The story itself was interesting. Four tribes whose kung-fu was so strong it tied them to the elemental forces of nature. Fun. However, that’s where the enjoyment stopped. Suffering the same fate of all “origin stories,” Airbender poorly introduced us into a complex world of mixed-technology, with the clumsy narrations of a little girl. Half-way through the film, the narrations seemed to stop, an inconsistency that made the initial attempts seem even more like exposition.

The story itself was a mish-mash of Buddhist and Chinese mythology, duct-taped together and the finer points of consistency glossed over.

Good special effects no longer make a good movie. The other Avatar (Dances with Wolves in Space) movie proved that. While Shyamalan treated us to gorgeous panoramic vistas, he also closed the scope of history dramatically when the climactic battle seemed to take place on a tiered hockey-rink. As night fell and the two opposing forces slugged it out, I found my self asking who was winning, then suddenly, not caring.

In the dark, with soldiers in deep blue and their opposite numbers in black, the struggle was moot. The audience couldn’t tell who was winning, or even, who was who. Bad filmmaking. Save thirty bucks and rent a Chinese martial arts flick.

The feature was in 3D, closer and closer to real-life. Scratch that, it was better than real-life. It was high resolution too.

The story, I’ve avoided since I learned of Lewis Carroll’s reportedly inappropriate infatuation with a girl for whom he wrote the tale. Once again, real life lacks the luster of fantasy, no? Anyhow, I can’t give an accurate comparison of the screenplay to the book. I can however, comment on the film’s native attributes. Those being plot, pacing, production design and acting.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I’m keeping my comments to a minimum, however. The film was good. I’ve forgotten all about the word-play that pestered the novel, plagued the dialogue and made mimsy gribblesnitch of our so delicate english language. I, for one, like people who make up words. It shows a certain integrity of character – their determination to be understood, despite the limitations of their native tongue, which ever one that may be.

I’d forgotten all about the Mighty Jabberwocky and the Vorpal sword, both of which caused a rush of memories. I remembered Dungeons and Dragons treasure hordes, each time the player sorted through the pile of gold and gems and prizes, they secretly hoped to find the awe inspiring and rueful Vorpal Sword. I thought instantly about the old 1977 film entitled Jabberwocky. I thought about my lascivious 9th Grade english instructor, a Mr. Narry*, who seemed to delight in making the cheerleaders in class stumble through paragraph after paragraph of nonsensical words (he also delighted in having them interpret the lustful passages in Romeo and Juliet – thus earning his moniker, Naughty Narry and in retrospect, considering Lewis Carroll’s predilections, perhaps it’s best that Naughty Narry took us on our virgin exploration of the Jabberwocky).

All the while, the 3D screen was bludgeoning me with scenes of wonder and absurdity, voice talent that was so accurate and tightly cast, and a ruinous host of characters ghostly-familiar and yet disturbingly alien.  Alice in Wonderland was another of Tim Burton’s triumphs of the imagination. Alas, this voyage is one to undertaken on the big screen. No matter how large your television (and come on, lads, I know you buy some big ones), nothing can compare to the high-resolution, 3D experience that is Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland. Not even real-life.

*names are always changed to protect the guilty, innocent and misguided

The film’s refit was only slightly improved when it came to clarity of myth, though that all fell quickly to the wayside when the cameras panned for the first time across beautiful Argos (though, admittedly, my least favorite of Greek cities).

One thing filmmakers need to understand is for this genre of film, expectations have become so high, that had Argos been anything less than epic and astounding and beautiful, it would have been sub-par.

The story itself was easy, solid, typical. Humans, with their hubris have offended the Gods. While I found it odd that Mighty Zeus the Thunderer would wear full plate armor, circa 1200 AD Europe (or from the set of Excalibur – which, by the by, would make a fine remake as well), Liam Neeson was an acceptable choice for the role.

The “pretty face” that played Perseus did a fine job, mostly because it was an action movie requiring little acting. The film’s true mistake, however, was the twenty minute battle with the scorpions, in place of the two-minute confrontation with the Kraken. Technically speaking, the film had no falling action from the plot climax. There was about sixty-seconds of “Good Job, here’s your prize,” and then credits.

Of course, I loved the film, being a fan of the Greek myth cycle and anything that dares attempt to render it for the modern audience. One thing I can’t shake, however – The Kraken is straight out of Norse/Finnish mythology and never was a Titan. I can accept that a creature of a magnitude would be considered a Titan (sort of) but Medusa, was a Gorgon. I suppose Clash of Norse Kraken and Gorgon just didn’t roll off the tongue like “Titans.”

How many of you have seen the recent film “Role Models?” (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0430922/) You’ll notice it had five writers working on the script. In film lingo, “and” means the two worked together on the project. The “ & “ means the second person re-wrote the script. When you see something like this:

…it means the script was written by a committee and is likely to suck since we all know that a group of people can’t really do anything. Don’t believe me? Have three people order a pizza and try to get everyone what they want. It doesn’t work. Someone will have to give.

I digress.

What follows is an excerpt from a story I wrote in early (February) 2006, for my final “Fiction Seminar” course, my senior year of my undergraduate program.

“Morning, I slow-drift into the Starbucks on the corner. Despite everything I know about Starbucks, it still means only one thing to me: coffee.

The sights and sounds are all alien to me, but I can smell coffee. I do not like coffee, but I need it. Entering the place, I find tall men, in black wool coats, scarves and newspapers. They drink things, the mill about. Women, hawk faces with too much make-up, too much perfume, like some sort of poisonous flower. So oddly attractive, you are drawn to it, and when you touch it or breath it in, the trap is sprung. The thick pollen sets in your innards and festers. You’ll never be free of it.

There is a line and a woman-girl in a Starbucks uniform takes my order well before I get to the register. Efficiency. Blinking the tentacles of Chanel from my eyes, I turn and reply.

“Medium coffee please.”

Moments later I’m at the register. A boy-man stares at me. “You had the venti?”

“What? I don’t speak latin.”

“What?” He stares.

“Venti. Sounds latin. I guess it could be Spanish. I could probably speak Spanish.”

He looks at me.

“What, Sir?”

“You know, Spanish? I could probably speak it. Like, hola, gracias, su casa es me banyo, that sorta shit.”

“Sir, did you order a venti coffee?”

“I ordered a medium coffee.”

“That’s what venti means.”

“No it doesn’t. I lied to you before. I speak a little Latin. Venti means to come. I doubt it means medium in Spanish either.” He stared. I went on.

“Come to think of it, medium means medium in Latin. At least, medi, medius, mediam.”

Behind me, a voice. “What hell is your problem buddy?”

I turn to face a tall man in a black wool long coat. He looks, funny to me, so I half smile.

“My problem is that this kid is making up words. And I’m dying.”

I put three dollars on the counter, grab my medium coffee and leave.”

The story was submitted to the instructor, Antonia Rose Logue, and shared with ten other students for their review and critique. I also published the original version of the story on LiveJournal (Feb. 6th, 2006 at 2:38 PM). Considering the copies that were made and distributed for the class, there is no end to possibilities of who saw the original story.

Watch the film “Role-Models.”

Tell me, then, honestly, if they stole my scene. Then, tell me what I can do about it…

Being something of a mythology researcher, I’ve found no mention in Christian Biblical Lore about angels becoming mortal when they cut off their wings. In fact, this is an invention of the writer/director Kevin Smith. So, right off the bat, the basis for the film Legion is something Kevin Smith coughed up between bong hits.

The rest of the plot is a mish-mash stolen from films like The Prophecy, revolving about the classic “Hold-Out-And-Run” template. Aliens, 30 Days of Night, Dawn of the Dead (remake), The Mist and about a thousand other films of the genre share the same “story” arc; the characters are presented with an impossible challenge, one steels their wills to survive and they fortify until they realize they must move to stay alive. This decision invariably costs the characters that which they sought so hard to preserve – each other.

An ensemble piece, the cast of characters were there merely to add to the body count. Their deaths however, were nothing less than ignoble, usually getting chewed up by some file-toothed “angel” who has inhabited a human body.

The details of the plot are inconsequential – God wants to kill humans, but the Archangel Michael disagrees. Gabriel flies down after an hour of forced character development and begins to kick ass.

As a writer, you are obligated not to assault your audience’s sense of plausibility. Many will argue the “suspension of disbelief” is elastic and should be stretched – if I can accept that angels are real, I should be able to accept that angels would swoop down and enact God’s will.

However, this film left so many loop holes, even the most devout may begin to question their faith. The only new elements added to the archangels arsenal were bladed, bullet proof wings (stolen, if I remember correctly, from a Marvel Comics character named Archangel) and of course, a mace straight from the MI6 labs – a bludgeoning weapon that whirred and twisted and changes shape, extended and transformed, though likely too heave for even the new James Bond to heft, he was no doubt drooling over the versatility of this ridiculous weapon.

To spoil an already predictable plot, the good guys win and Michael gets his wings back, having taught the omniscient and omnipotent God a lesson in mercy. Gabriel flies off, beaten and the main characters, a trailer-park hussy/new mother and a bumpkin named Jeep (whose only heroic act was to machine-gun a child possessed by an angel) drive off into the post apocalypse desert to rebuild humanity, enacting a sloppy Joseph and Mary/Post Flood analog.

Overall, a  forgettable film.

The plot centers around a vampire who doesn’t like being a vampire (what, eternal youth, power and indestructibility not as much fun as you thought they’d be?), who by chance encounters the dwindling human resistance.  Proving himself a  friend to sheeple everywhere, the bipedal cattle bring this hematologist in on their plan to cure the vampiric infection.

The film is filled with those clever little gimmicks, like “daylight” driving windows, tinted 100% opaque, and a warren of underground tunnels that allows the leeches to travel during daylight hours. Willem Dafoe plays a blue-collar vampire who accidentally cured himself, and with the help of Ethan Hawke, intends to help cure all of humanity. Meanwhile, the blood supply is out, and the vampires are tearing off their neckties and degenerating into the nosferatu-esque and savage true vampiric form. Gross.

Half-developed characters stumble through subplots, while the audience is treated to constant barrage of surreal gore, squishing noises and vampires that are so starved, they turn on one another.

The films true weakness comes in the form of the cure – a shake and bake solution requiring neither hematologist nor faith nor garlic/silver oxide solution to achieve. Not impressed.

True vampire fans will enjoy this classic tale of moderate redemption wrapped in Big Business Dystopia, but those demanding substance will find the film without much of a bite.

While I, and perhaps other members of the audience were expecting something more akin to a mystery, I found myself delighting in the pacing. The lightning quick scene-to-scene action slowly but surely redefined Holmes and the indefatigable Watson. There were moments in the film where I felt they were more like Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and His Attorney, than the legendary sleuth.

The dismissal of layered mystery and sub-plot worked for this action adventure film. Sherlock, it seems, has been re-invented.

Reader’s will notice I always gloss over the acting. Well, I’m not changing my pattern. Downey Jr. was excellent, as well as Jude Law, both tried and true performers. I expected no less. In fact, considering their past roles, this might have been a screw-off project for them. Supporting cast was adequate. (Sidenote: I’ve heard rumors that Brad Pitt is cast as Moriarty – dashing my own aspirations – while Pitt has performed some excellent roles, it is my belief that he needs heavy interaction with the director – how else could you explain his “blah” portrayal of Achilles, perhaps the most archetypical character in the history of man?)

A mystery/thriller necessarily must play upon the audiences limited perspective, elsewise we would figure out the mystery well ahead of the main character. Thus, during the big reveal, we see Holmes’ perception of details the audience simply wasn’t shown. That’s cheating.

All said, I loved the film, it will definitely go into my Blu-Ray collection, right next to Iron Man.

Some hardcore film folk will suggest this is the down fall of cinema, the day the actor and director no longer interface is that day we’re all watching cartoons written my mad children.

And I would tend to agree. Jar-Jar Binks is my primary evidence.

But Avatar, all three hours of it, was something special. The plot itself was simple – to quote my uncle “a child could have written it,” and that’s okay. Most of the best stories are those that we all understand on a primal level. This film was nothing more complicated than Dances With Wolves in space. Which is okay too, since Alien was Jaws in Space and Attack of the Clones was just Star Wars in space (that last one was a joke).

The plot, essentially runs like this – Marine agent goes native. Saves people. Aside from the spectacular setting, there was nothing new or interesting about the story itself. Ancient as the plot may have been, it resonates with audiences because of some very simple and all too human elements: loss.

A sub-textual critique of the plight of Native American peoples can easily be read into Cameron’s somewhat heavy-handed action flick, but the secondary plot thread is entirely unnecessary.

I was disappointed to see that Cameron’s treat of space marines has changed little since the days of Aliens – the jarheads are mostly without conscience and still even talk the same. “Get some!” seems to be a common phrase in all centuries of Jim Cameron’s military vision. While I find his view of our own warrior caste somewhat two dimensional, I must applaud is continued use of powered armor.

Plausibility was kept at an all time high for a sci-fi action flick, and lord in heaven, this was a beautiful film. Simply gorgeous to look at.

I won’t comment on the acting. Sigourney Weaver is a professional who simply cannot deliver a poor performance. Our hero did most of his work in voice over mode, as well as the love interest. Michele Rodriguez (of Resident Evil fame) is sassy and sharp, but her character was a combination of Vasquez and Ferro from Aliens (can Jim never leave LV-426 behind?)

I’ll freely admit, every since film school, I’ve been obsessed with zombie films. I wrote a research paper on 28 Days Later (the first and perhaps the finest of what I call the Zombie Ressurection) once, focusing on the odd and strangely counter intuitive aesthetics of the film. The horror was driven home in 28 Days by concise thought, not sheer panic. This translates into a cinematic event where the usual tropes of zombiedom are no longer valid. The shambling brain eater gives way to the running ghoul not merely driven by the need to eat, but actual malice.

Anyway, Zombieland chronicles the adventures of four lone-wolves who form a pack and learn that life is better with people you care about, even if you’re surrounded by zombies. The heart-string tugging message of the film is mitigated (thankfully) by witty dialogue and brutal comedy and of course, an amusement park filled with zombies.

Woody Harrelson was born for his role as zombie executioner extraordinaire. The supporting cast, token zombie holocaust survival characters, fill their part perfectly. Not a second a celluloid is wasted on unnecessary sub-plots or half hearted character development. In all, a very right script and well played film; that is, fun.

Originality is for all intents and purposes a finite commodity in today’s saturated markets. That said, the makers of Pandorum took some standard sci-fi elements and forged them into an interesting story, if not an original one.

We join the survivors of a colony expedition in deep space, as they attempt to piece together what’s happened to their ship, crew and mission while they’ve been in cryogenic stasis. Add a little “I Am Legend” and some lamoe action (last man on earth - thanks Max Brooks for that brilliant term!) and a splash of 30 Days of Night and you’ve got a movie. More precisely, you’ve got the film Pandorum.

Good effects, predictable plot, and cannibals all take a backseat a rather subdued but competent performance by Dennis Quaid. Personally, I think Dennis is capable of much more, but was working a character that was rather two dimensional.

Regardless, Pandorum plays like an easy sci-fi flick, and the DVD will make great shelf filler, being pulled off occasionally when a guest says “Oh, I sorta wanted to see that.”