his stomach, half of Harvey Dent’s face is burned away, and, because of its serious (“adult”?) themes, it was considered a possible candidate for Best Picture. Why was DK not given an R? Because most of the violence was either off-screen or not bloody, there was no nudity, and the “hard” language did not include the word fu*k. And it works – DK is a PG-13 movie because of the steps the director/producers took while filming and editing, knowing that Batman is a comic book first, and thus will pull in a younger audience.

The R rating, though, is often a failure because there seem to be no set limits to an R movie’s content; the MPAA Rating Board’s decision-making appears arbitrary, at best. The Watchmen‘s Dr. Manhattan, for example, is naked throughout the film. Now, I’m a fan of the comic, and the film doesn’t blink on his nudity (except in its advertisements where he always has the briefs on), and I understand that he’s a demi-god: he’s beyond clothes. Still, male frontal nudity has ALWAYS received an R rating (and, yes, I recognize the MPAA’s double standard with regard to full frontal female nudity), and Manhattan’s nudity is at times sexual in nature. Then there’s the non-blue penis sexual scenes, which are explicit. Beyond this is the language, which is most definitely “hard.” Then there’s the violence, both stylized and graphic. Blood flows, limbs and bodies are destroyed, and the camera does not flinch. All of this, in the MPAA’s mind, adds up to an R rating.

Compare this to Gladiator. In Gladiator, there is no nudity. None, not even a male backside. There is, to my knowledge, no cursing, and if there is it is tame. The word “fu*k” is not uttered. There are no sex scenes; Commodus’ (Joaquin Phoenix) feelings for his sister are implied, though nothing happens between them, on screen or off. The only “objectionable” material is its violence, which is, of course, graphic, as Roman gladiators tend to be violent. Ridley Scott’s Oscar winning film received the same “R” rating as The Watchmen: to the MPAA board, there is no significant difference between the two movies’ content to warrant a different rating.

But you and I know better.

The interesting thing is that the MPAA has another recourse: the NC-17 label. The MPAA site describes that an NC-17 rating “can be based on violence, sex, aberrational behavior, drug abuse or any other element that most parents would consider too strong and therefore off-limits for viewing by their children.” Who here believes that The Watchmen does not fit this description? The Comedian attempts rape on screen. He also kills a pregnant Vietnamese woman. And if Rorschach’s behavior is not “aberrational” (even while being held up as a hero of the film), then whose behavior is?

But we all know why The Watchmen received an R rating rather than an NC-17: profit. NC-17 is seen as a kiss of death for any film because of the stigma associated with it, and it severely limits the film’s ability to be marketed. Many theaters would not carry a film tagged as NC-17. Directors often go back to make cuts to their films to avoid the rating, knowing that an R can mean millions more at the box-office. So much for artistic integrity, huh? And the MPAA turns a blind eye to it all, as if cutting 30 seconds from a sex scene here, two impaled bodies there, makes the difference.

This discrepancy is particularly egregious when considering The Watchmen. Despite its actual content, it has been marketed as a superhero movie, and I suspect many venturing into the theaters this weekend had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Yes, this is partly the fault of the film-goers; there are plenty of reviews out there that warn of the content. But I know plenty of parents who take their kids to “R” rated films (my dad took my brothers and me to see Rambo: First Blood Part II when we were 13, my younger brother 10 ), and that’s the problem: the R rating does not sufficiently describe the film. There is a definite difference between the R of Rambo, of Gladiator, of Wedding Crashers, and the R of The Watchmen, and the MPAA has done a real disservice to its audiences in pretending otherwise.

If the MPAA is truly interested in rating its films, then it needs be honest in its classifications and its ratings decisions. A good first step it could take is using the NC-17 label more regularly, allowing the label to give people a better idea of what a film contains, and take away the “verboten” stigma the label now holds because of disuse.

At the very least, such a step will allow me to concentrate on the film, rather than the 8 year old sobbing in his mother’s arms.

I’m married to a woman who 1) enjoys musicals and 2) has a thing for Pierce Brosnan.  So when I saw the ads for Mamma Mia my immediate thought was, “Damn you, Hollywood!  Damn you straight to hell!”  Somehow I avoided having to see this in the theater, but then the DVD came out around Christmas and, long story short, I’ve now sat through the musical comedy featuring the music of ABBA.  As a sort of  (what I hope is) therapeutic cleansing, I’m offering up this review, of sorts, which perhaps will give me back the hour and 40 minutes spent listening to bubblegum pop sung and danced to by James Bond and the White Witch from Chronicles of Narnia [ed.: that wasn't Meryl Streep].  OK, then Cruella De Vil [ed.: that was Glenn Close]. Really? [ed.: yep].

01:13 The singing begins. Sophie’s (Amanda Seyfried) cute, at least.  Letters are sent off to three possible dads as she wants to know who her father is, and there are three suspects.  What,  is her mom some sort of cat?

02:32: All three men (Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, and Stellan Skarsgard) are apparently incredibly wealthy.  How convenient.

4:12: Sophie spills the beans to her friends about her mom’s diary (kept while pregnant with Sophie).  Mom’s…how to put this?…a slut.  Hey, if this movie were centered around a guy who slept with three women during a summer, I’d make the same comment.  Only I’d use the words “lucky bastard.”

5:01:  The first actual song, “Honey Honey” is sung by Seyfried and her friends.   They’re much too excited about the fact that they’re singing about Sophie’s mom’s sexual exploits.

6:50: Meryl Streep shows up, looking like that actress from Bridges of Madison County [ed.: that WAS her, idiot].

7:50: The dilemma is posed: who’s Sophie’s dad?  The invites are part of  a grand plan of Sophie’s to, apparently, get a look at the men and pick Pierce Brosnan for her dad (yeah, like Skarsgard stands a chance).

9:25:  Meryl Streep’s best friends show up for the wedding:

Looks like a good time to go get some snacks. I thought Walter’s character was Streep’s mom, but I was wrong.

10:25: The fiance (Dominic Cooper) shows up.  No singing as he’s about to get married.

12:13: Apparently, it’s a rule that girlfriends who have not seen each other in a while must scream excitedly in octaves normally reserved for dog whistles.  And, yes, Streep and her friends were apparently in a 70s singing group.  Oh, joy.

14:30: Back to the suspected dads – they discuss how they know Donna (Streep), but the fact that each biblically knew her isn’t raised.

16:45: A legend about a fountain beneath the hotel/spa that Streep’s character (Donna) owns  is mentioned (Aphrodite’s fountain).  I bet that’s important.

17:30: “Money, Money” – Meryl Streep’s first song. First bathroom break.

20:46: Sex talk from Streep, Walters, and Baranski, God help me. Meanwhile, Sophie takes the dads to a room and tells them their presence is a surprise for her mom, and to keep it  a secret.  This secret lasts, oh, about 1 minute.

26:21:  Streep sees her three former beaus and the title song is sung.  She’s apparently still carrying a torch, but for which one?  The suspense is killing me.  Oh, wait, that’s not suspense, that’s ABBA.

31:00: The virile young black bartender has the hots for Baranski’s character.  Sure he does. Give that man an Oscar!

32:30: Third song. Streep, Baranski and Walters.  Shortly thereafter, Streep admits she’s a slut, and that she’s going to hell for it.  Okay, maybe not that last part.

36:52:  In an attempt to wrest control of the song from cross-dressing contests, “Dancing Queen” is interpreted here as a celebration of womanhood.  I don’t know, I think it works better as an ode to drag. And, hell, they even trotted out Milton Berle as a back-up singer!  Waitaminute, oops, no, that’s Julie Walters.

41:10:  In what could have been a pretty creepy scene, Sophie hangs out with her three dads on Skarsgard’s boat as they sing about banging her mom (the song’s “Our Last Summer” for those of you keeping score).  Skarsgard’s singing is about like you’d expect.

45:00: Sophie’s fiance sees her dive from the boat and confronts her about spending time with three strange men (one who looks like James Bond) for the past two hours, culminating in his calling off the wedding.  At least that’s what should have happened.

45:38: Ah, I thought the cigar Sky (yep, that’s the fiance’s name) was holding was a phallic symbol, but instead it’s just there to make the song’s lyrics make sense (“Lay All Your Love on Me”).

47:18: In a twist worthy of Top Gun, dancing men in speedos come out of the water and “rescue” Sky from his woman.

48:10: Streep and her friends relive their glory years singing for her daughter’s bachelorette party (“Super Trouper” – no, it has nothing to do with stoned highway patrolmen).

50:00: If I read the back of the DVD right, I’ve got another hour to go.  Time for a beer.

50: 50:  The dads arrive at the bachelorette party.

51: 40: “Give me a Man After Midnight” starts up – hey, this scene has possibilities.  The somewhat scantily-clad girls take Firth and Skarsgard and start dancing with them, pulling at their clothes.

51:55: Nevermind, cut to Streep and her friends ranting. Brosnan shows up.

54:15: Colin Firth, for some reason, wants to escape being pawed at by the young women.  Skarsgard is living it up, though.

55:20: Skarsgard manages to figure the secret out first.  He runs like hell.

56:00: Sophie catches him and coerces him to walk her down the aisle.

Those past two comments might not be entirely accurate.

56:50:  Sky and his band of gay friends have apparently left their party and come to crash the girls’ party.  Dancing ensues (“Voulez Vous”).

58:18: Brosnan tells Sophie he’s her dad and tells her he’ll give her away.

58:50: Now Firth believes he’s her dad, too, and wants to give her away.  There hasn’t been so many men trying to give away something that doesn’t quite belong to them since 1947.

1:02:29: In a questionable career move, Skarsgard shows his bare ass.

1:06:12: Brosnan confronts Streep about their past and what they lost.  For some reason, Brosnan is trying to sing with an Italian accent  (“S.O.S”).

1:08:50: Young black bartender continues to chase Baranski, and she mocks him in song (“Does Your Mother”). The “mistake last night” referred to was apparently the singing and dancing number at the bachelorette party.

1:15:30: “Slipping Through My Fingers” could actually be a bit of a tear-jerker if you have a daughter.  If you don’t, then fuck you, it’s just allergies.

1:21:25:  Meryl Streep singing yet another song about how she and Brosnan can’t get the time back…maybe. I’m not quite sure how “Winner Takes it All” fits in, but it seems like the big emotionally climactic moment.  I know this because waves are crashing and Streep’s running around waving her arms dramatically.

1:25: 43: The wedding is finally here.  End in sight.

1:29:20: The wedding is interrupted as everyone tries to figure out who Sophie’s dad is; Colin Firth attempts to take himself out of the running by announcing he is gay.  Firth, you’re one brilliant bastard.

1:29:58:  Because Mamma Mia‘s a comedy, they can’t end with a young couple marrying.  So Brosnan takes one for the team and proposes to Streep (“I Do, I Do, I Do”).

1:32:05:  In a shameless plug for Viagra, Brosnan sings a song exclaiming that he and Streep are not too old for sex (“When All is Said and Done”).

1:34:45: Skarsgard is serenaded by Walters (“Take a Chance on Me”) because otherwise both have been forgotten by this point. Firth, desperate not to have to pay for Sophie’s wedding, keeps up the gay act.

1:37:08:  The fountain of Aphrodite erupts, showering all the wedding guests – a sexual metaphor if I ever saw one (and I knew that early, seemingly pointless reference had some significance); dancing ensues.

The credits roll as the cast dress up in funky outfits and sing “Dancing Queen”, seemingly recognizing the futility in not associating that song with drag.  And as the movie’s over, this review is done, and I believe I have successfully exorcised my ABBA-induced demons.

Now if I could only take back seeing Stellan Skarsgard’s ass.

“So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by/and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness./We have heard of those princes’ heroic campaigns.” — opening lines of Seamus Heaney’s powerful 2000 verse translation of
Beowulf.

Outlander makes no secret about its desire to be a fantastical re-imagining of the Beowulf story and its “heroic campaigns” we are taught in high school, where the hero defeats the monstrous Grendel and a host of other horrors before dying nobly in battle against a dragon (sorry for any spoilers – you should have read the poem). Set in late eighth century Norway, the titular Outlander is not the Geat Beowulf come to save the Danes from Grendel, but instead Kainan, a very human-looking alien (played by John Caviezel), who crash lands on Earth, and in doing so sets free a monster (the “Moorwen”) which seemingly takes the place of all the beasts referenced in the original poem. Kainan first must convince the Norsemen he is not a threat, and then leads them against the monster, with predictable results.

And that’s the real issue with this film: there’s nothing here that we haven’t already seen, and not just in that long poem. Outlander cribs a bit from Alien here, a bit from Predator there, and then throws in a smidge of Braveheart for good measure. Moving beneath all of this is a not-so-effective sub-plot that seems to want us to feel some, if not sympathy for the Moorwen, than some recognition that it, too, has been wronged, but John Gardner’s Grendel did that, too. The battles between the Norsemen and the Moorwen are appropriately violent, though I rarely felt a sense of horror, which is a fatal flaw for such a film. Together the movie moves stiltedly toward its conclusion, as if it were walking on legs not its own (which, of course, it is).

Beowulf has been re-imagined a number of times, most notably in Antonio Banderas’ underrated The 13th Warrior, which retells the legend through an Arab’s eyes. Outlander is not quite so rousing as Warrior, which was both adventurous and fun, nor are its characters as memorable. Caviezel’s Kainan is distant in his relations with the Norsemen (perhaps justifiably so – he IS an alien), but this also precludes the audience from forming some attachment to him. The Norwegians are a conglomeration of long-haired noble (and not-so-noble) ruffians, with little to humanize them and make us care about them before they’re in turn eaten up by the monster.

What we’re left with, then, is another in a long string of effects-driven monster films, whose chief problem is that it depends too much on what has come before. And, as Beowulf suggests, living off past deeds is no way to make a name for oneself.

Currently trying to save enough money to color it in.

Ah, the joys of being able to knock out two posts via one DVD release.

Marvel has released a two-fer for fans of the Hulk: Hulk Vs. This time around it is Hulk vs. Wolverine, a throwback to the first appearance of the short berserker mutant. But the conflict between the Hulk and Wolvie is more or less a tease here: this is all about the origin of Wolverine and the Weapon X project.

Like the Thor portion of the DVD, HvW is chock full of cameos: Sabretooth, Omega Red, and Lady Deathstrike, among others. But the best lines are (deservedly) saved for Deadpool:

The Merc with a Mouth

“Hey, good buddy. It’s Deadpool. I shot you!”

“What? Babies creep me out. Rock-a-bye BANG!”

“Omega Red’s a bed-wetter . . . he’s very ashamed.”

Brilliant (and many, many others). Now we just need the full-length Deadpool movie.*

Once again, the animation and vocal talent are top notch. One thing I did not expect was the level of violence. Good for Marvel: if you’re going to put a bunch of ruthless dudes who use blades, claws, and fully automatic weapons in the same room who really don’t like each other, blood is going to be spilled. Props to them for not pulling any punches.

*Stick around past the credits.

Liam Neeson in Taken

Do you remember the old Harrison Ford movie Frantic? The one where his wife gets kidnapped in France and he spends the entire movie trying to find her while whining incessantly about getting her back?

Taken kicks Frantic‘s ass up and down.

Liam Neeson is Bryan Mills, a retired black-ops spy who spends his days hanging around his old crew while picking up the occasional high-profile security job to keep himself occupied. His past has left him seeing the world as a very dangerous place, an attitude that has driven his ex-wife (Famke Janssen) into the arms of another (rich) man, taking with her the daughter (Kim, portrayed by Maggie Grace) he dotes on. But when his daughter begs to be allowed to take a trip to France with a friend, without parental supervision, against his better judgment he relents.

Kim is about to get . . . grabbed.

As you have no doubt seen in the trailer, things take a dark turn for Kim when she is kidnapped from her villa. This leads to Neeson’s over-the-phone plea and threat to her kidnappers: let her go, all is forgiven; refuse, and he’ll kill them all.

Obviously, the captors choose poorly.

What follows is a one-man wrecking machine taking out everyone who had any involvement in his daughter’s abduction, desperately trying to find her before she is lost. As he tears his way through the hierarchy of the underground sex-slave trade, the film plays as an hour-long chase scene. His methods are not for the faint of heart: suffice to say that Mills would disagree with the now-popular belief that torture is not an effective means of interrogation.

This movie makes no pretense of being anything but pure escapism, although the presence of Liam Neeson lends it a significant measure of respectability. But it’s a hell of a fun ride.

An actual scene from the movie.

Thor vs. Hulk is the latest animated offering from Marvel Comics (coupled with the simultaneous release Hulk vs. Wolverine). Unlike the previous “Ultimate Avengers” DVDs, Thor vs. Hulk focuses on the old-school Thor: red cape, winged helmet, and Mjolnir, his mystical uru hammer.

Full disclosure: I’m a Thor fan-boy. I wear a Mjolnir pendant on a necklace and my office is decorated with Marvel Legends Thor action figures. So while I’ve been looking forward to this movie since it was announced in mid-2008, my expectations were tempered by my typical pessimism that it could turn out to be a disappointment.

My pessimism was unfounded. Marvel has really come through in creating an epic Asgardian tale, wearing the influence of Walt Simonson proudly. Simonson is the writer of Thor’s most significant storyline in the 80′s, and many of the characters he defined make welcome cameos: Skurge, Malekith the Accursed, Surtur, and Balder, among others. The story opens in Asgard, in the midst of the Odin-sleep, when Asgard’s enemies launch their attacks while the kingdom is at its most vulnerable. Enter Loki, who is not content to merely repeat the same old cycle of events: he has kidnapped Bruce Banner and with the aid of Amora the Enchantress, plans to usurp the power of the Hulk to finally rule Asgard.

The production of the video is top-notch, from the artwork to the voice talent to the direction of the battles. One would expect the battles between the Hulk and the God of Thunder to be epic, but even I was impressed by the sheer power and brutality of the blows given and received as the two rage through the streets of Asgard. Thor Vs. Hulk is a return to form for Marvel’s animated series, particularly after the disappointment of Next Avengers, and should be an essential addition to any Marvel fan’s collection.