Quantum Of Solace: A Review

No, not the movie, you silly goose. That won't be released until mid-November. This is a review of the Ian Fleming short story, published way back in 1960.

The story is far from a typical Bond adventure filled with guns, girls, and megalomaniacal villains bent on world domination, and there isn't a single character with a ludicrous name like Auric Goldfinger, Pussy Galore, or I. P. Freely.

As the story begins, 007 has just finished a routine operation which is described matter-of-factly in one paragraph on the second page. Bond is in Nassau, dutifully chatting with the Governor after a tedious dinner party, when he makes a flippant remark about marrying an air hostess, i.e. a stewardess. That prompts the Governor to tell the story of an old friend who did indeed marry an air hostess, with tragic results.

Between puffs on his cigar, the Governor delivers a surprisingly poignant tale which shows how even the gentlest of people can become cruel and vindictive when pushed too far. But how far is too far? That's where the title comes into play.

Here's how the Governor describes it to Bond:

You're not married, but I think it's the same with all relationships between a man and a woman. They can survive anything so long as some kind of basic humanity exists between the two people. When all kindness has gone, when one person obviously and sincerely doesn't care if the other is alive or dead, then it's just no good.

Well, duh.

The Governor goes on to call this the Law of the Quantum Of Solace, meaning that as long as you offer the other person a glimmer of hope, or a quantum of solace, then there's a chance the marriage will survive.

Fleming seems overly proud of himself for giving a simple concept such a grandiose title, and he even has Bond say that it's "a splendid name for it" before giving his own thoughts on the theory.

I still stand by the claim that Quantum Of Solace is a terrible name for a James Bond movie, and I don't think it was a very good title for a short story either. It reeks of a pulp fiction writer getting all pretentious and trying to prove that he could have been taken seriously as an author if that was what he'd wanted.

The thing is, when Fleming isn't patting himself on the back for that title, he actually manages to tell a very compelling human drama with a nice little twist at the end. Hopefully the movie pulls off the same trick and manages to be a good film with a bad title, but if any character in the movie uses the title in a line of dialogue, I'll most likely puke up my popcorn.



Another intriguing aspect of the story is that Fleming seems to be re-examining his own career path in this passage after Bond has heard the Governor's entire story:

Bond laughed. Suddenly the violent dramatics of his own life seemed very hollow. The affair of the Castro rebels and the burned out yachts was the stuff of an adventure strip in a cheap newspaper.

And later still:

He reflected on the conference he would be having in the morning with the Coastguards and the FBI in Miami. The prospect, which had previously interested, even excited him, was now edged with boredom and futility.

Fleming seems to be wondering if he's wasted his life writing adventure tales without much emotional resonance or insight into the human condition.

I think there's always a time and a place for escapism, and I grew up on James Bond movies and novels, and even obsessed over the role-playing game for a while, but as I got older I became more interested in realistic human dramas, and it seems as though Fleming was feeling the same way.

Not counting Thunderball, which was developed from a screenplay that Fleming had been collaborating on for years, the next Bond novel published after Quantum Of Solace was The Spy Who Loved Me, which was also radically different from typical Bond fare. It was considered a failure, both critically and financially, and I remember hating it when I read it years ago, but it's interesting to see how Fleming was stretching himself, perhaps reflecting the same soul-searching expressed in that short story whose name I can't bear to type yet again.

Fleming then wrote several more successful Bond novels that stuck to the formula, but he hadn't completely given up on the idea of pushing himself because he also wrote the children's book, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, which was published in 1964, the same year he died.

Who knows what other directions his work might have gone in if he had lived, but hopefully the writing of a successful children's book that had nothing to do with Bond gave a dying man a quantum of... nope, I'm so not going there.



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In Bruges: A Review

In Bruges (it rhymes with stooge) is a wonderfully coarse and talkative crime caper that deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as the best of Tarantino and the Coen Brothers.

Two hitmen (Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson) have been ordered to hide out in Bruges (it's in Belgium) until the heat dies down after a recent job. Gleeson, best known as "Mad Eye" moody from Harry Potter films, is a reasonably cultured and introspective hitman, so he delights in the city's medieval buildings, canals, and cobblestone streets, but despite the director's obvious love of this stunning city, Farrell's character never wavers from his belief that Bruges is a shithole. While Gleeson is awestruck by the city's rich history, Farrell "sulks like a five-year old who's dropped his sweeties".

He only perks up when he discovers a film shoot involving midgets, and then meets a beautiful young woman (Chloe) who he invites to dinner after sneaking on set. They each have sordid pasts, but offer each other a shot at redemption.

Farrell is a bundle of nervous energy, as usual, but this time there's a reason why his character is always trying to crawl out of his own skin. I won't reveal the reason here, but after a half hour or so you'll understand why he's constantly at war with himself. On a dinner date, for example, he tells Chloe a coarse joke about a recent series of murders in Belgium. When Chloe says that one of the victims was a friend of hers, his self-loathing is genuine, but moments later she reveals that she was only teasing, and Farrell is soon bursting with laughter. A minute later, he's beating up the man at the next table.

Gleeson, on the other hand, is the relatively philosophical voice of reason. He's a more experienced hitman who's good at his job, but would have chosen a different career if his life hadn't turned out the way it did. He manages to think of himself as a relatively decent person despite the fact that he kills people for money, so he becomes Farrell's de facto therapist, tour guide, and father figure while trying to help him work through his issues, which are very real and not played for laughs like in Grosse Pointe Blank or Analyze This.

But the sightseeing, bonding, and laying low can't last forever, so once the high-maintenance, volatile crime boss (Ralph Fiennes) reveals the real reason that Farrell and Gleeson are in Bruges, the threat of future violence comes into play.

You might find the first half of the film a bit slow if you're expecting non-stop action, and if you're easily offended you might find yourself wincing repeatedly as Farrell makes consistently rude remarks about Americans, homosexuals, midgets, and countless others.

The fact that there happens to be a film shoot taking place In Bruges is somewhat self-indulgent, but the dialogue was so sharp and funny, and the location was so stunning, and the brotherly relationship between Gleeson and Farrell was so appealing that I was able to forgive the somewhat contrived ending.

Unlike most comedies about killers, this one reminds us that innocent people often get hurt when there's gunplay, and when the violence does come in the third act it's quite brutal, so the movie should appeal to fans of the Coen Brothers' Fargo. And there are obvious parallels between these two hitmen and those portrayed by Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta in Pulp Fiction, but In Bruges has a style and tone that feels fresh. And, most importantly, it's extremely funny and I cared about these characters as much as they cared for each other.


Final verdict: 9/10

Hancock - Review

Based on the negative buzz and the underwhelming trailer and the mixed reviews and the track record of director Peter Berg, I went into Hancock with low expectations but came out pleasantly surprised.

I found it very refreshing to see two major plot twists in a big budget Hollywood movie that weren't even hinted at in the trailers. Previews usually give away the entire movie in two and a half minutes, but not this time around, and for that reason alone I hope Hancock is a big hit. Maybe it'll give Hollywood the courage to show similar restraint with other marketing campaigns in the future.

Some audiences may be disappointed with the directions Hancock takes because it doesn't follow the typical superhero formula. There isn't much of a villain and the final showdown is a bit anti-climactic. There isn't as much action as you'd except from a Will Smith summer blockbuster, and when it does come, it's darker and more violent than I expected. And even though I laughed a lot, the humour is often edgier than anything in Men In Black or any other recent Will Smith vehicle.

The movie is also more serious and emotionally resonant than I expected, and that may be the final straw for the normal popcorn munchers. Hancock isn't just a comical boozehound/superhero, he's a super-entity with deep emotional scars who takes solace in the bottle whenever possible. And he isn't a loudmouth asshole simply because that's what passes for cool in today's youth culture. He's a jerk because he hates his life, and there's no end in sight because he's immortal, so he lashes out at everyone around him.

I still think Peter Berg is a terrible director, what with his obsessive use of shaky cams, extreme close ups, and sudden zooms for no apparent reason. But the script was solid and unusual, Will Smith does more than just act cool for a change, and Jason Bateman hits all the right notes as Hancock's PR guru, so while Berg and his cinematographer were busy showing off, everyone else got down to making a good movie.

Hancock could have been better with a different director, or it could have been a lot worse with Michael Bay behind the camera, but the film is still worth seeing for the performances and surprises, which I've tried not to give away.

Surprises in a summer blockbuster? What are the odds?

Final Verdict: 7/10

Wall-E: A Review

There's something inherently wrong about using words to describe the brilliance of WALL-E, because this is a film that places the emphasis squarely on visuals and music to tell one of the most magical stories of the past few years.

Alfred Hitchcock once said that you're ready to start shooting once the script has been written and the dialogue has been added. The people behind WALL-E understand better than most that talk is cheap and that characters are truly defined by their actions, not their words.

WALL-E is a thoroughly adorable creation not because he offers snappy banter and pop culture references while mugging for the camera like the dogs in that hideous trailer for Beverly Hills Chihuahua, but because everything he does speaks volumes about what a good-natured creature he is. In the same way that R2D2 was the emotional core of Star Wars, this little robot is the most human, genuinely heart-warming movie creation in years. Not since Puss In Boots flashed his baby blues in Shrek 2 has an animated character expressed so much while saying nothing.

And the deserted planet that WALL-E inhabits is an equally fascinating treat for the eyes. When seen from space, the familiar blue, white, and green sphere once known as Earth has turned a rusty shade of brown. WALL-E has been left alone on this abandoned planet to clean up the mess that humans have left behind, and his piles of garbage tower over the largest skyscrapers. The shots of this lone robot wandering through a desolate wasteland while humming a catchy tune are truly stunning.

WALL-E happily goes about his business, as he's done for 700 years, because it's the only life he's ever known. He works all day, compacting garbage into neat little cubes, occasionally keeping trinkets that he finds interesting like egg beaters, a rubik's cube, and the box that a diamond ring came in. The diamond ring, having no inherent value that WALL-E can understand, gets tossed on the trash heap.

WALL-E's managed to survive long after all the other WALL-E models have broken down, and like many Sci-Fi robots before him, the more information he assimilates, the more his own personality develops. He's a machine that's evolved to the verge of sentience, but we see him as a young child who's just beginning to make sense of the world around him and his place in it.

His only friend is a pet cockroach who follows him everywhere he goes like a loyal puppy, and WALL-E spends his off-hours watching Hello Dolly and emulating the dance moves. There's also something about the love story that he finds fascinating, but he doesn't quite understand it all. And then EVE arrives.

She's a newer model robot, apparently designed by one of Steve Jobs' ancestors, and she's been sent to Earth on some unknown mission. WALL-E is initially terrified of this strange visitor, but the more he watches her the more fascinated he becomes, and his initial timid attempts at courtship are thoroughly endearing to the audience, if not to EVE. No matter how many times she threatens to blow him to bits with her highly advanced weapons, all he wants to do is get a little closer, earn her trust, protect her from harm, and hold hands.

Beyond the love story and the laughs, there's some very effective social commentary on the dangers of mega-corporations and our increasingly obese, lazy society. This is deftly handled in a way that's hard to miss, but never heavy-handed.

I honestly don't know if most children will enjoy Wall-E because it lacks the hyper-kinetic action of typical kiddie fare, but I sincerely hope they'll respond favourably to WALL-E's expressive eyes, charming body language, and sweet-tempered personality.

If, after seeing WALL-E, your kids would rather watch Beverly Hills Chihuahua, I weep for the future.

And as for adults, if you don't find WALL-E to be a wondrous movie-going experience, there's an excellent chance that you're a cold-hearted bastard, and if I was the last robot on earth and my choice of companion came down to you or a cockroach, I'd choose the cockroach.

Untraceable: A Review

There are two independent, single-screen movie theatres in my neighbourhood that I like to support, even to the point of paying for movies I'd never go out of my way to see. Sometimes when I'm sitting across the street having a slice of pizza with the marquee staring me right in the face, I'll take a chance on a movie like Untraceable, especially when I'm feeling less than great and my only plans for the evening involve going home and doing a load of laundry.

After browsing the reviews last week, the general consensus seemed to be that Untraceable was a below-average cop thriller which bordered on torture porn, and based on those reviews I had no desire to see it. But I'd forgotten all about that tonight, until the opening sequence of a kitten in a cat carrier in a dingy basement, meowing and scratching at its cage, begging to be let out, while a video camera records the whole thing. An unseen man places what appears to be a glue trap in front of the carrier, places some food on the other side of the trap to entice the kitten, then releases it from its cage. At this point, I was thinking that paying for this movie was a mistake.

I suddenly remembered the torture porn accusations from the reviews I'd read and I started to imagine the worst. As an animal lover who lost a beloved cat of my own in the past year, I found the tension in this scene almost unbearable, until a harsh light suddenly lit up the kitten's face, causing it to hiss, and then the film cut to a different location.

I had to give the filmmaker's credit for creating an extremely nerve-wracking scene without ever resorting to grisly images of feline flesh being torn apart, so I settled in to give the movie a fair chance.

Untraceable focuses on Jennifer Marsh, an FBI cybercrimes expert played by Diane Lane, presumably because Ashely Judd was unavailable. When Marsh and her coworkers, including a bland Colin Hanks, discover the website killwithme.com, they see a still frame of the kitten on the glue trap, and if it weren't for the dialogue I wouldn't have known for sure that the kitten was dead.

The movie shows similar restraint for most of the first act, even as Marsh watches grisly videos of suicides and tragic accidents on the internet. The camera usually focuses on the characters while small, grainy images play out on computer screens in the background, and I was thinking that Untraceable was shaping up to be a reasonably tasteful thriller with a message I could really get behind, i.e. condemning the voyeuristic desire to watch real violence online. But then the killer claimed his first human victim.

I've never seen a movie that was labelled as torture porn, such as the Saw or Hostel series, and if I have my way, I never will. So when the murderer started slowly killing people on-screen in increasingly bizarre ways while streaming the deaths for an online audience, the movie lost some of the respect it had earned during the opening. Although, I must admit, I was expecting a lot worse.

Yes, there is quite a bit of blood during the first torture scene, and extensive make-up work showing flesh being destroyed in various ways during later murders, but I didn't think it was drastically worse than images from other movies which critics have praised, such as Silence Of The Lambs or Se7en. The main difference is the amount of screen time given to the death scenes which play out in real-time, but is that any different from Alfred Hitchcock's Frenzy, released way back in 1971, which had equally lengthy murder scenes, minus all the special effects.

I'm not about to rush out and rent Saw IV after surviving Untraceable relatively unscathed, and I'm not saying the movie isn't grisly, but I'm not convinced that the movie deserves the torture porn label. The bulk of the images during the murder scenes focus on the victims' faces, the shocked reactions of the investigators who watch the killings online as they take place, or the cold, bemused expression of the killer. There are closeups and inserts of images that are designed to be revolting, but the movie does hold back more than I expected, albeit less than I would have liked.

As for the rest of the movie, it's an uneven police procedural with both its fair share of nice touches and ludicrous moments. It was shot in Portland, Oregon, so there's lots of wonderful scenery, unique locations, and interesting cityscapes that you wouldn't have gotten shooting in an over-used location like L.A., New York, or even here in Vancouver.

The film does get preachy at times, and its message is weakened by hypocritically showing the kind of violence it claims to loathe. It also relies on too many Hollywood clichés, such as when the killer deliberately taunts the investigators and eventually targets the woman in charge of the case.

On the plus side, the killer unexpectedly chooses men as his first three victims, which goes against the conventions of the genre, thereby making those scenes a little less tacky, and when the connection between the victims is finally discovered, I found the revelations quite clever and intriguing. And the basic premise - the more hits the killer's website gets, the faster his victims die, thereby making web surfers complicit in the crime - had great potential.

Diane Lane's performance keeps the film grounded in reality, and Billy Burk does nice work as the local cop assigned to the case. The fact they don't immediately fall into bed together makes this a better movie than it might have been, and the personal lives of the characters are handled in a way that's emotionally honest.

But the killer's increasingly elaborate torture devices become a bit silly, which may be why I didn't find them as disturbing as something more plausible, ie. a sick bastard with a big knife. And the way the killer finally ensnares his first female captive is laughable. He's supposed to be a technological wizard, but his expertise in that sequence completely destroyed the film's already thin credibility.

This genre is one I haven't paid much attention to for years now, and since seeing David Fincher's brilliant Zodiac several times this year, I think any movie that spends this much time focused on the bloody exploits of a brilliant sadistic killer will seem tacky and exploitative by comparison. So, all in all, Untraceable is a decent, occasionally formulaic and somewhat passé serial killer movie with moments of true inspiration, improved greatly by Diane Lane's performance and the fresh look of its locations.

See this movie if you liked: Kiss The Girls, Hannibal




PS - I can't remember which site I saw this on, but I read movie reviews somewhere that required the reviewer to list their biases to help readers better understand where the reviewer is coming from and if they're likely to react the same way. I think that's a brilliant innovation in the world of movie reviews, so I'll do the same thing now and in any future movie reviews I post here.

Biases
The Reviewer Likes: Diane Lane, rain-swept vistas, kittens
The Reviewer Hates: Blood and guts, recycled plot devices, doing laundry