Reviews

Now, when I sit down to watch a war movie, I expect a bare minimum of glorious carnage. Sadly, none of the ingredients of a fun-filled afternoon - mountains of mutilated corpses, napalm rain lighting up screaming peasants, flak guns tearing through the flesh of the unworthy, crania grinding underneath triumphant Panzer tracks - are present in this so called "war movie".

Seriously, where IS the war? There are some partisans and Japanese soldiers shooting at each other a couple of times, and a few grounded planes blowing up during a raid. That's about it. The little combat there is, is of such low intensity or urgency that it makes the opening blurb (about the heroes in Burma saving democracy from untold numbers of evil imperialist minions) look a little confusing, to say the least. Indeed, this movie never misses an opportunity to leave the scene of action for a trip into town. As soon as a modicum of martial tension is built up, Sturges instead chooses to wind down completely.

After a brief opening scuffle with the Japanese, Captain Sinatra and his second leave for city HQ to request a doctor, or whatever. They go to a nightclub, where Frankie boy falls in love with the trophy companion of a local bigshot. She does not seem impressed at first, but we, of course, KNOW that she will not be able to resist the charm of Ol' Blue Eyes. After completing their phoney, bogus, bastard excuse for a "mission", the two soldiers - still in the city - receive two weeks leave out of the blue, which Sinatra of course spends on sweeping the young lady off her feet. When they finally get back to the jungle, an hour of the movie has already transpired. Frankie is immediately wounded, which means back to the city for more sweet lovin'. And it goes on like this.

Even as a romance, the movie is a complete joke. Not only is there zero chemistry between the lovers, the concept of Lollobrigida's rich "owner" being the jealous type - which is strongly hinted at - is also completely disregarded. This would probably have moved the movie even further away from its front as a "war movie", but really, it had already abandoned the pretense of being a war movie long before that potential idea could be explored. During the first half of the romance, the lovers exchange snide remarks ("Go back to the jungle, soldier boy!", "You're just a piece of furniture!", etc.), whereas the second half consists of the two sitting around talking about how many children they will have. Excuse me while I look away.

The flick transforms into courtroom drama towards the end, which is also the only remotely interesting plot-detour in the entire movie, but it comes too late to make any difference. Apparently, Sturges remembered that Sinatra was supposed to save democracy as well as looking good in a suit, so Frankie goes defying some international law. He is indicted, but since his actions exposed the forces of evil, he is cleared of all charges and democracy wins. Hooray.

I respect Sinatra as an artist, but I have yet to see him make an impact as an actor. He seems to lack the gravitas for the "officer" part of his character here, and comes off as arrogant most of the time. Bronson and McQueen shine in their supporting roles, but are not on screen long enough to save this mess, and Lollobrigida is almost as pathetic an actress as Sophia Loren (who also tumorously thrived on roles like this).

Don't bother.

Another absurd entry in M. Night's hall of shame. As a great fan of Shyamalan...'s annihilation, I feel it's my duty to report that he has once again lowered the bar for what is considered a product ready for exposure. I used to think that atonal music was the nadir of creative effort. Now I know that it's M. Night Shyamalan.

Well, "effort" might be hyperbole. First, can you imagine a lazier title than "The happening"? A movie about a divorce, a plane crash or a bank robbery could also be called "The happening", right? These things also "happen", right?

What happens here is that people start to zombify and kill themselves. The movie's premise is a joke. Gaia is punishing humanity for exploiting the planet. This, we learn, is conducted by the flora releasing toxins that "flips" people's "self preservation switches" (you know, those red and green buttons on the back of your head), to which the leading lady adds "it makes ya kill yerself!". Inside sources have revealed that the science adviser had the same teacher as the makers of "Moonraker" and "Fortress 2". Music reminding the viewer of impending doom plays throughout, sometimes with shots of tall grass (the villain) shaking in the breeze (the henchman). The heroes run to escape the encroaching danger. They run and run. The acting, not noteworthy from the onset, quickly deteriorates into "stare-a-lot, scream-a-lot, overact-all-the-time-a-lot"-o-rama when the troubles start. Wahlberg should be press-ganged.

The exposition is the most heavy-handed I've ever seen. Within the first 25 minutes, three TV broadcasts neatly explain "the happening so far". Each of these just happens to start from the top exactly at the moment when the protagonists come in ear-shot of them, and are turned off exactly when enough is revealed to move the story forward, but without revealing too much. In the last half of the movie, two radio broadcasts do the exact same thing (the heroes actually find a radio laying around in the wilderness, just where they happen to pass). OK, so this is an old movie trick, but FIVE times?

Furthermore, Wahlberg's character happens to be a science teacher, who happens to teach about bee extinction just as he is alerted to the fact that something is "happening". As he leaves the classroom, the camera catches a blackboard quote about human extinction likely to follow any bee ditto. A person he later hitchhikes with happens to be the green equivalent of the proverbial "gun nut", providing a good excuse to rattle off a number of theories about plant communication, sentience, revenge and whatnot - crowned with a completely plot-detached detour to the hippie's own greenhouse. Real subtle there, M. Night. As you can see, there are a lot of things that "just happens" in this fiasco.

The ending is also anti-climatic. The attacks just stop. There's actually more focus on the resolution of the protagonists' romantic difficulties than of "the happening". This would be the preferred conduct for a love story set against a larger backdrop, like "Gone with the wind", but this movie presents itself as a suspense story. The love troubles are mostly mentioned in passing - with Manoj's typical deaf ear for real human conversation - and are only given any actual attention by the main characters in the last 15 minutes or so. "Signs" did the same thing - setting the entire movie up as a suspense piece, only to quickly brush over the threat at the end. I guess this is a bizarre take on the twist ending: "Fooled ya! This movie was about human relations all along!".

The cop-out is justified by having some public figures proclaiming (on TV, of course) that "we may never fully understand" this happening, and some weak theory about the planet "warning us" is thrown about. So, Shyamalan is too lazy to follow up on the universe he created, and by only directing resolution to that of the petty quarrel, he is essentially telling us that the happening, the grand premise and TITLE of the movie, wasn't actually important, it was the characters' insights in the face of trouble? You see how dishonest this is?

The reason for Shyamalan's low standard of film-making is, however, only partly due to the talent vacuum. Perhaps more destructive is that his very name has granted him complete creative control over his projects. This is of course a double-edged sword. With no-one to override decisions, a director's habits are usually magnified, both the good and the bad. A good director might be able to make the movie he wants, without being forced to include a love story "for the female audience". For a hack director like M. Night, however, it means that he can get away with any kind of half-witted script without someone remarking "Surely, you must be joking?". If Shyamalan hadn't been "the director of 'The sixth sense'!" - which also was junk, but not as OVERTLY absurdist as his later outings - this script would be laughed out of every studio between Hollywood, Bollywood, Dollywood and the Dagobah system. The trailer (see it - Shyamalan trailers are hilarious for their clichéd attempts to convey urgency and dread) for this movie didn't fail to point out that it's by the creator of the almighty "Sixth sense", and even the tagline flaunts the creator's merits rather than the actual movie's. Also note how half the negative reviews for any Manoj movie includes "Don't get me wrong, I loved 'The sixth sense'" in the first paragraph.

There are three memorable shots in the movie, one of a number people jumping off a tall building, one of a couple of people shooting themselves in succession, and the third of a car driving into a tree. Unfortunately, neither of these scenes included Manoj's obligatory cameo, although I have the distinct feeling that they will symbolize the careers of everyone involved in this debacle.

No god damn stars.

Everybody's favourite "intelligent" horror/mystery-thriller, with everybody's favourite twist ending. You already know the story, so I'll fast-forward directly to the bashing.

Shyamalan fancies himself a great artist, not content with "only" telling a story. Fair enough. The last positive thing I will say in this review is that he has a keen eye for cinematography, if nothing else. Unfortunately, pretty pictures and "art shots" are not enough to make a good director, or film, and cinematography is indeed the movie's actual preoccupation. Manoj deliberately tries to carve out visual trademarks by over-staging every scene, and this takes up a large part of the near two hours. The colour red is seen here and there, carrying "symbolic significance". A good director would spend his time inspiring his actors to pass for human beings, but then again, Mr. Night might not be a good director. Few characters in his pictures actually behave like real people.

And acting here is non-existent. A vacuum. In Shyamalan's other movies, at least people appear to be reading from scripts. Now, Bruce Willis is one of the few remaining action stars with trace amounts of Y-chromosomes, and has charisma enough to carry a movie, but his talents for "subtle" drama like this are somewhat yonder. Frankly, I can't think of a less suitable actor for this kind of role (child psychologist). Sure enough, within the first five minutes we are treated to a prolonged shot of an award plaque, with Willis' wife actually spelling out for us the superlatives it contains. This is so that we'll know that Willis' character is "brilliant". Manoj misunderstood the concept of "show, don't tell", a fundamental narrative tool, which means that Willis shows us his brilliance through his actions, not by bluntly telling us "he's brilliant!". Low class there, but it gets even worse.

The kid does nothing but whisper through the entire movie. This is his brilliant, Oscar-nominated acting? Other than that, people sit around a lot, broods a lot, whispers some more. The kid sees dead people everywhere, which gives rise to a bunch of "scary moments" (with loud music playing every time a closet door suddenly opens, or whatever), but without actually advancing the story. They're just there for cheesy "Boo! I bet you didn't see THAT coming!" effects that were old news in the '70s already. The entire middle half of the movie is superfluous and could be cut out, since it seems to have little to do with the framing device, which is Willis' character. Really, time has never moved slower than when watching this movie.

As for weak horror, the kid actually states early on that the ghosts are looking for "help" rather than haunting or causing mischief. OK, so there is not even a threat of harm? Then what is the point of having scene after scene with "made you jump!"-scares, when our beloved heroes are not even in danger at any one point? I'll tell you the point, the point is to water down the "horror" genre to be suitable for children, which ideally will broaden the revenue base. Producers didn't take long to understand this, and now this kind of diaper horror is the norm.

Plot holes abound. The biggest is that Willis' dead character doesn't notice, until the very end of the movie, that nobody except the boy (who is some kind of medium) interacts with him. Willis meets with the kid in a professional context, but who made the appointment with Willis, if he was already dead? The kid himself? I don't THINK so. Later, Willis has been let into the house of the boy's mother, and the mother is actually sitting there next to him. They never interact. Yet we are to believe that Willis was let into the house and seated, and neither greeted nor was seen by the kid's mother, who was SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO HIM AT THE START OF THE SCENE. Yet another scene has dead Willis eating dinner with his wife. Apparently, they didn't speak to each other, and Willis didn't notice this? Manoj tricks the audience here, by having the wife talk to herself in such a manner that it APPEARS that she is talking to Willis.

There are enough absurdities here to build a ladder to the moon, which M. Night and his fanboys have tried to justify with the cop-out notion that "Willis only sees what he wants to see". Neat, isn't it? Sure spares Shyamalan the effort of wrapping up the mess he created. Suffice it to say that the perhaps most telling sign of a director's incompetence is that he has to cheat his audience in order to keep the story together. Even Spielberg, the devil's handpicked lieutenant on earth, doesn't resort to this low form of audience manipulation.

Personally, I find that movies that rely on gimmick twists, as opposed to honest atmosphere and ACTING, do not hold up to repeated viewings. Even if your IQ is likely to turn up on a craps roll, and you DIDN'T see the twist coming, how can you watch this hogwash over again KNOWING what will be the big surprise? The disturbing part is that millions of drugged lemmings actually DID go to see this movie a second time, to pick up all the clues that made them miss the finale the first time around. The nightman got rich, and invested his efforts in another triumphant masterpiece, "Unbreakable".

Here's my screenplay: Bruce Willis gets shot. Dies. The end. Osment and Manoj remain unknown.

Shyamalan is a disease. I've seen a number of his movies just to reassure myself, and the man is a complete criminal. I am on a crusade, and I will not rest until he is indicted for his offences against art, taste and logic.

Lowest possible rating.

I will not delve too deeply into the derivative nature of the plot, as that has been done already, but I do feel that this movie must be destroyed, hence this lengthy review.

First, a word on the acting:

Jeremy Irons is the only good actor here. He plays the mentor with a past, and really struggles with the material. You can tell that he feels that this is beneath him, and must have been well paid to keep a straight face (or absent mind) while speaking line after line of cretinous gibberish. His character dies somewhere in the middle, effectively ending what little potential this movie had left in it at that point.

John Malkovich, as the evil King Galbatorix, delivers one of my favourite pieces of bad acting of all time. He's only on-screen for about one minute in total, playing the only role he can (a bizarre hybrid of the overstated and monotonous). He utters the first line of dialogue in the entire movie - the hilarious and clueless "I suffer without my stone. Do not prolong my suffering." - with such hyperbole that it echoes through the rest of the movie. Now, I don't consider him a good actor by any standard, but the melodrama with which he delivers this line makes me wonder if there isn't more than meets the eye here, and he was actually openly mocking the source material.

Nobody else is worth mentioning. The hero is best fit for starry-eyed teen drama, and the voice acting (the whole selling point of the movie being a pretty CGI dragon) is just voice acting. Robert Carlyle's (who usually is decent) evil wizard was just cartoon trash.

Anyway, the fact that Malko's suffering is the most memorable scene in the entire movie speaks volumes about the low quality of the material itself. All the clichés of speculative fiction are here. I could usually finish each scene (often the dialogue as well) in my head, because I've seen them so many time before. Never so incompetently directed, though.

Most of the movie consists of the hero, mentor and dragon traveling through random pieces of landscape. Can't have a fantasy tale without traveling. Forests, crop fields, valleys, mountains. Mentor offers sage advice, bonds with hero, dies redeeming himself. Hero bonds with dragon, learns his true potential. Final battle. There's a love interest in here too, who spends most the movie lying down, speaking to "our hero" through his dreams.

The filmmakers actually spent more reel-time and orchestral dollars on setting up the sequel ("We'll meet again, lover", "Galbatorix suffers now, but is rebuilding the death star", etc.) than wrapping up THIS movie with a memorable climax. Or a story at all, really. I could write for hours about all the things this movie isn't.

Speaking of the final battle, it epitomizes the incompetence of the narrative. Nowhere in the movie is the scope of the battle hinted at. There are brief scenes of Robert Carlyle's character reprimanding Orc commanders (complete with a shameless frame-by-frame re-shooting of the "You have failed me for the last time, admiral" scene from "The empire strikes back") - and himself being reprimanded by King Galbatorix, the sufferer - but nowhere do you feel that there is a large task force on our hero's trail. Apparently there is, as the rebels all mount for war at Helm's Deep at the end of the movie.

However, as there is no sense of neither place nor politics in the entire movie, it ultimately doesn't matter where this takes place, why it takes place, who participates, and how many they are. I couldn't even tell you who these bad guys are, as they are at best mentioned in passing ("Watch out for Razacs while collecting that there firewood, Eragon!"). There really isn't any narrative or back-story here at all, save for some tidbits about the dragons. But since the supposed significance of the dragons is not tied to a larger political and cultural scope, their history becomes as meaningless as everything else. There is minimal character development, so the human aspect is also superficial.

Something about the author of this work:

I have not read the book and have no intention of ever doing so. But, I think I have a grasp of what's going on.

Names and invocations are nothing more than random Scandinavian or Celtic-sounding words, and the plot points are lifted from other people's work. This is the product of someone with only book experience and no mileage of his own (i.e. a nerd). And like many sci-fi writers who give their characters "spacey" names - for no other reason than to remind the reader that the story takes place in the future - the characters here have "fantastic" names, just to remind the reader/viewer that it's fantasy. A long time ago. Far...far away.

Christ, this is so bad.

Judging by the derivative nature of this material, I doubt people will hear about the Eragon franchise in the future. Longevity is perhaps the only accurate measurement of quality in art. Quality survives. Speaking only for the movie, it's quite clear that it was thrown together hastily, while the book is still hot stuff, to make some quick cash on the name. If they make a new Eragon movie in 20 years, then maybe I'll believe that the material itself has some lasting merit.

Anyway, at 1:40, or something, at least this nasty movie takes its own advice and does not "prolong the suffering". However, we can always keep hoping for an "extended version" to surface in time for the sequel, featuring the deleted scenes of Jeremy Irons chasing his agent through the nine circles of Hell, and King Galbatorix suffering without his stone on the Tree of Woe.

No stars for Christmas.

I don't know where to begin my defilement of this work, because it's really rotten to the core. One word best sums it up, and that is CONTRIVED. Every single scene is fabricated to be sentimental propaganda in step with current trends and political correctness. Even Spielberg couldn't reach these heights of not-so-subliminal American gung-ho, all supported by a vulgar soundtrack that tells you exactly what to feel and when to feel it.

Also, I hear this movie is based on a book. I can't for my life believe that the book is as boastful and self-indulgent as this nonsense. Mel Gibson's character is nothing short of Jesus himself - he's a wonderful father and husband, and a god-fearing Christian who only fights to keep his Family safe from the Twin Evils of Communism (which indeed is a pestilence, but that's beyond the obvious) and Heathendom. On the battlefield, he'll know no fear, will always be the first in line for a bullet, and will gladly sacrifice himself for his imperial comrades. And on and on. Every other soldier is also a family man and Protector of Democracy, Baseball, and Jockstraps. Well, all except Sam Elliott's character, who is supposed to be a Tom Highway/Sergeant Hartman clone, only humourless.

Let's just list some of the most deplorable scenes:

Gibson praying in church with a fellow officer, telling him that God is on their side. Gibson praying with his children, and cuddling with his wife. Gibson explaining to his daughter what a war is, and how they are the good guys (In God We Trust). Gibson's speech about brotherhood in his unit, and how he will sacrifice himself (this scene is really too laughable for words, it has to be seen to be believed). Gibson, after the war, saying that his only regret is that some of the men under his command died, and he did not.

The soldiers' wives are generously portrayed. They are in the movie for the sole purpose of receiving notes whenever their husbands have died. Again, to show that they have sacrificed themselves for their families. A tear spent is a dollar earned.

The scene when Gibson returns from the war, and his wife only sees a cab stopping outside, fearing it is a death note for her. Pathetically predictable and melodramatic.

And then we have the "laundromat" scene, which has probably the most forced PC dialogue I've ever seen. Are we supposed to believe that an American woman in the '60s (and I believe in the South?) had not heard the term "Whites only" before?

As for the war scenes, have you ever noticed how German and Vietnamese soldiers always die instantly, but American soldiers always live on for 30 another seconds? Just enough for a violin piece, his comrades holding his hands as the lights in his eyes flicker and go out, and of course, a glorious parting line.

And the death scenes here are truly fabricated beyond ridicule. Everyone accepts death with a smile, and no fear whatsoever. One dying soldier says "I feel privileged to die for my country", TWO say "Tell my wife I love her", one is dramatically shot dead just as he heroically lifts his wounded comrade onto a helicopter, and yet another has his newborn's name flaunting about - just so we are reminded that he's one of the good guys, and that we should be extra sad when he dies, because he "died to protect them" (another unwritten rule of Hollywood war movies is that whenever someone shows a picture, letter, or something to that effect, of a loved one - he will die).

And propaganda aside, even strictly as a war movie, it falls flat. The movie knows full well that it is dishonest and preys on sentimentality, that is has no plot to speak of, that is has only the most rudimentary strategical and tactical elaborations, and that it is completely devoid of characterization (let alone character development!). So it goes for the graphic and macabre instead - faces burning with napalm, etc. This is what can be expected, because the movie was obviously made for the very easily impressed, the drooling mass that WANTS to be told what to feel and think, because it's easier than doing it themselves.

Pathetic.

I won't go into the clumsiness of the alien theme, the slow pace, the absence of plot, etc, as enough about that has been said already. I do feel dirty after watching this movie though, so I have to say a few unflattering words about it, and its creator. It is now clear to me that the author of this piece, whom I can not, in good conscience, call by name here, is the biggest fraud and hack in the movie industry EVER. Yes, both "The sixth sense" and "Unbreakable" stunk, and this is even worse.

The philosophical concept (the pitiful "You see, in this world there are two kinds of people, my friend" speech), that supposedly is the *actual* theme of the movie, is as shallow as it is flawed (or should I say, "as clumsy as it is stupid..."?). The movie make it sound like all skeptics (i.e. the people who concluded that the Earth is actually round), or "HOMO SAPIENS SAPIENS TYPE B" as we are branded here, are altogether nihilistic, immoral, devoid of creativity and imagination, unable to find a purpose in life, and most insulting of all, THE ONES WHO ARE AFRAID OF LIFE? Did it not occur to The Unnamable that it is precisely because of the so-called "fear of loneliness" that people have invented gods, miracles and providence in the first place?

It's actually trash like this that makes me consider religion, just so I can believe there is a "place of constant summer" (by his own logic, The Unnamable is destined to go there, as he created this landfill guided by the divine, rather than by his own free will) for people who constantly insult my intelligence, and will sink to any level of self-degradation just to force their idiotic ideas upon the world.

"The only thing worse than being talked about, is not being talked about" indeed.

Even Mel Gibson, who plays the loving father and "Soldier of Jesus, America and Democracy", in movie-after-abysmal-movie, seems to cringe when forced to deliver that "key scene" (at gun point? I can picture The Unnamable standing just out of camera shot with a gun in his hand, waving at poor Mel: "This is my masterpiece! Say it! Say it!"). Other than that, he sleepwalks through the whole thing - even more so than Bruce Willis, in all his dramatic range, in those aforementioned movies.

Nobody else seemed to have a consistent personality either. The kids alternated between creepy, cute, lecturing, and indulging in their gimmicks (as opposed to personalities). Joaquin Phoenix' character was superfluous to begin with, he seemed to have been added for the "baseball" scene alone, and looked like a child molester the rest of the movie.

And of course there's a dog thrown in there for added melodrama, which I guess makes sense, because this guy is like the Dean R. Koontz of movie making.

Insulting, shallow, boring. Flush it.