Movie Review: "Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones" by David Pretty

Under the auspices of a talented screenwriter and a patient director, a romance *slash* detective story set in the Star Wars universe could have been awesome. Episode II could have been the Empire Strikes Back of the prequel trilogy: an elegiac and thoughtful adagio-style character study spiced up with a few original and innovative action beats.

Instead we get George Lucas frantically scribbling away on his yellow legal pad, trying to cobble a shooting script together before the paint dried on the sets that he'd already decreed, Kubla Khan-style months prior. But even the most rank amateur film student knows that this is no way to make a movie and the script needs to be locked down cold before so much as a single man hour of pre-production begins.

Contrary to the 20'th Century Fox fanfare, Lucasfilm logo and assurances that what we're about to watch did, in fact, occur "a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away," there's little on display here that jibes tonally, spiritually or even chronologically with the original trilogy. In fact, I still maintain that Attack of the Clones is actually worse then The Phantom Menace because it's even more destructive to the lore of the original trilogy than its reviled predecessor.  

It doesn't take very long to realize that the nuts and bolts writing in this entry is going to be just as bad this time out, if not worse. Within nine minutes we're subjected to the following three nigh-identical lines:

Mace Windu: "We're keepers of the peace, not soldiers."
Beldar Conehead: (referring to Count Dookie) "He is a political idealist, not a murderer."
Obi-Wan: "We are here to protect you, Senator, not to start an investigation."

This is, by far, the most blatant example of screenwriting laziness I've ever seen in a major motion picture. Even the worst, piece of shit Jennifer Aniston rom-com wouldn't stoop to this. Any wordsmith worth his or her salt knows that repetition is the cardinal sin of writing. This is the tell-tale sign of an early draft script and / or an environment where the actors have little to no input with regards to the dialogue.

"Know our asses from a hole in the ground we do not."

Except, apparently if you're Samuel L. Jackson. This leads to one of the dumbest lines in the entire prequel trilogy when Mace Windu miraculously gets the jump on Jango Fett and proclaims "This party's over."  Really?  Really?!?  Why didn't Lucas just let him say "I HAVE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERFUCKING SEPARATISTS IN THIS MOTHERFUCKING ARENA!" At least that would have been deliberately funny as opposed to unintentionally funny.

There are plenty more real-world references that always jettison me out of the movie like a malfunctioning escape pod. For example, it's dumb enough that some guy in the bar offers Obi-Wan "Deathsticks" but when you learn that Lucas's original name for this dude was "Elan Sleazebaggano" you quickly realize that not a single solitary fuck is being given. It also begs the question, did Elan change his name to suit his chosen profession or did inheriting such an unfortunate surname dictate a Freakanomics-style self-fulfilling career path in sleazebaggery? 

Later Obi-Wan visits the Anachronistic Cafe, has a cup of Jamba, er...Jawa Juice and meets up with hitherto unknown bestie Dexter Jettster, a short order cook and walking health code violation. Apparently this fat fuck knows more then all of the Jedi elders combined, which further serves to diminishes that once-hallowed order. Hey, put down that spatula and apron, my friend, and get yer rotund ass to the Jedi Library! Apparently dementia is setting in for that Jocasta chick.

"Dex, there's a fly in my Jawa Juice. At least I hope it's a fly."

By the time we get Saruman bombing around on a flying Harley, I was just like..."Okay, done! Check, please!" 

Sorry, let's get back to the dialogue. Now, I don't know if it was George Lucas's intention to make the Jedi, and Anakin in particular, sound like a bunch of antisocial hermits. Maybe he wanted to show that the cloistered and emotionally-stunted Jedi lifestyle is harmful to young minds. But eventually I'm forced to concede that Lucas is an anti-social hermit and this is the only dialogue he's capable of producing. He's like the H.P. Lovecraft of the cinematic blockbuster world.

Sadly, if the film had been approached as a legitimate Anakin character study and Hayden Christensen had gotten some decent lines, it probably could have worked. But as soon as Anakin gets Padme alone he starts giving her these creepy, stalker-ish glances and then follows this up with a slew of highly inappropriate comments. As such, you really can't fathom why Padme would be attracted to this guy, especially after he acts like a total dee-bag and then gets publicly emasculated by his boss.  

Things continue to deteriorate when Padme and Anakin are forced into a series of clunky, deus ex machina scenes together. Anakin pitches a hissy fit about Obi-Wan being a big meanie face and I think he even cries at one point. He caps off this mini meltdown with some of the most straight-up pervy leering ever captured on film...and I've seen most of Jack Nicholson's movies. BA-dum...tssh! 

An overheated Anakin, clearly pondering the rohypnol-style applications of the Jedi Mind Trick. Ewwww.

Eventually Anakin does get a few scripted moments that generate some sympathy with Padme. He carries her luggage, lightens the mood with some edgy astro-droid humor and then scores major brownie points when he tells her that the Jedi put severe limitations on physical and emotional freedom. But then he goes and blows the whole thing by telling Padme that she's been "in his dreams" for years, presumably the same sort of dreams that would necessitate the changing of one's Jedi Jammies™. Ewwwww.

Even though Naboo is probably the most unlikely place to keep Padme safe, it does give Lucas an excuse to shoot in romantic, real-world Italy in a vain effort to compensate for the dearth of chemistry between his two young leads. Actually, I feel kinda churlish bitching about this since it's one of the few times when we get see the actors in real, exterior environments instead of the usual green fabric romper room gussied up with gaudy digital curtains.     

Clad in a backless dress and alluding to skinny dipping and nude sunbathing, Padme inspires Anakin to give his notorious "I hate sand" speech. Despite being the target of the worst come-on lines in cinema history, she still decides to swap spit with the guy. The scene is so ham-fisted that it leads to an inadvertently funny moment when Padme inflicts snoggus interruptus on Anakin and the swelling, florid soundtrack suddenly just stops dead. The only thing missing is a sad trombone noise. 

Padme leaves Anakin hanging with an ignited lightsaber in this scene from Attack of the Blue Balls.

Anakin then continues his campaign to become the Galaxy's Most Creepy Bachelor by telling left-leaning Padme that galactic fascism really hasn't been given a fair shake yet. That isn't quite enough to get her senatorial juices flowing, so Anakin displays his aptitude for obese cow surfing and actually earns himself a literal roll in the hay. Is anyone else buying this crap?

Displaying further evidence that he know less about women than Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory, Lucas dresses Padme up in this black, S&M fetish gear and then has her lure Anakin into some sort of fireplace-lit love nest / sex lair. Why didn't Lucas just put her in black yoga pants with the word "JUICY" embroidered on the ass?

This results in Anakin delivering some mock-Shakespearean dialogue by way of Lucas's damaged prepubescent brain:

"From the moment I met you, all those years ago, not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you. And now that I'm with you again, I'm in agony. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you, I can't breath. I'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar. You are in my very soul, tormenting me. What can I do? I will do anything you ask."

Padme slips into something not even vaguely more comfortable.

In other words, Anakin has been reduced to begging for table scraps from Padme who keeps insisting that she can't fuck the guy because "she's a senator". Wow, talk about art not imitating life.

But, hey, hold on to your gag reflex, kids! 'Cuz about forty minutes later, just before these two crazy kids get wheeled into a fake looking digital arena to face certain doom, Padme suddenly comes down with her own case of  Juliet-itis. She tells Anakin from out of no-where that she's "been dying a little bit each day since you came back into my life" and that she's truly / madly / deeply in lurve with L'il Orphan Annie. Dafuq? 

But it's not enough that Anakin and Padme's story gets bungled, beloved older things get ruined too! Do you guys remember back in the glory days (I.E. before the prequels) when Obi-Wan and Yoda made us think that the Jedi Knights were all enlightened, noble, insightful and intelligent? Well, these new films make a compelling case that the Jedi were all just a bunch of emotionally dead, totally oblivious assholes who were about as useful as a screen door on the Millennium Falcon.

For one, I completely understand Anakin's hatred for Obi-Wan. After ragging on Anakin for doing impulsive and / or stupid shit, Obi-Wan then proceeds to ignore his own advice and hurl himself bodily through a plate glass window in an ruckless  attempt to catch the assassin droid. This also doesn't jibe with his earlier assertion that they're just there to guard Padme and not go after the killer. Hey, practice what you preach, asshole!   

"Okay, I probably deserved this."

And so much for the Jedi Knights being "guardians of peace and justice" in the Old Republic. Just check out the scene where Obi-Wan and Anakin work Zam Wesell over like Vic Mackey and "Popeye" Doyle. Then, of course, there's the genuinely disturbing moment when Mace Windu casually lops Jango Fett's head off with the same level of hesitation one reserves for hacking the greens off the of top of a carrot. And contrary to Mace's assertion that the Jedi are "not soldiers", they certainly have no qualms about sparking off and then presiding over all-out war by the end of the film.

Then there's a scene which virtually parodies Luke's training on the Millennium Falcon in Star Wars.  Obi-Wan seeks out Yoda for advice and finds him training a pack of "younglings" (read: brats). We see this swarm of prepubescent larvae all clustered together, indiscriminately waving their little laser swords around like they're trying to crack open a "Minions" piñata at a birthday party. There's even  one precocious little snot in the background (who vaguely resembles Chunk from The Goonies) who's holding his lightsaber with the blade pointed directly at his own chest. Pity the fucking safety wasn't off...

Blinded by child-worship and clearly keen to patronize the next generation of consumers, Lucas has one of the lisping little imps school Obi-Wan on what happened to his missing planet. This prompts Yoda to gush like a senile Grandmother, saying "Truly wonderful the mind of a child is." Hey, Yoda, you wanna know what a kid's mind is really like at that age? It's like fucking mush. Creative, yes. Clever, sure. But certainly incapable of the kind of deep reasoning that you'd hope to expect from the adults in this film. That's why Palpatine never visited the Jedi Temple; those lil bloodhounds would have sniffed him out in a second.

Yoda orders Obi-Wan to grab a dunce cap and head to the back of the class.

Sure, the kids are on point but the elder Jedi clearly have no fucking clue what's going on. As if the Jedi don't already have enough egg on their face to constitute a Big Bird omelet, both Beldar and Mace flat-out dismiss Padme's assertion that Count Dookie is trying to kill her and then the rest of their condescending, neutered, ignorant brethren fall right into step with them.

I just love it when Count Dookie eventually gives a trussed-up Obi-Wan a crash course on Darth Sidious, which, to me, is about as Machiavellian as putting glasses on Clark Kent. Even if we buy the bullshit script convenience that the Jedi have had their insight diminished by the Dark Side, they still have working eyes and ears, don't they? 

But it's Yoda who comes off the worse here, by far. The script constantly forces the diminutive Jedi Master to admit his ignorance about Palpatine's persistently shady behavior, something that should be self-evident to anyone with an upright gait and a body temperature over thirty-six degrees. I'd chalk this up to senility but didn't all of this crap happen twenty years or so before the other films? Even though Yoda clearly thinks that Palpatine's sponsorship of Anakin stinks worse then a pile of dead Jawas, the little green bastard just sits there and says absolutely nothing.

"Suspicious Palpatine is. Confront him I should. But first, find my car keys I will."

Plus, based on his teachings in Empire, I never in my worst nightmares ever expected the wise, Zen-like Jedi Master to utter such boring, mock-tactical, junk dialogue as:

• "Around the survivors, a perimeter create!"
• "To the forward command center take me!" 
• "Concentrate all your fire on the nearest starship!"    

Then they commit the single dumbest travesty of the entire prequel trilogy: they give Yoda a tiny l'il lightsaber. As Empire firmly established, Yoda always saw weapons as crude toys that were beneath him. But here he's reduced to wielding a paring knife-sized laser-sword and leaping around like Super Grover after a flat of Red Bull.

But the Jedi aren't the only things that get borked into oblivion; the following once-cool things also get irreparably fucked, as if George didn't even know how to write for his own universe:

• During Obi-Wan's tour through the Kamino klone kartoon, we learn that the notorious stormtroopers are actually a bunch of Kiwis.  
• We also discover that Boba Fett isn't Mandalorian after all, but Māorian. This one really pisses me off since it resulted in voice actor Jason Wingreen being ret-conned out of The Empire Strikes Back as the original voice for Boba Fett. It's heartbreaking to hear Jason recount this story about getting the job, which has since been relegated to the dustbin of cinematic history. 
• R2-D2 has fucking rocket booster jets?!?  Man, that could have come in handy in, oh, I dunno, THE ENTIRE ORIGINAL TRILOGY. 
• The C-3PO / battle droid head switch is the greatest indignity the character has ever suffered.  And I've seen the Droids cartoon. 

It's scenes like this that convince me that George Lucas is just fucking around with all of us.

While all of this is happening we're subjected to an endless parade of idiocy that makes The Phantom Menace look like Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. For example, why does Padme's decoy apologize for "failing her"? As a decoy, isn't it her job to get blown up instead of the Senator? Plus, for someone who's supposedly in constant danger of assassination, Padme sure likes livin' on the edge. She has a one-eyed bodyguard with no depth perception, dresses in distinctive costumes and hangs out in an apartment with more windows then Trump Tower.

Maybe she knows just how brain damaged her assassins are. Despite the fact that Jango is presented to us as a total bad-ass, he sub-contracts Zam Wesell out to kill Padme. Why he doesn't just jetpack to Padme's apartment and tap on her bedroom window with A FUCKING ROCKET is beyond me. Clearly accuracy isn't an issue for Jango since later on he tags Zam with a tiny poisoned dart from what looks like a hojillion miles away. 

Instead of going with "Plan A" he gives Zam a snack pack of killer centipedes (?) to deposit into Padme's room while she's sleeping. So, just as Obi-Wan and Anakin are summing up their fifth and final stupid line of tin-eared dialogue, they sense the intruders, rush in and dispatch the critters with ease. See what I mean? If Jango had just cared enough to send a ROCKET-O-GRAM in the first place the whole thing would have been over and done with and could have all gone home early.

"Special delivery, sweetheart!"

Oh, and let's come back to Obi-Wan crashing through Padme's picture window like Batman. How did he know that the assassin droid wouldn't shoot straight up into the air or turbo-boost away from his leap? Better yet, how did he know that the droid could support his weight? The thing could have plummeted to earth like a sparrow being tackled out in mid-air by Val Kilmer. 

Zam is also quickly revealed as a rank and file moron. She manages to ditch Obi-Wan and Anakin in a busy bar but instead of taking this as an opportunity to escape, she tries to shoot Obi-Wan in the back. That's like Suge Knight trying to cap a police officer in the back of the skull on a busy night at 1 OAK. Actually, we need to add Jango to the dipshit list as well since he could have easily doubled back to Padme's apartment and ganked her now-unprotected ass. Seriosuly, none of this shit makes any sense.  

Want more examples? For no other reason except to shoe-horn two characters together, the Jedi Council gives Anakin the delicate task of escorting Padme to Naboo which, need I remind you, is the planet that capitulated quicker then France in Episode I. Clearly Padme's life is in terrible danger so why don't they just lock her up inside a Panic Room in the heart of the Jedi Temple?

The only thing more indefensible than an open field is this stupid script.

And then, just before Padme leaves, she confers all of her senatorial powers to that brain-damaged, cock-holster Jar Jar Binks. And with that, my last hope that there was at least one intelligent person in the galaxy started circling down the drain.

Now, since Lucas doesn't have a smidgen of Irvin Kershner's directorial flair, he's forced to borrow visual cues from previous entries in a vain effort to keep viewers engaged. Sure, Obi-Wan and Jango's asteroid duel is superficially exhilarating, but it cribs shamelessly from The Empire Strikes Back without generating any of the same peril or suspense. And even though Jango is a crack shot with a dart, he really needs to turn in his marksmanship badge after failing to annihilate Obi-Wan with those twin Bushmaster laser guns.

By the time we get to the big, dumb ending the inconsistencies start piling up at a dizzying rate. Sure, we know where the clones came from but where did Yoda get all of the shuttles, tanks, command centers and Godzilla-killing laser cannons? "Award the lucrative defense contract to Lockheed Martin did I!" How the fuck did Padme know that Dookie was headed for a "hanger" after she got thrown out of the shuttle? How did all of those foreign-looking Jedi strategically place themselves around that huge arena without being noticed, especially when they stand out like Bill Gates at a Drake concert. 

Nope. Not conspicuous at all.

But perhaps the movie's worst sin is that it's a black hole of visual cinematic story telling. The non-mystery surrounding Count Dookie is a perfect example of this.

Padme: Do you have any idea who was behind this attack?
Mace Windy: Our intelligence points to disgruntled spice miners on the moons of Naboo.
Padme:  I think that Count Dooku was behind it.
Beldar: He is a political idealist, not a murderer.
Mace Windshield: You know, milady, Count Dooku was once a Jedi. He couldn't assassinate anyone. It's not in his character.

Now it's bad enough that these conversations sound completely stilted and unnatural, but what's much worse is that George is telling us how to feel about something instead of showing us something and letting us make up our own mind how we feel towards it. Ergo, if we'd actually seen Count Dookie do something in the previous film or at the start of this movie then maybe we could have formed our own opinion about the guy. 

I find it especially sad to watch Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen gamely bash out one stilted, utilitarian, contraction-free line after another in a vain effort to convince us that they're "best buds". This is summed up in the scene where Obi-Wan and Anakin reminisce about all the fun adventures they've had together since The Phantom Menace en route to Padme's er...pad.

Obi-Wan: You seem a little on edge.
Anakin: Not at all.
Obi-Wan: I haven't felt you this tense since we fell into that nest of gundarks.
Anakin: You fell into that nightmare, Master, and I rescued you, remember?
Obi-Wan: Oh, yes. (chuckles)

"OooOoo.. and then there was that time when we got drunk on Hoth and you stuck your whole arm up that Tauntaun's a..."

"You don't need to bring that up, my young Padawan."

Pity we don't get to see this gundark scrap since it sounds like a pretty epic dude bro bonding moment. What we do see moments later is a very awkward public spat between Anakin and Obi-Wan that makes it seem as if they can't stand ot be in the same room with one another.

Not long after, we see Obi-Wan, Yoda and Mace PhotoShopped into a Jedi Temple desktop pic. They casually stroll around and talk about Anakin's increasing volatile behavior but let it slide once again thanks to this nebulous and cryptic "Balance of the Force" prophesy. Once again, Lucas opts to play "keep away" with any pertinent details, most likely because even he has no clue what he's on about.

Later, amidst the equally fake and cartoonish environs of Kamino, we get several maddening references to some dude named Sifo Dyas. Once again, Lucas does the screenwriting equivalent of "neener, neener, neener" and refuses to disclose any helpful information about this guy. And don't you even dare say that the answer is in some cartoon, comic book or Expanded Universe novel or I swear I'll track you down, march up to your house, ring your door bell and then punch you right in the pee-hole.   

Speaking of fake and cartoonish, the actions scenes are so laden with CGI that you never feel as if the characters are in a real environment and subsequently in any peril. The tone for this is set right out of the gate during the Obi / Anakin / Zam Wesell chase. Physics and logic are quickly dispensed with and the rest of the sequence is about as engaging as a cutscene from Assassin's Creed.

But it gets much, much worse. The droid assembly line set piece is totally pointless and by the end of it, you're fifty percent bored and fifty percent exhausted. Now I've used the "video game" analogy before but this time I'll be even more specific and go call this whole segment a "platformer". Uh-uh! Anakin totally borked his boss fight against Jango and the Destroyers! OooOooo, what a great name for a band! Sorry, it's easy to get distracted. Bottom line is: you know this movie's in trouble when C-fucking-3PO features prominently in the action. 

Then there's the entire arena sequence which is just a bloated, fake-looking mess designed for people with terminal ADD. Ergo, there's nothing going on here that a normal, empathetic human being can relate to. Ergo, our desire to give a shit about what's happening on screen is seriously diminished. Then, like a hypoglycemic kid on a Froot Loop bender, Lucas give us yet another seizure-inducing pitched battle between two armies of clones and droids that we care little to nothing about.

The clones attack...and I fall asleep.

As already established in The Phantom MenASS, Lucas continues to pursue a life-time dream of purging those bothersome flesh and blood actors from the big screen. No sooner do the Jedi arrive at Padme's flat, then we're forced to endure a greeting by that cock-smack Jar Jar Binks, resulting in an instant one-star demerit for the film. In a clear invitation for fans to tuck into a heaping bowlful of Penis™-brand cereal, Lucas reveals that it's none other then Monsieur Binks who's responsible for the single most cataclysmic decision in the entire saga. How the fuck can the Senate take this clueless twat seriously after he addresses them as "dellow fellowgates"?

And, hey, we get to see Watto again! Yep, still an incredibly insulting racial stereotype! Replaced by a digital doppelganger, Yoda now looks about as realistic as a character from ReBoot. And who can forget Dexter Jettster? Everybody? Right, I forgot, he's completely disposable. It's here that I really have to pause for a second and praise Ewan McGregor; clearly he gives a shit and he's trying his best. Despite being paired up with a giant computer-generated basilisk who's neck waddle always reminds me of a certain flannel-clad director, McGregor sells it to the (lightsaber) hilt and makes the scene tolerable to sit through.

Now at one point during the scrap between Obi-Wan and Jango I actually started to feel a fleeting sense of happiness and disorientation when I realized that I was watching something that vaguely resembled a Star Wars movie. Despite the completely fraudulent-looking digital backdrops, it's still a tense, fun scene. Again, I'm tempted to give Ewan more credit here, but I honestly don't know if it's him half the time or some sort of digital stuntman.

Will the real Ewan McGregor please stand up, please stand up?

And then there are the drunken tonal shifts that have plagued every single one of George's movies since Return of the Jedi. In a sequence that gets a lot of mileage from nostalgia, Anakin goes back to Tatooine to rescue his moms. For one brief moment we're back in the guy's corner, that is until he snaps and commits genocide. I can't say that I blame him, though, since he does find Shmoo trussed up by the Sandpeople like a Pledge Night rookie at an S&M club.  Honestly, is there anyone still left out there who thinks these movies are "just for kids"? 

Just like in Jedi when the fucking Ewoks started acting like assholes during Endor battle, every single bit of dramatic tension in the film just drains away whenever C-3PO is on screen. I really love how the protocol droid's incessant clowning and corny one-liners are juxtaposed against Mace Window's brutal decapitation of Jango Fett. "Hey, kids!  Wanna see the new Star Wars movie?  It's got some funny bits with C-3PO! Oh, and some traumatic scenes of parental murder." 

The sad fact of the matter is that Attack of the Clones is a colossal piece of junk, and I'm not talking about an endearing piece of junk like the Millennium Falcon. It's a cinematic shit-heap with little redeeming value. It's not just bad as a Star Wars movie, it's straight-up bad cinema. In fact, it's just about as bad as a series of consecutive moving images strung together to tell a story can possibly be.

I'm hoping that my next review will be The Force Awakens. I'm going into that one with a "there's- nowhere-to-go-from-here-but-up" attitude but, as Clones will attest, I've been burned by blind optimism before.

Tilt: down.

Movie Review: "Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace" by David Pretty

1999: a year of hope for Star Wars fans across the galaxy. Two years prior the classic trilogy was re-released to much fanfare, driving nostalgic Gen X-ers into a slavering frenzy for new content. When the teaser trailer for Episode I dropped in November of 1998, people were so starved for a few fleeting glimpses of George Lucas's table scraps that they bought tickets to movies like Meet Joe Black, watched the trailer and then promptly walked out of the theater again.

Although not nearly as rabid, I also got caught up in the hype machine. Completely entranced by the dazzling full-length trailer that followed I dared to dream that The Phantom Menace would be a worthy addition to the hallowed Star Wars pantheon. I rushed out on opening day to see it and came out the other side feeling slightly baffled. Assuming that I'd missed something profound, I decided to see it again. And again.

I was such a died-in-the wool Phantom Menace fanboy apologist was I that kept watching the movie over and over again to try and convince myself that it was good. This led to some incredibly awkward conversations with some of my closest but obviously more discriminating friends:

Dean: Jar-Jar sucks Death Star-sized balls.
Me: Actually, Dean, I beg to differ. I believe that George Lucas really wanted to do something different this time out so he came up with lighter and more comedic side-kick character to contrast with, say, Chewbacca...
A Friend: Jesus Christ, man, listen to yourself! You're defending a clumsy, goofy, irritating, mentally challenged cartoon duck with rabbit ears that destroys all tension and drama whenever he's on screen! Get George Lucas's dick out of your mouth and see the movie for what it is already! 

"Oh, mooey, mooey, I love you!"

Eventually I had to admit that he was absolutely right. This long-awaited prequel was infected with the same tragic palsy that neutered Return of the Jedi, hobbled Willow and rendered those two supremely shitty Ewok T.V. movies virtually un-watchable. This dreaded condition, which I'll call "Lucasitis", first emerged from the bowels of Marin County California circa 1982. When a film is diagnosed with this affliction the prognosis is crippling if not outright terminal.

But before we move on to cataloging the symptoms, we have to indulge in some back-story. 

Back in the late Sixties, it was George's cinematic mentor Frances Ford Coppola who first recognized a major chink in his protege's creative arsenal: he couldn't write his way out of a paper bag. Coppola's best advice to George is that he had to learn how to write in order to be a decent film-maker. Unfortunately, the first first thing Lucas turned in was the cold, sterile and impenetrable THX-1138. Sure, it had some cool production design, editing and visuals but it read as if it was written by a habitual shut-in. Does any of this sound familiar?

When THX-1138 understandably tanked at the box office, Coppola challenged Lucas to come up with something with more mainstream appeal. By all accounts, American Graffiti started off as a great concept and a solid story but the dialogue was pretty heinous. Mercifully screenwriters Willard Huyck and Gloria Katz came in manage to make it sound as if real human beings were talking to one another. The recipe worked perfectly and the film turned out to be a huge success.

George Lucas should have a shrine dedicated to these two at Skywalker Ranch.

This gave Lucas an opportunity to lens his dream project: a technically-updated homage to the Buster Crabe Flash Gordon serials of his childhood. Unfortunately the first script he turned in was a rambling, bloated mess. Don't believe me? Then I dare you to click on the following link and try to read just one page of the gibberish you'll find there. Mercifully Huyck and Katz were once again called in to save the day and the script was eventually hammered into something vaguely film-able.

Talented screen-writers weren't his sole ally back them. In order to get this epic project bankrolled, Lucas had to collaborate with a host of talented actors, a contentious crew and a willful producer. Even fellow director Brian de Palma got into the act, editing the opening text crawl into something succinct and interesting. Like it or not, these tense dynamics resulted in the perfect conditions to produce a classic.

By all accounts, shooting Star Wars on location in Tunisia and Elstree Studios in London was a complete nightmare for Lucas. Studio pressure and logistical nightmares took their toll on him and at one point Lucas was hospitalized for hypertension and exhaustion. To make matters worse the original edit of the film was a static, lifeless, unmitigated disaster. Mercifully, the original editor was turfed and the raw footage was handed over to Paul Hirsch, Richard Chew and Marcia Lucas, who was George's wife at the time. When ILM's special effects and John William's rousing score was added to the mix, the whole thing came to life and became a worldwide phenomenon.

Richard Chew, Marcia Lucas and Paul Hirsch won well-deserved Oscars for their editing work on Star Wars.

George was so poisoned by his on-set trauma that he gave Irving Kershner full directorial control over The Empire Strikes Back. Artistically shot, well-acted and expertly-mounted, the film is now regarded as one of the greatest sequels of all time. Unfortunately, Lucas was irked by the additional time Kershner spent with the actors and his set-ups. In the film business, time equals money and Lucas, ever the shrewd businessman, decided that he needed to be a lot more hand's-on for the entry. So, even though Richard Marquand was credited as the director for Return of the Jedi, Lucas was on the set just about every day.

By that time, Lucas was universally regarded as the sole creative "force" behind the success of Star Wars and his more vocal detractors had been purged out of his inner circle. As a result, Jedi started to creep closer and closer to the saga's bargain basement pedigree, I.E. the schlocky chapter-play cliffhanger serials that he was weaned on as a kid. This leads me to believe that Lucas keeps tweaking A New Hope because it was born out of adversity and collaborative "compromise".

I also get the distinct impression that he was downright baffled by Irvin Kirshner's reverential attitude towards the Grade B subject matter. Tonally, it's really hard to reconcile the drama, intelligence and artistic flourishes in The Empire Strikes Back with the rest of the series. Lucas also probably knows that he'd get pilloried by fans if he ever dared to alter that particular entry very much. To this day George seems unable to acknowledge that collaborative and creative fission is exactly what made Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back two of the best movies ever made, sci-fi or otherwise.

On oddly telling image of Gary Kurtz and George Lucas on the set of Star Wars circa 1976.   

So, by the late Nineties, Lucas was the sole arbiter in a cinematic universe of his own design. No one dared oppose him as he bashed out the script of The Phantom Menace on loose-leaf paper. Unlike Gary Kurtz and Howard Kazanjian before him, new producer Rick McCallum said nothing when George turned in a deeply flawed and low-rent screenplay. Indeed, no-one dared to tell Emperor Lucas that he wasn't wearing a stitch of creative clothing. As such, we shouldn't be surprised that The Phantom Menace arrived stillborn, the victim of an acute case of Lucasitis.

So what are the symptoms of this dread disease? Let's begin the autopsy, shall we...

(1) Lowered Expectations. There's a quiet, but powerful, moment in Star Wars when Ben Kenobi drops a few tantalizing tidbits about the fabled Clone Wars. For every child who heard this it was like lighting a fire in the tinderbox of your imagination. For twenty odd years we pondered what amazing revelations a hypothetical prequel would reveal, but I'm willing to wager dollars to doughnuts that it didn't involve taxation, trade routes and senate hearings. When people rightfully took The Phantom Menace to task for being underwhelming, Lucas actually had the temerity to blame it on "unrealistic expectations". Sure, the bar was set high but fan's aren't just gonna lap up your slop just because it has the words "Star" and "Wars" in the title.

(2) Actors Are A Necessary Evil.  Lucas has a clear philosophy: hire talented actors that require absolutely no direction so that your interactions with them are kept to a bare minimum. Not a bad idea in principle but it's terrible in practice, expecially when you see genuinely accomplished actors like Natalie Portman, Liam Neeson and Ewan McGregor reduced to "cut and paste" puppets reciting the most dispassionate, boring, perfunctory dialogue ever committed to film. As Harrison Ford once famously told Lucas: "You can type this shit, George, but you can't say it."  Not long after the release of Episode I  Ewan McGregor was quoted as saying: "There was no spontaneity. Your job, as an actor, was just to get it out. I was frowning a lot. It just became a frowning exercise."  By no co-incidence, Liam Neeson nearly quit acting because he was tired being treated like a prop. Every Star Wars fanboy who complains about the performances in prequels really deserves a swift kick square the cubes. Even Daniel Day Lewis couldn't have done anything with this schlock.

Natalie Portman takes a bead on her agent, Ewan McGregor tries to remember where he parked his motorcycle and Liam Neeson urges Jake Lloyd to find a more fulfilling career in this pivotal scene from The Phantom Menace.

(3) It's Fine To Use Camp Serials From the 1930's As Inspiration, But Did We Really Need To Port Over The Racism, Too?  My jaw literally dropped when I first heard the Neimoidians speak. 'Why would Lucas make these characters sound like Japanese stereotypes from Back To Bataan?' I though to myself. My horror only deepened moments later when Jar Jar Binks, nothing more than a walking, talking Stepin Fetchit parody, came flailing onto the screen. I honestly don't think that George Lucas has a racist bone in his body but this is just one example of the sort of supremely stupid shit that would have gotten weeded out early if The Phantom Menace had been produced in a normal creative environment.

(4) "WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!?! A Little Bit Less, I Mean."  Actually let's talk about Mr. Binks for a minute since he's a major indicator of George's head space at the time. As much as fanboys want to deny this, Star Wars is intended for kids, but it's important to note that Lucas didn't become a dad until 1981. By the time he sat down to write the Phantom Menace in 1994, he'd been marinating in parenthood for about fifteen years and, more importantly,  he'd just adopted a one-year-old boy named Jett. Like most kids, Jett exhibited a pretty vivid imagination as soon as he started to talk. After all, he's the one credited with coming up with the Gungan race and the character of Jar Jar Binks and I suspect that he probably told his doting papa all about it in the cutest Pidgin English imaginable. Completely besotted by fatherhood, Lucas decided to import the creative ramblings of a child into the most anticipated film in cinema history. At the time someone needed to remind him that there's a big difference between child-like and childish. After all the original trilogy was also kid catnip, it just wasn't marketed directly to toddlers.

(5) CGI Characters Never Ask For Their "Motivation." To add to point # 2, CGI monstrosities like Jar Jar Binks really demonstrates George's borderline contempt for flesh and blood actors. It's not bad enough to have Jar Jar competing with them for screen time, but the annoying fuck has to constantly upstage people with his goofy pratfalls, manic screeching, flailing limbs, wanton shoplifting, overt fibbery, and just constantly fucking around with stuff that doesn't belong to him. It's like a giant "fuck you" to all the real, live human beings on screen who've actually dedicated their lives to perfecting their craft. 

"Yousen being in myen light, ookieday?"

(5) An Obsession With Bodily Functions. This annoying trend started with Return of the Jedi which featured several creatures belching as if they had acid reflux disease. In Phantom Menace, Lucas doubles down by having Jar Jar step in digital crap and then clownishly overreacting when another critter farts in his face. Look, I wasn't exactly expecting Bleak House here, but this is ridiculous.

(6) Tonal Schizophrenia. By casting a ten year old as Anakin, including Jar Jar as a pivotal character and consistently stooping to infantile humor, you'd be forgiven for thinking that The Phantom Menace was just a cynical attempt to get a whole new generation of kids hooked on Star Wars. That is until you watch scenes involving static senate hearings, a one-sided ground battle involving wholesale slaughter and some dude getting sliced in half. 

(7) Expository Dialogue.  "Coruscant... the entire planet is one big city. There's Chancellor Valorum's shuttle. And look over there, Senator Palpatine is waiting for us."  To quote uber-sarcastic Han Solo in a much better movie: "I'm glad you're here to tell us these things!"

"Coruscant... the big shitty."

(8) Shitty Dialogue In General.  It boggles the mind that Lucas typed up the following chestnuts, looked at it and said "Yep. That's perfect."

***

Anakin: Mom, you said that the biggest problem in the universe is no one helps each other.

***

Jar-Jar Binks: Oh, mooey, mooey, I love you!
Qui-Gon Jinn: You almost got us killed! Are you brainless?
Jar-Jar Binks: I spake!
Qui-Gon Jinn: The ability to speak does not make you intelligent. Now get out of here.

***

Beed: I don't care what universe you're from, that's got to hurt!
Um...Lucas knows that there's only one universe, right? 

***

Sebulba: You won't walk away from this one, you slave scum!
Anakin: Don't count on it, slimeball!
Sebulba: You're Bantha poodoo!

***

Captain Tarpals: Hey, you-sa! Stop-pa dere!
Jar-Jar Binks: Hey yo, Daddy Captain Tarpals. Mesa back!
Captain Tarpals: No ah-gain, Jar Jar. You-sa goin' to da Bosses. You-sa in big doo-doo dis time!

***

I could have just as easily have cut and pasted the entire script here, but you get the point.

(9) Urchi-kid Skywalker.  I don't care what all you neckbeards out there think: Jake Lloyd did a serviceable job with what he had to work with, but my point is that he shouldn't have been there in the first place. As previous mentioned, I think George cast a ten year old partly because of the indirect influence of his own kids plus he probably though that it would be a sure-fire way to create a new generation of fans. One really telling moment in the Making Star Wars: Episode I The Phantom Menace documentary occurs during the final casting session for Anakin Skywalker. Just check out the second kid at the 4:35 mark in the video right here; he's got a lot more gravitas and even vaguely resembled a young Mark Hamill. Instead Lucas went with Jake Lloyd because he was "edgier".  Personally I would have cast an angst-y unknown teenager since you would have gotten a more sophisticated performance and subsequently and more relate-able character. Plus it would have diminished the following major issue...

Who would have known that Luke and Leia's mom would have the same sexual proclivities as the average American female grade school teacher? Ewwww...

(10) Unnatural Relationships. Luke and Leia's "unconventional" relationship in the original trilogy has nothing on the inexplicable and profound weirdness that develops between Padme and Anakin. Think about this for a second: when they first meet, she's fourteen years old and he's fucking nine. If Lucas knew anything about women he'd know that Padme would be permanently repulsed by the concept of boning someone she first met as a ten year old kid. If anything, she should be crushing on Obi-Wan. But clearly the dynamic Lucas established in Phantom Menace shows that he knows less about women then Andy Stitzer from The 40- Year-Old Virgin.

(11) Everything Old Is New Again. Phantom Menace takes place thirty odd years before the events in A New Hope but you can't tell that by the film's visual style. Yes, things look cleaner and slicker but nothing feels retro or technologically inferior. Lucas could have used this as a great opportunity to world build and play around with continuity but instead we get the same speeders, droids, and blasters and we see later on the timeline. I think it would have been cool to see R2-D2 and C-3PO come straight off the assembly line and into the story as brand new, state-of-the-art iDroids. But instead we get absolutely no sense of progress, history or evolution at all. 

(12) Fleeting Moments of Promise Are Quickly Dashed. Even though the lightsaber duel between Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Darth Maul is heavily choreographed it looks fake and we've barely been given any reason to care for these characters and the jeopardy they're in, it's still one of the few moments in The Phantom Menace that feels vaguely Star Wars-y. Unfortunately the whole thing is undone in a flash when Obi-Wan dispatches the Sith Lord in one of the most implausible and inadvertently funny ways imaginable.

"Duel of the...*Yawn*"

(13) "I Find Your Lack Of Logic...Disturbing." Credibility is certainly strained when a nine year old kid wins a race that would surely kill Dale Earnhardt within thirty seconds and then single-handedly destroys a Trade Federation battleship. But there's so much more than that. Why would Jedi Knights be dispatched as diplomats? Aren't they essentially space cops, I.E. "guardians of peace and justice" in the Old Republic? Why are the Neimoidians risking their operation and, ultimately, their lives to help Sidious? Are they being paid? Bribed? Manipulated by the Force? We'll never know. Why do Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan take two separate ships down to the planet? Wouldn't that double their odds of getting caught? And how did they know that the two ships would land in the exact same place together? And how convenient is it that the Gungan city is within walking distance of the Trade Federation landing site? Also wouldn't it take forever to pilot a sub through the core of a planet to the other side? Why do the Neimoidians only assign a small detail of frail battle droids to guard the Queen, I.E. their most important prisoner? Why do so many Naboo people start dying so quickly? Is it because of the blockade? Well, that can't be it because the blockade only started a few days ago. Is the droid army killing people wholesale? Who knows? Once again, Lucas doesn't show us what's going on and as a result, we never feel involved in their plight. How does a ship's shield generator get hit when the shields are still up? What exactly is "leaking" out of the hyperdrive? Ignition fluid? Why doesn't Qui-Gon just sell the Queen's damaged ship and book passage off Tatooine just like Obi-Wan did in Star Wars? Or trade it for a smaller ship? And why does he take Watto at face value when he tells him that no one else has the part he needs? Qui-Gon refers to Watto was one of the "smaller dealers", so why doesn't he check with one of the larger ones? Why would Anakin build a virtually useless protocol droid like C-3PO for his moms and not something more useful, like a Roomba? Why does the Senate not believe Amidala when she tells them about the droid invasion? Didn't the Senate already send the Jedi to Naboo to investigate what was going on? What is the deal with the prophecy that will "bring balance to the Force"? Who said it? When did they say it? With the Jedi reigning supreme right now, wouldn't it be a really bad idea to "bring balance to the Force"?  Ergo, why is Qui-Gon so intent on training Anakin? Is he looking to win some sort of Jedi Nobel Peace Prize? Why can't Obi-Wan sprint to his master's aide during the duel with Maul like he did at the start of the film? It's pretty clear that Obi-Wan doesn't trust Anakin at all, so why would he agree train him, even when Qui-Gon makes him take an oath? Even more critical: why does the Jedi Council completely change their collectively minds and give Obi-Wan carte blanche to train Anakin as his Padawan? Sure, some of this stuff is a little nit-picky but a lot of these are perfectly legitimate questions. Every movie, especially sci-fi, needs a certain level of internal logic otherwise the whole edifice falls apart and you're left with a lot of sound and fury signifying nothing.

(14) Hideously Bad Continuity Errors. As a it turns out a lot of re-shoots were required in order to make the film even vaguely watchable. One major indicator of this is the frequent and drastic changes to Ewan McGregor's hair style. In one scene it's spiky and normal looking and in the next it's reddish and slicked back. There are even some scenes in which he looks older and chunkier than previous scenes. It's so detracting and so glaringly obvious that it never fails to jettison me out of the movie every time I watch it.  Which isn't very often.

(15) Who Am I Rooting For Here?  Unlike the classic trilogy, there's no "everyman" character like for the audience to get emotionally invested in. Jake Lloyd's Anakin is too young for most people to relate to, plus he vanishes for long stretches of screen time. Liam Neeson might get top billing as Qui-Gon but his character is a black hole of personality. It's bad enough that he's stoic, pig-headed, and dull but he also has no qualms engaging in child endangerment, illegal betting, fraud, and abandoning a child's mother to a miserable life of indentured servitude. Ewan McGregor's spot on Alec Guinness impersonation is likewise wasted on a whiny second banana role. Buried under pounds of geisha makeup and costumes, the normally delightful and animated Natalie Portman was clearly instructed to just let her dialogue tumble out of her face without a hint of panache. The Phantom Menace has absolutely no likeable characters which, in turn, keeps us at arms length from the proceedings.

"Pyew! Pyew! Pyew!"

I could go on, but what's the point? For the sake of full disclosure, the film isn't a complete write-off: the designs are solid, the costumes and props are great, there are a few cool-looking practical sets and John William's score, featuring the genuinely rousing "Duel of the Fates", almost single-handedly  redeems the whole sad mess.

Now I'm not one to say that "George Lucas raped my childhood", even if he did fondle it inappropriately. It's hard to hate or be pissed off at a guy who, by all accounts is a generous philanthropist, a good family man and a creative innovator. I just wish he'd handed the Star Wars prequels off to someone else, someone who had more respect and admiration for the subject matter. As such, I don't see The Phantom Menace as personal affront to our generation, just a monumental wasted opportunity to add to the grandeur and mythos of one of the greatest imaginings in film history.

Comedian Patton Oswalt says the the first thing he would do with a time machine is go back to 1995 and kill George Lucas with a shovel.  My feelings may not be quite that extreme, but I'd certainly like to have serious sit-down and chat with the dude.

Tilt: down.

Movie Review: "The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1" by David Pretty

IN A NUTSHELL

Snapped up by District 13 rebels after the chaos of the Quarter Quell, inadvertent heroine Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) is slowly fashioned into a symbol for mass uprising. Unfortunately, her willingness to spearhead the resistance is severely curtailed when nominal love interest Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson) emerges as a mouthpiece for the status quo. Kiefer Sutherland's dad guest stars.

IN THE WHEELHOUSE

For the love of everything holy, if someone suggests that you watch this movie and you haven't seen any of the previous films or read the books, go out for some frozen yogurt instead. Why? Well, it's because your enjoyment level for The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1 is entirely predicated on how emotionally invested you are in the saga of one Mistress Katniss Everdeen.

PROS

• Production designer Philip Messina brings a level of devastation to District 12 that gives Katniss all the motivation she needs to become the avatar for insurrection. Also the sterile environs of the subterranean District 13 provides the perfect contrast to the ostentatious extravagance of the Capitol. Credit is also due to costume designer Christian Cordella for the frumpy but functional District 13 uniforms, the intimidating stormtrooper-esque Peacekeeper armor and Jennifer's bad-ass Mockingjay outfit.
• Early on we're introduced to the President of District 13, Alma Coin, played by the always-watchable Julianne Moore. She does her usual outstanding job, selling the character as a commanding reservoir of strength and competence. She particularly effective whenever she's calmly issuing orders, bolstering Katniss or addressing residents of the District. 
• Not to sound like a broken record, but Jennifer Lawrence continues to impress. She might not be subjected to yet another Hunger Games competition, but she does get to witness the brutality of President Snow first hand. In a series of emotional body blows, Katniss visits the ruins of her home District, sees a hospital callously flattened by Capital attack ships and then learns that Peeta has been brainwashed into a mouthpiece for the regime. Jennifer Lawrence sells all of these scenes to the hilt; delivering a level of emotional heft that feels quite genuine. But my favorite moment comes when she's told to act like a flag-waving partisan in front of blue-screen battlefield. Jennifer's "performance" is so calculatedly awful that it's downright hilarious. It's a welcome moment of levity in an otherwise morose and turgid film. 
• Man, do I ever miss Philip Seymour Hoffman. His portrayal of defected Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee is organic and seamless and not once does he ever reveal the pretense of "acting". Your eyes are glued to him whenever he's on screen, if only to marvel over the the small, subtle things he does with his voice, his body language and his face to sell the character as one-hundred percent genuine. You want high testimony? I'll give you high testimony: he actually eclipses Julianne Moore. And that ain't no small feat.
• After finding Josh Hutcherson's Peeta Mellark to be a complete irritant in the first film, I'm now completely turned around on the guy. Via a series of propaganda interview segments hosted by a comparably-sober Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci), Hutcherson gives us increasingly obvious tells that something is horribly amiss. He does a good job, especially when he goes completely off the rails towards the end. His trauma feels genuine and you really start to feel bad for the poor bastard. 
• The supporting cast also adds a lot to the film's limited appeal. Since alcohol is banned in District 13, we're treated to our first glimpse of a stone-cold sober Haymitch Abernathy. It's fun to watch Woody Harrelson school Coin and Heavensbee on what makes Katniss tick, which allows her to become a more sincere and believable symbol of freedom. And since overt fabulousness is also banned in District 13, our favorite snooty fashionista Effie Trinket gets re-purposed as the budding Mockingjay's style consultant. You get the impression that Elizabeth Banks is having a blast dealing with Effie's ultimate nightmare of being like everyone else. Jeffrey Wright is understandably twitchy and nervous as Beetee Latier, District 13's answer to James Bond's "Q". As a former rival in the Games, Katniss is still leery about BeeTee's motivations but he's clearly passed inspection by the end of the movie. And since I've been a fan of hers ever since I saw The Tudors, I was pretty stoked to see Natalie Dormer pop up as the Mockingjay's film-team director Cressida. IMHO, her cool authority and on-screen charisma is a welcome addition to any series of moving images. Finally, sharp-eyed viewers will have fun spotting Eldon "Foggy Nelson" Henson (try saying that five times real quick) as the mute half of Castor and Pollux. Hopefully he'll get more to do in the next movie.
• The sequence where the team drops in on the beleaguered District 8 is the highlight of the film. In addition to showing the audience just how far Snow will go to preserve his position, it also instantly transforms Katniss into a spontaneous and authentic hero of the people. Returning director Francis Lawrence does a great job with this sequence, infusing it with plenty of emotion and tension. By the time Katniss trick-shots two attack ships out of the air and then launches into a fiery anti-Snow speech, you'll feel compelled to track Donald Sutherland down at his next red carpet event and kick him square in the cubes. 
• Speak of the devil, I relish any moment when Sutherland is on screen. As the series wears on and the stakes become progressively higher, he's bringing more and more passion to role of Snow. Just look at the gleam in Sutherland's eye when he tells Katniss "It's the things we love most which destroy us." The sheer despotic glee he exhibits is glorious and a part of me would be perfectly content if Part Two just consisted of Sutherland and Lawrence sparring over coffee for two hours.
• Props also go out to Liam Hemsworth as Gale Hawthorne. Thankfully, his character has finally come full-circle, evolving from "Alterna-Hunk #2" to someone who actually effects the plot. Screenwriters Peter Craig and Danny Strong (as well as original author Suzanne Collins, presumably) give him a great scene where he recounts the Capitol's merciless extirpation of District 12. He's equally adept during the Tribute Center raid sequence.   
• Personally I'm a really big fan of this "book to movie series" trend, if only because there's a consistent creative team and the story unfolds like a good novel. For example, the raid on the Tribute Center only happens because Katniss inspires a civilian uprising which destroys a hydro-electrical dam which, in turn, cuts power to the Capitol. This is in stark contrast to the sequels of yore which often boiled down to "more of the same but 'splodier".  

CONS

• The movie suffers from a severe case of Hobbit-itis. I'm not entirely sure why the film was split up into two acts *cough, cough* money, but there's some really pointless and redundant filler in this script. Characters such as Mahershala Ali's Boggs and Sam Claflin's Finnick barely register as blips on the plot radar. Look, I really don't mind quieter moments on screen; it gives contrast to the inevitable bombast and gives a chance for the characters to reflect. But there are tons of completely superfluous scenes here that don't add up to anything. Sure, the hunting trip was nice a nice touch and all, but we've already established that Katniss was traumatized by the Games. Plus we get no less than two scenes where she rummages through the Victor's Village house. *Yawn*
• The film's climax hinges upon the Tribute Center raid which is pretty tense but all of this drama is completely deflated when the team just returns to District 13 safe and sound. As a result, the real "cliffhanger" ending hinges directly on Peeta's wigged out emotional state, but it's just not enough to hang a satisfying finale on. 
• I'm glad to see Katniss re-unite with her family, especially considering that Primrose (Willow Shields) is kinda the reason all of this got started in the first place. But did we really need a scene in which l'il sis is put into jeopardy because of a stupid, fucking cat? Man, talk about the world's laziest writing cliche. 
• Much to my dismay, President Snow is still is the running for the "WORST FICTIONAL DESPOT" Award. Doesn't he know that people can easily be coaxed into an apathetic rut so long as abuse and mass murder isn't rubbed in their faces? And that's why I'll always find the dystopian state in The Hunger Games to be so far-fetched. As if the youth-centric public death-sports wasn't extreme enough, Snow fire-bombs large segments of the population, makes prime-time public execution viewing mandatory and then expects the average schmoe to just go back home, watch Netflix n' chill. And that's a major point that a lot of these speculative writers seem to be missing: when people finally realize that society has slipped into fascism, the biggest revelation is that it actually happened a long, long time ago. 
• When Katniss and company finally go topside after the Capital attack, the so-called "devastation" took me completely out of the movie. It just looks like a rock quarry with a few burning mosquito coils placed strategically around the set.

THE BOTTOM LINE

If I say "Katniss" and "Peeta" together and the first thing you think about is an unconventional but satisfying taste treat for felines, then I urge you to tread carefully RE: The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1. Even as a self-identified fan of the film series, this one really tested my attention span and my patience. Which is a real shame, especially after coming off the lean and mean Catching Fire.

However, if you've been following the Hunger Games cinematic saga up to now, I suppose this is prerequisite viewing before donning your "SUCKER" sign and dutifully marching off to the theater to pay for the other half of the story. All I'm saying is that it better be worth slogging through this pedestrian time-killer.

  

 Tilt: down.

Movie Review: "The Spy Who Loved Me" by David Pretty

Back in 1977 your humble narrator was a budding seven-year-old cinephile. I couldn't have picked a better time to get started. I saw Star Wars in May of that year and just two short months later I saw my very first James Bond movie, The Spy Who Loved Me. Watching that film on the big screen was a totally seamless experience for me, just as real as a day at school to my unleavened brain but infinitely more interesting. There were submarines, ski chases, guns, beautiful Russian spies, hulking henchmen, foreign countries, comic-book super-villains, undersea hide-outs, amphibious sports cars and a batshit insane climax that made my imagination seem woefully obtuse in comparison. In other words, it was a greatest hits package of a prepubescent's wet dream put to celluloid.

Bringing this up warrants a quick discussion about nostalgia. Dear fans of Full House and Space Jam: just because these were the first moving images you ever saw as a kid, it doesn't necessarily mean that these things were good. And this was my fear in re-watching The Spy Who Loved Me recently. Would it hold up to scrutiny in the eyes of this crusty ol' film reviewer?

Well, I'm here to testify that, not only does the film hold up, it's one of the best James Bond movies of all time.   

In his third outing as the famous British super-spy, Roger Moore's 007 gets paired up with a gorgeous Soviet agent named Anya Amasova (Barbara Bach) and togehter they attempt to track down two missing nuclear submarines. Sustained through a series of exotic locales including Egypt and Sardinia, the duo have several nasty encounters with a gargantuan assassin with stainless steel chompers named Jaws (Richard Kiel). Eventually they're led to the underwater lair of crazed one-percenter Karl Stromberg who's keen to re-boot civilization in lieu of a moister and considerably less populous matrix.

The film kicks off with a tense and expertly-mounted sequence which recounts the disappearance of the British sub. Sharp-eyed movie fiends would do well to keep their eyes peeled since this scene features the Jeremy Bulloch, the future Boba Fett, who plays "HMS Ranger Crewman". Talk about inspiration for all you extras out there: in one movie you could be sitting at a table playing chess in a blue jump suit and the next thing you know you're the most notorious bounty hunter in the galaxy.

One thing I adore about the Roger Moore 007 movies is that they don't take themselves too seriously. Or at least they didn't by the time The Spy Who Loved Me rolled around. In Sir Roger's first two outings, Live and Let Die and The Man With The Golden Gun, the producers tried to turn him into a bad-ass Sean Connery clone which was a huge mistake. Moore just seems too genteel for those scenes in which Bond slaps women around for info.

Spy producer Albert R. Broccoli and writers Christopher Wood and Richard Maibaum picked up on this, customizing the part for Moore, who delivered a cooler, drier, slightly cheeky and veddy British version of the famed super spy. Part and parcel with this lighter tone is a very funny script. For example, when "M" hears about the missing sub he asks Moneypenny "Where's 007?" When she replies: "He's on a mission, sir. In Austria" he comes back with "Tell him to pull out. Immediately." We then get a hilarious smash-cut of Bond putting the blocks to some orgasmic ski bunny. Pure gold.

Which brings me to the following obvious point. I'm not one to brook in ageism and this certainly didn't occur to me when I was watching the film as a sprightly seven year old kid. After all, it wasn't unusual back then for people over the age of thirty to take on major starring roles; just look at the cast of Space: 1999 for instance. But Roger was fifty years old at the time, a fact made abundantly clear when you watch The Spy Who Loved Me in high-definition. Even though one could argue that he was a bit long in the tooth to play Bond, but, just like Pierce Brosnan a few years later, Moore was delayed taking the part because of binding television contracts. For that reason, and the fact that he's so perfect in the role, I willing to let this fact slide.

The action immediately launches into high gear with a terrific pre-credits grabber sequence which sees Bond slaloming down a treacherous mountain while avoiding a squad of machine-gun toting hit men. Notwithstanding the incongruous funk music and the completely obvious rear-screen projection shots, this is a very tense and authentic-looking action set piece. After putting several of his pursuers in the powder with a patented ski pole rifle, Bond voluntarily launches himself off the edge of Grossglockner Mountain. Poles fly, skis spin away and for a few tense seconds it looks as if Bond's committed air-born seppuku. But then his backpack opens up to reveal a parachute, but not just any parachute: it's a giant union jack flag. Cue screams of delight in the packed theater. 

We then get a memorable title sequence accompanied by Carly Simon warbling the ebola-catchy, Seventies-a-rriffic hit "Nobody Does It Better". I kinda dig this Bond theme song because it isn't brassy and cacophonous like a lot of the songs that came before it, it's just kinda melodic and chill with an oil-tanker-sized amount of sexual sub-text. Which pretty much sums up the entire decade. As well as this movie.

Speaking of sexual sub-texts, the opening credits likely represent the first time your humble author ever saw boobs up on the big screen. Heavily silhouetted, back-lit, partially-covered-with-credits boobs but boobs nonetheless. And, hey, I don't wanna hear anyone out there say "Sorry, seven year old Dave, but that was just wishful thinking", 'cuz if you do then I shall be forced to counter with "I say thee nay, good sir or madam! Watch this and tell me that you don't see a nipple for about .4 milliseconds of screen time at the 2:21 mark."

     
The bottom line is: if Linda Carter in Wonder Woman hadn't already established my budding heterosexuality two years earlier, then The Spy Who Loved Me completely sealed the deal for me. Thank God for the Seventies and Eighties, when the MPAA and society as a whole was a lot less militant about showing casual nudity in PG films. Man, how far we've not come in the slightest. 

Sorry, I digress.

Well, not quite. Not long after we meet Barbara Bach's Anya Amasova, a gorgeous Russian spy and Bond's rival/love interest throughout the film. It's kinda hard to convey this to modern audiences, but 1977 was a better-than-average year for women in film. Carrie Fisher's Leia Organa became a hero to millions of little girls who always wanted the princess to rescue herself and Anya was cunning and capable, besting Bond in many of their early meetings. No, Agent XXX (yeeesh!) isn't exactly Gloria Steinem in an ushanka but she's still light years ahead of many of the twinkie-esque Bond girls that proceeded her. Plus Bach gives a strong and nicely-understated performance, even if her Russian accent blinks in and out of existence from time to time.

We also get the requisite scene of Bond being dispatched from MI-6 before heading out on his latest mission. Continuity fans rejoice: the positively delightful Desmond Llewelyn is on hand as Q and he has some wonderful scenes with Moore and his superiors. Speaking of continuity, fans of the novels already know that Bond was formally a Commander in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, and we get to see 007 in uniform here. The well-starched Moore is perfect in this capacity, doing justice to both the title, the uniform and the epic-level Britishness required to pull this off.

Next up we're introduced to the villain of the piece in the form of accomplished German-Austrian actor Curd Jürgens as the megalomaniacal shipping magnate Karl Stromberg. Between his unblinking stare and powerful voice, Curd Jürgens is positively hypnotic to watch. Whenever he's on-screen I always find myself hanging on his every word. Over the course of several brief but economically-informational scenes, Stromberg ticks off all of the qualities required for a great a James Bond villain. If you don't believe me then watch the movie with the following check list nearby:

• Exotic accent...check!
• Blatant disregard for human life...check!
• Bizarre physical deformity...check!
• Obsession with some form of animal life...check! 
• Unconventional fashion choices...check!
• More money than Jay-Z and Beyonce put together...check!
• Swingin' underwater lair...check!
• Pet selachimorpha...check!  (slight demerit, though, for not bothering to install any frikkin' head-mounted laser beams)
• Monstrous, virtually indestructible henchman...check!
• Insane plan to wipe out most of the planet's population...check! 

As you can see, Stromberg pretty much bats a thousand in the crazed super-villain department. In his very first scene he thanks two patron scientists for developing a submarine tracking system and then vows to pay them ten million large apiece for their troubles. Then, just for shits and giggles, he makes them watch as he feeds a duplicitous assistant to his pet shark. As if that's not crazy enough, he then proceeds to auto-detonate the the scientist's helicopter and re-divert their payments back into his own account. And that's why rich people will always be rich. It's like that old saying: "a penny saved by murdering your employees in cold blood is a penny earned."  

As a side note, Stromberg's amphibious hideout Atlantis is some pretty sweet digs. When it's deployed to "air dry" mode it looks particularly bad-ass, like the kinda place where Aquaman villain Black Manta might hang out. Between this secret base, the Soviet and British subs, and Stromberg's ship-eating super-tanker the Liparus, the model work by Derek Meddings is still some of the most convincing miniature effects ever committed to film before or since.  

Adding to the film's considerable visual appeal are all the exotic locales. The Sphinx, the Pyramids plus all the assorted temples and statuary all add up to an amazing visual panoply. Veteran Bond movie director Lewis Gilbert and renowned cinematographer Claude Renoir (grandson of the famous impressionist artist) do a bang-up job replicating the son et lumière show near the Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt. This stunningly- beautiful qualities of this scene are in stark contrast to the vampire-like murder of Aziz Fekkesh played by Nadim Sawalha. 

Which brings me to Stromberg's unstoppable hit-man Jaws, played to hulking, mute perfection by Richard Kiel. By all accounts, Kiel was a real sweetheart off-screen but when first laid eye on him as a seven year old kid he instantly joined the ranks of Darth Vader from Star Wars and Bigfoot from The Six Million Dollar Man as the most terrifying fictional characters of the Seventies. I didn't know if I should hide under my theater seat or chuckle at his constant misfortunes, and that was part of the magic. One minute Jaws is chomping through chains and necks or trying to murder Bond and Anya on a moving train and the next minute he's engaged in comical wrasslin' match with a telephone van and dropping giant bricks on his size 17 EEE canoes.

As luck would have it, MI-6 just so happens to have a branch office conveniently located in some Egyptian ruins, which is great since it gives the screenwriters an excuse to bring Q back for a few more scenes. The subsequent gadget test montage is one of the goofier ones in the entire Bond franchise but it's also incredibly funny. I'm pretty sure this is where Eddie Izzard got the whole Death Star canteen / "death by tray" thing from. But best of all, this whole sequence gives Q an opportunity to roll out the best James Bond car ever: the Motherfucking Lotus Esprit.

Sorry, folks, but you can cube your precious Aston Martin for all I care. I promise you right now: if I ever, ever become Stromberg-level stupid rich the first thing I'm gonna do is requisition a 1976 white Lotus Esprit with special amphibious option. During an extended motorcycle /car / helicopter (!) chase, Bond uses the vehicle's incredible agility and rear-mounted cement cannons to throw off his pursuers. But when the chopper, piloted by the fetching Caroline Munro as Naomi, proves to be more than a worthy adversary, Bond is forced to take a long drive off of a short pier. What happened next completely shattered my fragile eggshell mind.

Right before my unbelieving eyes the fucking thing turned into a fully functional sub! Needless to say I was completely blown away. Especially when, moments later, 007 destroyed Naomi's helicopter with a mini ballistic missile launched from the Lotus. Pretty cool, even if it was a dreadful waste of hottie.

Over the next ten minutes or so of screen time the car continued to amaze, giving James and Anya an opportunity to snoop around Stromberg's submerged Atlantis and even fend off an attack from his henchmen. Bonus points: when Bond finally rolls up onto a nearby beach, we get our first appearance of the recurring "drunk guy who thinks he's hallucinating" character, played by the film's assistant director, Victor Tourjansky. He reprised this role two more times: once in Moonraker (1979) and also in For Your Eyes Only (1981).

Eventually the film throws all of its fucks out the window and races towards not one but two insane climaxes. First Bond breaks free and leads a revolt of the prisoners aboard Stomberg's super-tanker, the Liparus. Between M's tweed n' hickory office, Gogol's spartan KGB headquarters, Stomberg's shag-carpet think tank and his super-swanky dining hall, all of Ken Adam's set designs are absolutely gorgeous. But, arguably, the best set in the entire Bond series is the tanker's interior sub pen. It was so expansive, reflective and huge that cinematographer Claude Renoir couldn't see to the end of it so Adam called in renowned recluse Stanley Kubrick to advise the lighting team. So, not only does this set look massively huge, it also looks positively gorgeous.

The battle aboard the Liparus is an orgy of blood squibs and explosions with more grenades casually hurled than during the entire invasion of Normandy. In a lesser film, that would be the end of it, but since Stromberg is pretty damned brilliant, Bond is forced to deal with the villain's many safeguards. When the baddies seal  themselves up in the command center behind a massive blast door, Bond is forced to overcome a tense time challenge by using his brains. To the screenwriter's credit, both the solve and the delivery becomes an almost unbearable wellspring of suspense. 

Eventually things come down to a mano-a-mano confrontation between Bond and Stromberg. Unlike so many tiresome modern action movies, there's no prolonged dust up or chase scene, the two enemies just try to murder one another in the quickest, most economic manner possible. Their battle is over so quickly that it's downright refreshing. This still leaves enough time for a final showdown with Jaws, the rescue of Anya and a Poseidon Adventure-style escape that's still pretty damned thrilling. The whole thing is capped off with a tongue-in-cheek retrieval operation that's well in step with the film's lighthearted take on the then-new concept of detente.

Where some Bond snobs like to crap the Roger Moore era for being too jokey and not gritty enough, but I'd counter this by saying that Bond has just enough dimension which leaves him open to interpretation. In the form of Sean Connery, Timothy Dalton and now Daniel Craig we've had three pretty pretty sober takes on the character so I really appreciate Roger's films for their contrasting, light-hearted tone, unabashed Austin Powers-style elements and pure spectacle.
 

Tilt: up.
   

Movie Review: "Poltergeist" (1982) by David Pretty

***WARNING!***
This is gonna be a fairly in-depth analysis and, as such, I'm gonna dip inordinately deep into spoiler territory. Watch first and then read this later!  

Along with the original Night of the Living Dead, Poltergeist was one of the first horror movies to scare the bejesus out of me "thanks" to a pay cable free trial Halloween weekend back in 1983! Although it's often dismissed as a "horror movie with training wheels", the film is still pretty intense and never fails to give me the wiggins every time I watch it.

Right off the bat, the film lures us into a false sense of security with its ample humor and scenes of suburban bliss. In fact, there's nothing more nefarious at first than a biker being pranked by some kids and an intense television remote control battle. It feels as if the events of E.T., which came out that very same year, happened just up the block.

In fact, between the dramatic shots of artificially-roiling inbound clouds and chaotically-familiar dinner scenes which evokes shades of Close Encounters, many cinephiles still maintain to this day that Steven Spielberg actually directed Poltergeist and not Tobe Hooper. A very strong case can be made for this, if only because the low-fi sensibilities that characterized Hooper's Texas Chainsaw Massacre is scarcely evident here. Having said that there are quite a few sequences in Poltergeist which are downright grueling but I'll talk about that a little later.   

Pretty soon we're introduced to real-estate developer Steven Freeling (Craig T. Nelson) and his wife Diane (JoBeth Williams). They're typical Eighties parents, enjoying a casual puff of weed while reading such scintillating classics as Reagan: The Man, The President. In spite of these contradictions, you get the distinct impression that these are good people, mainly because the two actors have such perfect chemistry together. Between their authentic banter and a complete lack of pretension, it actually feels as if we're eavesdropping on a real-life married couple.    

A dated biography certainly isn't the only thing that makes Poltergeist a visual time capsule. Witness the bedroom of the two youngest Freeling kids, which is a treasure trove of Eighties-era kitch forever preserved in celluloid amber. Every time I re-watch the film I have a blast doing an inventory of the C-3PO light switch, the Rubik's Cube, the vintage Clue game and all of the classic Star Wars swag. This level of detail and authenticity never fails to immerse me in the film and within fifteen minutes I feel like a nervous kid again. 

Speaking of kids, they're just as well-cast as the leads. Oliver Robins is appropriately awkward, vulnerable, imaginative and inquiring as Bobby. Dominique Dunne is a coiled bundle of attitude as the Freeling's teenage daughter Dana. And little Heather O'Rourke is sweet and lovable beyond all measure as Carol Anne. Her performance during Tweety's burial starts out heartbreaking but before things threaten to become too saccharine she blurts out "Can I have a gold fish now?" with the sort of turnabout, unrestrained sunniness that only a child can muster. 

When odd things start to occur, they're rolled out with tremendous restraint and discipline. The skeletal tree just outside the kid's room looks like it's alive. Bobby's drinking glass spontaneously explodes and his cutlery looks like it was molested by Uri Geller. Kitchen chairs start sliding around and self-stacking. Stuff like this keeps adding up and adding up like a creeping, dread-filled version of Chinese water torture.     

I love how the conduit for all of this spookiness is the omnipresent television set, which was literally the centerpiece of every single household in the Eighties. Sure there's some none-too-subtle social commentary about television being a negative influence and how it creates a disconnect between parents and kids, but that's not the point. The point is that every single nuclear family in the Eighties gathered in their living rooms together every single night for a daily dose of low-grade radiation. And after seeing Poltergeist, people didn't look at their T.V.s quite the same way ever again.

I gotta take a moment right now to give props to the film's impeccable sound design. I love how creepy, disembodied voices start to bleed into the television's white noise static. It's very minimal at first, almost unconscious, but as soon as you hear it, it'll send shivers down your spine, especially when Jerry Goldsmith's super-creepy sing-songy lullaby kicks in. By the time little Carol Anne turns back to her bleary-eyed parents and proclaims "They're here!" you'll be completely invested in what happens next.

When things start to go south, it happens quickly and without reprieve. Between the harrowing tree attack and the closet-portal sequence, your nerves will soon be shot. There are some really good practical special effects used to achieve these things and, for the most part, it works. Only when the script tries to over-reach with the haunting of Carol Anne's room, do the limits of optical compositing fail the script. Nice audio touch with the T.I.E. Fighter fly-by, though.

 
It might seem like a cliche now, but the appearance of Dr. Lesh (Beatrice Straight) and her team of paranormal investigators was both a welcome and unexpected addition to the film upon my first viewing. The best part is, Spielberg and his co-writers Michael Grais and Mark Victor use this as the perfect excuse to dish up some spooky lore. Zelda Rubinstein is such a powerful character that Beatrice Straight tends to get overshadowed, but this is a mistake. She great in her own right, serving up the perfect mix of gravitas and conviction to make a potentially silly role seem perfectly believable.

In a related note, JoBeth Williams is one-hundred percent convincing in the ghost staircase scene when the spirit of Carol Ann passes through her. I absolutely adore the quiet scenes she shares with Dr. Lesh and her on-screen son Bobby. Not only do these moments provide stellar little tidbits of character development, it also lulls the audience into a false sense of security. Indeed, these moments are a little oasis of calm to  contrast with the next set-piece of ooga-boogery.

And let me tell ya, folks, the next scene is a really doozy. When Marty (Martin Casella), one of Dr. Lesh's assistants, goes into the Freeling's kitchen for a midnight snack I never in a million years expected to be subjected to what I witnessed next. Poltergeist was rated PG after all, so thirteen-year-old me really wasn't really expecting anything particularly gory. But when that leftover streak started crawling along the counter top and Marty start to pick a fight with his own face, I nearly lost my lunch.

"No fair!" I remember shouting at my television set back then. It wasn't haunted but it certainly felt like a Loki-esque liar, tricking me into seeing something that I really shouldn't have seen at that age. When I learned years alter that Poltergeist was supposed to get an "R" rating but Spielberg used his clout to get a PG without so much as a single trim, I wasn't surprised. Eventually this would catch up to the wunderkind director when the trifecta of Poltergeist, Gremlins and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom eventually necessitated the creation of the PG-13 rating two years later.

We do get a slight reprieve not long after when Steven Freeling is dragged to the top of a beautiful vista by his unscrupulous boss Mr. Teague, played to slimy perfection by James "Return of the Living Dead" Karen. Craig T. Nelson is great in the scene, conveying a palpable demeanor of mental and physically exhaustion with a healthy dollop of skepticism. Set in the incongruous backdrop of pre-fab, cookie-cutter suburban perfection nestled in the cradle of some gorgeous rolling hills at dusk, Teague's inadvertent hints about the dark nature of Cuesta Verde real estate development really gives this scene a palpable sense of creeping dread.      

Another quantum leap of terror occurs when Zelda Rubinstein shows up as the diminutive, cartoon-voiced southern belle medium Tangina Barrons. If you thought that all of the the tree attacks, spooky manifestations and face-rippings were terrifying then just listen to a few of her spiritual monologues. They're delivered with such conviction and intent that they put all of the previously-seen spectacles to shame. Honestly, she's like a horror movie version of Yoda.

 
The final delve into the closet portal is powerful and intense. As the movie goes on, you begin to realize that the whole thing is like a high-mast version of the classic Twilight Zone episode "Little Girl Lost". With just a few simple touches, like the nasty coating of ectoplasm on the rope, Hooper and company completely sells the effect. The first time I saw this I was like "I know nothing about ghosts but, y'know, that totally makes sense". I was completely on board.

Speaking of being on board I had no concept of a false ending back then. I love that the screenwriters had enough respect for the audience to show us that the Freelings were still planning to move out of the house. But then I started to wonder why they weren't getting out of Dodge RIGHT THE FUX NOW. Sure, Tangina proclaimed earlier that "This house is clean" when Diane retrieved Carol Ann from the afterlife but then I started to wonder why the movie wasn't over.

But then it really hit me: 'Oh...My...Gawd', I thought to myself. 'IT'S NOT OVER YET.'

And it wasn't. Hooper, Spielberg and the rest of their evil minions then proceeded to bludgeon my fragile eggshell mind with fifteen more minutes of unrestrained terror. The spirit dominating the house makes one final bid to pull the kids into their realm. They're aided by a possessed clown doll that permanently warped my appraisal of any adult that voluntarily chooses to walk around in public wearing white face paint and red squeaky noses. That's right, it wasn't Tim Curry's Pennywise that ruined me on clowns, it was that fucking harlequin doll in Poltergeist.   

But that was nothing compared to what happens next. Diane is nearly killed with the classic rotating room gag which was later used to great effect in 1984's Nightmare on Elm Street. When Diane barely manages to escape with her life she runs next door get help but slips in the mud and falls into the muddy stew that is their partially-dug in-ground pool. She quickly discovers that she isn't alone in a truly disturbing scene that harkens back to Karen Allen stumbling into the Hall of Mummies in Raiders of the Lost Ark, released just one year prior.

Yes, the Spielbergian influences are clear but the sustained level of torture that JoBeth Williams goes through at the end of Poltergeist brings the trials and tribulations of Marilyn Burns in Texas Chainsaw Massacre to the forefront of my thoughts. Also, witness the amazing rack focus used by Hooper and his cinematographer Matthew F. Leonetti when Diane finally manages to get back upstairs and is forced to run what looks like a marathon to get to the end of the hall and rescue her kids.

Was Spielberg more responsible for shots like this and not Hooper? Honestly, who cares? What matters is that this collaboration resulted in a classic horror film. It balances fanciful and occasionally humorous whimsy with unremitting horror better than any other movie I've ever seen.

Even to this day, Poltergeist is a very tricksy and subversive flick. It isn't excessively gory and tends to comfort the viewer somewhat with ample humor and familiar domestic scenes. But when it takes the kid gloves off, were subjected to enough eerie lore, self-mutilations, ghostly apparitions, real-looking corpses and chill-inducing lore to make for a fun and memorable thrill ride.

      
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