Humorless

“Inception is full of brontosaurean effects, like the city that folds over on top of itself, but the tone is so solemn I felt out of line even cracking a smile.”

That quote from David Edelstein’s review of Inception has been with me since I first read it, kicking around in my mind as something I knew I'd have something to say about at some point.

Edelstein's review, despite his protests to the contrary, reads as if he went into the movie looking for reasons not to crack a smile. That aside, though, the above complaint stood out to me as particularly unreasonable. Edelstein makes no effort to support it, which leads me to believe he takes it to be self-evident that artists owe their audiences a smile here and there.

Or rather it would lead me to believe that, if I didn't find it unbelievable. Surely nobody actually believes that all movies ought to have comedic elements. Even those who leap to decry any work which treats its subject matter seriously as "self-serious" (there seems to be no worse sin in contemporary art) are probably inconsistent. Would Schindler's List have benefited from more ironic winks at the audience? If not, why? Surely it's not only that it's a movie about the Holocaust. Surely artists can treat other subjects seriously without being mocked for taking themselves too seriously.

A reasonable argument would be that Inception's subject matter is too fantastical to be treated as seriously as Nolan treats it. But that opens up its own can of worms. Is it ever acceptable to treat fantastical subject matter completely seriously? I see no reason to believe that it's not, though I would agree that it's incredibly difficult. The Twilight movies are an extreme example of why. Their dour-faced teenage vampires and werewolves mope about the perpetually rainy Pacific Northwest as if immortal creatures have nothing more important on their minds than high school romances. Even if you can get caught up in such a story while it plays out, spell out the premise objectively, and it sounds ridiculous.

The reason Edelstein's criticism stuck with me all these months is that it could be directly applicable to a lot of video games. So many games these days take place in worlds so full of grizzled faces and grim architecture that it's nearly impossible not to laugh at them. But that doesn't mean that games should always break up the angst and oppression with some laughs. It just means that they should be more self-aware. In turn, self-awareness in art doesn't entail ironic detachment. It just means having an understanding of where your story fits in the big picture. The story of Killzone is closer to Inglourious Basterds than Saving Private Ryan, but it's up for debate whether its developers understand that. On the other hand, the subject matter of Metal Gear Solid could be handled seriously, even solemnly, but Kojima constantly breaks the mood with stupid and inappropriate humor.

So maybe the problem isn't that artists won't "allow" audiences to smile. Maybe it's that artists and critics alike need to think more about when smiles are really needed.

Twisting

These days, I go into almost every movie I watch expecting a twist ending. They seem to be more or less a requirement, and are at least so common that I'm more surprised when the film I'm watching doesn't try to pull the rug out from under me than when it does.

In the past week, I've watched two twisty movies, The Last Exorcism and Shutter Island, and while watching both I thought a lot about Inception, my favorite movie of the past year, as well as Departures, a 2008 Japanese drama that I watched recently. Neither of the latter movies involve twists, but I found both more surprising than the former.

The Last Exorcism's twist ruined the movie for me. Everything preceding it would have made sense in the real world. Cotton Marcus was a huckster, an unbelieving charismatic preacher clearly based on Marjoe Gortner (and the documentary made about him, which everyone should see). Nell, the ostensibly possessed girl, didn't really do anything that a real girl who was experiencing psychological trauma couldn't have done. It left the reality of Nell's condition to the viewer, who would undoubtedly project his or her own worldview onto the character. That's nice--it always is when directors don't over-explain their films. But the last five minutes of The Last Exorcism spend all that goodwill on a cartoonish twist that suddenly made me not care about any of the characters I'd spent the past hour getting to know (and in some cases, like).

Shutter Island, on the other hand, twists from the opening scene to the final shot. It throws so many "is this really happening?" moments at the viewer that I quickly stopped caring. I couldn't identify with any of the characters, because the movie wanted me to constantly question whether they were who they claimed to be, or whether they existed at all. It was so obvious that a big reveal was going to turn everything on its ear that it seemed like a waste of energy to get involved. Storytelling is, at its heart, the art of getting people to respond emotionally to characters they know don't actually exist. When your entire premise is that the characters in your story probably aren't real, you're not telling a story anymore. You're just trying to show how clever you are.

Really, Inception and Shutter Island are very similar movies. They both feature Leonardo DiCaprio as a man whose obsession with a lost loved one drives him into an unreal world. The difference, and the reason it's possible to care about his character in Inception but not Shutter Island, is that Inception, despite taking place largely in a world the movie tells you isn't real, goes out of its way to explain to you how things work in that unreal world, and unwaveringly abides by its own rules. Shutter Island has no rules, and as a result can't really surprise. Both movies mean to leave you wondering about what their final moments mean, but only Inception makes you feel like you could construct a reasonable answer if you retraced its steps.

Departures surprised me as well, but not with any twists. It surprised me because it played with my own expectations of movies, especially romantic dramas. Relationships develop in a way that real world relationships often do, and I suspected that they would continue to do so. But main character Daigo Kobayashi proves himself to be stronger, perhaps better all around, than most people, and things resolve in a way that is in retrospect predictable, but didn't feel that way as it played out. As with Inception, I could get involved because I knew the rules. The surprise wasn't in finding out they weren't the rules after all, but in finding out that they could be subverted with enough hard work.

When I think back to some of my favorite twist endings, like those of Psycho and The Ring, it makes me sad that they've become such a cliche. I'm sure they can be made meaningful again, but not until they stop being taken for granted.

Horror Bored

I don't remember the last time I watched a horror movie that I really loved. That's weird, because for several years, I hardly watched anything but horror movies, and had a long list of more that I needed to see. Most of that list feels long forgotten now, as do the times when I felt certain that almost any horror movie you put in front of me would offer at least a little excitement.

The first horror movie I ever saw was the Japanese version of Ring 2, which I saw in a theater in Osaka on my 21st birthday. In other words, I was a late bloomer to the genre, largely because of a squeamishness about gore. But I loved Ring 2, perhaps all the more because I couldn't really understand much of it through the language barrier and having not seen the first movie. When I got back to America, I started devouring horror movies, though I still shied away from the more disgusting ones.

In 2005, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I ended a horrible relationship, and spent a lot of time feeling miserable and nihilistic. Desperate for any kind of catharsis, I started watching the gore films that I had previously avoided, and eventually found that it gave me a sense of pride, having overcome a fear that I had been carrying since childhood. I came to consider myself something of a gore movie connoisseur, and remember with a sick fondness the time circumstances conspired in such a way that I ended up watching the fake Japanese snuff film Flowers Of Flesh and Blood four times in one week.

As the remake trend of the mid 2000s got into full swing, I retreated deeper into low budget, foreign and retro horror, and that's where my interest started to wane. At the risk of blaspheming, most of that stuff is a lot more interesting to read about than it is to actually watch. I can't count the number of times I would read about a movie in one of the Psychotronic guides, excitedly track it down, then spend most of the run time bored out of my mind. As I got more interested in video games, I drifted farther and farther from horror (and therefore from movies in general). And it should go without saying that Hollywood wasn't doing anything to bring me back.

My growing interest in skepticism didn't help matters either. Even early in my life when I was a Christian, I was pretty apathetic about the existence of things like ghosts, demons, and anything you could call paranormal. But reading books by the likes of James Randi and Richard Dawkins had brought me to the realization that such beliefs are completely untenable. This really hit home for me when I saw The Exorcism Of Emily Rose. A girl in the row behind me spent most of the movie crying and having to be comforted by her friends, while I was fighting to stay awake. If you don't believe in the devil, possession's just not very scary.

That's not to say a well-made horror movie can't still creep me out a bit, even if I don't buy its premise, but well-made horror movies are getting harder and harder to find. Even those with a couple of interesting ideas or good performances always seem to wreck things in the end by explaining too much. If you understand a problem, you can at least try to solve it. Real fear is not knowing what you're up against. Does anyone think that Paranormal Activity wouldn't have been scarier if it had ended with the camera on an empty bed while the young couple screamed their guts out downstairs? Did the girl coming back to (apparently) swallow the camera add anything?


Hopefully one day horror movies will interest me again--I've had some great times with them, and would like to again. But, ironically, they've gotten too cowardly to do anything that's really frightening.