Man of Steel Podcast

MAN OF STEEL Podcast

I may not have reviewed Zack Snyder's Man of Steel here at the Iguana, but for those of you who are curious as to my reactions to it, I'd direct you to The Comics Cube, where the mighty fine Duy Tano has posted a podcast in which Duy, Budjette Tan, and myself discuss the film and other related matters.

Click here for that.

 

(Man of Steel OS courtesy of impawards.com.)

 

WATCHMEN
[Theatrical Cut]
(Review)

Now, so this review will have some larger historical context…

I first read Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ deconstructionist masterpiece Watchmen a little over a year after its initial chapter was released in the fall of 1986. I read all 12 issues in pamphlet form in one go (as opposed to my usual “reading issues as they’re released, with that sweet, sweet one-month gap between installments”).
To say that the manner in which I regarded superheroes and comic books was forever radically altered by that mind-blowing first encounter would be a ridiculous understatement.
As Adam Rogers put it in his Wired article, “Filming the Unfilmable: Behind the Scenes of the Watchmen Movie”: After a lifelong diet of stories about garishly clad people with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men, reading Watchmen changed the way I thought about comics. It was like a bar mitzvah—all my childhood stories acquired new significance and texture. It has been 20 years, and I've never read comics the same way since. None of us have.
So say we all.


Now, even as early as the initial stirrings of the protracted flirtation Hollywood has had with the piece, I’ve always had a bizarre mixture of apprehension and excitement at the prospect of seeing Watchmen in a live-action setting.
As with much of Moore’s comic work, Watchmen always seemed too complex and intricate and sprawling to be comfortably contained on the big screen, but when names like Terry Gilliam and Darren Aronofsky would be mentioned in the same breath as Watchmen, well, the film geek in me would invariably squeal like a little Twilight-addled tween and try to distract the comic geek in me with promises of silver screen glory.
And just when it looked like Watchmen would continue to be “that notoriously unfilmable comic book,” in swoops Zack Snyder, who took David Hayter’s* reportedly 324-page draft (which updated the original 1980’s setting to the present-day) and, with the help of Alex Tse, did some major reconstruction, reinstating the Cold War backdrop, among other things, to give us the movie we have today.


So, after having blissfully lived in the shadow of Manhattan for some two decades, I’ve just seen the 2 hour 43 minute theatrical cut of Snyder’s Squidless adaptation, and the question of the moment is, So is it Watchmen, or has Hollywood skewered another perfectly fine comic book?
Well… it is Watchmen, and it isn’t.
I mean, we all knew the film wouldn’t be the comic, that it was virtually impossible to replicate that singular piece of art in an entirely different medium. Clearly, Watchmen was written as a comic book, it was meant specifically for that medium (as opposed to any number of more recent comic books which feel more like illustrated pitches meant for Hollywood bigwigs than anything else).
Perhaps the most ideal outcome would have been one of those cases where the movie isn’t the original work (whether comic or novel), but is equally stirring and effective, like a Silence of the Lambs or a Lord of the Rings trilogy.
And is that the case here?
Sadly, I’d have to say “No.”


But don’t get me wrong.
I love what Snyder’s done with the piece.
Do I love love it? Maybe not. But I do love it, and even if this isn’t the most ideal outcome, given its long development history (and its more recent legal entanglements), this is quite possibly the best Watchmen film adaptation we could have gotten.
And though that may sound like faint praise, I repeat: I love what Snyder’s done with the piece.


That initial sequence—which doesn’t exist in that form in the comic—and the opening credits, which effectively—and rather poignantly—compress key points in Watchmen’s alternate history (orchestrated to Nat “King” Cole and Bob Dylan, respectively), are just a couple of the bits that work in Snyder’s adaptation.**
Impressions of Snyder and his scriptwriters, taken from the original work and filtered through the elements of cinematic language, both general (the moving image, sound, music) and particular (much of the slow mo and ramping flourishes deployed in 300 are in attendance here), give rise to fresh and stimulating visions.
It’s when Snyder tries to cleave too closely to Watchmen, particularly Moore’s brilliant prose, that things get a tad sticky.


You would think though, given the truly astounding prose Moore employed in Watchmen, that the key to not screwing it up would be to take the words, not change a line, hell, not a punctuation mark, and you’d be good to go.
But part of the beauty of comics (as with film, in fact) is the interplay of word and image, and in shuffling around some of the prose, some sequences in the film don’t work quite as well as they do on the printed page; some of Rorschach’s journal bits suffer from this fate, having their visual context changed.
Certain key sequences also pale in comparison to their progenitors: Dr. Manhattan’s Mars reverie (an astonishing example of non-linear storytelling, and one of the comic’s stand-out issues), for one, is here reduced to a fraction of its former self, a pale, nearly listless spectre of the original, which was not only a crackling bit of narrative, but also filled in Manhattan’s pre-superpowered existence, and effectively painted his current experience of the temporal: that past, present, and future are all one, that this god-like being knows only a singular—yet all-encompassing—frame of reference: the Moment, where everything that has happened, is happening, and will happen, is Taking Place Right Now.
I really don’t think that comes across in the film, which then, of course, mutes by just that much, the overall effect the character of Dr. Manhattan should have on the audience.


The intercut sequence of Manhattan’s disastrous television interview and Dan and Laurie’s back-alley fight is also problematic, with the word-image interplay of the original skewed to accommodate the now-altered Manhattan section.
What we’re left with is a sequence that now seems to be intercut only because that’s the way it was done in the original, when, given the interests of the adaptation’s narrative rhythm, they may very well have been completely divorced, to arguably better effect.
But perhaps I’m bordering on nitpickery.
A more significant element of the film’s narrative that has me perplexed is the subplot used to replace the previously mentioned Squid.


Now, for the record, I love the Squid, but I also understand the nature of adaptation, and the need to change some narrative elements to better suit the medium into which the work is being translated (note the manner in which the look of the superhero costumes have been informed by the nearly two decades worth of evolution since Tim Burton’s Batman changed the rules of the cinematic spandex game).
Yes, I miss the Squid, but it’s what they’ve replaced it with that I’m not so certain about, the effectiveness of this new plot element in relation to the whole.
Actually, it may just be down to a few more moments at the tail end of the film’s third act, some lines here, some character bits there, just to properly flesh out the ramifications of said new plot element, which has some undeniable post-9/11 echoes.
(For those of you who haven’t read Watchmen, that previous passage will, in all likelihood, be meaningless, but frequent Iguana visitors will know I do my best to review films without spoilage. For those of you who’ve read Watchmen, you’ll know to what I refer.)
And I don’t think it’s as cut and dried as “It worked better in the comic.”
I mean, yeah, it—“it” being the Squid and all its narrative paraphernalia—probably does work better there, but this tack Snyder chose might have worked too, if there was a little more finesse used in the handling of it.


Which is, again, not to say that Snyder’s theatrical cut of Watchmen is without merit.
The cast of the film alone is commendable, in that none are household/tabloid names (and for someone who shuddered during that period of time when names like Tom Cruise and Keanu Reeves were floated as serious contenders, believe you me, even with a few quibbles, I’m ecstatic with this line-up) who largely deliver the goods.***
I could point out Patrick Wilson (the first actor to be cast for the film, and who packed on the pounds for the role), or Matthew Goode (who’s gone from Match Point to The Lookout to this; wow!), or of course, Jackie Earle Haley (who has to act through the squidgy sock over his head, people), but that would take away from the likes of Billy Crudup (did we really see this as a possibility when he did his “I am a golden god!” bit in Almost Famous? I think not!) or Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who’s given the unenviable task of essaying the most unsympathetic lout of the costumed lot.
Nearly to a man (and woman), this cast fittingly embodies Moore and Gibbons’ cast of fractured heroes, and if they may seem perhaps “not exactly right,” I’d venture to say one should look elsewhere for the culprit.


It’s a paradox that for a medium that requires as active a participation as reading does, one has the luxury to linger, on a choice word or turn of phrase, or in the case of comic books, on particular details in the meticulously drawn panels as well, while in the passive medium of film, we are made to rush through the constantly moving stream of images without pause.
In film, we are only allowed to linger as much as the director (and his running time) allow us to. (Moore has also said something to this effect in the past.)
So, if Dan’s feeling of helplessness and impotence without his suit seems more potent in the comic, it’s not because Wilson—who so gets Dan Dreiberg—doesn’t capture the moment, I think, but rather that, in reading the comic, we’re allowed to linger, to savour that pain and taste of its ash, while in the film, it stays on the screen just long enough to register, but then is quickly pushed back, as another sequence comes on to keep up the movie’s narrative momentum so the audience doesn’t begin to squirm in their seats.
But that’s the nature of the beast.


Which brings me to this point: I may love Snyder’s Watchmen, but having seen what a 2 hour 43 minute running time does to the material, I think the only way to get closer to that ideal outcome I mentioned above, is to do Watchmen as one season of an HBO or Showtime series: 12 hour-long episodes.
An hour devoted to each issue. Even then, the material may still prove to be too complex, but that much more time affords the work a better chance to survive the process of adaptation, not so much intact, as true, to itself, and its original intent.


When all is said and done though, Snyder and company have done themselves proud. They’ve clearly brought Watchmen to the screen with a great amount of love and passion for the original comic, and as a humble fan of the work (and a massive live-action superhero nut), the best I can do is to thank them, one and all, and then to tell you, Go forth and, ahem, watch Watchmen, whether you have, or haven’t read the comic. (I am, actually, rather curious to hear what someone who’s never read the comic has to say about the film.)
And then, after you’ve watched the film, and if you haven’t read the comic, please do, because the film isn’t Watchmen, not really. The comic is. Borrow it from a comic geek friend, if you must, and read it.
Then see how it changes the way you look at superheroes and comic books… and quite possibly, comic book films as well…


* Hayter’s a minor personal god of mine. He may not be on my list of Best Screenwriters Out There, but he’s been Guyver, Solid Snake, and Captain America. In some circles, that’s way too much geek cred…

** There are also some other great musical moments in the film (the Comedian’s funeral, and Dan and Laurie’s first dinner, to name a couple), and great accompaniment to the end titles, courtesy of My Chemical Romance and the one and only Leonard Cohen.

*** Jude Law, I would have taken, gladly, as I would Kate Winslet, even if that had only been someone’s bit of wishful thinking so the Little Children reunion could be complete.


Parting shot: I’ve repeatedly stressed throughout this review that these are my thoughts on the film’s theatrical cut.
There will be two more subsequent cuts, both to be released on DVD, a 3 hour 10 minute cut (the version that Kevin Smith raved about, if I’m correct, and the version that Snyder had to trim down to reach the 2 hour plus cut the studio wanted for the theatres), and a 3 hour 25 minute cut, which integrates the animated Tales of the Black Freighter bits into the film itself.
The Tales of the Black Freighter (a vital thematic component in the comic’s narrative) is also being released separately as a DVD tie-in, which will also include the documentary based on Hollis Mason’s autobiography Under the Hood.
Also to be released on DVD is Watchmen: The Complete Motion Comic, which is, I believe, basically the original comic, but with dialogue—done by actor/audiobook narrator Tom Stechschulte—and moving bits.
Now, aside from Under the Hood, it’s that intermediary Watchmen cut that I’m most curious about, how the viewing experience will be changed by those 27 minutes that ended up on the cutting room floor when the theatrical running time was brought into question. (I know a secondary character’s death—an emotional high point in the comic—is shown during those minutes, but what other bits are in there, I’ll have to wait and see; hopefully, that intermediary cut will bring us even closer to the ideal outcome.)

(Watchmen OS courtesy of cinematical.com; images courtesy of ew.com, latimes.com, nytimes.com, cinematical.com & io9.com.)

AFTERTHOUGHTS (57)
WATCHING THE WATCHMEN

So Zack Snyder’s film adaptation of the seminal and groundbreaking deconstruction of the superhero comic, Watchmen, has wrapped and it’s all post from here on out till its release next year.
For anyone who’s looking forward to this with relish, five pics of some of the Watchmen in full costume are up at the official website.
Alternately, you can just click on the names below for the embiggened images.

The Comedian (Edward Blake) is being played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who horror geeks may recall as the Sheriff in Dead & Breakfast. Different sections of the TV audience may also know him from Weeds, Grey’s Anatomy, and Supernatural.

Nite Owl (Dan Dreiberg) is being played by Patrick Wilson, who came to widespread attention from the HBO adaptation of Angels in America. He subsequently appeared in the film adaptation of The Phantom of the Opera, but really impressed me with his work in David Slade’s Hard Candy and Todd Field‘s Little Children.

Ozymandias (Adrian Veidt) is being played by Matthew Goode, who I first saw in Woody Allen’s Match Point, and who was fantastic in Scott Frank‘s The Lookout.

Rorschach (Walter Kovacs) is being played by Jackie Earle Haley, reunited with his Little Children co-star, Patrick Wilson. (If you haven’t seen Little Children, I highly recommend it.)

And Silk Spectre (Laurie Juspeczyk) is being played by Malin Akerman, who played Tori on Entourage, and co-starred opposite Ben Stiller in The Heartbreak Kid.

Parting shot: A review of Zack Snyder’s 300 can be found in the Archive, along with the article “Revelations (Getting At The Truths of Apocalypse Cinema),” which discusses Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead remake.

(Images courtesy of rss.warnerbros.com/watchmen.)

AFTERTHOUGHTS (27)

27.1 Pretty pictures galore!
First up, quite literally a few minutes before I checked email (to find that Budjette had sent me the same image), I saw the new Joker up on AICN.
So this is just one of the many reasons why movies constantly engage and surprise me.
Who would have thought that someone who I first saw in one of those pretty boy-with-an-edge roles (in Gil Junger's 10 Things I Hate About You) would later evolve into an Oscar contender (for Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain). Said someone would then go from gay cowboy to Clown Prince of Crime.
Who’d a thunk?

27.2 Also up on AICN, this Kingdom of the Crystal Skull snap. (It’s one of three, so get on over there, if you want to see the rest.)

27.3 And from the official Watchmen website, a couple of stills that look as if this was the neighborhood Dave Gibbons drew his panels from, instead of the other-way-around reality: a custom backlot in Vancouver, BC, built with, as Zack Snyder puts it, “the vernacular of Watchmen.” (These are two of four, so get on over there to see the others.)

27.4 Then, before I leave you to it, NBC recently announced Chuck got the early Christmas present of a back nine, bringing it up to a full 22-episode season.
More Bartowski nerdly madness! That’s great news.
Now if only the WGA strike gets resolved in the next few weeks, so this Christmas the studios and networks can display some goodwill to all those who live and die by the pen.

(Images courtesy of Empire and aintitcool.com [Empire Joker cover]; IMDB and aintitcool.com [Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull image]; warnerbros.com [Watchmen images]; and buy-more.net [Chuck image].)

REVELATIONS

(Getting at the Truths of Apocalypse Cinema)

The man coughing violently in a darkened theater, spewing unseen plague into the cool air. A rain of fiery meteors falling from a blood red sky. The ravenous zombie pounding at the bolted door. The finger hovering over the red button.
Just a handful of images from the gallery of apocalypse cinema, the collective term used to encompass films chronicling end of the world scenarios, with civilization in dire jeopardy from threats natural and man-made, extraterrestrial and supernatural, biological and mechanical.

Apocalypse cinema has always been, more often than not, profitable at the box office, as if movie-going audiences yearn to witness the destruction of society from one safe remove, as if we are all, every single one of us, willing—and eager—voyeurs to ruination.
David J. Skal, in his excellent book The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror, observes, "Cataclysmic junctures in history usually stir up strong images in the collective mind..." And cinema is one of the repositories of these images.

From the atomic monster films of the 50's—produced in the wake of the bombs being dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki—where irradiated creatures grew to gargantuan size and went on real estate rampages from the United States to Japan, through the Irwin Allen disaster movies of the 70's, through the peak of zombie cinema (the late 70's to early 80's), all the way up to pre-millennial films like Armageddon and Deep Impact, the threat of our society's destruction has been a staple of cinema for a long time now.
One would think though, that after the calendar hit January 1 2000, that the millennium fever that always strikes at that sort of pivotal transition, would pass, and we'd be free from visions of the screaming populace of ruined cities, at least for a while.
Apparently not so.

It's only 2004, and we've already seen a remake of George Romero's classic Dawn of the Dead, and Roland Emmerich's latest CGI-popcorn offering, The Day After Tomorrow, while last year gave us The Core, Eli Roth's Cabin Fever and the year before that, Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later.
Now, within the confines of apocalypse cinema, I will cop to a preference for the flesh-eating zombies overrun the world scenario (and its variations) as opposed to the global disaster scenario of The Core and The Day After Tomorrow.
While zombies walking the streets is a very visceral, in-your-face threat, the CGI-generated catastrophes of films like Tomorrow seem a bit impersonal to me. (So much so that some movies of this persuasion feel compelled to pile sequence after sequence of "characterization" on our laps, till we're all but gnashing our teeth in aggravated boredom, waiting for the final ten minutes of eye-popping CGI devastation. See: Deep Impact.)
Additionally, in movies like this, you seem to have to be a brainy scientist to stand a chance of survival. (Either that, or be Bruce Willis.) If you're a regular schmoe who doesn't know anything about meterology or geology or some other -ology, you may as well just lie down and wait for the tsunami/asteroid/red hot magma to put you out of your misery.
I prefer films that give sedentary writer guys like me a fair shake.
Thus, my three films of choice for this article: Cabin Fever, 28 Days Later, and this year's remake of Dawn of the Dead.


“You look a little peaked…”

Though the effects of the flesh-eating virus in Cabin Fever are, for the length of the film, confined to a contained area (a remote cabin and the surrounding woods), it’s the first title on our list since it captures societal breakdown on a microcosmic level, as the bonds that hold a group of friends together decay and fester, much like their infected flesh does.

Directed by David Lynch protégé Eli Roth, Cabin Fever is a low-budget surprise, by turns funny and disturbing. It is also an interesting variation on the zombie film, where the infected should, by all rights, become objects of compassion and sympathy, but instead, become objects of revulsion, pariahs to their friends and lovers.
Part The Evil Dead, part Outbreak, part 28 Days Later, Cabin Fever deals out the proceedings with dollops of very black humor, and very visceral, unnerving shots of tainted blood spraying and gouting every which way. (There are also a number of shudder-worthy sequences here that are hard to forget: the leg-shaving scene is probably tops on that list.)

But above and beyond the gut shock, is the ugly, brutal reality of how friends can turn on each other when it becomes every man for himself, how tenuous the bonds of society and community can be when faced with the cold, inhuman workings of a highly infectious disease.
In the end, it is the onscreen corrosion of these interpersonal dynamics that is the lasting impression of Cabin Fever that remains alongside the blood and grue, an insightful and excellent metaphor for the disease of egocentrism, which is perhaps the greatest enemy of the societal body.


“Sorry about The Beach…”

Almost as if in abject apology for the Leo-starrer (adapted from the Alex Garland novel and directed by Danny Boyle of Trainspotting fame), director and writer teamed up again for 28 Days Later (directed by Boyle from a script written directly for the screen by Garland).
Another post-millennial variation on the zombie film, 28 Days Later begins with a prologue set in the Cambridge Primate Research Centre, where some animal activists unwittingly let loose a virus—called, appropriately enough, “Rage”—which causes the infected to go into a constant state of mindless, uncontrolled violence. Once infected by tainted blood or saliva, a person ceases being a person, and becomes nothing more than a wild, vicious beast; perhaps, the beast that lies in wait in all of us, free of the imposed restraints of ethics and morals and rational thought.
We then jump four weeks ahead—thus, the title—when Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakes in hospital (he was in an accident before the outbreak began), to find it empty and ransacked. (The scenes of Jim walking through a deserted London are far more haunting than Tom Cruise in an empty Times Square in Vanilla Sky.)

Thus, we are not witness to the actual breakdown of society, but rather—like Jim—suddenly thrust into some horrible New World (Dis)Order, where there is apparently no government, no police, no army, and a church is no longer a sanctuary.
So who do we turn to when all structures fail? We turn to one another.
Garland manages to avoid the clichés of this sort of film, where strangers are thrust upon one another in a bid to survive. He manages to write people; flawed, yes, but not necessarily good, not necessarily evil. (Some though, perhaps just horny and misguided.) It is a minor triumph of the film that we are not asked to endure the whiny self-important complainer whom the audience is just waiting to get offed in the next reel.
Reprisals and turn-arounds however, are sudden and brutal, and that mood is helped tremendously by the occasionally rapidfire, staccato editing of Chris Gill, working with excellent footage shot by Anthony Dod Mantle.

Generally a rather nihilistic film, 28 Days Later seems to say that in the face of such calamity, the tendency will be for little pockets of madness to bloom, merely echoing the insane society that’s just been eradicated. Garland seems to say that, in the end, man is his own worst enemy. (At least with the infected, there is no pretense of culture and civilization, while indulging in one’s basest desires.)
Which is not to say the film is all doom and gloom. There are surprisingly somber and melancholy notes struck in this dirge: Jim’s discovery of his parents’ fates; choral music playing during the taxi ride through the devastated and deserted city.
There is a strain of hope, however fleeting and ephemeral, that runs throughout the film, carrying us along with it, doing its best to raise us above the detritus and leavings of a society perhaps better off dead.


Dead Again

From the precious few moments of Ana’s (Sarah Polley) last night of normalcy, to her escape from a suburbia rapidly descending into chaos, to the quick-cut opening title montage set to Johnny Cash’s Revelations-tinged “The Man Comes Around” (with the credit letters scattering like blood in a high wind), it is immediately established that this is a slicker version of the original 1979 Dawn of the Dead.
What is also instantly obvious is that director Zack Snyder and his team seem to have taken a page from the rushing, rabid hordes of 28 Days Later; gone are the shambling, lethargic zombies of the original Dead trilogy. What we have here are strangely energetic and limber zombies, as if fresh from an aerobics class taught by an undead—though still horribly hyper—Richard Simmons.

What we also have here, in light of this article, is a curious paradox: What is possibly the most visceral and graphic of the three films we’re taking a look at, is also the most entertaining. “Entertaining” in that it pretty much sticks to audience expectations of what this sort of movie is supposed to deliver. (And yes, here we are asked to endure the whiny self-important complainer who we’re just waiting to get offed in the next reel. There is also the macho alpha male whom we at first hate, then find ourselves rooting for by film’s end.)

As with George Romero’s original vision, the exact reason for the zombie epidemic is left unstated (though the religious/supernatural reason is given a boost here by a televangelist who utters one of the best taglines in cinema history: “When there is no more room in Hell, the Dead will walk the earth”), and the mall setting—of which much has been said in the past by the more critically-minded of us gorehounds—is also left intact.
And although we do catch glimpses of societal breakdown, what we are more privy to here is the attempted rebuilding of society. Crossroads Mall becomes the stage for this new community, the idea of mall-as-Heaven, where everything you might possibly want can be found, an air-conditioned Paradise isolated from the Hell of Zombieville outside.
But what eventually comes to the fore is the fact that this is merely just another state of living death, mall-as-Limbo. (Though the indictment against mall culture is still present, it is perhaps not as overt as in the original.)
Again, as to be expected, the Paradise-turned-Limbo comes to an end, and the survivors are forced to flee once more, in the hopes of finding a more permanent surcease from the insatiable dead.

The 1979 original is considered a classic of horror cinema, described by David J. Skal as a “razor-edged social satire” and “an indelible image of consumerism gone mad.” Given that Snyder’s remake doesn’t add anything significant to the equation—and in some instances, actually mutes the anti-mall culture statement—it could very well be leveled with the accusation of being “unnecessary, but well-made,” as was the 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead.
Quite possibly. But at least it’s well-made.
And there is a cameo by special make-up effects guru Tom Savini (who directed the 1990 Night). And can anyone honestly say they’ve seen the brilliant Sarah Polley in a role like this before, kicking zombie butt?! I think not!

Last words

So at the end of it all, why are we fascinated by these films of death and destruction? Is it only here that we can secretly and comfortably acknowledge our own mortality, accepting the presence of the ever-hovering shadow on the doors of our own existence? Is it that we wish to witness societal breakdown, wondering how we would react in that situation, whether it would bring out the best, or worst, in us? Or is it because we delight in seeing others' misery? (Better them than us...)
Perhaps the answer lies in the term itself. The word "apocalypse," after all, contrary to popular belief, does not mean the end of the world. It comes from the Greek, apokalypsis, literally, "uncovering" or "revelation." (A synonym for "apocalypse" is "disclosure.") Perhaps we are fascinated by these films because we see truths in them, about ourselves, and the nature of our existence.
Or do we just bloody like being scared out of our wits?
Maybe it's a combination of all of these reasons, and quite possibly, even more, unknown to anyone except God and our private, most secret selves.

Parting shot: Due to the graphic nature of these films, those easily repulsed, or with weak stomachs and hearts, should probably not even consider watching them. You have been warned.

(Cabin Fever, 28 Days Later, and Dawn of the Dead OS’s courtesy of impawards.com.)

(The above is a slightly altered version of an article previously published in 2004.)

300

(Review)

As a child, Frank Miller saw Rudolph Mate’s The 300 Spartans and something flared in his mind. Years later, after establishing himself in the world of comics by authoring landmark tales for popular characters like Marvel’s Daredevil and DC’s Batman, he wrote and drew his own dramatization of the battle of Thermopylae, 300, for Dark Horse Comics (who also have Mike Mignola’s Hellboy in their stables).
7 years after the 300 hardcover compilation won the Eisner* for Best Publication Design, Zack Snyder’s burly and ballsy adaptation charges onto film screens the world over.

300 is the spare and lean tale of King Leonidas (Gerard Butler, from Joel Schumacher’s Phantom of the Opera) and his band of battle-hungry Spartans mounting a fierce resistance against the hordes of the invading Xerxes (Rodrigo Santoro, currently seen loitering around the island in Lost), Persian warlord, self-styled god-king, and avant-garde fashion template.
And even as Leo and his loyal warriors decapitate and dismember the enemy, the unfortunately named Queen Gorgo (Lena Headey, seen in Terry Gilliam’s The Brothers Grimm, and soon in TV’s The Sarah Connor Chronicles) attempts to rally troops for her husband, who has gone against the will of the council in defying Xerxes and his United Colors of Benetton army.

Though ultimately uneven, 300 works best when the fusion of green screen, slow motion, digital effects, and testosterone deliver scenes of carnage the likes of which have never been seen in the sand-and-sandals epics of the past.
Brad Pitt’s Achilles? Russell Crowe’s Maximus? Kirk Douglas’ Spartacus? Light weight wimps, one and all. Three seconds with any single member of Leo’s Spartan band would reduce these would-be he-men into quivering lumps of jello.

Given Sparta’s culture of violence, it’s only fitting that 300’s battle scenes are terribly effective, getting a lot of mileage from the stylized look Snyder chooses for the film. It’s like watching a rugby match with swords and spears and bloody body parts flying everywhere.
This is undoubtedly Snyder’s triumph. After giving us the excellent Dawn of the Dead remake, he has followed in the footsteps of Kerry Conran’s Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow and Robert Rodriguez’s Sin City (incidentally also based on Miller source material)** and entered the halls of today’s breed of heightened, stylized cinema with 300. And in between all the bloodletting, he even manages to achieve moments of dizzying phantasmagoric heights with the oracle sequence, as well as Xerxes’ harem of grotesqueries.
Again, Snyder’s triumph, and things look bright for his planned adaptation of Alan Moore’s Watchmen. Once, I thought the best man for that job was Terry Gilliam, but Snyder looks like a great horse to bet on at the moment. (And if that single test shot of Rorschach—which can be seen on the 300 trailer on YouTube—is any indication, Snyder’s vision for Watchmen looks mighty tantalizing.)

However, though I do think 300 is a better film experience than Sin City, it still isn’t as pitch perfect as it could have been.
Let’s put aside for the moment the fact that Miller’s source material gleefully batters the skull of history (it is, after all, a “dramatization”) and doesn’t really delve too deeply into Sparta’s culture of violence (this is, after all, not that sort of movie either).
And while the light narrative—also painfully evident in Sin City—is forgivable here, as Snyder’s artificial world is enough of a visual distraction to let that shortcoming pass, what is more difficult to pardon are two key performances that grate and disappoint in equal measure.

David Wenham is Dilios, one of Leo’s men who is chosen to become the tale’s bard, and as such, Wenham is the film’s narrator, and his voice carries us through the film and its key moments. Sadly, there’s something about Wenham’s delivery and his reedy voice that just doesn’t sell the material. Keep in mind, these are words and dialogue that need a certain amount of gravitas in order to sound convincing. But whereas Butler gets it dead-on, Wenham just makes an unconvincing mess of it, which is regrettable, since he made such a fine Faramir in Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings films. His narration is so off-key in some moments, that the words seem redundant and unnecessary, like a caption box in a comic book panel that describes exactly what the art is already showing you.
Another weak link in the performance chain is Rodrigo Santoro, whose performance is just bad and overplayed. Considering the costume and production design teams busted their a$$es to give Xerxes that killer look, and the effects wizards then managed to make him look like an impossibly tall (and painfully pretty) Dennis Rodman on one of his more outlandish fashion days, the least Santoro could have done was give us an acceptable performance. It’s the sort of role where the look could have done a lot of the work, and underplaying might have been the key, but instead, there are these overly melodramatic flourishes that do absolutely nothing to convince me that Santoro can actually act instead of coast by on his good looks. (It’s funny, ‘cause as best I can recall, his performance in Walter Salles’ Abril Despedacado—Behind The Sun—was okay. I’m honestly not sure what’s happened to him since.)

Thankfully, as far as performances go, Butler gives us a sinewy Leonidas crackling with stern, musclebound patriotism, one of those largely physical roles that is solidly backed by the palpable gravity of an actual personality. It isn’t difficult to see why these men are willing to follow Leo to their deaths.
Headey is also noteworthy as the fierce Spartan queen whose love for her husband and their martial way of life infuses all aspects of her demeanor and performance. This isn’t some quivering trophy wife pining away in her chambers for her husband who is off to war. Gorgo can open that can of whoop-a$$ with the best of them. (And with a name like that, is it any surprise?)
This truthful approach to the character and material by both Butler and Headey is so much more convincing and effective than the overplaying of Santoro or the anemic quavering of Wenham, and help in making 300 more than just eye candy.

In the end, 300 may have its share of warts and scars, but it’s clearly a win for Snyder, who is so hot a property because of this film, it’s not even funny.
I can only hope he does Alan Moore right and doesn’t cast either David Wenham or Rodrigo Santoro as Ozymandias. (Tom Cruise already came and went for the role. I’m almost afraid to ask who’s next.)

It’s also strangely ironic that a film that so openly glorifies a culture of violence will make a ton of money in today’s post 9/11 climate, where we constantly bemoan the volatile social climate we all live in.
Is it any wonder, really, when popular entertainment looks anything like this?

* The Eisner is the comic book equivalent of the Oscar.

** Miller also co-directed Sin City, a credit Rodriguez insisted on, even if it meant quitting the Director’s Guild of America.

Parting shot: 300 amassed a staggering $70.9 million over its opening weekend, and that's just in the US alone...

(Image courtesy of comics2film.com.)