The Divergent Series: Insurgent (2015)

This is a surface level analysis from a surface level viewer. I skipped the books and saw Divergent (2014) after it came out on DVD and thought it was okay, repetitive enough in exposition, plot, and theme but interesting enough that I'd see the next one. For those who don't know, it's another one of those post-American dystopian stories with a teenage protagonist. Honestly, they're all the same when it comes down to it, and 2014 couldn't have demonstrated that fact any better. The Hunger Games (2012) was by no means original, but it made its entire campaign and cultural penetration in the preview trailer with Jennifer Lawrence volunteering for tribute and fucking Elizabeth Banks in garish garb hosting the militant lottery like a Stephen King game show host, and by flashing this vivid scene enough times on TV and in theaters it claimed the trite subgenre as its own invention thereby capturing fans galore. The movie was a big success earning over $600 million at the box office, and two years later (that's about how long it takes to make a Hollywood film, right?) there happened to be a slew of new movies that followed that exact same chain of events: Divergent, The Giver, The Maze Runner, am I missing any? They all have that immersion-breaking, show-and-tell sequence: this is the scene where the young adults get their job assignments/life-changing news, this is the scene where the main character is singled out by doing something brave or unexpected, this is the scene where the protagonist realizes he/she is different... I've never so consciously been spoon-fed a film the way they're packaging these new movies for the post-millennials. I bit on Divergent because I had three consecutive days with free Redbox codes with little else from which to choose and it was the first of this 2014 barrage that was available to me. By the time I got to The Giver, a book I had found mildly interesting when I was 13, I felt like a sucker and was truly in awe that all of these movies were the exact fucking same. I often hate on the Transformers sequels for being a rehash of the same thing, but imagine if all four of them came out in THE SAME FUCKING CALENDAR YEAR. That's what happened with all these new teeny dystopian movies, and I'm not watching any more of them, I swear. But because I'm a completionist I have to finish any series I start, so here we go!

The Divergent Series: Insurgent starts out in medias res which only serves to immediately point out how little I know about this series. There's some kind of warzone and leaders talking about who's to blame and Triss killed some people apparently or did she, but what the hell, is this a recap of the end of the last movie because I don't really remember the very very end all that clearly (just the near end) or is it a dream or some kind of vision, some kind of nightmare or what if it's actually the end of the movie and it's one of those ones that shows a glimpse of the conclusion and then starts back at the start? Am I supposed to know these characters? What the fuck is going on? Why am I watching this? These are probably not good questions to impose on a lay audience for a franchise which is so clearly and desperately grabbing for fans that're more hooked on something else (cough, hunger games).

Before I get any further, can we talk about this sequel's title? Of course this franchise's movies have to have their own branding so that everyone knows the series is its whole own thing. God forbid a single ticket-buyer may not put two and two together and realize Divergent and Insurgent are somehow related. To avoid the possibility of such confusion they called it The Divergent Series: Insurgent. Don't you love when they do that, put the series/franchise name in there which is longer than the actual installment's real title? It's a worse tripe than numbering the sequels or tacking on the cliché "Returns", "Revenge", or the like. Very rarely can there be a movie series with unique, thought-provoking or brief titles devoid of numbers, the franchise name, or some stupid word like "Forever". I think the Star Wars prequels covered the bases of what not to do by doing all three. If they weren't so iconic I don't think I could take their full names at face value. When did this terrible convention of inserting the series name in every individual title begin? As much as I like to blame Twilight for everything, my own parties are at fault here. The Lord of the Rings did it starting in 2001 with The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring and Star Wars did it before that in 1999 with Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace even though none of the original Star Wars movies had the need for that copyright and Roman numeral on the official title of the films. A less severe example is 1997's The Lost World: Jurassic Park. At least in this case the subtitle differentiates this film from the several other movies simply titled The Lost World which had already been released by that point in time. I can still pen the melodramatic multi-part movie/one book trend to The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part One and The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part Two (they already used a colon after the series name so had to resort to using a dash between the novel's title and the movie's number, come on, that's rich), but the tasteless naming conventions go back much, much further.

That appeared to be the strategy with Divergent: call it something unique but script it and sell it like everything else. While performing the light research required to write this analysis, I couldn't help but notice that the icon on the first edition cover of the 2011 novel Divergent looks like they imposed the franchise symbols of The Lord of the Rings, The Hunger Games, and the Dove soap logo. It's got the fiery outer ring like a solar eclipse, an indistinct bird-like image in flames, and wispy, golden strands cutting through it all from top left to bottom right in the suggestive form of an arrow. It's actually quite impressive. I couldn't make a better logo rip-off fusing three things virtually everyone likes that'd hold up under a court of law if I tried.

But back to the matter at hand. Excusing the slander, this was a fairly engaging and decently entertaining movie and thankfully progressive follow-up to the first film. I can't say I was emotionally invested in the story or felt like anything was truly at stake (did they actually expect anyone above the age of 12 to believe that Triss might actually die in the last act?), but I certainly wasn't bored during the two hour runtime. There's some crazy shit going on in this movie... suicidal cochlear implants, metaphysical personality tests, Inception layer surreality to the fourth degree. It's easy to get lost in the experience of watching it which is largely due to the fact that the film is extremely visual. There're a lot of cool virtual reality scenes, and the end credits have the look and sound of a James Bond intro.

While the aesthetic production value is high, the five distinct sociopolitical factions and their conflicting aims and perspectives are admittedly interesting and serve to add a layer of complexity (if thin) to the plot. I can't say it was abundantly clear which group was which until their members had manifested some overt character trait by the end of their respective scenes or that any of the individual leaders were memorable, but it was neat to see a plot with more potential intricacies then the simple "us vs. them". My favorite thing though about The Divergent Series: Insurgent was that it gave me great insight into what a franchise experience can be like for a relatively uninvested or lay audience. I was always a bit baffled that so many people who never read Harry Potter started watching the movies with a kind of avid interest that grew over time as mine happened to decline as I felt further removed from the joy of reading the early novels. To enjoy something for both the purpose of ridicule and proper entertainment without personal stake or risk of tarnishing or diminishing utility on something one loves (this has been a trying time for Star Wars fans, good God) is an experience to relish. For a select few, Divergent may be the series that resonates with them above all others, but for the rest of us who are in no way allegiant it's just good fun.

Another thing I really like about the Divergent series is its use of choice vocabulary as key words in the story: abnegation, dauntless, erudite, amity, candor, divergent, insurgent. Great words for people of any age to understand and command. Putting the books aside, I can't think of a single other movie that was as motivational to pick up a dictionary. In terms of its potential longevity I think Divergent is ultimately here today gone tomorrow, but I tend to think there'll at least be a handful of people like me who'll think of Shailene Woodley when they hear the word abnegation years from now (they probably just won't remember her name).

Less Than Zero (1987)

Authors are often disappointed with the end product when their books are licensed to be made into movies. Such was the case with Less than Zero, the 1987 adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis' debut novel from 1985 which depicts social depravity in the city of Los Angeles, California in the early '80s. It's a somewhat loose adaptation but has basically the same plot as the book with just a couple of the characters' roles tweaked.

The dramatic performances of Robert Downey Jr. as failed entrepreneur turned drug-addict (Julian) and James Spader as the drug dealer he owes money (Rip) alone make this movie worth seeing. It's a definite throwback and a real treat to see these two actors who're still stars back when they were so young. The sex scene with '80s Hollywood staples Andrew McCarthy (Clay) and Jami Gertz (Blair) along with its entire buildup is also surprisingly erotic and beautifully depicts the chain of events that occurs when that perfect mood strikes.

For fans of the original novel, however, the movie fails to deliver in that it doesn't attempt to capture the main character's stream of consciousness at all. There's no visibility into the psyche of Clay which makes it feel like Julian is really the main character. It's probably for the best because Robert Downey Jr. steals the show, but imagine if The Catcher in the Rye were told in third person: it'd just be a meaningless sequence of events without direction or profundity. By and large, that's what the viewer gets with Less Than Zero, and the movie fails to illustrate the cultural vanity and emotional callousness in LA to the extent the novel does because of it. It's a shame because the novel has so many recurring invasive thoughts (Disappear here, People are afraid to merge) and mental commentary that served wonderfully to show how easily the human brain is distracted and how often people avoid thinking about actual problems or just focus on themselves. All of that is gone, and the shock value of the book is also lost in translation to film as they cut out the pornography viewing sessions, rape scene, and vulgar, unsavory conversations among Rip's posse. The movie hints at what Julian has to do to settle his debt with Rip and eventually makes it clear but never dares to show anything explicit.

Couldn't they have better captured the spirit and deeper meaning of the book? That's the challenge of filmmaking, and I don't think those involved in this adaptation rose to that challenge on this particular movie. It's something that can certainly be achieved with this type of writing; just look at the cinematic version of American Psycho (2000). Although Ellis didn't care for that one either.

Splice (2009)

Never before have I had such low expectations and been left so wonderfully astounded. Remembering the trailer from when Splice had its US theatrical release in June 2010, I thought I was going in for a shitty horror movie with a cheap novelty in that an escaped genetic experiment would serve in place of the prototypical slasher/killer, but this ploy was merely one facet of the dodecahedron as the film I viewed was much more substantial, offering and eliciting a multitude of genres and emotional responses, respectively.

After two romantically-involved geneticists (Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley) are successful in creating a new type of animal by splicing the DNA from a variety of species, their next project is to incorporate human genes into a similar hybrid. As they find success, scientific curiosity and a lack of ethics lead them to secretly observe and raise their creation. The proverbial offspring matures and develops at an alarming pace and changes the dynamics of the scientists' relationship, and both naturally and unnaturally things go awry when the lab experiment grows in power and intellect.

It's built from the foundation of a scary movie, but Splice spends considerable time as a drama and unorthodox romance with a hint of modern allegory. But even if it doesn't feel like a traditional horror movie for much of its runtime, it certainly boasts horrific, unnerving, and gruesome ideas and imagery. There's a certain continuum of empathy and fear when it comes to the part-human creature, and as biological organisms humans have a visceral reaction to one side of the spectrum or the other. Will genetic engineering offer humanity's crowning achievement or lowest low, mankind's greatest marvel or gravest monstrosity? Sometimes Splice makes the viewer feel one way and sometimes another. The smooth flow of the movie considering its tonal and thematic eclecticism is a large credit to the skill of director and co-writer Vincenzo Natali.

Technically this movie strikes a great balance of CGI, practical effects, and most especially motion capture acting. Andy Serkis always gets a lot of credit for his roles in The Lord of the Rings, King Kong, and the newer Planet of the Apes, but not many other films have striking enough CG characters to merit much attention to this acting niche. Abigail Chu as the pre-adolescent form and Delphine Chanéac as the adult form of the human-chimera hybrid give terrific shape and life to the center role.

Even if highly effective due to taking advantage of viewers' spiritual beliefs, demon and evil spirit movies have been done to death, so the territory explored by Splice is highly welcome. The moral considerations and scientific aura behind genetically engineered mutants and other Plum Island-like conspiracies are the topical fodder that made Splice, on top of everything else it did well, a highly effective product.

Carrie (2013)

Quick and dirty, just like this carefree if placid remake/reinterpretation/whathaveyou, the 2013 cinematic version of Carrie is an updated take for a young audience who probably wouldn't watch '70s horror or read Stephen King. I liked it well enough and appreciate the fact that this classic story is being told once again to new generations regardless of the specific setting or level of care to each and every detail.

Julianne Moore is great as Margaret White and is in striking contrast to her protagonist role in Hannibal (2001), while, although she plays well, Chloë Grace Moretz (Hit-Girl from Kick-ass, 2010, and Kick-ass 2, 2013) doesn't feel quite appropriate as Carrie White. She's too naturally pretty and regularly dressed which requires suspension of disbelief that she could be such an outcast. Her acting isn't bad, but Moretz would have been much better suited in this film as Sue Snell.

There are some worthwhile added scenes in this update including Margaret White giving birth to Carrie, a much more graphic and provoking pig slaughtering scene, and Carrie's classmates recording the shower incident on their phones and subsequently posting the footage on social media. Touches like this make the 2013 Carrie reminiscent of the Evil Dead remake from earlier in the same year in that it updates a classic with a glossy finish for the pure hell of it but has the decency to add a few slightly fresh scenes or ideas. New movie doesn't chill like old movie doesn't chill like Stephen King's novel, but it's enjoyable enough to see if you're a fan of the others or like lukewarm scary movies.

Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004), Revisited

A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket (narrator/character and pen name of author Daniel Handler) is an excellent series for readers of all ages.  Alliteration, cryptic letters to the editor, absurd yet effective character-reduction, role reversals, diction-enhancing asides, unravelling mysteries of arson, murder, and secret societies... this is storytelling at its finest.  When it comes to children's chapter books, nothing is more captivating and alluring than the tragic quest for answers of the Baudelaire orphans.

Though published between 1999 and 2006, the book series will remain timeless, if only revered by a cult following, due to its high-caliber writing and cleverly ambiguous and occasionally contradictory exposition and setting, but how about that single serving Nickelodeon Movies film from 2004?

When Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events came out in theaters, I was 13 years old, a devout fan of the book series, and disappointed with what I saw on the big screen.  I think a lot of that disappointment stemmed from the fact that they changed and reshuffled plot points from the first three books.  Released shortly after The Grim Grotto, the eleventh of thirteen novels, the tone of the film adaptation was in gross misalignment with the books as the literary story was reaching the pinnacle of its seriousness.  This series probably didn't need a movie, but it got one anyway.  For the studios in 2004, it was probably then or never in regards to a project based on the topically popular books, but fans would have to level with the movie's existence for better or for worse, and I'm glad to say now that although it isn't great it's not as bad as I once thought.

In order to appreciate this movie, one has to understand that it's a one-shot tribute to the book series.  Whereas film franchises like Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings tell the full literary story in multiple installments that parallel the novels, Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events is a solitary artist's homage to its source material.  There was never a chance in hell they could have made 13 Hollywood movies, so in hindsight this approach shows a lot of integrity.  Maybe a BBC or HBO mini-series or something like that might have been feasible, but it was Nickelodeon Movies that obtained the rights to create it.  That's right, the makers of Clockstoppers (2002) and Good Burger (1997).  That fact might have been a death sentence, but this particular project had over 5 and 10 times the budget respectively of the aforementioned films and turned out to be the best live action production Nickelodeon Movies has managed to put out to this day.

Jude Law and Jim Carey are the stars here with Law playing the role of narrator/author Lemony Snicket and Carey playing the villainous Count Olaf, and both contribute a degree of meta-analysis to the film. Jim Carey acting as Count Olaf who is poorly acting while donning various disguises adds a layer of depth to the performance. He's energetic but not in a stereotypical, different-movie-same-Jim-Carey-character kind of way which gives the film freshness but also credibility from an established comedic actor.  Snicket is a difficult role to pin, and the problem is not with Law but the writing/directing around his character.  Jude Law is fine; Snicket's nonchalance of being in dangerous and preposterous situations while writing is part of the humor in having a fully developed narrator who is also part of the greater story.  The books are his first-hand account of the life of the Baudelaire orphans and only made the transition from manuscripts to published novels by way of secret delivery and the aid of his unnamed editor.  In the movie, however, not only does Jude Law voice over certain sections but he also stars visually which makes the presence of a film director all too apparent.  Of course, it's a movie, but to me this was an added layer of depth I did not enjoy.  Lemony Snicket in the frame gives the feeling of documentary, second-hand interpretation, propaganda and the idea that this is perhaps not the shockingly true story of the Baudelaire orphans at all, in turn breaking the immersion needed to fully enjoy a tale of this nature.

The would-be guardians (Justice Straus, Monty, and Josephine) are well-cast (Catherine O'Hara, Billy Connolly, and Meryl Streep respectively) but ultimately have a low impact primarily because each of their characters only reside in one of three stories combined here. Although the movie covers plot events from The Bad Beginning, The Reptile Room, and The Wide Window, it culminates in the stage production of Al Funcoot's The Marvelous Marriage, thereby mirroring the ending of the first novel and providing a relative degree of conclusiveness if only in comparison to the other books' falling actions. As a final sendoff, the credit sequence is fantastic with its gothic, surrealistic animations of the orphans fleeing from the ominous, inescapable force that is Olaf.  In a way, it serves as an epilogue to the film; the Baudelaires move somewhere else, Count Olaf finds them, the story goes on.

While the characters of Violet and Klaus are well-scripted and feel authentic to their novel counterparts, it's for the best that they were played by no-name actors lest this would have been a Dakota Fanning/Haley Joel Osment circa early 2000s shitshow.  The third Baudelaire child, Sunny, the infant who bites things, predictably doesn't make the film transition as well as her siblings but is not downright awful.  Inevitably, a lot of other things just don't transfer well and much of the clever literary charm is simply lost in translation from book to movie.  The characters of Sunny and Lemony Snicket, erraticness of the second and third novel plot inclusions, and much of the humor were struggling points, but the story and everything else is strong enough to make this a movie that ultimately floats, all things considered.

When it comes to film adaptations of novels, I don't think we'll ever again see anything as high-caliber as To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) or The Godfather (1972).  If a movie is serviceable and can add a new viewpoint or an interesting/exciting enough visualization, however, film adaptations are still worthwhile, and Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events manages to accomplish that worthiness if only just barely.  If treated with less care, this very nearly could have been another Mike Meyers The Cat in the Hat (2003), but thankfully it's a decent movie which at least for me didn't spoil the book series in any way.

Louie, Season 4 (2014)

Louie C.K.'s aptly titled television show Louie has been critically acclaimed since its first season in 2010. It's primarily classified as a comedy, but there's always been a bit more to it, and this fact has never been more clear after the long-awaited release of the show's fourth season.

Of its 14 episodes, only three are traditional individual shorts. The remaining season is comprised of a 6 part episode about a Hungarian woman who gets trapped in an elevator and her non-English speaking niece, a 3 part episode on Pamela coming back to New York and being romantically interested in Louie, and "In The Woods" which is essentially a 66 minute coming of age film based on teen marijuana use. I was initially disappointed when I realized the old lady in the elevator portion of the plot was resolved in the first of six episodes. I thought if anyone could make 132 minutes of hilarious material out of such a simple premise it would be Louie C.K., but instead more character-driven, revelatory relationships are explored such as patient/doctor and ex-husband/ex-wife as Louie attempts a relationship with a woman who does not speak his language in the other five episodes of the story arc. There's a level of surreality hinted in these episodes as Jane (about age 8) is able to greet this girl in Hungarian and play impromptu violin duets with her. I interpreted it as some visual metaphor for the innate empathy or oneness among the female kind, but moments like this have popped up before within Louie and they've become more interesting to me each time. The news breaks in these episodes are equally surreal and provide some of the best laughs of the season. The Pamela episodes deal with the concept of emotional intimacy, particularly when physical attraction is less than ideal or on unequal terms. "In the Woods" is framed well within the rest of the series as Louie's junior high flashback is replayed in the present day life of Louie as he catches one of his daughters smoking pot. The 1970s school setting is established incredibly well, particularly with the fun but zany science teacher, what a great character. Jeremy Renner has a good small role as Louie's drug dealer. Once again, the child actors found for this show are very well cast.

Continuing to go beyond the genre of short comedy, Louie season 4 continues to showcase Louie C.K.'s skill in both writing and directing, serving not only entertainment but also bountiful food for thought for people of all ages. Despite the fact that the laughs may be fewer and farther between in the fourth season, it's still a funny show to be sure. Right now, Louie C.K. is in a good spot to continue writing and producing with this series and has gained the trust of network host FX as evidenced by his ability to push back the scheduled release of season 4 and negotiate a relatively low number of episodes for season 5 (a whopping seven). With creative control and time in his hands, Louie C.K. is a visionary at his prime.

West Side Story (1961)

It may not be appropriate to compare West Side Story (1957 broadway success and 1961 film) with A Cinderella Story (2004), but by interpreting an old story through a contemporary lens ultimately both projects did the exact same thing. The former just happened to do it 50 years earlier which provided for a setting that makes it feel classic today.  I don't know as much Shakespeare as I should, but I like Romeo and Juliet a fair amount and that's probably why I think the focus and the tragedy of the story is somewhat lost in West Side Story. The exposition is great with the urban setting, and I love the first 20 minutes of the film version with the fun snapping scene at the basketball court and the early Sharks/Jets confrontation.  It's easy to see with its cinematography why the 1961 film is ranked by AFI where it's been hovering around the top 50.  Everything tonally in this opening sequence is communicated without words which is an impressive accomplishment.  Similar to The Outsiders (1983), however, it's a slow downhill from the start as the strongest visuals fade away and the plot's ultimate payoff is disappointingly underwhelming.

I can't speak for any of the original or professional productions of the show as I've only seen school productions, but musically everything in the film adaptation seems to be quite well done, particularly in terms of choreography as some numbers are actual dances while others are fight scenes among the rival gangs. This mix is interesting and preserves the elements of art which could have been replaced with poorly-executed action considering the time period of the movie.  I acknowledge the songs and dance numbers as spectacular, but that opinion is more appreciation than reverence because personally I don't enjoy all of them. Some of the Puerto Rican women stuff is too much for me to take like when I have to leave the room for a minute or two during a Disney movie if I find one of the songs too annoying.

West Side Story is good, but when it comes down to it I'd rather watch a version of Romeo and Juliet (any version, I'm not picky here) for the full scale of the romance and tragedy or Grease (1978) for the teenage antics and more entertaining and lively musical aspect.  At least for me, West Side Story manages to fall short in each regard by trying to achieve both the fun and the drama.  I think the 1961 film is an iconic and clearly definitive version of the production, much like the 1965 adaptation of The Sound of Music with Julie Andrews, but for me it's still a bit overrated.  I acknowledge and recognize West Side Story as one of the prolific contemporary musicals, but it's just not one of my favorites.