Coming This Week

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It’s awards season once again. I used to watch them with great fervor, until I realized that the awards were mostly political within Hollywood and less about recognizing something that truly spoke to craftsmanship within the industry. That, and if I have to endure one more attempt at the Oscars version of Susan Lucci trying to win an award, I may have to scream.

I’m looking right at you, DiCaprio.

So, I’ll just put it out there that I really don’t give a shit about who wins this year, so long as I can scratch my head and wonder what the hell everyone decided to wear. It’s safe to say that I’ll be in my own bubble this week, talking about stuff that actually matters. Like Bruce Campbell in Army of Darkness, and labels in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. We’ll close out the week by recommending an animated film that’s a total smartass. So pour that extra large daiquiri, pull up a lounge chair, and have yourself a good time.

Saturday Shorts: Middle Man

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I had 2014’s Middle Man suggested to me; I watched it and was floored by it, then found that the end-of-December madness descended upon me like vampires in an Alaskan town (c’mon, I live in Rochester). So this one should have been covered a few weeks ago, but wasn’t because… well, Christmas with work and children is a bit like a hyperactive bomb that causes you to go into survival mode and not think clearly. Without further adieu, here’s Middle Man.

My linking system seems to hate me today so you have to click here in order to view the film. Apologies for any inconvenience.

I can understand why this film has been playing circuits, and why it’s been nominated for awards – it’s great. Director Charlie Francis knew when to focus, when to pan out, when to zoom, and which angle to use; he subtly changed my focus without having to beat me over the head. I felt like I was actually watching a person as opposed to ART (please read that with a breathless tone, an unnecessary “h,” and a sweeping cigarette hand motion whilst frowning), a feeling sorely missing in most cinema. Writer Katie White crafted a story that was both honest and real; extra points for exploring the challenges of a hearing-impaired partner, from which many writers and filmmakers still shy away. Actors Tommy Brennan, Joe Cassidy and John Cooke all put motions and facial expressions that made their time onscreen feel lived-in, from huffing to eye rubbing to slight looks of panic and terror. Combined, I felt like this team let me take a peek inside of an aspect of life; it felt like I was watching real people, not an awards pull. And when you can completely break my heart in one sentence at the end, it shows that I’m attached to your characters. Well-done.

Weekend Movies: Five Reasons to Watch Cooties

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On paper, Cooties sounds like it has a premise that isn’t going to take it very far. I have to admit, I went in thinking it would have a few good laughs, but that it was going to suck. I’m happy to report that it kept me laughing just enough – and had enough carnage in it – to tide me over for the hour and a half duration. Here are five reasons to check it out this weekend.

Surprisingly fun.
#1 – The kids aren’t all sunshine

Here’s a brutal truth that any teacher will tell you, though not upfront: some kids are just not nice, but no one really wants to be the bad guy and say that a kid is a jerk (yet you can call it a good ten years before said kid reaches adulthood). Yes, you get into teaching to make a difference, and you want in your heart to believe that everyone has some good in them while they’re young. You want to stay positive, you want to believe; you don’t want to think that a child could be that much of an asshole long before adulthood. That we get to see some nasty little pieces of work – particularly a kid named Patriot (and really, all teachers have at least one weird name story) – doesn’t work to condemn all kids. It just points out the ones that we pretend aren’t there because it doesn’t fit the inspirational poster hanging in the classroom.

#2 – The teachers are human (and some are really weird)

We get to see some teachers as flawed individuals in this film. Some can’t separate their religious views from their instructional duties; others are having trouble keeping personal issues (such as failed careers and family drama) out of the classroom; some can’t move past the glory days of high school. Let me tell you, as a former teacher, these people are out in the real world, and they are messy. Some are regular people just trying not to fall apart throughout the day. Some of them are exhausted from keeping it together and just want some respect for dealing with your kids. It’s nice to see this aspect get a nod.

This really is a fun group.
#3 – It’s hysterical

Some of the jokes are pretty dark in terms of why they’re funny. Whacking the crap out of your elementary students? Horrifying in real life, but pretty funny here. Deep down, you want to laugh (especially if you’ve taught) because we all know at least one kid that you’ve wanted to hit in the face with a dodgeball. Likewise, it’s just as satisfying to watch an obnoxious parent get clobbered. Will you sort of hate yourself? Yup. Doesn’t make it any less funny.

#4 – A nice take on a viral outbreak

Without spoiling anything… watch this and then tell me how damning this film is of the food industry.

#5 – The pedigree on this one is surprisingly good

I’ve said it before, and I’ll repeat it here: Elijah Wood is producing some interesting stuff. Throw in that Leigh Whannell of Saw and Alison Pill of Snowpiercer are in it, and it’s got a cast that you not only recognize, but smile at. Seth Meyers executive produced it, and Ian Brennan (Glee) wrote it. Now given, I’m not a Glee fan, but some of you out there are; I’m not about to crap on your show. Not today, at least.

You’re okay in my book, Elijah. It took me a while, but we’re good.

 

Rent it on GooglePlay and iTunes this weekend if you want something that’s a fun ride.

Way to Keep it Light, Fellas: The Dark Side of The Wizard

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I have fond memories of 1989’s The Wizard. It was a Fred Savage vehicle (who didn’t love The Wonder Years?), it featured Nintendo games, and it had a fun soundtrack (for a nine-year-old girl, New Kids on the Block was where it was at). Let me rephrase that: I had fond memories of The Wizard, up until I watched it again. For a good hour and forty-five minutes, I was more than a little amazed that it was so… well, dark. Seriously, I think the stunned expression on my face and “What the fuck?” exclamations scared my cat. In the midst of a giant video game ad, writer David Chisholm felt that it was somehow appropriate to give it a plot worthy of a Sally Field vehicle; thankfully, it’s not quite as out-there as Days of Our Lives in the Marlena possession story arc, so there is some small mercy for that, but still. So instead of examining a deeper meaning on this one, let’s just take a second to unpack just how pitch black and bleak this one is, shall we?

A light-hearted family dramedy. Joy.
Let’s start with the melodramas of our cast of characters. Our main character, Jimmy (Luke Edwards), is more than a little messed up. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s the hero; he’s supposed to have something wrong with him so that he can overcome it in this family drama. Alas, Chisholm isn’t content to let a mere thing like divorce drive him toward video game greatness. Chisholm decides to go big and craft out the following: since the drowning death of his sister, Jimmy has been mostly silent and sneaks away at random points in an effort to get to California. His complete weasel of a stepfather (Sam McMurray, who is always delightful to watch when he’s chewing scenery in smarmy dick fashion) convinces his mother to have him institutionalized, as having a kid that runs away in the throes of a raging grief episode is just way too much of a strain on his busy country club schedule. Enter his angsty half-brother Corey (hi, Fred), who valiantly breaks the kid out to take him walking and hitchhiking across the country to prove that his kid brother doesn’t belong in an institution where, you know, people might be a little more in tune with rehabilitating a traumatized child than his self-centered parental units. On their travels (during which no cop stops to say, “Hey, look, two kids by themselves walking down a highway… Maybe I ought to check that out…”), they meet an on-her-own, street-smart girl named Haley (look, kids, it’s Jenny Lewis!), who convinces them to hustle through arcades on their way to California and compete in contest called Video Armegeddon. Jenny (er, Haley) is the old-timey coach/dangerous dame these boys need; all that she needs is either a monocle and cigar combo, or a gray hoodie and a flight of stairs for a training montage. Along the way to the video game challenge that will solve all of their problems, our kids (none of whom is older than 12) have to dodge slimy child bounty hunter Putnam (William Seltzer), who is engaged in an automobile battle royale with the kids’ dad (Beau Bridges). Oh, and they also get to show up the snobby, spoiled kid named Lucas (Jackey Vinson), who I really think the producers told to do his best impression of James Spader in Pretty in Pink.

 

Just reading that summary is freaking exhausting, but that’s what honestly happens in this family comedy. Yes, it’s a comedy. Sorry, it’s listed as an adventure-comedy-drama in its official capacity. But it’s got Super Mario Bros. 3, so I guess it’s all good.
“Don’t worry, Jimmy. At least you get to play a preview in L.A.”
In picking this apart, it’s a study in throwing way too much in far too quickly. Time-frame wise, this film takes place two years after the drowning death of Jimmy’s twin sister Jennifer (side note: you named your twins Jimmy and Jenny? Really? I’m side-eying this choice, David, despite that there are many moms out there that do the whole cutesy same-initial thing with twins.). In that time span, Jimmy’s parents have split up, his mother has remarried a colossal asshole that treats a kid he’s known for maybe a year and a half like an old car, his dad doesn’t see him much, and there has been no dent in treatment for a traumatized kid that can’t talk. Two years. Did Christine and Sam decide to throw in the towel on their marriage at Jenny’s funeral, or did they wait a month? I’m really asking, because a divorce (which takes time to go through) and then a remarriage to someone completely committed to the legal responsibilities of your child came on quick. Nevermind that Jimmy is so traumatized that he can’t talk – go ahead and remarry in a hurry, Christine. And if you think you’re getting off light, Sam, why aren’t you making a fuss to see your other child, who happens to have severe mental issues and could probably use the presence of his dad? While we’re at it, why did no one bother to try to get to the root of Jimmy’s California obsession? You do realize that with a bit of low-grade detective work, someone could have figured out that this kid wanted to go back to a family vacation spot to essentially scatter what he had left of the ashes of his sister’s memory? The answer was hiding in plain sight, but no one thought the say, “Hey, he seems pretty bent on going to California. Has anyone ever been there? Any reason he might want to go there? Was it special to him somehow?” Once you get over that nugget of gold, go back and watch the first ten minutes of this film again and tell me that there’s not a whole lot of T.V. movie-of-the-week angst going on here. I half wanted Kevin Bacon to show up and throw stuff because the preacher wouldn’t let him dance, if only to laugh in a manner that wasn’t causing me to die a little on the inside. This situation is really hellish (child death, divorce, remarriage, custody issues, mental illness), and it’s a lot for an adult to process. Putting this into a kids’ movie that’s based around the intention of flashing the then-latest gaming technology is a massive stretch. It’s unfair.  It could have been way lighter for what it was trying to accomplish at its core.

 

Let’s not forget some of the other parts of this film used for comic relief, which are actually quite horrible if you stop and think about them. Our girl Haley is trying to raise cash so that her dad can buy a house and not travel as much, as they hit financial troubles based on her mother’s addiction (which is not explicitly stated, but is implied to be gambling over something like alcoholism or cocaine. It’s a kids’ film, after all.). There’s no two ways around it: Haley is a grifter. She pulls cons to make money and is a kid on her own. These aspects garner Haley sympathy, which is then used to transition into laughs (in a loose manner of speaking). Case in point: at one point, she’s shouting bets across a casino to a none-too-bright trucker and dealer and patrons, for that matter). The takeaway that we’re supposed to have: look, it’s a kid that’s savvy enough to know how to play casino games, a skill which can be utilized to further their cause – poignant AND useful! In reality, it’s sad. Complicating this, we’re also supposed to laugh at the antics of the child bounty hunter Putnam, a creepy jerk who disregards at-risk children on the run while actively sabotaging a parent’s car. Nevermind that the way that Sam and Putnam engage in trying to destroy one another’s cars would see them arrested in an instant – isn’t it funny to watch two grown men slash each other’s tires and take swings at each other with a shovel? Good times, I tell you. But hey, just in case you need more grins and giggles, why not proclaim that Putnam molested a preteen girl when he’s too close to capturing his prey? Isn’t that a hoot? My favorite, though is the way our trio of rag-tag kids continually gets robbed of all money as they slug their way toward California, which no one remembers visiting before the death of the little girl. Oh, those kids – earning their money hustling arcade rats, only to get it stolen from them. It’s not supposed to be funny, but after a while, you start to wonder how many times these kids are going to get robbed before someone gets shanked. How none of these kids wound up molested or dead
is beyond me. The sad truth is that when you put all of these factors together (hell, even if you look at them one by one), their world is incredibly sad. No wonder Jimmy loses himself in video games; it’s the one thing in his poorly-dealt hand that he can control.
Ah, the wonders of underage gambling.
In the end, I found myself wanting to run this film a shower so that it could curl up in a ball and cry. By the time we get to the end and Jimmy’s true intentions are discovered, there’s been so much heaped on these kids that I’m not sure I want to know what the therapy bills are going to look like. The only thing left to do is laugh at it, lest you cry. So head on over to Rifftrax.com and download the commentary track that streams with the film. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.

Silent Scream: Quiet Femininity in Reanimator

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Reanimator has so much to offer: copious amounts of blood, lots of guts, and enough moments of dark humor to make me guffaw out loud. Given that it’s based off of a character created by H.P. Lovecraft, it’s no surprise that it’s a home run with me. What’s surprising about it, though, is the fact that our only main female character throughout the film, Meg (Barbara Crampton), seems to exist solely in relationship to the men around her. In fact, there’s very little to the character at all, as she seems to function as an ideal rather than a fully-functional human being. This aspect of Meg is best defined by examining the relationships she holds with Dean Halsey (Robert Sampson), Dr. Hill (David Gale), and Dan Cain (Bruce Abbott), as her relationship with each demonstrates a null voice amidst the action that cannot survive.

Still love ya, Herbert.
Meg’s life and voice are greatly impacted by her father, Dean Halsey, whom she refers to as “the last living Puritan.” When we first meet her, she’s engaging in sex with Dan; however, once he asks her to stay the night, she reminds Dan that she has to return home to her father, lest he react poorly. Part of this anticipated poor reaction is the threat of expulsion of Dan from Miskatonic University, which comes off as a petty control method for his daughter: in essence, she lives in fear that her expression of sexual activity will ensure that her partner is ruined academically and professionally. This leaves Meg as little more than a possession to her father, which is reinforced by both spoken word and action. It’s reinforced when Meg receives approval from her father to drink wine at a dinner that she has prepared, and even in the small ways in which she’s referred to by other characters (at one point, West refers to her simply as “Dean Halsey’s daughter”). This lack of a strong presence in action and word on Meg’s part translates into her father completely disregarding her desires, actions and pleas. While attempting to defend Dan’s actions and involvement in the reanimation experiments, she tells her father that she loves Dan, only to be fired back with, “You’re my daughter and you’ll do as you’re told!” Still attempting to control her even in death, the sound of her voice – which, of note, is crying out “daddy” as opposed to “dad” – causes her father to go into a rage that involves Dan’s attempted strangulation. Most of the time, Meg is left speechless by these outbursts. This is an extreme version of control and vocal neutering that permeates death.

 

As if that’s not creepy enough, it gets even worse when Meg interacts with Dr. Hill. It’s pretty clear at the beginning of the film when he toasts Meg as “the obsession of all who fall under her spell” that Hill has a disturbing preoccupation with a college student young enough to be his daughter. Actor David Gale does a great job in terms of the glares and leers he brings to the character, which makes one scene in particular ultra-creepy. In denying Meg the ability to talk to her reanimated father, he tells her, “No. I must insist you leave his treatment up to me. I want you to think of me as someone you can come to with your problems. Or if you’re ever lonely. I know you’re all by yourself now.” On paper, this could be read as someone comforting an old friend’s child; in performance, though, it’s terrifying to watch as this authority figure preys upon a vulnerable young woman. It’s also worth noting that Meg’s father, at this point, begins smacking his head against the window, as though trying to assert his claim to her. Not to be deterred, Hill continues his obsession well beyond the point of death, having Meg kidnapped and brought to him so that he can sexually assault her. His words to her are delusional and warped: “I’ve always admired your beauty, my dear. I think I’ve always loved you. You will love me. You will.” When she begs him to stop and let her go, he tells her, “That’s it, my dear, more passion!” Breaking this down, Hill equates her beauty with the notion of loving her, which doesn’t really hold up. Is she beautiful? Yes – however, love is more than beauty. If I called it love every time I found someone attractive, I’d be blissed out on brain chemicals more often than not. Actually loving someone stems from so much more than beauty, yet this is the sole aspect upon which Hill chooses to focus. Once again, we have Meg reduced by one of our main male characters: she’s a pretty face, and the obsession with possessing that beauty means that any other aspect of herp personality is null and void to the conversation.
Ew, ew, ew.
Dan is the one character that has the potential to actually demonstrate that he appreciates her for who she is, yet that falls flat as well. Meg is not an equal partner for Dan; Meg is something for Dan to protect. At no point in this film do we get to find out what Meg is studying in college; we don’t learn her likes, or what makes Dan love her. We do, however, get the chance to witness Dan attempting to protect her on various levels. He begs her father, “Don’t take this out on Meg” when he is getting expelled from school for his participation in West’s experiments. He tries to keep her safe during the instance with the reanimated corpse that leaves her father dead. He covers her with his jacket and shirt after her assault by Hill. He attempts to revive her after her death. Meg is something to be saved, and again, she’s not a person in this respect; she’s an ideal, a representation of femininity that requires protection.It’s these aspects that combine to ensure that Meg does not survive the action of the film. Meg is the daughter of the dean, lusted after by the respected neurosurgeon, who is soon to marry the young medical student. She is not allowed to speak, and when she does, that speech is not taken seriously by her male counterparts. In this respect, Meg is completely ineffective. Her status throughout the film is one of ownership: who currently possesses her, who wants her, and who will have ownership transferred. Even her death reflects this: she is strangled, unable to scream as her fiance searches for an axe to stop the attack. Meg simply can’t survive because she lacks the fight to make an impact in life.
Not surprising, considering that she had no voice throughout the film.
The final sound of the film is Meg’s scream as Dan attempts to reanimate her. It’s ironic that her death is what brings about a singular instance of her voice where no one attempts to overpower or talk down to her. It also makes the audience wonder how badly this is going to fail: Dan does not know how much reagent to give her to in order to produce a being with the ability to think in her state of reanimation, nor can her temperament be guessed. In the end, we know that this is going to be a failure, and that Meg will suffer further. It’s par for the course, because she never really had a chance to express herself in the first place.

Coming This Week

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I hope that everyone had a new year filled with good food, fun times and some much-needed rest. You’re going to need it, because we’re back in action this week.

To quote Matt Berry, oh yes.

To kick off 2016, we’re taking a look at a few different films that feature some horrifying things: Reanimator (which is a perennial favorite) and The Wizard (which, upon re-watching, makes me weep for my childhood). We’ll close out the week by recommending an irreverent zombie comedy. It’s going to be real, kids. Real what, I don’t know, but it will be real.

Saturday Shorts: The Jump

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The impact of the passage of time is felt more acutely during this time of year: what’s come from the past, how we can resolve to do things better to get the life we want, the possibilities that lie before us in the unknown. Time travel films this time of year seem a bit more appealing in this respect. Bearing that in mind, here’s Chris Ashton’s The Jump.

I really enjoyed the playful shots of the time machine building  – it reminded me a bit of the construction of Ash’s hand in Army of Darkness, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing (struck me as a bit Edgar Wright as well, which, again, isn’t a bad thing). I liked that it worked with the locations and budget it had to inspire my imagination without being hokey. I did find that it took a turn for the serious in a rather quick fashion once our hero decided to visit his mother before her death; that was my one complaint. I’m not going to trouble myself with the accuracy of the pin pointed date and time; I can overlook that because what got me thinking was words of the parting shot  – “will try again.” There’s one of two ways that you can view the implications of this ending:

1. Let sleeping dogs lie. The past is in the past. You can’t change it; hell, doing so might just cause what you’re trying to avoid, or make it worse. Your past makes you who you are, and by disrupting that, you disrupt the events that lead you to build a time machine to go back and change it. Besides, do you so desperately feel that something needs to be fixed that you’re willing to negate the current version of yourself? Are you willing to stop being you? Let’s face it, our tragedies shape us and forge us into something else. Perfect happiness seldom leads to advancement.

2. There’s hope. You can always go back and change it if you’re not happy. There’s beauty in the steadfast refusal to give up on making something better, especially if it’s for someone (or something) for which you really care. I’m willing to bet that everyone reading this has at least one person for whom he or she would readily rip a hole in the fabric of the universe in order to keep that person alive. Or safe. Or happy. Even if it means completely rearranging the future. That’s really a lovely sentiment.

So, the question is, which one are you?

Weekend Movies: Five Reasons to Watch The Happiness of the Katakuris

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A new year happens tomorrow. So, why not kick off 2016 with something completely offbeat? Especially if you’re nursing a hangover and are missing that completely drunk feeling. This one is a rental, but really, even if it takes you some time to get to it, it’s so strange that you’ll want to watch it at some point. Here we go: five reasons to watch The Happiness of the Katakuris.

 

The tagline is strangely accurate.

 

#1 – It’s Takashi Miike

With Miike, you get what you pay for. You want extreme gore? You’re going to get it, often with a heaping side of “I don’t want to look at another human being for six weeks.” Thanks a lot for Audition, buddy. Is homoerotic spiritual journey more your thing? He’s got you covered with the lovely Big Bang Love: Juvenile A. Yakuza stories are what you crave? Have some Ichi the Killer. But what happens when you go in for a horror/comedy/musical? I’m happy to report that Miike-san doesn’t disappoint. The man can never be accused of doing anything half-assed, and this genre-bending offering is no exception. If you dig Miike’s total commitment to a strange fairy tale, you’re going to get it.

#2 – Speaking of which, it’s a musical

Of all things in the tenure of this blog, I really did not think I’d be sitting here typing the words “Miike” and “musical” in the same sentence, yet here we are. Never say never, folks. And let me tell you, those musical numbers are fucking weird. I’ve never gotten the whole style of musicals – most of the time, it’s a bunch of 30-year-olds pretending to be 16, bursting into song and dance, and everyone knows all of the words and the steps. For someone with two left feet and a singing voice that could use some formal lessons, this is completely alien to me (and yes, I mean that in the sense of both being foreign and horrifying in terms of fear that one of them will go all face hugger on me and I’ll birth a chest-burster). This one, though… you’ll be staring too hard to really have it fully register that you’re watching a musical. It’s the equivalent of someone finally getting me to eat my peas. Eat your heart out, Von Trapp family.

Don’t mind me, I just passed out from the whole what-the-fuck factor.

 

#3 – It’s got mayhem
The running joke of this one is that all of the hotel guests die in some madcap way. Bad for the Katakuris’ business, but good for us. Some of the deaths are horrifying; others are a bit more humorous. It manages to become simultaneously funny, horrifying and surreal. Not only do you get to see the deaths of the guests, you also get the panicked aftermath with body disposal and fear, which I think extends into the mayhem label as well. I liked that it included multiple facets of the terrified experience, because it doesn’t stop at the deaths. Sometimes, mayhem is a state comprised of events, not just an event in and of itself.

#4 – It will leave you scratching your head at times

Like I said before, this is a horror/comedy/musical. To be honest, my best friend recommended this one to me, and I watched it a few years ago. I texted her halfway through to let her know that I was watching it. You know what response I got? “BUWAHAHAHAHAH!” About a quarter of the way through, I found myself whispering, “What the fuck did she have me watch?” I loved that she took sheer delight in just how badly it broke my brain. Really, I think I gave myself a wrinkle from raising one eyebrow for almost two hours straight. It is one of the stranger things you’ll watch. It’s up there with Funky Forest, though this one had a better budget and a more coherent writing team. The WTF Factor is high with this one.

#5 – Claymation

Claymation sounds like a lot of work on paper. In practice, it’s a even more work. Some people proclaim that it looks lazy and cheesy, but there’s a great amount of patience and skill that gets poured into the process. I would not have the patience to try to do it; I would be slamming things around in frustration within an hour. So when a director decides to include Claymation in a film, I give at least a little bit of respect, because that’s a ton of work. This one has Claymation in it, and while it’s not the entirety of the film, it works to both contribute to the WTF Factor as well as demonstrate a sense of artistry. Of which Miike has in spades.

Don’t ask.
I may wind up getting mail for this one (if only because some of the tunes are damn catchy and will be stuck in your head for days), but I think it’s worth it. Have fun, and good luck – you’re going to need it.

Deviations in the Physical Plane: Appearance and Perspective in Primer

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Let me start off by loudly applauding Shane Carruth for one aspect of 2004’s Primer: the man did not dumb down the science. He majored in mathematics, he worked as an engineer, and he’s got a grasp on the theories of time travel (to the point where he’s been rumored to have consulted on the theoretical aspects of certain films on the subject). If you can’t keep up during this film, that’s your problem. He’s looking to explore a concept, not resonate with the lowest common denominator to reach the broadest audience in a bid to break a box office record. That’s admirable in my book. Also admirable? The subtle way that he used the appearances of the main characters to reflect not only their similarities, but their eventual divergence from the shared goal of time travel and the use of their device (“the box”).

Most likely not what you’re expecting, but worth it.
Costume-wise, Aaron (Carruth) and Abe (David Sullivan) start out in very similar clothing, reflecting their tandem goals as entrepreneurs as well as engineers. The majority of the film’s duration sees them wearing similar costumes: white button down shirts, ties, dark slacks. At one point, they’re even in the same color and style of light jacket as they’re working together in the dark. The costumes convey a type of goal-oriented behavior: it’s a professional uniform, despite that it could be easily written off as a laziness or time constraints of the engineers that don’t have time to change in between projects. After all, it’s said that driven individuals often wear the same clothes because it’s one less decision they must make, which certainly fits in with our two engineers that are mapping out and executing time travel beta testing. It’s subtle and easy to miss, but it’s there nonetheless. In this respect, Aaron and Abe are aesthetic reflections of working in mathematic and theoretical physics tandem: when Aaron tucks his tie into the closure of his shirt, Abe follows shortly thereafter, both working side by side. This quality even extends into the technology that they use: both lie in their own box in the storage area on opposite ends of the room as a type of control/variable to the time travel in the box, working together to achieve the goal. Oh, and the ear buds they wear at the party – notice anything? Each only wears one, but it’s in the opposite ear of the partner: one left, one right. The men are subtle halves of the same whole, the necessary ingredients of the formula.

 

The audience does not get much deviation from the costume department, but we do start to notice some of the differences in physical appearance that coincide with the trajectory of the experiment’s goals. Abe is more controlled and wishes to use the time travel ability for a more noble cause, such as saving his girlfriend from a hostile, gun-toting ex-boyfriend. Aaron, on the other hand, is far more impulsive and seeks fame, notoriety and monetary gain. Is it any surprise that these men have vastly different appearances from the neck up, and that we get lingering close ups of them once they begin to disagree on how to use the box? Sullivan’s Abe is blonde, blue-eyed and fair-skinned, a sharp contrast to the dark hair and eyes of Carruth’s Aaron; while both men couldn’t really control skin tone and eye color (okay, I guess you could argue makeup, but work with me here), it does create an effective line of delineation. Is it any surprise, given the quiet uniforms that Carruth gave us earlier, that the polar opposites in physical appearance happen to receive more emphasis – however slight – once they begin to argue about the purpose and use of their machinations? While it may not be intentional (and if it was, this is something most audience members wouldn’t consciously think about in terms of casting decisions), this is one hell of  a happy accident. We literally get the fair, blue-eyed shoulder angel in Abe and the dark, materialistic devil in Aaron. We have an argument that can be broken down into a good versus evil debate, and it’s staring us right in the face the entire time. They may as well have had spotlights on them the entire time. And the best part of this is that Carruth didn’t need to beat us over the head with it: we were so focused on understanding the science that we didn’t realize the power of suggestion.
Clever shot there.
So, what does this really mean in the grand scheme of things? Primer ultimately causes us to think not only about the concepts of time travel and its applications, but about the way in which our appearance can give us away as well. The costumes demonstrated solidarity at first, as both men wore the uniform of the dutiful engineer trying to make his startup dreams come true in his spare time. As time wore on, though, they both came to represent different perspectives in the debate of the use of technology, both of which are relevant and practical. Really, if you stop and think about it, how much of what you wear projects a type of uniform to your dedicated work? How often do those with the same goals – work, relaxation, formal celebration – sync up and wear something similar without even realizing it? It’s a type of formula for success: wear X and achieve Y. It’s the differences of the mind and the ideology that separate the individual from the shared goal: it’s not just a uniform anymore, but a person, a representation of the larger stakes in the issue. The science may be the same, but the end result differs based upon the desired goals and actions of the participant. These permutations cause a splinter effect that manages to create different versions of both Abe and Aaron, though both continue to wear the same clothing due to their participation in their experiments with the box. Once this happens, we begin to distrust appearance because we’re not sure which version of Abe or Aaron we’re getting. We doubt level of consciousness to their experimentation, integrity and sense of duty. All of this is based upon the physical perception of sight, because we’re not sure who it is that we’re getting.
Which one this time?
In the end, appearance is really all that we have to go on with these two. We’re left with a paranoid Abe, who attempts to ensure that what he considers the “real” (or “original”) version of himself remains ignorant of time travel, and an opportunistic Aaron, who has set his sights constructing a warehouse-sized version of the box for who knows what purpose. We’re not sure what to think of the multiple versions of them – we go based on sight. We make assumptions as to the good guy and the corrupt guy. We don’t even realize fully that we’re judging based on who we think we’re viewing. And that, my friends, is the sign of a good film: something that makes you doubt the world around you while making you believe in the possibilities.

Fractured Fairytales: The Broken Family in Star Wars: The Force Awakens

The Backseat Driver Reviews Posted on by

**Warning: this post contains material that may constitute a spoiler for a film that is currently in theatres. Read at your own risk.**

One of the most interesting aspects in trilogies (or any anthology series, for that matter) stems from the psychology of the love story aspect. Typically, it’s built in to get audiences fired up – you’re supposed to care about two people being together, and half of the fun is watching the couple struggle to get to the point of union. The Star Wars series is no exception, and for years, fans have built Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher)’s pairing up as the be-all, end-all of romance. It’s been idealized, turned into punch lines and generated everything from greeting cards and costumes to ring inscriptions. So when Star Wars: The Force Awakens came along, the audience received a shock. We got to see a sweeping epic turn out as so many other marriages and relationships have: separation and hurt, despite a valiant effort. And the inclusion of that quality not only makes them more real, but serves to reassure the audience that our own stories are just as epic as theirs.

 

 

When we meet the current version of Han and Leia, the usual banter is there between them, but there’s a strain and sense of damage which draws us to them. When we first see Han Solo in this episode, he hasn’t seen Leia in quite some time. In fact, there’s a fear on Ford’s face that the audience feels acutely when she steps off a ship and spots him: will she still be angry with him, and what did he do wrong this time, as past experience has taught the audience? We have a history with them, but we knew that they really did love each other and overcame everything to realize that they were important to each other. This historical aspect throws us for a loop for a few reasons: 1.) We’ve seen this before, and Leia doesn’t take Han’s shit, and 2.) We’re sad and concerned because we don’t know what went wrong; we don’t have immediate access to the events that made them this way. Combine the two factors, and you have an audience that is both surprised and left slightly adrift. After all, our cinematic couples are supposed to be together forever. For a while, they were happy: we know that they had a child together, and in our minds, we’re picturing the happy times. We’re picturing Han taking a little boy out somewhere for a ride in a ship (most likely to some bar he’s not supposed to bring the kid), and we’re thinking about how Leia would have been as a mother: gentle, reassuring, yet tough. The sun set; they were supposed to live happily ever after. This isn’t the way it was supposed to turn out.

 

The reason for this turn of events is heartbreaking and all too real for some families. Leia and Han have a son that has turned to the Dark Side, which mimics several points of crisis for a family with a troubled child. If you think about it, “turned to the Dark Side” could easily be substituted with another issue that’s been known to place a strain on families. Kylo could easily have suffered a mental disorder that caused conflicting views on treatment; he could have been addicted to drugs or alcohol; he could have chosen to be a career criminal; he could have contracted an illness and died. Either way, both parents behave in a fashion that is typical to a family in crisis: each parent throws him or herself into work or other passion projects in order to deal with the fact that the child has undergone a change that the parent cannot control. Leia places blame upon herself for Kylo’s turning because she didn’t send him to Luke for appropriate training, and Han chalks it up to the presence of Vader’s DNA in their son. It’s a classic pattern: “It’s all my fault!” “No, it’s not your fault. It’s the way he’s wired.” Both are looking for ways to make sense of something that has rocked the foundation of the life they built together, something so integral to who they are that they feel a deep sense of loss. If this hasn’t happened to you, you know someone that this has happened to. It’s common. We don’t have to like it; it’s a simple fact of life, and our hearts are broken for it. Families hit rough spots, and the members of said family find mechanisms in order to cope with the changes.

 

Not where you thought this was going to wind up for their kid.

It’s this aspect that makes the love story of Han Solo and Leia Organa that much more real, and therefore, that much more enduring than the standard fare. Too often in film and literature, we’re sold a fairytale: a couple meets, bickers, realizes that they’re in love, and gets married by the end of the third act, regardless of personality quirks and long-term compatibility. We got to see much of this formula in Episodes Four through Six, and honestly, many of us expected them to still be together, with a reformed Han and a still-feisty Leia heading their family together. Deep down, we really wanted that because we liked them together. They were that couple that we pulled for, despite that we knew deep down that it wasn’t going to be all hunky dory. Instead, we got a couple that had split due to the strain of their troubled child, coping with their pain through old personality habits. Suddenly, it wasn’t fairytale anymore. They fought and had been angry with each other. They had their good times overshadowed by the painful reality of circumstances they couldn’t change. They tried, and like so many of us, they failed; they were human. And we loved them even more for this. Suddenly, Leia is your mother, your aunt, your best friend. Han is that nice guy that works two cubicles over. These aren’t untouchable legends; they’re people we know. That makes them both relatable and even more deserving of our love, because we want them to be happy again, just as we want those we personally know and care for to have that same happiness.

Sometimes, the best stories are the ones around us.

 

This dose of reality does not work to sink their entire love story; if anything, it gets more respect because it dared to be realistic. It would have been cloying and obnoxious to believe that Han Solo could have changed who he was and had given up being a smuggler, just as Leia could not set aside her ability to be a leader in order to bake cookies and arrange a floral centerpiece. That they managed to retain feelings for each other while raising a family and then dealing with that family’s fracture… that’s the real magic right there. It’s not in the sweeping gestures. It’s not in the melodramatic moments. The meat of the story, sometimes, is the way that the real world impacts the love story. It’s the flawed couple; it’s the hurt and the pain that can tear apart and put back together. It’s imperfect. It’s us.