District 9

The fact that District 9 was is the first feature film of 31-year-old Neill Blomkamp is remarkable, but it also helps explain some of the film's flaws. Blomkamp uses the interesting (if slightly lazy) device of recounting the film's events through mock-documentary interviews. Several sociologists relate how in 1982, a large spacecraft arrived in the airspace over Johannesburg, South Africa. After a three-month period in which no movement is made, the South African authorities break into the craft and discover an alien species. The aliens are brought to terra firma and made to live in a shantytown-like area called District 9. After twenty years, both the white and black South African have become increasingly tired of the alien beings (or "prawns", the derogatory nickname they are given) and are desirous of their removal to a different, more remote area called, of course, District 10. The South African government outsources the removal of the prawns to a private company called Multi-National United, or the MNU. The MNU has a clear disregard for the aliens as well as public relations. The man tasked with the eviction is the colossally insensitive Wikus Van De Merwe (Sharlto Copley), a white Afrikaner. Wikus excitedly plays to the cameras as he bounces from one filth-laden shelter to the next, demanding the aliens signatures on their eviction notices. When he doesn't get the response he desires, Wikus directs his foot soldiers to callously beat or kill the alien in question. Wikus and his thugs soon encounter an intelligent prawn named Christopher Johnson and his small son. While ransacking Christopher's domicile, Wikus discovers a receptacle filled with black liquid which he accidentally sprays in his face. It soon becomes clear that he has been infected by the liquid which is the juice that powers all prawn technology, technology which only a prawn can operate. While at the hospital, Wikus realizes that he is transforming into a prawn. His higher-ups at MNU know that they can harvest Wikus' organs to gain control of prawn weaponry, representing billions of dollars to their corporation. As Wikus sees himself becoming an alien, he begins to empathize more and more with the plight of the prawns.
Director and writer Blomkamp is himself a white South African who immigrated to Canada at age eighteen. It is fair to say that Blomkamp knows a thing or two about being both oppressor and alien. He also brings his considerable 3-D animation and visual effects experience to District 9, and the film is the better for it. The story is interesting and engaging, but the blunt tool Blomkamp uses to get his point across is painfully transparent. MNU is a crude Blackwater substitute, and it's bosses and employees make obvious stand-in's for either Apartheid Afrikaners, or Coalition Forces in Iraq. Meanwhile the nickname "prawn", meant to conjure up any manner of racial epithets, did nothing but make me hungry. District 9 does not belong on the Best Picture list but it does belong on the box office toppers list as it has to date grossed over $204,000,000 worldwide. I can't help but think that the Academy must really want to pull more viewers by nominating popular films. Blomkamp has a bright future ahead of him, especially if he can refine his writing to match his competency in directing. I appreciated the transformation that Wikus undergoes and my Comment has to do with understanding someone once you walk a mile in their shoes. A few years back, an acquaintance told me that people without children simply didn't understand what life with a child meant. I did not have any children at that point and I wanted to brass knuckle his arrogant face. I have a daughter now and I absolutely get what he meant (don't get me wrong, the guy is still a jackass). I have always found it both easy and pleasurable to denigrate somebody I deemed stupid, vain, arrogant or rude. But lately I keep coming back to F. Scott Fitzgerald, whose Nick Carraway quotes his father as saying "Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had". When I read Gatsby in high school for the first time, I paid little if any attention to this sentiment. Later I paid attention, but chose to ignore it. Now I endeavor to abide by it because it's the right way in which to behave. Neill Blomkamp's message, if somewhat heavy-handed, seems to be a variation on this theme.

A Serious Man

Every so often a film comes out that would never have been made were it not for the fact that the director (or directors) was a heavyweight. Liberty Heights, written and directed by Barry Levinson comes to mind as do all of Woody Allen's films. A Serious Man, written, directed, produced and edited by Joel and Ethan Coen fits that bill exquisitely. Just imagine a little known writer giving this pitch; "Um, it's set in the Midwest in 1970 and a nebbishy Jewish college professor experiences a crisis which causes him to look to his religion for answers. Oh yeah, and I don't want any stars. At all. In the entire movie". But Oscar-winning Coen brothers, different story altogether. A Serious Man is a darkly comic look at the life of Professor Larry Gopnik whose wife Judith has fallen in love with another man and wants to divorce him. Larry is also up for tenure and is facing a lawsuit by a student who is blackmailing him for a passing grade. Larry's son Danny is studying for his looming bar mitzvah and likes to smoke the weed out whenever possible, and his daughter Sarah (Jessica McManus) has been stealing money from his wallet to save up for a much-needed nose-job. To round out the misery, brother Arthur (Richard Kind) has been sleeping on the family's couch as a result of his out-of-control gambling habit. While Larry feebly attempts navigate the series of shit storms coming his way, he turns to his community rabbi's for help. A junior rabbi offers Larry the typically ambiguous platitudes that come so easily to religious leaders, but that really only help the least imaginative of sheep.
Larry's competitor for his wife's emotions is the supercilious Sy Ableman, played brilliantly by Fred Melamed. Sy appears to be everything that Larry is not-confident, smooth, in short, an "Able Man". Michael Stuhlbarg plays Larry Gopnik as one of the worst stereotypes of the Jewish man. He is weak and shaky, unable to handle the most blatant of betrayals by a loved one. Larry cowers under his domineering wife's pronouncements, and he allows the odious Sy to embrace him even as Sy perpetrates the act of stealing Larry's wife. Sy is the other part of the negative Jewish stereotype: the cunning liar who sweetly whispers flattery into your ear while conning you behind your back and balling your lady. All this film needs is a wealthy money-changer and it's a Der Sturmer cartoon. As much as this unappetizing slice of life offends me in the abstract I have to admit that while I was watching it I felt differently. As you may have guessed, I am what Grammy Hall would call a "real Jew", and let me tell you something, we can smell our own. Many times during the viewing of A Serious Man I found myself cackling my high-pitched Jewie laugh, only to look over at my gorgeous goyish guy and see, NOTHING. Stone faced. No laughter. Not even a smirk (although in truth it could have been my cackling). I was a giggly mess because I recognized the Gopniks with sparkling clarity. I didn't want to, but I did. The point is, while I have been waiting all these years for two of my favorite filmmakers to acknowledge their Jewishness, suddenly they do, and I don't like what I see. Apparently, neither did most of America, because the film only did $9,000,000 in domestic box office. But the film is nominated for Best Picture which it does deserve, as the writing is excellent and the plot is authentically original, like all of the Coen brothers' films. But methinks the brothers did themselves a disservice by only casting unknowns, as that clearly hurt the movie's bottom line. My Comment is about our cultural differences and why we love it when we find out someone is the same religion we are. And Jews, don't bullshit me and say you didn't love it when you found out Gwyneth (or Shia or Natalie or Scarlett) was Jewish. I don't know who the Episcopalians get excited about, but you can't have a single conversation with an Irish Catholic without them invoking one Kennedy or another. It makes us feel so good to find someone we perceive as an ally, even if the only similarity they possess is a belief in the same Yahweh. Please don't think that my observation translates into criticism, because I am guiltier than most in this capacity. I usually don't enjoy meeting new people, and I'll grab a hold of anything that might bind me to someone. Ironically, what binds me most to a new person is their hatred of meeting new people, and this outweighs religious proclivities any day of the week. Joel and Ethan Coen have given us the ultimate self-hatred portrayal, with Judaism front and center. I don't really like how my people are being portrayed, but I think the Coens render it beautifully.

The Blind Side

Although it pains me more than a shiv from an inmate, I'm going to quote Jerry Maguire. We live in a cynical, cynical world. I am one one of it's eager little cynical beavers, and damn it if this movie didn't have me teary-eyed within the first frame. The Blind Side was adapted by writer/director John Lee Hancock from the book by Michael Lewis. It's based on the true story of Michael Oher, the 2009 first round draft pick of the Baltimore Ravens. The film details the difficult life of the young Oher who was born in the aptly named "Hurt Village" housing project in Memphis, Tennessee. Born to a crack-addicted mother, Oher was raised in a series of foster families that were not always filled with rainbows and Bugaboo strollers. In The Blind Side, Oher is played by Quinton Aaron who is so subtle in his performance, I almost didn't notice it. Sandra Bullock plays Leigh Ann Tuohy, a Southern steel magnolia who drives the entire film. Leigh Ann and her husband Sean (played by Tim McGraw, what?) live a privileged life of wealth, thanks to Sean's success as a franchise owner and Leigh Ann's booming decorating business. Both of their children (Jae Head and Lily Collins) attend a prestigious private Christian school in Memphis. Oher attends the school because a recent caretaker has lobbied to get him enrolled and things are not going well. Oher is one example of the thousands of disadvantaged children in this country who gets overlooked and passed through classes because he is an athlete and because he is part of the most shamefully broken system we have. Oher muddles through school, and soon becomes homeless until the Tuohy's invite him into their home. A tutor soon follows, helping Oher to raise his grades and become eligible for the school's football team. All the while, we see the impact that this damaged young boy has on the Tuohy family. They adopt Oher and lovingly guide him through high school, then college at Ole Miss. Quinton Aaron as Michael Oher seemed to me to be a poor choice and this was confirmed when I watched videos of the real Michael Oher, who is leaps and bounds more engaging than Aaron. Tim McGraw is no actor, I'll leave it at that. But Bullock carries this film. She is emotional and present, and shades Leigh Ann Tuohy with many different layers. She may be the tough Southern lady with the long nails and frosted hair, but we nearly smell her fear as she is led into the dangerous neighborhood where Michael used to live. Bullock has never been known for her acting ability, but has always possessed a very real and down-to-earth appeal that has kept her at the top of the heap. In 1998's Hope Floats, Bullock gave us glimpses of a talent that few knew she had. But, for every Crash, we received an onslaught of crap like Forces of Nature, Practical Magic, The Net, Miss Congeniality, Miss Congeniality 2, Speed 2: Cruise Control...please tell me I can stop. The point is, while this is a good performance, I believe that the Academy has bestowed the Best Actress nomination on Bullock because they have always liked her as a person and are thrilled that she has finally delivered. The Blind Side itself is a good film, but it is not a great one. The writing is solid, as is the ready-made plot. It also does it's job of making me cry in the dark. But it is not the Best Picture, nor will it win.
I do think it brings to light a serious problem we have in America, and that is what I am focused on in this highly Cultural Comment. I have heard from so many liberals that this film gives us the wrong message; namely, that all an impoverished African-American needs is a good, Christian white person (or family, in this case) to pull them out of their situation. I have also heard from many conservatives that this is all poppycock and there is nothing wrong with celebrating the generosity of lucky people who have helped those who are quite unlucky. In fact, the conservatives claim, isn't it just that generosity that makes this the greatest country in the world? Both of theses groups might do better to focus on the real problem at the hidden heart of The Blind Side; that the public education system is fucked. Highly, pitifully so. All anyone need do is pick up Jonathan Kozol's excellent book, Savage Inequalities to grasp the heartbreaking conditions of public schools unfortunate enough to be in poorer districts. Health care, abortion and yes, even terrorism seem to pale in comparison to how serious a national problem education is. And yet, it always seems to fall by the wayside in the national discourse. If we don't focus on improving our education system, we will fall behind. Period. I loved the improvement Michael Oher's learning in The Blind Side, hell, I even dug the montage. But that was one kid. We have our work cut out for us in trying to ameliorate this problem, and I don't think there are enough rich families to handle it. Well, not after Madoff, at least.

Up in the Air

Jason Reitman adapted the screenplay for Up in the Air from Walter Kirn's highly prescient novel, written long before the advent of the economic crisis we now find ourselves in. The film tells the story of Ryan Bingham (George Clooney), the hired gun of corporations who wish to outsource the icky business of firing it's employees. He flies from state to state and delivers the worst news an employee can get with compassion and understanding. Bingham crisscrosses the country with the frequency of a political candidate running for office, yet unlike the candidate, Bingham professes to love the travel and it's single-serving lifestyle. He maintains few familial ties, is unmarried and seems to revel in the isolation that drives so many of us to crave the sedentary pseudo-security of a nine-to-five. Soon, however, Bingham faces his industry's own form of downsizing when a young rookie named Natalie (Anna Kendrick) pitches the impersonal method of firing-by-computer. As Bingham faces a crises of self, he is forced to re-connect with people in myriad ways. He meets the sexy Alex Goran (played terrifically by Vera Farmiga), who, as his female mirror, proves more than a worthy adversary who has the potential to be a substantive mate. Bingham soon consents to return home for his sister's wedding, which is just the type of warm and fuzzy clusterfuck he's spent his life trying to avoid.
I've expressed my feelings about Clooney previously, and Up in the Air doesn't change my opinion. Clooney is as always, likeable and debonair, but never delivers the acting goods. Clooney has now reached A-level status by possessing extreme business savvy, and as a result gets the pick of the plummiest roles out there. This only serves to highlight his deficiencies, as he is usually surrounded by the best writing, acting and directing talent available. Jason Reitman is unequivocally in that category. He continuously gives us fresh and original films, whether written by him (Thank You For Smoking) or another writer (Juno). Reitman clearly inherited his father's feel for comedy, but has soared even higher with his ability to truly understand the poignancy of drama without schmaltz.
Jason Bateman, as Bingham's boss left me wanting more of him, while Anna Kendrick left me wanting both less of her and her irritating character. Kendrick plays Natalie as type-A neurotic to the core, with her angry typing and buttoned-up demeanor. I know Natalie is supposed to annoy me, but Kendrick's one-note whining results in a character with too little depth. Vera Farmiga though, has finally been given a role worthy of her talent. Her Alex is tough and sassy, but vulnerable and sensual as well. She takes her time, savoring each scene and we end up wishing we knew more women like her. Up in the Air is taut, topical and deeply touching, and given it's strength, I am not surprised it's been given the Best Picture nod. The themes it explores (human connection, isolation, how technology both bonds and separates us) are as relevant as it gets and Reitman simply captures these modern dilemmas better than most artists tackling the subject of late. Reitman subtly serves us the film's main paradox; that Ryan Bingham fervently opposes Natalie's idea of firing people as too cold and unconnected, yet he lives his life in an airplane specifically to cut himself off from human warmth and connection. My Comment is about this very conundrum we as humans face. In this hyper-advanced world of computer correspondence, it is so bloody easy to disconnect from the world. The Boomers and Gen-Xers are already having a difficult time dealing with the Paris Hilton generation that feels that it's completely acceptable to text during a meal at a restaurant (or a movie, or sex etc.). We exalt in new gadgets and how they make our lives easier and yet we want kick the teenager who cannot manage to say "thank you" when you hold a door open for him because he can't tear his eyes away from said gadget. All of us are guilty of it- we are grateful to be able to fire off an angry email rather than have an awkward confrontation. But we wonder why we can't sustain certain relationships, or why we can never truly mend the problems within ourselves. Well, it's because you can't have a real connection with someone via computers and listening to a Dr. Phil soundbite can never take the place of true one-to-one therapy. As much as we want to retreat behind the safety and comfort of the electronic walls we build up around ourselves, we can't. We can't because in end, the human connection is the only one really worth anything. Spoiler: Ryan Bingham figures that out.

Precious

I avoided seeing this film until the last possible moment. I did not want to face the pain and the horror that Clarice Precious Jones endures for her first sixteen years on earth. After having seen Lee Daniels' film based on the novel Push by the author known as Sapphire, I can say two things with certainty: 1) Mo'Nique will win the Best Supporting Actress award and 2) there are far more girls out there like Precious than I would like to admit. Daniels has created a gritty portrait of life in which Precious (played by newcomer Gabourey Sidibe), an obese illiterate girl in Harlem attempts to better her situation. A situation which feels like a train wreck in a poor town that just got hit with a hurricane. Precious lives with her mother in Harlem in 1987. She is pregnant for the second time by her own father, who has been sexually abusing her since the age of three. Her mother Mary, jealous of these interactions, is viciously physically, verbally and sexually abusive towards Precious. As if that weren't enough to engender your sympathy, Precious then gets expelled from school when the higher-ups glean that she is pregnant. It is then that Precious enrolls in an alternative education program and meets Miss Rain, played by Paula Patton. Miss Rain encourages Precious to write, which allows her to find a outlet for all the depravity she has been forced to stuff inside.
When Mary feels Precious gaining strength, she tries mightily to stomp her back down. Mary has been on welfare for years, which she tells Precious she should take advantage of, as she will never amount to anything. Precious then meets Ms. Weiss, a social worker played by Mariah Carey in the best (and certainly the least vain) performance she has ever given. Although I haven't seen Glitter so I can't say for sure. Sidibe is mesmerizing, particularly having never acted onscreen previously. She is so restrained in her pain that at first we're not sure if she even feels it anymore. But it soon becomes horribly clear that Precious has concocted an alternate universe in which she is rich, famous and adored. She swans about movie premieres and nightclub gigs while fawned over by her "light-skinned boyfriend". She is the belle of her own personal ball so that she can escape the grimness of her own reality. Sidibe straddles both of Precious' worlds perfectly, with a grace and poise that very few actors have, let alone novices. Paula Patton does a nice job as Miss Rain, trying valiantly not to let her class of misfit young women believe all the crap they've been told about themselves. But the most astonishing performance in this film or any other this year is Mo'Nique's. She is breathtaking as Mary. We see her seething hatred towards her daughter and we wonder how any mother could be such a monster. Then, while sobbing in the welfare office, Mary explains the derivation of Precious' abuse. We suddenly feel sorry for her, then disgust at ourselves that we could empathize with her. It is Mo'Nique's talent and ability to careen so easily within these extremes that makes her so watchable. That the woman from Soul Plane can deliver such a performance is astounding. Or maybe I rushed to judgment on Soul Plane.
Daniels is no stranger to intense and aching material as evidenced by both Monster's Ball and Shadowboxer. As a homosexual, Daniels claims to have always identified with the feelings of the outcast, allowing him special insight into many of his characters. With Precious, Daniels has opened a world for most of us to thankfully only gaze upon. He never panders to his audience with cloying tactics, he simply lets the story and the acting speak for itself. My Comment revolves around both Daniels and Sidibe. With the recent spate of award nominations tossed their way, both Daniels and Sidibe have achieved the familiar glow of "fresh new talent". They are lauded both on the talk show circuit and in the press. For Daniels, the typical praise celebrates his ability to conjure up cinematic magic on a shoestring budget. Sidibe seems to be less applauded for her acting ability than her "decision" to remain overweight in a business that applies tremendous pressure on actresses to be thin. Both director and actress seem to be handling their newfound fame with aplomb, something I hope they are able to continue to do. The thing that Sidibe and Daniels both share is the supreme and utter self-confidence in themselves. Think of how many people actually possess that quality. In show business? Actors, directors and writers are the least confident people I know. For these two, it seems to be a non-issue. I don't know how they got there, but I sure wouldn't mind some of that juju.

Academy Awards Special - Inglourious Basterds

Auteur thy name is Tarantino. There is no film student who matriculated in the early 90's who didn't want to be Quentin Tarantino. Ironically, Tarantino didn't go film school. Or college. Or most of high school. Yet the director has churned out some the most original, maniacally brilliant films in the American canon. Tarantino has always utilized non-linear story lines and stylized violence to tell his tales, and yet one aspect present in nearly all of his films is rarely discussed. Tarantino has some of the most uniquely realized feminine characters ever to grace the screen. They are so evolved that they have achieved post-feminist status. In True Romance (which Tarantino wrote but did not direct), Alabama is a beautiful hooker who has had only a handful of clients. She meets Clarence and falls deeply in love, forsaking her career in prostitution. Despite Alabama's penchant for animal prints and push-up bras, Tarantino never paints her as cheap or wanton. He presents a full-blown heroine whose one mission in life is to love her husband. In Natural Born Killers, Mallory Knox is a serial murderer who, after years of sexual abuse at the hand of her own father, is moved to kill indiscriminately with her beloved husband, Mickey. An ass-kicking beauty seems trite in the age of Angelina, but in 1994 those broads were few and far between. Finally, in Kill Bill; Volume I and II, Tarantino gave us Beatrix Kiddo. Kiddo is a martial-arts expert and killer-for-hire who undergoes a profound change once she becomes pregnant. She leaves both her lover Bill and her life of crime to pursue a quasi-Ozzie and Harriet-type life. Bill and his gang of female killers finds Beatrix and guns her and her wedding party down in cold blood. Beatrix awakes from a coma years later to find her in-utero cargo at large and the lady is pissed. Somehow, somehow, Tarantino (and of course, Uma Thurman) gives us an incredibly relatable character who avenges the loss of her baby by brutally murdering all complicit. Thurman becomes that virtually illusive woman who can both stomp ass and be touchingly vulnerable.

Which brings us to Basterds. In this rather imaginative (in Hollywood, what?) script. Tarantino places us in Nazi-occupied France. Christoph Waltz is the sociopathic Colonel Landa whose job it is to rid the French countryside of their pesky Jew problem. Landa and his thugs murder the entire Dreyfus family, save for their beautiful daughter Shoshanna, who escapes to Paris. Shoshanna hides in plain sight for years as the proprietor of a theater with her black lover Marcel. By this time, America has become aware of the genocidal evils of the Germany's National Socialist Party and has deployed a small band of Jewish soldiers to fight them. The crew call themselves the "Basterds" and are led by Lieutenant Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt, pulling off the year's most inexplicable feat by being the worst actor in the film and simultaneously the most watchable). The Basterds have one mission; kill and scalp as many Nazi's as they can. While the Basterds formulate a plan to get the biggest fish in the Nazi tank, Shoshanna is devising her own plan of remarkable similarity. Again, Tarantino makes his female lead the true heart of the story. Shoshanna is smart, tough and ravishing in the vein of Catherine Deneuve. She displays incredible fortitude in the face of unbearable fear. She is the character we long to return to, even as we salivate over the brutish Eli Roth's savage beating of a smarmy German officer. The talented Melanie Laurent is Shoshanna, and my one complaint about her acting is that she does not have the pathos needed to really make us cry for her. But Laurent is still young, and it is possible that she is just a bit too European in her approach for the emotional American movie-goer. The other actors in Basterds are top-notch, with Waltz being the standout. Michael Fassbender and Diane Kruger are both delicious, as is an unusually reserved Mike Myers as an English officer who desperately wants to partner with the Americans if it will only end the war. Inglorious Basterds is splashy, deeply colorful and touches lightly on camp, but it achieves the substantive feel with the rock and roll vibe that so defines all of Tarantino's films.

My Comment relates to the chick thing. There are very few stories that combine the duality of woman, particularly on film. In the last ten years, there has been a fascination with the angry, violent, cartoon-like images we see in action films. Angelina Jolie has always played these roles, because the studios realize the value in a feminine beauty who acts nothing like a woman. Jolie herself fed the frenzy by acting like a man in public. She was never the betrayed, always the betrayer, and she presented a black-leather clad package of testosterone wrapped in gorgeousness. More and more, I hear women say that they never want to get married or have children. It's as if they are warding off the inevitable label of desperate that so many men apply to women looking for a husband. These woman want to be seen as independent (read; not clingy), tough (not a silly girly girl), and interested in fun (able to pound non-faggoty drinks like tequila). But I offer up the theory that many of these women are actually using this act in order to impress men. In effect, they are acting like men so that men don't think they act like women, and then the men will want to date, marry and procreate with them. What is really so wrong with being independent and still wanting to fall in love with someone and have children? Why do we have to make a choice between the two? I submit that the post-modern feminist is the one who finds a way to be strong, self-reliant, able to play beer-pong with the boys and not be afraid to admit that her mate and baby make her sloppy with emotion. Come on ladies, if Angie can do it, why can't wait. Oh wait, because she's really hot and has nannies. Screw Angie, just do it.

Avatar-Academy Awards Special

This post is part of a series wherein I will review all of the Best Picture nominees. Given how many there on the docket this year, I will be doing nothing for the next four weeks but seeing movies and busting out of my Sansabelt pants from too much popcorn. I have already reviewed An Education, and you no doubt know that I feel it belongs nowhere near the Best Picture List. Now, to Avatar. Oh James Cameron, how you wend your way around my hyperactive, film geek sensibility. Nothing excites us Star Wars freaks like the promise of new, shiny technology. Cameron has more than delivered on that promise. He and long-time collaborator Vincent Pace have created a revolutionary new way of capturing 3-D images on screen. Using stereoscopic cameras, CGI and a "performance capture" stage, Cameron was able to literally change the way that modern films can be made. The result is a film that is beautiful to look at. It is visually stunning, prompting the viewer to question what is real and what is borne of a brilliant imagination. However, Cameron's dialogue is laughable, and the plot hits the viewer over the head with the bluntest of instruments. All of Avatar's actors are good, but it is very difficult for them to shine while having to say lines like "You are not in Kansas anymore!". Moreover, there is something perverse about having Zoe Saldana (one of the more beautiful actresses working today) looking the entire time like Rocky Dennis auditioning for Blue Man Group. Avatar's Utopian world is called Pandora, and it's race of inhabitants are the Na'vi. Lush and verdant, Pandora has myriad food sources and is chock-full of a valuable natural resource called (ready?) Unobtanium.
The message of the film is that we as humans, in our never ending quest for more (money, resources, stuff), have destroyed everything of real value on our planet. We have raped Mother Nature with a blow torch and one day she'll get up, take some jiu-jitsu classes and kick us in the balls. As a result of the movie, there have been several websites popping up that discuss "Avatar Depression Syndrome". The jist of it is that after witnessing the pristine wonders of Pandora, the affected viewer can no longer see Earth as anything but miserable. How these dipshits didn't figure that out after watching Jersey Shore, I'll never know.
The irritating part of all this is that James Cameron is capable of fantastic writing. When it was released, Titanic was technically cutting-edge in ways we had never seen before. But it was almost insignificant when compared with the beautiful fiction that he wove into the true story of Titanic-a story every American was thoroughly familiar with. That we remained engrossed for three hours enraptured by characters in a story that we already knew the ending to; that is the real testament to Cameron's genius.
My Comment isn't about how Avatar relates to society, it's about how it relates to film and the Academy. You might think that because of the way I feel about the film, I don't think it should be up for Best Picture. Well, you'd be wrong. I think Avatar does deserve to be up for Best Picture because filmmaking is not just about acting, or writing or editing. It is also about a movie's contribution to filmmaking in general. And Avatar's contribution to film itself cannot be argued. James Cameron has invented a newer, different and totally brilliant way to make a movie. For that, he should be honored, and millions of people obviously agree. I know I sound whiny, but I just wish I cared about the disturbingly feral avatars the way I cared about Jack and Rose.