2014 in Film

Are they really making

Another Godzilla?

Something called

Robopocalypse?

RoboCop?

What’s the deal with robots?

All You Need is Kill

I won’t be seeing.

Some epic sequels

Will make their way out.

Mockingjay Part 1,

Transformers 4

(Thought unnecessary by all),

How to Train Your Dragon 2,

And Dawn of the Planet of the Apes,

Which I just might see.

Marvel can expect billions

With their four new movies:

X-Men: Days of Future Past,

The Amazing Spider-Man 2,

Guardians of the Galaxy,

And Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

All these men?

Oh Lord, I’ll see.

(Blogger’s note: It’s called po-I-needed-a-really-short-post-etry.)

And You Thought Spending Time with Relatives Was Bad

Less than two weeks until Christmas!

Along with the presents, the cookies, the carols, and the poker (oh, wait. Is that just with my family?), come another tradition of the holiday season. It’s about two weeks into December, so naturally the awfully stereotypical, made-for-television Christmas movies have begun to trickle onto the weekend line-up.

Usually theater-released Christmas movies (aka real movies) are legends. They survive the test of time to be rewatched again and again by people like me. It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, and Elf are just a few of the many that find themselves being played over and over by people, young and old, wanting to relive the ghost of memories past.

Unfortunately this epidemic of TV movies is hard to escape, and this year I sat myself down on the couch and decided to actually watch one.

It’s called The Mistle-Tones, about an a capella group competing for a spot to sing at a holiday show at the local mall. Amongst other groups, their main competitors are the Snow Belles (must every a capella group’s name be a pun? No, really. Is this some unspoken rule you learn when you start one?), led by the straight-up bitch Marci (Tori Spelling), who has it out for the completely good, angel-voiced Holly (Tia Mowry).

Holly has to put together an awesome arrangement for her group (of coworkers: her possibly-gay, wise-cracking male friend, the over-weight, supposedly-straight male acquaintance, the pretty-but-completely-timid HR rep who has to stick her nose in everything, and the uptight-at-first, karaoke-loving boss). The Snow Belles consist of supposedly pretty, pick jumpsuit-wearing, perky middle-aged women, not unlike their leader.

For a full plot description just add “predictable” before every noun.

 

The Mistle-Tones not only lacks originality, but also subtlety. From the beginning of the groups’ formation, it’s obvious the Mistle-Tones are having tons of fun practicing in comparison to the strictly-run Snow Belles. The romance between Holly and her boss was written from the beginning when he was still completely business and also somewhat of an asshole.

It’s one of those movies which you can guess what happens before it does; I feel like I’ve seen the movie dozens of times before. Even Spelling agreed that The Mistle-Tones is just a baby of two movie parents. And I paraphrase: “It's a combination of Mean Girls and Glee” [said in an interview with E! News]. I mean, these two things have each been spun in so many directions so many times because people think it’ll give their movie/TV show a freaking edge. Instead all it does is make me slightly nauseous and wish I was surrounded by my relatives as they ogled over how much I've grown.

Tips on Living a Short Life

Movie theaters have dozens of things wrong with them. The tickets and food are effing pricy, the floors are sticky, the bathrooms smell awful, et cetera, but those can be ignored. What can't be ignored is the annoying person next to you in the theater commenting on every little thing or the person three rows down with the crying baby. Those are just movie killers. And more times than none it’ll get you dirty glares and angry whispers from all around. And maybe some death-plotting from the more serious movie-goers.

Most of the time I just want to watch a movie in perfect quiet. My mom, however, seems to have a need to comment on the littlest of things during a movie. When Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 had come out on DVD, my family immediately bought it and made a movie night out of it (of course, only my mom, sister, and I were watching). Even though we had all seen the movie already, my sister and I watched it like it was our first time: fully engrossed with that glazed-over stare you can only get when two emotionally unstable teenage girls watch a movie about wizards defeating a dark lord with no nose. My mom almost completely ruined the night for us, though, with her, “This is my favorite part!” and “Oh, he is just perfect for this role” and “Actually this is my favorite part. Hmmm, no it’s probably tied with the scene where-”. Karalee and I were nice about it at first. She told our mother politely that, “We’d really just like to watch this movie without talking.” That didn’t work. Then, near the end right before Snape died, my mom decided it was the perfect time to put a load of laundry into the dryer, which also meant, unspokenly, that she would also be checking her email, Facebook, and cnn.com. Karalee and I refused to pause the movie (Rebel! Rebel!), which gained us the last twenty minutes in perfect, tear-filled silence.

Then, when I went to go see Skyfall with my mother, even though I had already seen it, I still wanted to just sit and watch. We didn't get through the first scene before she had gasped and “oh no”-ed when James Bond had gotten shot and fell off of a bridge (it’s in the freaking trailer, woman). It’s one of those things people do sometimes: they say something just to be heard saying it. “Oh no” is almost never a reflex like jumping during a scary movie or laughing when someone makes a joke. It was unnecessary, like when Bond was walking through an abandoned underground train station and she said, “I don’t want to watch. This is too scary.”

There are other ways to be freaking annoying at the movie theater than just talking. For example, when I went to go see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1, someone had apparently thought it a good idea to bring their infant along with. I don't know if they couldn't get a babysitter or what, but when it started crying just during the title credits I didn't care. I wanted that baby out.

Another way to get pissy people like me to glare at you in a movie theater is to be super loud with that very expensive candy you just bought. Listen, there are ads before the movie for a reason: it's so that you can open up your Reese's Pieces then as opposed to while Jesus is being crucified in The Passion of the Christ, which is actually a true and very unfortunate story.

I mean, of course you can totally avoid all of these things. You could smuggle in your own, cheap drink and candy into the theater; you could just hold your pee until you get home; you could even go to the theater at such an obscure time by yourself that no one would be around to talk to you/cry/have problems opening a plastic bag/all of the above. Or, you know, you could just wait a few months and rent the thing for a few bucks.

Something for Which to Be Thankful

(Blogger's note: Yeah, I know Thanksgiving was weeks ago so the whole “being thankful” post is a little late. Whatevs.)

This past year I've been borrowing movies that I don't own/wouldn't be allowed to watch if I did/are super badass/all of the above from a friend. Earlier this year it was Boondock Saints, then I forced him to lend me Casino Royale after I saw (and became obsessed with) Skyfall, and just a few weeks ago, V for Vendetta.

Of course this was a little after all of the “Remember, remember the fifth of November” posts on Facebook that I was so damn confused about and wanted some clarification on. I got the movie and watched it over Thanksgiving break.

V for Vendetta may be more popular now than it was during its release in 2005. I had heard about Natalie Portman getting her head shaved for the movie before I knew what “the movie” was. Then there are the annual Facebook posts on November the fifth and those slightly unsettling Guy Fawkes masks.

I love movies like Vendetta. Movies in which you're totally engrossed throughout and, even when, for a split second, you think the main character's love interest was her dad, you still never doubt the ending won't kick ass. Yes, these.

Even when V, the mysterious, disfigured, always-masked hero does something completely unthinkable to Evey (Portman) (aka pretending to be a part of the secret police and kidnap and torture her for information about V and eventually shaves her head and then lets her go when she says that she would rather die than give up V; Evey walks out of the prison utterly confused and into V's lair, which she immediately recognizes since she's been there before and V's there just like, “Omg, girlfriend. Congrats, you passed the test. Your fears are gooonnneee!”), it was still a killer movie.

V for Vendetta and movies like it are little gems found in today's giant crap-hole of movies filled with typical romantic comedies and so-called “feel-good” movies that are about as deep as a kiddy pool and just as much full of piss. They're the ones worth blogging about the most. They're the ones for which I'm thankful.

It's James Bond, Yo

You know the man in the perfectly-tailored suit, the catchphrases, the gadgets, the lady-loving, and the ass-kicking. It’s one of the most classic movie franchises, fifty years in the making. It’s James Bond.

During the weekend before finals I was super-stressed. Instead of treating the disease and actually studying, I treated the symptoms and decided to relax by watching a movie. I had plans to see the new movie, Skyfall, with a few friends later that weekend, so I thought it appropriate to go into my handy dandy DVR and watch Goldfinger, the third James Bond movie.

By the time the weekend was over, I was perfectly obsessed (the only kind I can be). I convinced my mom to see it and also pay for my ticket.

You almost can’t put Goldfinger and Skyfall in the same category. Yeah, they’re both Bond films, but time and money are huge advantages that the latter has over the earlier films in the franchise. In Skyfall, the budget was estimated at 175 million, probably spent on the dozens of fight scenes, CGI use, and a top-of-the-line tech crew. Goldfinger, however, only cost about three million. The most complex fight scenes here, though, were when Bond would kick the air and a bad guy would end up on the ground. The mastering of technology gave Craig’s Bond a lot more potential in the ass-kicking department/category.

Over the course of fifty years, though, James Bond is the same character. It’s hard to think that this is the same guy despite looking, acting, and speaking completely differently than before. I mean, the basics are the same; Bond is a handsome, always calm and collected ladies’ man. Skyfall, however, goes into his past as an orphan and makes him seem more human, even as he chases criminals on rooftops driving a motorcycle and crashes through the window of an indoor market to land perfectly up-right and continue the chase. (He’s just a normal guy, you know?)

Who knows when the James Bond franchise will end? Daniel Craig has signed up for two more films after his latest success and I'm sure there will be hundreds of handsome men who are able to say, “Shaken, not stirred” that'll be more than willing to take his place when he's done. (But now that I think about it, isn't the world supposed to end in like, fifteen days? I guess Bond will be over sooner than I thought.)

Sexy Spandex Syndrome

Up until a few months ago, I didn't really go to the theater to see movies unless my mom took and paid for me. This is slightly because my friends and I had only been driving for a little bit, but mostly because I was dirt poor and movie tickets are so Goddamn expensive these days.

This summer especially, I started seeing a bunch of superhero movies. When I was younger, action films didn't really interest me. Recently I started thinking, “Well, why, all of the sudden, have I started liking these violent movies about orphans who fight crime in spandex?” Then it hit me: these aren't just orphans in spandex, these are orphans who grow up to be sexy men in spandex. It's really quite simple, no? It's like some sort of...Sexy Spandex Syndrome.

I think it started somewhere around May of this year. My sister (whom had already been hit by Sexy Spandex Syndrome) went to see The Avengers with her friends. She was so horned-up about it that she convinced my dad to take her to see it again. I was also invited. At first I didn't want to go. It was a Friday night in which my house was completely empty; I didn't want to go outside and maybe have to interact with people. Gross.

Somehow I still ended up in a crowded movie theater, though, and had to sit next to a girl I go to church with and make awkward small-talk with her (this is what happens when you leave your room).

Not only was The Avengers full of attractive men, though, it was really funny and had some sort of a plot. I think that the latter surprised me the most. I had always thought that superhero movies were always guy-saves-girl-and-defeats-villain; cookie-cutter. I guess at some point in this last decade or so, these movies have actually had to develop plots to swim in the industry.

Anyway, that one night at the theater would soon cause me to spend fifty dollars and countless hours (actually like, fifteen) of the next few months in a dark room, fawning over these crime-fighting, significant glance-giving heroes. I started to watch older superhero films, too. Thor and Captain America followed by the lesser-received Fantastic Four and it's even worse sequel.

I even went back to certain movies twice, not being sure I was doing it because of the plots I found myself engrossed in or the sexy men I also found myself engrossed in. I guess some people just go to superhero films because they're huge Marvel fans or something. It sort of looks like this:

Interest in actual plot + Interest in attractive men in movie = Overall movie-going experience

Where a higher number means that you find yourself enjoying the movie more. In the equation, people with Sexy Spandex Syndrome who also find themselves liking the plot are more likely to enjoy the movie more than someone who has interest in just one of the variables.

There's an equation. It's math. It makes sense no matter what you say.

Those Damn Yankees (and I Don't Mean the Baseball Team)

When I was in seventh grade, my Social Studies teacher set up a simulation in our class, dividing us into the North and South armies as we learned about the Civil War. I've mentioned before that I was put in charge of the South thereby making me General Robert E. Lee (or so my character card said). I was pretty stoked about the whole thing.

As the weeks went on, though, I found myself saying things like, “Lincoln will rue the day he emancipated that proclamation!” and “I will lead the South to victory!”. In my farewell speech, even (which I wish the teacher would've let me read to the class), I said that it was an honor serving for my country for such a noble cause.

It's not that I felt that I was getting too far into character, but I was saying things that sort of went against everything I've been taught, mostly that the South was doing all evil during this time and the North was just trying to help.

I didn't really think a lot about after that, but my team did defeat the North in the end. It wasn't until I was in ninth grade and read Gone with the Wind, that I got a deeper insight into the South during the Civil War.

The story follows Scarlett O' Hara, the beautiful, charming, slightly crazy daughter of Gerald and Ellen. In the beginning, she tries to court Ashley (apparently a boy's name at the time) and kind of snaps when he instead marries his cousin, Melanie. Scarlett is driven to marry someone she doesn't love to get back at him, and when he dies in the war, she marries again, all while managing to scowl at the deliriously handsome Rhett Bulter, running a business, and birthing two children.

There's a lot more plot, too, in the thousand-page-long book, but what really interested me about it was, like I said, the other side of the story of the war. Those-damn-Yankees-stole-our-chickens-and-burned-our-farms-and-are-real-assholes side of the story.

It was something they'd never teach in school (even at the book's release in 1936, I'm sure some people refused to call it historical fiction). Not to say that our curriculum is incorrect or completely biased, we just like the story that the holy North was able to defeat the slave-driving South with their heads held high.

After reading GwtW, I borrowed the 1939 movie from my grandparents. When it was originally shown in theaters, they had to have an intermission because IT'S FOUR HOURS LONG. Yes. (This is why Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was split into two movies, people.) And if you're thinking that they couldn't possibly work one thousand pages of love, hate, war, rebuilding, marriage, birth, death, crying, and drinking (did I mention Scarlett liked her whiskey?) in even four hours, you're right. The movie just couldn't recreate the daring story, no matter how pretty their Scarlett (Vivien Leigh) or mustached their Rhett (Clark Gable) were. (I also could totally not get over the fact that the guy who played Ashley had the biggest forehead I have ever seen and in no way would be considered attractive by any woman with dozens of other men courting her. I expected more of a Gabriel Aubry, pre-Thanksgiving, type.)

Those years were pretty big for me. Not only did I learn how to control my mane of hair, but also two very different sides to an important story in American history. And you know what? I will never be as proud of myself as the day my troops defeated Grant at Appomattox.

[Bloggers note: So this isn't exactly true, but it seemed like a good ending, am I right?]