¡Qué horror! 2013 Candidate #14

¡Qué horror! 2013

Candidate #14

HANNIBAL

(April 2013)

For the record, I love Bryan Fuller’s TV work (though the Mockingbird Lane pilot did leave me wanting), and the show of his I really, truly, and completely loved was Wonderfalls.

So the fact that Caroline Dhavernas is part of the cast of Fuller’s adaptation of Hannibal is all sorts of awesome.

Of course, that’s not the reason why I’ve singled out Hannibal--another TV series (after Les Revenants)--for a ¡Qué horror! candidate slot this year; Dhavernas is many things, but a “horror” she most certainly is not.

Hannibal is here because this is a solid adaptation of Thomas Harris’ serial killer novels featuring Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter.

Ostensibly, Red Dragon is the main source material for the show, a novel which has already been adapted to film twice, in 1986 by Michael Mann under the title Manhunter, and in 2002, by Brett Ratner.

According to Fuller’s roadmap of the show though, Hannibal Season 4 would be the adaptation proper of Red Dragon, while, if the stars align, we may actually see a television adaptation of The Silence of the Lambs,* envisioned as Season 5 of the show, should we get that far.

And if the level of creative quality remains constant (or hopefully, actually increases), then that’s a future I’d very much like to see. 

In Season 1 alone, we’ve got some heavy directorial hitters like David Slade (whose excellent Awake Pilot was one of last season’s TV highlights), Michael Rymer (who solidified his geek cred with his work on Ron Moore’s Battlestar Galactica), and 75-year-old Peter Medak (who scarred many an audience member with the chilling quiet horror of 1980’s The Changeling).

Then there’s Guillermo Navarro, frequent cinematographer for Guillermo del Toro (including the upcoming Pacific Rim), who won a whole slew of awards--including the Oscar--for his work on El Laberinto del Fauno. Navarro had previously worked with Fuller as DP on the Mockingbird Lane pilot, and here, he directs a trio of episodes (as do both Slade and Rymer, taking a lion’s share of the season between the three of them).

Some Twin Peaks episode helmers are also in here: James Foley (who also brought us the big screen adaptation of Glengarry Glen Ross) and Tim Hunter (no, not the Books of Magic kid).

All that livewire creativity and talent behind the camera, and we haven’t even gotten to the excellent cast.

The cold, clinical detachment Mads Mikkelsen brings to his Hannibal is a fine offset to the twitchy, tortured nature of Hugh Dancy’s Will Graham. And, you know, Mikkelsen had to walk in the intimidating footsteps of both Brian Cox and Sir Anthony Hopkins.

Plus, there are those guest star turns:

Gillian Anderson, who enters at the midpoint of the season, under the beautifully unlikely name of Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier;

Fellow Chris Carter alumnus, Lance Henriksen;

And other past Fuller collaborators: Raúl Esparza, Eddie Izzard, Ellen Greene, and Ellen Muth (but that was a pretty evil way to wrap up her guest starring stint, Mr. Fuller, an evil way…).

So with both Dhavernas and Muth having made their appearances, all we need are either Lee Pace or Anna Friel (or both) to enter Hannibal’s world, and we’ll complete the Past Fuller Leads Trifecta.

Hurrah!

In a world where TV procedurals have reached well beyond saturation point, one of the things that saves Hannibal from the potential pitfall of becoming just another one of those “serial killer of the week” shows is the serialized nature of its narrative.

Coming into the show with a general idea of the overarching narrative (from the Harris novels and the previous film adaptations of the material), the audience is hooked. They want to see how the cards fall, they can’t wait for the other shoe to drop, for Graham and company to discover exactly what kind of a monster Lecter really is.

It’s the same approach to story that was successfully utilized in Smallville (at least, for the first few seasons), and more recently, in Bates Motel.
We all know Clark Kent eventually becomes Superman, we all know Norman Bates eventually kills his mother and a whole string of unfortunate motel guests, we all know Hannibal Lecter eventually ends up in the loonybin where he gets to play cat and mouse with Clarice Starling.
Part of the fun lies in watching how we get there.

And thus far, this is some morbid, gruesome “fun.” (Network television is getting away with a lot these days…)

If I could ask for something though, I’d ask for a bit more psychopathology; the show doesn’t really bother to explain the whys of their killers. We meet them fully (mal)formed, without any significant idea of how these sick puppies got so ill, without knowing the twisted road they walked to get here.

It’s almost as if Fuller and company are saying, serial killers really are inexplicable.

It’s almost like they’re saying, there is no “Why.” Serial killers simply are.

And that’s a truly horrifying thought…

* A possibility that both intrigues me (because there were some bits of the novel that were dropped in Jonathan Demme’s adaptation; among them, Jack Crawford’s turmoil, the seeds of which, have already been planted by Fuller and company in Season 1) and terrifies me (because The Silence of the Lambs is one of those brilliant lightning in a bottle moments in cinema, where everything seemed to align exquisitely).

Again, for the record, Demme’s Silence is, thus far, the only Harris film adaptation that I’ve been completely floored by. All the others--from Mann’s Manhunter, through until Peter Webber’s Hannibal Rising--haven’t come even close.

Here’s hoping Fuller’s Hannibal can succeed where all those others failed…

(Hannibal OS’ courtesy of impawards.com.)

BEOWULF
(Review)

I once thanked Neil Gaiman for helping keep myth alive in our modern age. Rather humbly (and perhaps feeling I was overblowing the sentiment), Mr. Gaiman replied that myth was doing rather well on its own without his help.
Well, regardless of whether Mr. Gaiman is keeping myth alive or simply prodding it enough so it might run the treadmill and do some cardio more often in its old age, Beowulf, much like the beastial Grendel, is certainly a curious and interesting hybrid.
It utilizes the modern technology of mo-cap (or motion capture), to retell an ancient tale, so as to give 21st century audiences a tragic saga of how a father’s sins comes back, not just to haunt the son, but entire kingdoms as well. More potently, it’s also a tale about the humanity of heroes and monsters, and how that can, sadly enough, be their ultimate downfall.

I quite liked Beowulf, let’s be clear about that.
It does have its failings though, and perhaps tellingly, its flaws are rooted in the “modern technology” half of its cinematic DNA.
While mo-cap is the closest computer graphics can come to emulate humanity, it’s still a ways off from conveying genuine emotion. CGI characters can have the prettiest, silkiest hair in the world, but when you need them to emote, you may as well be asking a mannequin to deliver Shakespeare.
The simulated facial muscles still aren’t up to snuff to garner any Oscar acting nods. It’s a criminal waste, when even a great vocal delivery can come off like a Tara Reid performance when the construct on screen zombies its way through the role.
And their eyes…
Admittedly, the dead eye was far creepier in Robert Zemeckis’ earlier mo-cap effort, The Polar Express, but it’s still noticeable here in Beowulf.

In fact, the only performance that manages to punch its way through the pixels is Brendan Gleeson’s Wiglaf. His stubborn refusal to acknowledge anything that might tarnish the idea of Beowulf the Hero is just heart-breaking.
And while Sir Anthony Hopkins’ vocal delivery is fine, there‘s just something about the character of Hrothgar on screen that doesn’t quite capture the sad tragedy of the aged and broken king. The role of John Malkovich’s Unferth meanwhile, is kept to a woeful minimum.
Beyond that trio, nearly all the other actors are pretty much sabotaged by the limitations of mo-cap. And I say “nearly all” since, again rather tellingly, Ray Winstone and Angelina Jolie have some of the more questionable vocal deliveries*; Winstone because he sometimes eats his words, occasionally leaving us with a growling mess where he sounds like a WWE superstar, while Jolie’s strange accent (was Grendel’s mother Romanian?) can’t quite mask the fact that it’s Angelina Jolie.
What can I say? So all-pervasive is its power that we can feel the Hollywood Star Syndrome as far back as the 6th century. (And apparently, women’s fashion is just as powerful, as Grendel’s mum seems quite taken with high heels, enough to shapeshift her feet into them…)
Of course, part of that fault also lies in the decision to make Grendel’s mum look exactly like Angelina Jolie.

I mean, when you’ve got the tools to play around with physiognomies—look at Beowulf, ‘cause that body certainly doesn’t belong to Ray Winstone—why keep to the real thing? And why keep to it when there’s the real possibility of a disconnect that endangers the suspension of disbelief? (Even Hrothgar is not immune to the Syndrome, since, damn, but doesn’t he look like Sir Anthony Hopkins?)
Why use this technology if you aren’t really going to fully play around with it? Why not just do it live-action, that way, you get the full benefit of the actors’ performances. Or, there’s always the Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow/300 greenscreen gambit.
It’s kind of frustrating when all Zemeckis seems content to use the presumably liberating freedom of mo-cap for is to do some fancy “camera” work, something he was already toying around with as far back as Contact. (Sure, the sea monster battle was a doozy, but there were a hell of a lot more “ooh, let’s follow this rat, which gets pinched by a bird, then soar dizzyingly through the air, till we reach the poor monster with the acute hearing so far, far away” sort of shots.)

But to be fair to Zemeckis, like I said, I quite liked Beowulf.
Some sequences just work. Like Grendel’s first attack on the mead hall, strobelit courtesy of some mystic fire. That stretch successfully conveys the danger and savagery of a mythic time of monsters, when there was clearly much to fear beyond the light of the roaring camp fire. (On that note though, Grendel might have done well if he’d just opened a club somewhere. Hire a killer DJ, and the gold would’ve come rolling in.)
The battle between Beowulf and Grendel also kicked some bare a$$. Not only was it a commendable sequence, but the synthetic Beowulf also gave Viggo Mortensen some competition for Best Buck Nekked Fight for the Year 2007. (I fought valiantly to stop myself from using the word “stiff” in that sentence. Sorry.)

See? I’m being snarky. If Beowulf had done its job properly, the snark would be kept to a minimum.
Still, and this stands to be repeated: I quite liked Beowulf.
Once we hit the point where the shared deception of Beowulf and Hrothgar is acknowledged, and the subsequent madness comes to pass, I for one, stepped fully into the story. And the reason for that, I think, is two-fold.
One: at that point, the narrative enters fascinating territory.
And two: enough running time had passed that I’d acclimated myself to the limitations of current mo-cap tech, so I could adjust my expectations accordingly.

In the end though, I’m quite happy that after Stardust, there’s another film Mr. Gaiman worked on that I can say I enjoyed. (For Mirrormask lovers, see my Stardust review in the Archive.)
Mo-cap may not have been entirely successful in breathing proper life into the legend, but in this 21st century of ours, it’s allowed a creaky old myth to flex its pixellated muscles just enough to make it look viable—and gosh darn it, pretty cool!—to scores of PS3- and Xbox-attuned eyes.

* Actually, even Crispin Glover’s vocal delivery of Grendel is troublesome as his words are so garbled sometimes as to be nearly unintelligible. I’ll be so thankful for the subtitles when the DVD is unleashed upon the land…
On the plus side, good on Winstone! I mean, from voicing Narnia’s Mr. Beaver to Beowulf…
Talk about a step up.

Parting shot: Though I didn’t mention him at all in the review, Roger Avary co-wrote Beowulf’s script with Neil Gaiman. My apologies.
Unless you had anything to do with Grendel’s mum’s high heels, in which case, you should probably be grateful, as I’d rather not be mentioned at all, than be mentioned in relation to a bit of anachronistic women’s fashion.
To quote Bryan Fuller in an all-together different context: Let the snark reign!

(Beowulf OS courtesy of impawards.com; images courtesy of shocktillyoudrop.com.)

BOBBY (Review)

Spending detention in a library with Molly Ringwald and stalking Andie MacDowell. Oh, and starring in what is largely considered the worst Stephen King-related film of all.
Certainly a far cry from that to writing and directing an ambitious film like Bobby. But somehow, Emilio Estevez has managed to bridge that considerable distance.

"Few will have the greatness to bend history; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation ... It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is thus shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance."

It’s the 4th of June, 1968, and in the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles (where the Campaign Headquarters of Senator Robert F. Kennedy is located), a host of individuals converge on the fateful day that the course of a nation, and perhaps even the world, was dictated by an assassin’s bullet.
In a country wracked by social turmoil and civil unrest, Robert F. Kennedy was a beacon of hope, a grand statesman and popular humanist, who was largely considered the best and brightest hope to unite America, and to save it from an unpopular war.
Estevez uses the events of that final day as a pivot point around which to weave a tapestry of disparate lives united not just by the sharing of this tragedy, but by the simple fact of their common humanity.

And portraying this section of humanity is an assemblage of some of film’s most talented thespians, from the older generation—Sir Anthony Hopkins (also one of Bobby’s producers) and Martin Sheen (ain’t nepotism grand?)—to the younger set—Elijah Wood and Shia LaBeouf (who is set to explode in Michael Bay’s Transformers)—and spiced up with some Demi Moore (fellow Brat Packer, to whom he was once engaged, back in the day).
The ensemble meets expectations admirably, infusing their characters with honesty and humanity, a joint effort which earned Bobby a nomination for Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture at this year’s Screen Actors Guild Awards.
Arguably though, the weak link here could very well be Mr. Demi Moore, Ashton Kutcher. His drug dealer, Fisher, doesn’t really seem anything more than Kutcher in hippie drag. But part of that problem could be traced to Estevez’s script.

In presenting us with 23 characters, Estevez could very well have stretched the Grand Hotel template a tad thin in certain places, leading one to question the relative importance of certain plot threads and characters to the film’s theme of hope in the face of turmoil. Aside from Kutcher’s drug dealer (whose presence also precipitates the bizarre acid trip Kennedy volunteers LaBeouf and Brian Geraghty go on), Sheen and Helen Hunt’s socialite couple are also problematic, as is Moore (unless doing a cover of “Louie Louie” is a valid enough excuse to have her in the movie), and even Hopkins, to a certain extent. And please, keep in mind that I’m not questioning the performances, but rather, whether we could have done without some of these characters.

With this many characters and this much going on, it’s unavoidable that some plot threads will be more important and more integral than others. Some, like the young husband- and bride-to-be (Wood and Lindsay Lohan) and several of the hotel employees (particularly Freddy Rodriguez’s busboy and Laurence Fishburne’s chef) serve to give voice to particular issues of the time, or to underscore some of the values and beliefs that Kennedy stood for, and these are the ones that clearly belong in this movie. Others though (some of which I’ve mentioned above) are on shaky ground.
If Estevez had shaved off some of the characters, then there might have been more screen time that he could have devoted to bolster some of the roles that seem iffy; Kutcher serves to typify both the drug and the hippie cultures, so the presence of his character could be justified, but as it is, he’s more a plot device to get LaBeouf and Geraghty high than a flesh and blood character.
Hopkins’ retired doorman also could have used some beefing up. This sort of character, who is acutely aware of the history of the story’s setting, could have been a far more valuable asset to the narrative than he turns out to be.

If there is a weakness to Estevez’s script, I feel it is this, and not, as some people may point out, its historical accuracy.
Yes, the bystanders wounded in the assassination in Bobby are fictional and not the actual victims. And yes, there is also no suggestion of any conspiracy pertaining to the assassination.
But this is not JFK. This is not that sort of film.
This is, instead, a film about the everyday kindnesses (the “… numberless diverse acts of courage and belief”) and the casual cruelties that make up the history of our lives as a race and as a people. It is about hope, about its resiliency and fragility.

Is there more to the story of Robert F. Kennedy? Of course, although I feel it would be more accurate to say there are other stories to tell of Robert F. Kennedy.
Estevez chose to tell one about everyday people and how a figure like Kennedy—already mythic, even in life—could impact and influence their lives, and that is just as valid as a story about destroyed evidence and mystery gunmen.
Estevez chose this tale, and for the most part, succeeded in the telling. Surely that is something worth celebrating.

"There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why... I dream of things that never were and ask why not."

(Quotes in italics from speeches by Robert F. Kennedy.)