Tag: Netflix (page 10 of 24)

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Trapped in Paradise

This week’s IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! brought to you by a generous donation by Mike Jarossy. Thank you for your support!

Logo courtesy Netflix.  No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner.

[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/trapped.mp3]

The holiday season is upon us once again. Just today I saw my first snowfall. I caught sight of it while watching Trapped in Paradise, a caper comedy from the 90s. Why was I looking out the window instead of at the movie, you ask? Because, for once, we have a little truth in advertising. The key word in the title of this completely unfunny and utterly lifeless flick is not “paradise”, but rather “trapped.”

Courtesy 20th Century Fox

Bill Firpo is a reformed thief trying to run a restaurant in New York City. His brothers, Dave and Alvin, are let out of prison into Bill’s custody. Almost immediately, Dave yanks Bill into a plot to knock over a bank in a sleepy Pennsylvania town on Christmas Eve. The town is so sleepy and the bank’s security so lax, it practically robs itself. However, two other cons had been sizing up the bank, the local yokels running the general store are deputy sheriffs and there’s a major blizzard about to slap the town silly. And because that clearly wasn’t enough for the writers, save for the bank teller who gets a pass because she’s the love interest and Bill himself, everybody, and I mean everybody, is either incredibly nice or incredibly stupid. And… that’s funny? I guess?

I’ll say this for Trapped in Paradise – it’s shot crisply and cleanly. Considering this is a holiday movie and we want things looking nice and idyllic to get people in the mood for overindulgences in shopping, eating and passive-aggressive family awkwardness, you don’t want to catapult your audience out of the experience with shoddy camera work. And the locales do look nice. It definitely looks a lot like some of the small towns nestled into the forest-covered mountains of Pennsylvania, and I did find myself wishing I was in one of those towns. Playing a game of Arkham Horror, perhaps, or finding a local pub warmed by a wood-fueled fireplace and serving a nice stout. Hell, I’d have settled for watching rednecks waddle through Wal*Mart after a turkey binge over this crap.

Courtesy 20th Century Fox
And, seriously. What’s up with these hats?

The big draw of this movie is that two of its three leading men were pretty big comedians back when it was shot. Jon Lovitz is that kind of cynical comic who takes after Rodney Dangerfield, more often than not playing up his obvious lack of Hollywood handsomeness for laughs of varying degrees. His best work, in my opinion, was on Saturday Night Live as Master Thespian or on the short-lived animated series The Critic. In both instances his wit was acerbic, his timing was excellent and his physical presence adding to the comedy rather than being its focal point. Trapped in Paradise instead saddles him with either ADHD or some form of Asperger’s Syndrome, as he never seems to be able to remain focused when he’s outside of some scheme or other. Any comedian could have played this role. It wouldn’t have been any better, I’m just saying it’s utterly generic holiday caper stuff.

And then, there’s Dana Carvey. Here we have a comedic chameleon. I mean, this guy played Hans (of Hans & Franz), the Church Lady and Garth Algar, sometimes all within the same hour. He’s done all sorts of impressions, from George H.W. Bush to Johnny Carson, from Woody Allen to Frank Zappa. In this, he’s doing an impression… of a retard. Who’s also a kleptomaniac. Couldn’t they have written the script so he could be himself for once? Did they have to force him into a nasal, annoying, high-pitched voice for every line and make him stupid? Usually in a comedy of this type you have one part of the team who’s the straight man and the other one bumbling around. Trapped in Paradise tries to give us two bumblers and ends up dropping the whole enterprise when it tosses the plot to them and they start arguing about who gets to carry it.

Yeah. Hilarious.

Courtesy 20th Century Fox

The only – and I do mean only – saving grace in this disaster of writing and acting is Nicholas Cage. And even he gets mishandled every other scene. At first, he seemed to be yanked back and forth by his own compulsions. He wants to do the right thing but he’s something of a career thief. The moment the other two ignorant jerks get involved, however, they almost immediately bring out the worst in him. And I don’t mean in terms of crime, I mean in terms of schizophrenic flip-flopping between that straight and tortured portrayal and just plain torture. If anybody’s trapped in this movie, it’s poor Nick Cage. The director can’t even seem to give him a consistent accent or manner of speech. He’s so completely wasted in this trash it makes me want to cry.

In a comedy, if your leading team isn’t funny, the rest of the damn picture doesn’t stand a chance. The jokes fall flat almost immediately, the story nearly grinds to a halt several times, none of the lines feel genuine and Paradise is apparently built over an ancient mystical portal to another realm that constantly churns out patrol cars. I’ve seen some pretty horrible things lately: the latest round of elections in this country, the bills from my utility companies, the box off returns from Scott Pilgrim. But I would take getting told by tea baggers how much I hate freedom by supporting federal health care, get paddled by bill collectors and have anonymous douchebags on the Internet tell me how awesome The Expendables is over watching Trapped in Paradise again. Hopefully, by the time you read or hear this, I will be passed out and in the throes of a turkey coma so deep, I’ll have forgotten this stinking, steaming and utter turd of a movie ever existed.

Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Angels & Demons

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[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/angelsndemons.mp3]

When I was studying English at university, I came across a revelation. It was a place full of distractions that could sap the time and energy of the unwary student, and deadlines do not often change based on a hangover or waking up in an unfamiliar place. However, it is possible, under those circumstances, to produce a paper that seems to have been adequately researched even if it was not. I, however, never made the grand assertion that anything I threw together at the 11th hour contained information that was entirely factual. That sort of claim is best left to other authors. Like Dan Brown, for instance. It’s something overshadowing all of his books, as well as the two adaptations of novels to films as of this writing — The DaVinci Code and Angels and Demons.

Of the two, Angels and Demons is better. I didn’t hate it. That would require interest and energy that the movie doesn’t really deserve or earn.

Courtesy Columbia Pictures

At the Large Hadron Collider, an experiment to harvest antimatter goes exceedingly well, resulting in three clear Pringles cans that magically contain the annihilating substance. One of them is stolen. Meanwhile, in Vatican City, the Pope has died and the cardinals of the Catholic Church are gathering for Conclave, the sealed conference in which they choose the new head of the Church. However, four of the favorites for the throne of St. Peter have been kidnapped. The only clue anyone has is a strange image that seems to be a word – “Illuminati.” Shown the antimatter container’s dying battery and given a ticking clock, the Church turns to someone they know who can unravel the mystery – Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon.

Shedding the embarrassing mullet he sported in his first outing as Langdon, Tom Hanks gives the protagonist his particular form of everyman charm. He places the professor squarely between the quiet earnestness of Ewan MacGregor and the rather seething menace of Stellan Skarsgaard. In general, the performances in Angels & Demons don’t go over the top and do what they can to lend some much needed plausibility to the plot. I do have to say that I was initially disappointed that Audrey Tautou wouldn’t be joining us this time around, but when I saw how superfluous the role of ‘the girl’ was I was glad she didn’t waste her time.

Courtesy Columbia Pictures
The Catholics definitely know how to liven up a congregational meeting.

Director Ron Howard shoots this movie and frames his scenes rather well. The action is clean, the actors sincere and the dialog uncontrived, save for the occasional spiral into false fact. Dan Brown, from what I understand, is a practicioner of what I will call “shock schlock” – writing that is mediocre at best framed in devices like bad research or a flimsy reinterpretation of classic horror creatures. The marked difference between what the audience knows or expects and what appears in the book is meant to stir up controversy and thus raise interest in the book, thus increasing sales. It’s entirely possible Brown had this purpose in mind when he claimed all the historical “facts” he cites to be “true.” The problem is, they’re not. A quick Google search clears up the inconsistencies that, for me, pretty much ruin the narrative.

Take Galileo, for example. In the film, Langdon tells us that his assertion that the Earth moves around the Sun caused the Church to bully him into recanting his works and releasing books that retracted his earlier writings, only he also released a book in secret that contained “the Truth” and founded the Illuminati. The implication of this Truth’s existence isn’t as damning of the Church as it is in the DaVinci Code and nobody tries to kill Langdon over heliocentricity the way they did over the idea of Christ having a child. The Church has only a limited number of assassins, you see. Anyway, it was a glaring error that threw me for a loop. Let me explain.

Painting by Christano Banti
Painting by Cristiano Banti, 1857

Galileo Galilei was called before a papal court in 1633 on suspicion of heresey. When Galileo, a devout Catholic, discussed his work with Pope Urban VIII, His Holiness told Galileo to go ahead and write out the arguments for and against heliocentrism, but not to advocate it. Instead, he framed the argument as a narrative definitely in favor of the Earth’s movement and gave the view of the Pope through a character taken by his audience to be a simpleton. In light of this unintended slight, the Inquisition demanded Galileo recant his advocacy. He didn’t. For this he was placed under house arrest for the rest of his life, his books were banned and publication of further works forbidden, and he died alone, penniless and blind. Oh, and the Illuminati? Not founded until 1776.

This is just one example, but it permeates both this work and The DaVinci Code so deliberately and thoroughly that I can’t help but feel Brown is being systematic in his use (or abuse) of history. I do try to judge a film on its own merits regardless of its source material, but there’s so much heavy-handedness in these works it might well have been typed out by someone wearing medieval plate gauntlets. Just as Stephenie Meyer uses defanged vampires and sullen, lackluster werewolves to teach her audience about abstinence and the righteousness of traditional marriage, Brown uses falsified and mis-interpreted historical documentation to elevate science to a sort of divinity while demonizing people of faith. Any faith. But especially Catholicism. He’s one strained metaphor and misquoted date away from having Langdon sparkle in the sunlight.

Courtesy Columbia Pictures
“THIS IS THE SKIN OF A BOOKWORM, BELLA.”

While Dan Brown seems to be doing his utmost to drive a wedge between science and the Catholic Church, even after the big reveal at the end, the movie doesn’t seem interested in choosing a side. It presents the conflict and depicts the lengths to which the Church may go to defend itself, albeit in a much less heavy-handed manner than The DaVinci Code. Ron Howard’s aim appears to be balancing things out so that the film, on its own narrative, doesn’t declare one side good and the other evil. There’s a truth in that, as while Angels and Demons follows the trend of Brown’s work in using intellectualism to undercut the tenants of faith, Langdon’s presence ends up protecting the very faith he struggles to accept. Not for himself, mind you. He still seems to scoff at anybody who’d even consider the idea of a divine presence, let alone an invisible man controlling every aspect of creation, a viable one. And considering the nature of the work, that’s Brown’s sarcastic, “oh you’re such a child” smirk we’re seeing, not Langdon’s.

To their credit, the screenwriters, actors and director of Angels & Demons manage to keep the messages of the movie from overriding the narrative. The problem with this is, without the deliberately inflammatory nature of the sentiment running under Brown’s prose, there isn’t much here. It feels far too mediocre to illicit the sort of reaction Brown was likely going for. I’m not certain if Brown is deliberately trying to pull people away from the church by painting them as a cadre of supervillains or if his aims are just to make a quick buck with some “shock schlock,” but Howard and his cast completely destroy whatever aim he had by rendering the story of his first Langdon adventure entirely without teeth, power or even much energy. It limps along for its 150 minute run-time, never really rising above the mire of its source material yet treating that material like it’s an embarrassment. Which, let’s face it, it kind of is. Angels and Demons, for all of its star power and bestseller basis, simply can’t be arsed to care enough to tell a good story.

And if it can’t be arsed to care, I can’t be either.

Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Falling Down

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[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/fallingdown.mp3]

I’m going to go out on a limb and make an assumption about you, the person about to experience this review. If you’re above the age of university graduation, you’re working a job you don’t particularly like. Chances are, instead of being in a place where you do something that not only pays your bills but fuels your passion, you’re in a position where one need is getting fulfilled while another is getting neglected. I know it’s not going to be true for everybody, but for the majority of people interested in seeing Falling Down, the miasma of soul-crushing modern urban life coupled with negative daily experiences like a commute and estranged family are elements that are familiar, painful and a means to forge immediate empathy with a man who, despite his politeness and intelligence, isn’t necessarily a very good person.

And yet, he’s our protagonist.

Courtesy Alcor Films

His name is William Foster, but most people will come to know him as “D-FENS”, the vanity plate on his 1979 Chevelle. Said car has a busted air conditioner and we find Foster sitting in the car, stuck in Los Angeles traffic on the hottest day of the year. For reasons not immediately explained but revealed bit by bit throughout the story, D-FENS abandons his car and declares he’s going home. He walks from one part of the city to another, encountering little annoyances that most people deal with or accept with at least some measure of restraint. It’s quickly clear, however, that D-FENS is unrestrained. Something has snapped deep within this man, and he is lashing out at whomever gets in his way. Store owners, gang members, by-standers, anybody. He begins his walk unarmed and seemingly harmless. As time goes on, the stakes get higher, his arsenal grows and a legacy of battered individuals and urban legends spring up in his wake. He doesn’t care. He just wants to go home.

Every step Foster takes not only takes him closer to home, but further down a very dark and disturbing path and brings us closer to a full understand of what made him the way he is. Thanks to a tour-de-force performance by Michael Douglas, we see Foster not as any sort of hero and, by the end, he barely qualifies as a decent human being. What’s chilling about him is his single-mindedness, his ironclad determination to complete his journey and his deep resentment for anyone who tries to belittle or downplay his rights or his ambitions. This could literally be any one of a million people who work a job for most of their adult lives only to be told their position is no longer economically viable, are rejected by the people they love and get confronted by personal irritants at every turn. It may feel at times like D-FENS is being set up by some mischievous god, but the fact is that none of the people he encounters, with one exception, are better or worse by a large degree than he is. They’re all selfish, self-involved and angry about something.

He just has more guns than they do.

Courtesy Alcor Films

This film was marketed, for the most part, as a revenge flick in the vein of Charles Bronson’s many stabs at the action genre. But many stories in that style, from the ongoing urban reclamation of The Punisher to the faith-fueled rampages of the Boondock Saints, have an atmosphere of fantasy about them, the sort of juvenile wish-fulfillment that still exists deep in the heart of movie-goers like myself who remember and, in some cases, cling to the frustrations of growing up in a hostile environment and longing for ways to fight back. Falling Down does show us what could happen when an ordinary man indulges in that wish-fulfillment, but it plays the results 100% straight and never, ever lets us forget that what D-FENS is doing is wrong. The police get involved right away, and it’s in this that the blurbs and posters fail, as the movie only gains its true depth and examination with the addition of Sergeant Prendergrast, played excellently by Robert Duvall.

Courtesy Alcor Films

The differences between Foster and Prendergrast may at first seem jarring. Foster is a cold, driven, frighteningly intelligent and very bitter man, while Prendergrast is kind, considerate, quietly looking forward to retirement and seems a bit like everybody’s dad. However, these two men are separated only by the thinnest of lines. Both deal with frustrating situations and inconsiderate people, but while Foster is acting out at all times against all comers, Prendergrast takes what he can on the chin. He doesn’t lash out unless it’s necessary. When it is necessary, he doesn’t hold back. But his restraint, in stark contrast with Foster’s lack of it, underscores the utter depravity of D-FENS’ actions.

At one point, Prendergrast points out that everybody makes choices. In dealing with a spouse, in pursuing a goal, in facing a situation that drives us up the wall with anger, we make choices. Some choose to deal with the situation as best they can, rolling with the punch and looking for an opening to push through to something better. Some fold completely under pressure and harbor resentment for later. And some pull out a gun at the fast food counter when they ask for breakfast at 11:34 AM when restaurant policy says breakfast stops getting served at 11:30. Most reasonable people would take a deep breath and order from the lunch menu instead.

Courtesy Alcor Films
“I don’t want lunch. I want breakfast.”

And yet, as unhinged and wrong as Foster’s actions are, we cheer for him. We delight in the revenge he takes on the cold, unfeeling world around him. We might even picture ourselves doing the same thing in the same situation. We would likely even consider ourselves in the right, as Foster does. Yet as the weight of his actions hurtles towards him, and Prendergast tracks him down, he comes to a chilling realization that’s been clear to us as outside observers practically from the start. “I’m the bad guy,” D-FENS says. “How did that happen?”

From writing to direction, from acting to shot composition, this is an excellent film. The downward spiral of Foster and the mounting aggravation of Prendergast mirror one another perfectly, the motivations of Foster are revealed at a great pace and the action never feels unrealistic or contrived, with one or two exceptions. It’s fun to watch and deeply engrossing at the same time. While we chuckle at D-FENS struggling with a rocket launcher, we also may see ourselves in his sullen, grim and bitter demeanor. Falling Down holds a mirror up to our lives and asks us how much we see in the reflection. It’s less a revenge flick or action thriller than it is one of the most badass exercises in self-examination I’ve seen in quite some time. It definitely belongs on your Netflix queue if you haven’t seen it before.

Here we have evidence that Joel Schumacher can, in fact, make a damn fine thriller. I still want to take a bat to his knees for Batman & Robin though. And then I’m going after the idiots who don’t give subtitle options on certain Netflix Instant selections. Now I have to wait a week or two to review Oldboy. Would a hammer be more appropriate than a bat? Or maybe a chainsaw. Wait, is that a sword hanging over…?

Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Masters of the Universe

This week’s IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! brought to you by a generous donation by Rick Carroll. Thank you for your support!

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[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/he-man.mp3]

The universe, be there a master of it or no, seems to have an interesting sense of irony. You see, I watched Toy Story 3 for the first time the night before I put this little gem into my computer’s optical drive. I had He-Man toys when I was growing up. In fact, one impetuous act of youth had me seeing Skeletor’s evil castle long before I was supposed to unwrap the gift. Oddly, though, I don’t remember seeing Masters of the Universe clearly before now, save one occasion where I might have been watching it and remember it being very, very dark. My memory might have been affected by booze or therapy, but I really can’t recall anything about that film which etched it into my mind as one based on some of the favorite toys of my childhood.

Seeing it now, I think I know why I didn’t remember it. I’m hoping I can find a way to forget it again as I write this.

Courtesy Cannon Pictures

Even from the opening titles, I was faced with a major flaw in the movie. The grandiose music, the swooshing credits, the somber narration – this movie’s trying very, very hard to be the original Superman. But the director is not Richard Donner. The music’s composer is not John Williams. Even when this came out, Superman was ten years old. This means Masters of the Universe was dated when it was in theaters. Other movies from earlier, working in a similar vein with similar material and even similar looks, are a lot more fun than this movie. Flash Gordon immediately springs to mind. That was camp. This is crap.

Let me ask your indulgence to explain, as I see it, the difference between camp and crap. Both are styles of film where the material is silly, the premise far-fetched and the budget on a level quite a bit below the usual summer blockbuster. But camp has fun with this. Camp is fully aware of how silly it is, and it’s grinning and laughing right along with you. Crap, on the other hand, plays it all straight. Masters of the Universe is definitely the latter. Between the stilted writing, the freshman-year-of-film-school directing and several hero-cast members acting so wooden they make Hayden Christensen look like Oscar material, this movie wouldn’t know camp if Flash Gordan and Jack Burton were sitting in its backyard toasting marshmallows and pitching tents.

Courtesy Cannon Pictures
“Um… guys? Does anybody remember how we got here?”

I realize I’ve been complaining already, and for two solid paragraphs, without mentioning the story of this movie. I’m not even sure it’s worth a mention. Basically, there’s this fight going on between the heroes defending the castle Greyskull and the villains attacking from Snake Mountain. An ill-explained turn of events and a magitechnical MacGuffin see the heroes catapulted to Earth. Other than the names and the occasional location, there’s really nothing at all connecting this story, its characters or anything about this movie to the action figures or cartoons that brought it into being.

I guess the whole storyline of foppish, cowardly Prince Adam secretly being He-Man wasn’t good enough for this movie. We get a midget inventor who looks like he was carved out of a pile of sick instead. I have no idea why this character is necessary at all. The closest parallel that comes to mind is Orko, but at least Orko had a purpose half the time and had the good sense not to follow He-Man around when he’s raiding Skeletor’s stronghold. You know it’s bad when a character in the movie makes you miss the “Scrappy” comic relief character from the cartoon. Dolph Lundgren sports an outfit bought at an S&M yard sale and a hilarious He-Mullet as he makes his way from one scene to another with an expression that is of a man either utterly lost or putting on a manly show to try and hide how utterly lost he is. Teela’s practically gutted, the mercenaries sneer like high schoolers snatched up to play villains in a Saturday amateur dramatics production and I’m going to reiterate that Gwildor is even more arbitrary than the whole “sent to Earth by happenstance” excuse for a plot. At least Man-at-Arms is having some fun.

Courtesy Cannon Pictures
“No I’m not. You leave me out of this. And stop checking out my daughter’s ass!”

It’s a bad sign when you find yourself wanting to spend more time around the villains than the heroes. Skeletor has decent make-up and an agenda that he pursues rather intelligently, and Evil-Lyn not only makes evil look pretty damn good, she does everything Skeletor orders her to do and does it well. For the bulk of the movie I came damn close to rooting for the ruthless magitechnological dictator and his sultry right-hand girl. Even the innocent Earthling bystanders have more pathos and character than the heroes. I mean, say what you want about Courtney Cox and Robert Duncan MacNeill – yes, that’s Tom Paris – but they can actually salvage something watchable out of this mess. As the movie hurtles towards its lackluster and flaccid climax, though, the things I found myself almost liking dribbled away one after another: Evil-Lyn had less to do, a police detective tried and failed to upstage the kids caught up in the fight, and Skeletor not only got a little to into He-Man getting whipped by a fellow bondage show refugee, he also started taking fashion tips from Lo Pan’s gay cousin Emperor Wang. I didn’t care about the outcome of what was probably meant to be an epic battle, save for the fact that seeing it end brought with it the end of the film. Finally.

Masters of the Universe leaves the unfortunate viewer with so many questions. Why does a movie from 1987 look and feel like something from a decade before? You’d think special effects would have at least grown a bit beyond recycled bits from other sources. If Skeletor achieves godhood, why does he still need his minions to do his bidding? Can’t he just smite the lot of them, or does he leave matters in the hands of his inept underlings out of habit? If the police detective was Korea, how does he not know what a “forward position” is? The closest I’ve been to a battlefield is the tour at Gettysburg, and I know what a forward position is. Why does He-Man, a hero defined by his manliess and swordsmanship, insist on constantly using frickin’ laser beams? I don’t recall his action figure ever having a gun as an accessory. And what purpose does Gwildor serve, other than to be annoying in just about everything he does?

Courtesy Cannon Pictures
“Evil-Lyn! Bring me the Golden Headdress of Wang! I have a party to attend!”

Courtesy Cannon Pictures
“… My lord, I’m afraid He-Man’s stupidity may be catching.”

The fight coordination is awful, the dialogue is trite, the special effects are painted on, the connection to its source is as intangible as its narrative structure and its utter dedication to its sincerity makes the entire experience excruciatingly painful. G.I. Joe, Revenge of the Fallen, hell, even the original 80s animated Transformers was better than this. This is just… sickeningly bad. There are very few movies that I’ve loathed utterly when watching it. In that scene towards the end of Toy Story 3 – those of you who’ve seen it know the one I mean – I can only hope that somewhere in that pile of about-to-incinerate garbage is a master copy of Masters of the Universe burning masterfully. It languishes in dark obscurity in places like Netflix, and if you have any decent taste in movies, that’s where it’ll stay.

Too good for it, I say!

Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Demolition Man

This week’s IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! brought to you by a generous donation by Maggie Carroll. Thank you for your support!

Logo courtesy Netflix.  No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner.

[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/demoman.mp3]

Let’s face it. If you’re over a certain age, you’re going to look back on past years more favorably than you do on the present. Food tasted better, games were more enjoyable, and movies didn’t suck as much. It’s a little thing called ‘nostalgia,’ and it can color criticism of things we experienced as we grew up. If you’re aware of this, you can push past those feelings of affection and avoid sounding like an unprofessional commentator stuck in a bygone time, much like the protagonist in Demolition Man. Eerily, as time goes on, the movie itself seems like a relic of the past.

Courtesy Warner Bros Pictures

The movie opens in 1996 Los Angeles where two very transparently named characters do battle. Police detective John Spartan tracks his arch-nemesis Simon Phoenix to an embattled warehouse and takes the bad guy down. In doing so, he is the unwitting cause of some civilian deaths and put on ice. Literally. The new cryogenic prison is tested on these two, with Spartan eligible for parole in 40 years while Phoenix is put away for life. Fast forward to 2032, and the coastal cities of California have been conglomerated under the direction of Doctor Raymond Cocteau, who has brought order out of anarchy through some benevolent social engineering that’s outlawed things like violence, “physical fluid exchange”, bad language and spicy food. Phoenix escapes his parole hearing into this sunshiny society, which is seeking to stamp out elements that enjoy eating meat, spraying graffiti and thinking for themselves. To stop the sudden rampage of violent murders, the ill-equipped and pseudo-intellectual police thaw out John Spartan. After all, sometimes you have send a maniac to catch a maniac.

I have to say that, while heavy-handed and sometimes coming off as a parody, the two futures presented by this 1993 film are equally bleak. It shows a 1996 LA torn apart by gang warfare, with fires, looting and anti-aircraft guns everywhere. The police have to roll into war zones with armored vehicles and riot weaponry. By contrast, 2032 San Angeles is the sort of clean, perfect society filled with nice, loquacious people that would give Aldous Huxley nightmares. Everybody is ‘low-jacked’ as one character puts it, nobody swears or commits violent crimes and people have food, shelter and comforts as long as they obey by the strict rules laid down by the good doctor in charge of it all. Since violence and crime itself are very nearly foreign concepts, the introduction of a gleeful killing machine like Simon Phoenix quickly flushes the place down the toilet.

Courtesy Warner Bros Pictures
It says something when Sly plays the more interesting character in the lead duo.

If it weren’t for the the whole “man out of time” angle, this Stallone action flick would be pretty generic. The bad guy chews through scenery and police officers who aren’t the hero with ease while the good guys never get shot by anybody without a name. It’s only the world of San Angeles and the reactions of Spartan and Phoenix to it that make this watchable. In particular, Stallone does a good job of conveying the discomfort, frustration and even loneliness of a driven, smarter-than-he-looks supercop thrust into a world where his violence is abhorred, his one-liners are chided and his approach towards women is considered repugnant. They also tried to turn him into a seamstress. It’d be horrifying if it weren’t so damn funny.

Speaking of funny, one of the best parts of this movie is Wesley Snipes cutting loose. You may think from the Blade movies that Snipes has no emotional range whatsoever. Not true. Simon Phoenix is a sadistic, wise-cracking, genre savvy madman, and his manic energy really fuels the narrative. The film actually seems to dim a bit when he’s not on-screen. Other elements do buoy the story and keep it moving when he’s not around, but when he’s on he’s having so much fun that it’s hard not to crack a smile. That page that will ruin your life describes him as “a Hip-Hop Joker.” I can’t think of a more spot-on description.

Courtesy Warner Bros Pictures
You can’t be taken seriously with that hairdo unless you kill every cracker you see.

The supporting cast is a mixed bag. Sandra Bullock’s character attempts to be endearing but can really start to grate on the nerves. Most of the other ‘proper’ San Angelenos have this pseudo-intellectual smugness that give the Architect from The Matrix a run for his money. There’s so much jargon and multi-syllable words spewing from these sanctimonious dorks that I for one am happy when things start blowing up. On the other hand, Denis Leary doesn’t so much play a character as he does himself if he were dropped into this world. That is to say, he starts messing shit up immediately. There’s even a rant heavily influenced by his “Asshole” song. It’s really nice to hear after an hour of future folk referring to everybody by their full names. At all times.

The movie holds together for most of its running time but there’s a point at which things kind of come undone. By the way, spoiler warning. So, Doctor Cocteau engineered this society to be free of crime and violence and everybody loves him because he saved them. Yet, he is the one who introduces Simon Phoenix into it, not just to hunt down Denis Leary, but to cause anarchy and chaos so he can rebuild the society. Again. In other words, he developed a utopia just so he could destroy it and build another utopia. For a good hour it seems like Cocteau is actually close to having a society free of irritants and yet he lets loose the biggest irritant of all. He easily could have kept Phoenix on a shorter leash and focused on the assassination rather than letting him run wild in San Angeles doing whatever the hell he wanted. For a character meant to be something of an evil mastermind, this strikes me as really, really stupid.

Courtesy Warner Bros Pictures
Maybe next time you’ll think your clever plan though, doc.

Demolition Man has some good things going for it. The best parts of the relationship between Joker and the Batman are extant between Simon Phoenix and John Spartan. Seeing these two action movie types in the setting of a defanged world is fun, as is the way they crap all over it – literally at one point, in the case of Spartan. But at the end of the day, it’s difficult for me to recommend the movie. There are better, smarter action comedies out there. I have to say, though, that seeing a big, beefy guy like Sylverster Stallone picking up a ball of yarn and wondering how the hell he knows what a zipperfoot and a bobbin are is pretty much worth the price of admission. It’s an interesting relic of the early ’90s, and every once in a while you can call it up on Netflix to indulge that feeling of nostalgia I mentioned, but as a rule, this movie’s best when treated like Simon Phoenix: for your safety and the safety of others, keep it on ice. If you want to introduce a little fun chaos and anarchy, thaw it out. But please, for the love of God, do not let it thaw out any of its friends. You’ve been warned.

Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

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