Tag Archives: thriller

The Deaths of Ian Stone

Tyrannosaur Canyon

Sometimes, the best way to judge a book is by its cover. I know people say not to and that it’s a bad thing, and I’m willing to grant that in the metaphorical cases of the phrase, that might have universal merit. It probably doesn’t, because some peoples’ covers are pretty much exactly as advertised. But it might. For actual books, however, that advice is completely insane. Sure, feel free to use other measuring sticks as well, but some good old-fashioned cover-judging is how you end up with books like Tyrannosaur Canyon. Right there on the cover, you have a tyrannosaur-head fossil, as well as a blurb that is being voiced in your head by the “In a World…” movie preview guy, explaining all about the mysterious missing moon rock, the fossil prospector, the evil paleontologist, and all the rest of the characters rounding out this airport thriller that promises (still on the cover, mind you) to be at least twice as good as anything by Michael Crichton.

As for how good it actually was? Well, honestly, probably not as good as Jurassic Park, what with JP having actual dinosaurs and all versus plain-jane fossils and kidnappings and manhunts through canyons and government black ops conspiracies. I mean, all of that stuff is cool, and makes for an exciting read. But it’s no chased by dinosaurs and unix hacking, now is it? Definitely better than The Da Vinci Code, in that the prose is substantially more thoughtful and not nearly as overwrought, and not incidentally because of Tyrannosaur Canyon‘s lack of monastic self-flagellation. (Not to be confused with its lack of monks, as that would be counterfactual. Don’t believe me? Just check the cover.)

The Invasion

Sunshine (2007)

Sunshine is the kind of movie you see in Austin, or the San Francisco Bay Area, or maybe Vancouver. It’s got the art film look, but with the science fiction sensibilities to ground the plot from wandering as randomly as one expects from art films. Or, if you prefer, it’s a science fiction movie but without being constantly dank, dripping, and gloomy, nor impossibly pristine and modern, due to its latent art film sensibilities. In any case, it just feels more right to watch it in one of those places that is obsessed with both how movies look and whether they make a good story instead of just one (L.A.) or the other (Pittsburgh or New Jersey). Now that I’ve gotten my cinematic biases on the record, there’s also this movie to talk about.

In the future: the sun is getting dim, and humanity is unlikely to survive the worsening problem. Six years ago (let’s say), the Icarus was launched with a devastatingly vast nuclear payload and a mission to launch that payload into the sun in order to restart it. (This may or may not be based in science, and failures of adequate explanation may or may not be mine; but I don’t remember the movie going into details. They were not necessary to my enjoyment, in any case.) Except, the sun stayed relatively dark and nobody ever heard anything from them ever again. Now, it is the future-present, and the Icarus II is en route with a second vast nuclear payload that comprises the end of the earth’s capacity for creating sun-restarting bombs. Eight astronauts have the future of the species in their hands, and they are just entering the 16 months of interference-enforced radio silence as the tale opens.

I could ask you plot-leading questions that would reveal a little more of the story, but why bother? Either you’re into science-fictiony isolation stories or you’re not, and spoilers will not help to answer that question. The high points were how pretty it was and how tense it was. The low points were that the climactic scenes were just a touch clichéd (or possibly overdramatic instead; but not both) and also dove a little too far into metaphor for my personal taste. But nothing like how things went in Solaris. If anything, Sunshine redeemed the isolated spaceship drama for me, so don’t worry on that count. (And if you liked Solaris-the-film… really? Really?)

Disturbia

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So, Rear Window, right? One of those classic Hitchcock horror movies that scared people who lived in the black-and-white world, because it was entirely too plausible for their tastes, unlike such fare as Them! or It Came from Outer Space. Which, okay, possibly these people have a point, I guess. But also because the writing and direction were so wonderfully tense, about which the people definitely had a point.

Back in the spring, along came imitator Disturbia. Troubled teen Shia LaBeouf (soon to be famous for his role in Transformers, natch) is under house arrest. See, his dad died, right?, so he’s been having a bad year, and then his Spanish teacher, well, provoked him. Probably unintentionally, but we’ll never really know since his motivations are not explored. That’s okay, though. It’s a pretty minor plot point, except for the part where it sets up the rest of the film. Because now Shia has an ankle bracelet that keeps him confined to his property. This is a bummer, because his XBox account got canceled by his mom, a hot girl just moved in next door, neighborhood kids are tormenting him and then running away, and also because the guy in a house behind him seems to fit the information being provided in the media as a serial killer from Austin who, if it’s the same guy, has already kidnapped at least one person locally. All in all, it’s not the best summer to be trapped at home.

On the bright side, at least the girl came over to visit. But really, that just results in her (along with Shia’s mom and his best friend) getting entangled in the paranoia surrounding the neighbor. And that’s what makes the movie work. Whether he did or didn’t serial-kill all those girls is barely the point. It’s all that voyeuristic paranoia and how it affects people and what they decide to do about it. Because, up until the point where you take a sledgehammer to the interior walls and a shovel to the basement and back yard, he’s still Schrödinger’s serial killer, and it’s probably not cool to send people to tail him while other people break into his car and steal his garage door code. (Or, for that matter, take a sledgehammer/shovel to his property.) So, that’s good moralistic tension to drive a movie with. And then on top of that, I think it has a win over Rear Window, in that the hero of that movie was wheelchair-bound. Shia, on the other hand, is only bound by the law. In a very real sense, his imprisonment is by choice; he can cross that invisible line at any moment and take things into his own hands. But only if he’s willing to face the consequences of that action. That’s just a lot better piece of character tension than ‘if only I could get down these stairs; but I can’t!’

Simply by virtue of being a worthy successor to Rear Window in the tension-ratcheting department, it would be worth a Netflix (or, like me, dollar movie visit); what with the aspect that managed to top Hitchcock, watching this one at some point is pretty much mandatory. So, y’know. Tick-tock.

Hard Candy

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mv5bmtc0mzgznti3n15bml5banbnxkftztcwndk3mdizmq-_v1_sy1000_sx675_al_ Ah, Netflix. How I have forsaken thee! Well, mostly how I have watched TV on thee instead of movies, but definitely there was forsaking that occurred as well. It’s cool, though, we made up. Which, come to think of it, is probably not the best metaphor with which to open this review. So forget the Netflix stuff entirely except if you care about where I got the movie from, and pretend like I started with the next paragraph instead.

So anyway, I watched a movie last night. Except, that’s not where it started. Around this time last year (except imdb tells me it was more like two years ago), I saw a preview for a movie. I’m not convinced it ever got wide theatrical release, and I am quite sure I never found a place it was showing. If I remembered where I saw the preview, that might help, I guess. But I only remember the preview itself and my reaction to it, instead. Basically, it was a series of scenes implying a cat-and-mouse game between an adult photographer and a teenaged girl, but with the added spice that it was difficult to say who was the cat and who the mouse. Which, of course, made it ironically clear that the sexual predator guy was going to end up the mouse. But this is a good thing, because I think it would have been impossible to want to watch it, without that assurance. Instead, I was filled with intriguement. So, I waited and watched and eventually slipped it into my Netflix queue, the payoff of which occurred last night.

The movie went largely as predicted, which was not any kind of problem at all. Of course the ending stayed shrouded in mystery, but knowing all the stuff up to then wasn’t the point. Because the acting was really good and the situation was compellingly disturbing from the first moment until nearly the last. I know it’s not a particularly controversial position to take here, but I really had no idea just how visceral my negative reaction to the predator guy was going to be. Going in, I had the thought that maybe I was going to end up feeling sorry for him being trapped in Hayley’s web (Hayley being the Hard Candy in question), but that never happened. Sure, some of her actions were horrific or at least uncomfortable, but not once did I feel like his targetting was unfair.[1] Which (I’ll assume) says something else positive about the acting quality.

It’s hard to say I liked it, because it was so unpleasant to behold. But it was really very good, and it’s easy to say I was impressed by it. I don’t think I’d watch it again if I could help it, though. Those movies that really root around in the darkness of the human psyche (8MM and Schindler’s List spring to mind) tend to provide everything on the first viewing, as starkly as possible, as if to say, “See this? Don’t do this! Ever!”

(Footnote contains spoilers, sort of.)

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Vacancy

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Sometimes my ability to fall behind on reviews can be ascribed to laziness, sometimes to being excessively busy. This time, though? Sheer exhaustion. Well, and being excessively busy. Since I saw Vacancy, I’ve had one day of weekend followed by three more days of being at work. And I didn’t really get enough sleep on Sunday, much less the other days. On top of which, Monday and Tuesday were as busy as any days at work I’ve had here, with the added virtue of occurring back-to-back and did I mention on not enough sleep? My fake vacation cannot occur quickly enough. (Literally. If the place weren’t so understaffed with other people on vacation right now, I’d go ahead and take off tomorrow, lost money be damned.)

Speaking of bring trapped in a Sartreian room that has a snuff film running on loop in the corner[1], estranged married couple Luke Wilson and Kate Beckinsale set out to re-demonstrate a lesson we’ve all long since learned: don’t take a shortcut unless you want something bad to happen to your car in the middle of nowhere, don’t expect the stranger in the tiny town a mile or two from the middle of nowhere to actually have your best interests in mind, and don’t stay in hotels where the proprietor is funny-looking and you are the only guests. But it’s okay; these lessons are clichéd for a reason.

Because once they get into that vacant room, they start to realize just how much trouble they’re in. I mean, watching people in your room getting murdered on video has a way of putting those petty little snipes and dislikes and even deep-seated angers with one another into perspective. (Which is the difference between this and actual Sartre; his characters would have finished the conversation first, then worried about how to escape imminent bloody death on videotape. In a way, I’m the mildest bit disappointed now and wish I hadn’t though of the comparison to start with.) From there, it’s all cat-and-mouse tension that is never relieved for any longer than what is required for the audience to remember to breathe. At least one scene is genuinely disturbing, and another is pretty terrifying in a laudably subtle way. And one scene, well, simply doesn’t fit the movie. But as that’s my only complaint, I say good on them. It’s not like it’s the best movie you’ll see this year, or even this month, but it might well be the best dramatic thriller you’ll see this year. Unless that one with Halle Berry and Bruce Willis is good? I think I heard not, though. So, yeah, this one, then.

[1] I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I could probably complain to someone and get the channel changed. But the alternative is this weird propaganda loop, and after a while the screams provide their own cold, inhuman comfort. …sorry, got distracted there for a second.

Casino Royale (2006)

MV5BMTM5MjI4NDExNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDM1MjMzMQ@@._V1__SX1859_SY893_ As so often promised, James Bond has returned.

And it’s a good return, too. Casino Royale has a Bond that, at the beginning of the movie, isn’t even a Double-Oh agent yet. I spent a little bit of time in skepticality, but there was a single moment in the first action sequence, when he jumps over the wrought-iron fence and into the [spoiler elided]; in that moment, I could tell that this new guy was still James Bond. From there on, I was able to lean back, stop analyzing and enjoy the ride. Sure, he’s the new guy, but going back to the beginning made that work pretty well. You see him making rookie mistakes and bouncing back (or not), and you get a brand new impression that he’s a human. Lately, these movies have shied away from that kind of character, and it’s refreshing to be able to worry about him and not just his sidekicks.

Bond’s mission is to follow some terrorist money and prevent it getting to the terrorists. Only, he discovers that the guy doing the laundering has accidentally lost all of it himself and hopes to win it back in a $150 million game of, well, Texas Hold’Em. (Apparently, that is now the only version of poker that officially exists.) So, Bond is bought into the game by MI6 and pursues a high stakes game of cat and mouse with the evil money laundering guy, wherein his dual goals are to find enough proof to capture the guy for questioning and, if possible, to make sure someone else wins the money. It’s actually quite a bit more exciting than it sounds, for all that there’s a lack of perfectly plotted gadgets and insane, overpowered supervillains. (Or, more likely, because of that lack. Humanized, I said.) The ending gets a little convoluted, but apparently the fault lies with the original author. (Well, sure, and some to the screenwriter for not finding a way to fix it at least a little bit.) They do win my respect, despite all that, for providing me with what will probably be the coolest thing I’ll ever see happen in Venice.

Two things I wonder, though. Will they start remaking all of the old Bond movies, and cause them to more closely follow Fleming’s work? I think that might not be a bad idea, though I doubt it’s what will happen. And, why is there such a big brouhaha over ‘James Blond’? Seriously, after putting together a solid Bond to rival the best performance of any of the previous ones, we’re focused on his hair? Lame. This must be how Reese Witherspoon feels when she reads In Style the day after the Academy Awards.

Most importantly, though, I stuck around through the credits and received the eternal promise: James Bond will return.

Snakes on a Plane

I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been talking about Snakes on a Plane since even before Jon Stewart heard about it, and now it’s been out for a week with nary a peep from me. I’ve been trying (unsuccessfully, so far) to resolve the spam issue hereabouts, and that has been taking almost all of my attention. It sucks, but there it is. (Incidentally, spammer people. I delete all of it. It’s not going to help you any to put it here. I guarantee you send me more spam in a given week than I get hits, even if all of my readers were gullible idiots. What you are doing is useless. It’s not going to make you any money. I promise. Please stop. Or when you get indicted and are being transported to the trial, I may very well… but I’m getting ahead of myself.)

What you have to understand is how very, very tired I was. Running on low sleep from dealing with new job, 90 minutes of commute per day, grandfather in the hospital, and still trying to have some semblance of a personal life. So by 10 PM on Thursday night, I was already more than able to go right to sleep. Staying awake for an extra couple of hours to watch a movie instead, that was the stuff of insanity. And yet, it was motherfucking snakes on a motherfucking plane, man. How am I supposed to turn that down?

Well, it’s like this. I have a history, when it’s late and I’m tired, of falling asleep. Shocking, I know. But I even mean when I have every intention of staying awake. It’s a combination of comfort and darkness that is usually unbeatable by my higher brain functions. And I was a lot more tired than usual. The point of all this is to make it clear that when I say I stayed awake for the whole movie, that’s not just some idle aside which should have been obvious before you ever started reading. I was motherf-. Well, I was really tired, is my point.

Even despite all my protestations, I’ll admit that this isn’t the finest endorsement ever. But really, how much better of an endorsement could I give than the title of the movie? Well, for one, I am able to confirm that there were moth- *ahem* snakes on that plane. And they bit people in all kinds of excellent places. And a wide variety of two-dimensional characters were in danger of dying at any moment, and often did. Scripted lines and situations alike were laugh out loud funny, and if you didn’t really care what happened to most of the characters, well, that’s kind of okay, because the point is the spectacle of it. It was, in short, the very archetype of an action/horror movie.

Now, go see it.

The Poseidon Adventure

I thought I ought to ground myself in history, so thanks to my good friends at Netflix, I snagged The Poseidon Adventure no more than a week after its remake’s release date, to watch prior to catching said remake. (Because I am nothing if not timely. Also: product endorsements deserve to be rewarded with free stuff. Just saying, good friends at Netflix.) The seventies were a different time is what I have learned. Sure, blah blah blah special effects cakes, but that’s not the thing. The thing is the acting. With the exception of Ernest Borgnine (who was frankly superb) and Roddy McDowall, every single male in the cast acted via angry loud voice. It was just bizarre to watch, especially in Gene Hackman, who I have certainly seen perform well enough in other (notably later) roles. Meanwhile, the women were mostly called upon to scream a lot. This is somewhat less surprising on the whole, but still pretty sad. As the main exception here was Ernest Borgnine’s wife, I am forced to assume that it was talent by osmosis.

As for the plot? Well, you know, boat flips over, people try to survive in upside-down boat. Is there more that you need to know? I will say that the set design did an almost non-existent job of conveying upside-downness, which robbed the movie of a good third of its purported impact. I expect that the remake will handle that part, at least. And maybe less shouting. But mostly better special effects traded in for someone not as good as Borgnine. Probably this is a bad thing; it certainly would be if the original had been a tour de force, but since it was not, I’ll take what I can get.

Shards of Delirium

Fragments of Delight