If you've been paying attention to the various trailers being unleashed in the wake of Breaking Dawn part 2's last week, you'll notice a fevered pitch by the studios to plant their flag in the sand in the newest 'hot' sub-genre. By that I mean the young-lit franchise adaption. In just the last week we've seen trailers for The Host (trailer and character posters) and The Mortal Instruments (trailer) as they joined the previously advertised Beautiful Creatures (trailer and poster) in the chase to become 'the next Twilight'. What we're seeing is the creation of what amounts to the next blockbuster sub-genre: the young-adult literary adaptation. The three above films won't be the only ones coming down the pike and we may even see one or two more over the 2013 calendar year on top of the November release of Hunger Games: Catching Fire. In basic concept they aren't all that different from traditional comic book superhero sagas: An unlikely person realizes that they are unique and have powers (or must take powers) that will allow them to protect humanity from the evil in our midst. Both sub-genres have room for character actors and/or major movie stars in smaller roles and both have the potential to break-out and become true tent poles. But the core difference between these sub-genres is pretty obvious. Many, if not most, of them feature female leads.
There is a reason why Chris Nolan didn't call his last Batman film The Dark Knight Returns in No Man's Land During Knightfall. The Dark Knight Rises may have felt like a painfully generic title thought up during a 7am brainstorming session, but it kept a certain amount of mystery alive in regards to what the movie was about. With the next wave of Marvel comic book sequels, we're also seeing something new and arguably interesting. Instead of numerically-titled sequels (Spider-Man 2) or even somewhat generic subtitles (X-Men: The Last Stand), we're seeing sequels that are explicitly telling you what they are going to be about by virtue of their title. By which I mean they are being named after specific comic book story arcs. Now fans may be thrilled about seeing their favorite arcs adapted to the silver screen, but the very title is a giant spoiler. If you've read the arc in question, you pretty much know exactly what's the movie is going to be about.
Much of the criticism hurled in the direction of The Amazing Spider-Man centers around the choice to spend the first half of the film retelling the same origin story that was rather explicitly told in Sam Raimi's 2002 Spider-Man. It is part of a swelling debate of sorts about whether or not proverbial 'part ones' always need to retell a well-known origin story in order to kick-start their respective franchises. But there exists at least a handful of comic book adaptations that either completely eschew or compartmentalize the origin material. Be they successful as art or not, they represent the idea that it is possible to start (or restart) a comic book series without retelling the same origin over and over again. To wit...
I've discussed this a few times over the years, so while debunking the concept in question I must accept guilt for believing it uncritically on prior occasions. If you've been reading reviews and general commentary for The Avengers, you've probably read at least a few pundits talk about how Joss Whedon's The Avengers is a welcome respite from the grim/gritty blockbusters that were born from the massive success of Chris Nolan's Batman movies (the second of which is still falsely held up as a NeoCon propaganda fantasy). It's an easy sell, as the bright, colorful, and larger-than-life super-heroics found in The Avengers are worlds away from the street-level fights and chases in the Nolan-verse. But in the seven years since Batman Begins debuted, where exactly are all of these grim/gritty blockbusters that Nolan is constantly credited with inspiring? In short, they basically don't exist. Whether it be comic book films or unrelated fantasy blockbusters, the films that soared highest are still the biggest, most colorful, most larger-than-life, and arguably the most 'fun'. Four years after The Dark Knight, Chris Nolan's second Batman epic remains not a template for blockbuster success but somewhat of an anomaly.
Actor Tom Hiddleston wrote an eloquent essay yesterday for The Guardian basically praising and defending the sub-genre known as the superhero picture. Plenty of disdain for the genre comes from the very notion that it's big-budget entertainment based on literature that was technically intended for children that gobbles up production dollars and screen space that otherwise might be allotted for more explicitly grown-up fare. But at least some of the alleged weariness of this specific type of film (the superhero comic book adaptation) comes from a feeling that all-too many of them are basically telling the same story. You've generally got the standard origin story which (let's be honest) basically takes Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie and pours it into a different color bottle (I say that as a big fan of Spider-Man and Captain America). Then you have the sequels, which are quite often merely a case of escalation and/or the hero dealing with self-doubt often while in combat with a 'bigger/badder' version of himself (again, thank you Superman II) or a multiple villains who represent that which he might become if corrupted (Batman Returns). But over the last twenty years or so, there have been a handful of high-profile comic book films that have attempted to play around with the formula but have artistically failed anyway. As a rebuttal to the idea that 'all superhero movies are the same' as well as a reaffirmation of the idea that 'it's not what it's about, but how it's about it', let's take a look at five comic book adaptations that didn't play it safe, but didn't come out on top either.
I've written a lot over the last couple years about how, if superhero films are going to survive, they are going to have to be able to be about something other than the generic tropes of superhero comic book adventures. Captain America excelled because it was a World War II period action drama, while Green Lantern mostly faltered because it wasn't about anything other than its own conventions. Chronicle (written by Max Landis and directed by Josh Trank) is a shining example of a powerful emotional tragedy that involves certain comic book conventions without really being about them. At heart, the picture is a fierce rebuttal of the now-cliche 'with great power comes a superior destiny' motif that has been central to the last ten years of big-budget fantasy pictures, both those based on comics and those based on young-adult fantasy novels. More than just a deconstruction of fantasy tropes, Chronicle is a thoughtful and empathetic story of three disparate teens who end up with special powers and how it does or does not change them.
Despite Marvel and Paramount's best marketing efforts to convince otherwise, Kenneth Branagh's Thor is a perfectly satisfactory piece of popcorn entertainment. It is cheerfully silly and openly operatic, but played out with absolute conviction. It is no great landmark in the realm of comic book films, but it is easily the best of the Marvel-financed films thus far released. It has larger than life action with human-scale emotions, and Branagh directs with an unexpected confidence that seeps through the finish product. It is no great piece of art nor defining statement of our times, but its good-natured pomp makes its obvious flaws almost endearing.
Dylan Dog: Dead of Night
2011
107 minutes
rated PG-13
by Scott Mendelson
Unlike some critics, I take no joy on trashing the work of other people. A bad film is not an invitation to try to come up with the cleverest or snarkiest way to verbally condemn it. As my readers hopefully notice, I do try to find something nice to say even about the worst films, and I usually can succeed. And it is one thing to openly tear apart the failures of a $150 million Hollywood product and/or the belabored attempts of a once-fine filmmaker gone to pot. But it is another to openly tear into a small picture that may or may not be a labor of love. So with sincere apologies to all involved, it should be noted that Dylan Dog: Dead of Night is one of the worst films I have ever seen in a theater.
We all saw this coming from as far back as mid-summer 2008, when Marvel basically played hardball with Jon Favreau in regards to financial compensation for Iron Man 2. Favreau wanted more money and a 3-year gap between films. He got the raise, but he only got two years between films. By all accounts, Marvel micromanaged the sequel into the aimless, pointless, glorified backdoor pilot that it now remains (Mickey Rourke allegedly acting like Marlon Brando on set probably didn't help either). So with Favreau having enjoyed general creative freedom with Cowboys and Aliens and now all set to tackle a fantasy film based on the Disney World theme park entitled The Magic Kingdom, it was only a matter of time before it was confirmed that yes, Favreau would not be finishing up his would-be Iron Man trilogy. What does it mean? Does it mean anything at all?
It's hard to believe that it's been ten years since the modern comic book movie revival kicked off with X-Men and (kinda-sorta) Unbreakable. With the lukewarm response to the trailers to Thor and Green Lantern, and the Nolan Batman franchise wrapping up, we may just be on the tail-end of this particular run. For the sake of my own amusement, let us take a quick trip down memory lane with the most memorable trailers in the current comic book explosion. After all, in many ways, getting that first glimpse was often more exciting than seeing the actual film. For the record, this list will only include originals; no sequels (with one exception that I'll point out). And away we go...
This movie probably cost $200 million. This thing is five minutes of seemingly finished footage, much of it from major sequences, and with the intent to appease the core audience that will help build the 'buzz' for this very expensive adventure. The cast they've lined up is pretty impressive. And yet, the best thing I can say about the footage above is that Kat Dennings looks even hotter with nerd glasses. The action feels generic (ooh, exploding cars and black-suited men being beaten up!'), the acting is pretty bland (even Hopkins, who usually relishes scenery-chewing pulp fiction, appears asleep at the wheel), and the whole film still feels like a very expensive CW TV pilot. And let's face it, most of the Asgard stuff, with Thor in full suit and/or all the various gods and goddesses playing Shakespeare in space will probably just be in the first and last reels. This movie will likely play out like the 1990 Captain America movie and the 1987 Masters of the Universe picture: 10% Thor in costume kicking ass against the Loki and his goons, 90% Chris Hemsworth in plain clothes running around a city or small town trying to solve his own issues. It's a good thing Thor opens the summer next year, because that's the only reason it will open relatively well, unless of course Marvel is intentionally trying to make the movie look worse than it is. As always, we'll see.
Just for fun, here is a rundown of the best performances by an actor/actress playing a comic book villain in the short, 30-year history of the modern comic book film. Some will be obvious, some where obvious but were forgotten to time, some are my personal favorites that didn't get the love they deserved. Here we go:
5. Timothy Dalton as Neville Sinclair in The Rocketeer (1991)
The film bombed back in 1991 and it frankly hasn't aged well. There's very little rocket-action to justify the $50 million budget, and only the actors make it watchable (see Terry O'Quinn as the noble Howard Hughes!). But the one timeless ingredient is the deliciously fun work by then-Bond actor Timothy Dalton as the devious Neville Sinclair. While he got a few good notices, he was overshadowed that summer by fellow film-stealing villains Robert Patrick (the T-1000 in Terminator 2) and Alan Rickman (The Sheriff Of Nottingham in Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves).
Part swashbuckling hear-throb movie-star, part covert Nazi-spy, all bad ass. An obvious riff on the false rumors of Errol Flynn's alleged association with the Nazi party, Dalton has a blast basically playing a tongue-in-cheek version of his uber-tough James Bond characterization. It's a shame that Dalton couldn't play more heavies, as he certainly was too menacing and roguish to be a stereotypical hero. Whether it's 'accidentally' stabbing his costar during a staged fight scene, or effortlessly stealing 21-year old Jennifer Connolly away from bland hero Billy Campbell, Dalton makes villainy seem like the most romantic job around.
4. Gene Hackman as Lex Luthor in Superman (1978)
Gene Hackman was the first modern comic book super villain. Hackman's work was an odd combination of the deranged mad scientist of pre-Crisis Superman, with the eventual post-Crisis Lex Luthor who was a suave narcissistic gentleman with the will to wreak chaos to achieve his glory and respect. You can get away with a lot of ham when you're introduced pushing a federal agent into a moving train. Yes Luthor was hammy and comical, but he was still absolutely homicidal, with a truly creative and logical scheme. Plus he was genuine threat to the Man Of Steel. The conversation that the two of them conduct is still a lovely scene, and the idea of super hero and super villain just talking shop has been used all-too infrequently (see The Shadow for an even better example of this). Come what may, Gene Hackman's Lex Luthor has my favorite super villain line of all time:
Superman: "Is that how a diseased maniac like you gets his kicks, Luthor? By plotting the deaths of innocent people?"
Luthor: "Why no. By causing the deaths of innocent people."
3. Willem Dafoe as Norman Osborn/Green Goblin in Spider-Man (2002)
Say what you will about the Power Rangers outfit, but Willem Dafoe still gives one of the most three-dimensional performances in any comic book adventure to date. Even as Osborn descends into madness as The Green Goblin, the sympathetic and surprisingly good-hearted Norman Osborn stays in our good graces. By maintaining this fully formed character of Norman Osborn for the duration of the film, Dafoe makes everyone step up their game, as well as put the audience in an odd position. Sure we know The Green Goblin is a homicidal lunatic, but we still like Norman Osborn and are moved when his Green Goblin personality conflicts with Osborn's genuine desire to be a good person. He truly anguishes over having to kill Peter Parker, and he genuinely apologizes to his son for not being a better father (he may have ulterior motives, but he means every word of it). And Parker and Osborn's final smack down is still one of the best, most vicious brawls in super hero cinema.
His scene conversing with himself in front of a mirror is astonishing, and his appearance at the Parker's Thanksgiving dinner is priceless. Not only does he manage to flirt with Mary Jane and Aunt May at the same time, but he also calls out Mary Jane for the emotionally insecure train wreck that she is (see Spider-Man 2 and Spider-Man 3 for proof). Plus, he's the only character to openly acknowledge that Mary Jane as presented is purely a piece of meat, which is how the film treats her. Norman Osborn may be the villain, but as performed by Willem Dafoe, he is the most honest and most three-dimensional character in the whole Spider-Man series.
2. Jack Nicholson, Mark Hamill, and Health Ledger as The Joker in Batman (1989), Batman: Mask Of The Phantasm (1993), Batman Beyond: Return Of The Joker (2002), and The Dark Knight (2008) Pick your favorite, drag one down to prop one up, I prefer to savor them all. Given the chance to portray the most important villain in comic literature, if not all literature for the last seventy-years, all three actors gave us definitive versions of The Clown Prince Of Crime.
Jack Nicholson broke the mold in Tim Burton's Batman. Some may carp that it was just Jack being Jack in makeup, but we forgot how shocking this performance really was. There had never been a true comic book villain that was this over-the-top in cinema before. The nonstop cackling, the completely random and wholesale slaughter, and the genuinely perverse pathology, this was all new terrain for cinema. While his campier moments recall The Shining or The Witches of Eastwick, his quieter subtler scenes actually resemble the work he did as Eugene O'Neil in Warren Beatty's Reds. Unlike Heath Ledger's deliberate, proselytizing anarchist, Jack Nicholson's Joker just committed mass murder purely for the hell of it.
Mark Hamill's Joker didn't have much of a motive either. While the cartoon's kid-friendly format reined in the character's more sadistic behavior, the actor and the writers found places to insert the diseased mania and homicidal compulsion where they could (it was inferred that The Joker was bumping off people left and right in capers that we weren't privy to). Mark Hamill's Joker was scary because he was genuinely funny, and the kind of guy who you'd enjoy hanging out with until you realized he had poisoned you with Joker venom thirty-minutes ago. Aside from the lack of onscreen bloodshed, this was the most accurate representation of the character to date. When people read a Batman comic book featuring The Joker, it is Hamill's voice they hear in the dialogue bubbles.
But, in Batman Beyond: Return Of The Joker, the gloves came off (and then on again due to censorship, then off again in an unrated DVD release... long story). Technically a story of future Bruce Wayne with his young apprentice Batman, it concerned the apparent resurrection of The Joker about forty-years after his apparent demise. But the heart of the film is a ten-minute flashback sequence, Batman's final battle with The Joker, where The Joker launches his final scheme against Batman, a decisive strike intended to shatter Batman in the most personal way possible. Of all the films featuring The Joker, live-action or otherwise, this is the only one where The Joker's actions truly sting and shock and almost shame us for enjoying his murderous antics for all these years.
Ah yes, the new kid on the block. While countless words have been written about Heath Ledger's work, it should be said that he portrays a very specific version of The Joker. His Joker is almost sane, seemingly reasonable in his thinking, however we disagree with his intentions. He is not a wanton mass murderer, but a calculating and cunning killer who attempts to bring about maximum chaos with minimum carnage (note that he does not explicitly kill a single innocent civilian, targeting only cops, criminals, vigilantes, and officers of the court). As I've mentioned elsewhere, his Joker comes closest to the one written by Ed Brubaker, be it Gotham Cental's Soft Targets or The Man Who Laughs. This Joker is a plausible real-world demon, the kind of anarchist who could very well exist in our actual reality. He is not funny, his methods of death are ordinary (no Joker Venom, no acid-squirting flowers) and he doesn't take all that much joy in his actions. To this Joker, dealing death and inspiring paranoia is a duty, a holy quest to expose the fragile nature of so-called civilized behavior and society.
1. Al Pacino as Big Boy Caprice in Dick Tracy (1990)
What the hell? "Is he crazy?", you're thinking. Watch Dick Tracy again. You'll notice something: It's an incredibly sorrowful and sad motion picture, an adult drama about three people who excel at doing the thing that makes them miserable and can't find a way to break free. Dick Tracy is the best cop in the city, but he anguishes because he knows he's not making a dent in crime, and he knows that he's giving up any chance for happiness and a traditional family life with Tess Trueheart. When he stumbles upon The Kid, he immediate realizes that this could be the gateway to the family life he's wanted. Breathless Mahoney excels only at being a piece of ass. Sure she can sing, but no one would care if she didn't look like Madonna. She knows that she's doomed to either wither away alone as the conquest of one lowlife after another, or die at the hands of some random thug who thought her singing was just for him. Dick Tracy is the only man to be remotely kind and respectful to her, and she instantly falls for him, hoping that he may be her ticket out of her sordid life.
At the center of this hell, perhaps the cause, is Al Pacino's Big Boy Caprice. He is a criminal by trade. He may enjoy the riches that crime brings, but he takes no joy in the misery he creates. He yearns for respectability but knows that it cannot be attained. When he smacks his singers, abuses Breathless, and murders rivals like Lips Manlis, he knows full well what a bastard he is. He feels only guilt and shame in it. When he accidentally finds himself kidnapping Tess Trueheart at the end of the picture, he finds himself in the company of a woman who is beautiful on the inside and the outside. In a different time, in a better world, she could be his ticket out of his life of crime and depravity. But he knows that is not to be. Of all the villains and monsters and murderers that have graced the comic-book inspired silver screen, Big Boy Caprice is the only one dares to invite pity as well as scorn and/or a twisted idealization. The Joker may make being an amoral monster look like fun. Neville Sinclair makes it look dashing and romantic. But Al Pacino dares to play Big Boy Caprice as a real-world villain in a four-color world. When he looks in the mirror, he only sees shame, despair, and the unforgiving gears of justice that will bring his story to its inevitable end. For him there is no escape, and he damn well knows it.
