Friday, March 25, 2011
There was a time when good storytellers were considered the best filmmakers. Afterall, filmmaking combines many art forms to produce a story interpreted by the brain through the eyes and ears. At the core of good storytelling is a story worth telling, a story clearly and concisely told. Accomplishing that requires great discipline and a large, steaming cauldron of intuition.
Then along came pseudo-directors like Zach Snyder. Canonized for being some sort of filmmaking genius, Snyder made Dawn of the Dead (his best film), 300 (unwatchable!) and Watchmen (I liked it). Two of them made money. He was lauded -- and still is -- for his "incredible visual style", so Warner Bros., caught up in this commercial cocksucking of the ADD-ridden "auteur", tossed him piles of money to come up with something "original". Well, Sucker Punch, a soup of a hundred influences, is that beast. Trouble is, it's about as original as fornication.
Its growing dung heap of bad reviews have compared it to Kill Bill. To be fair, Kill Bill is also a beast of many fathers, but Tarantino's strength is that he can take his influences, chew them up, and spit them out as something much closer to an orginal synthesis. Snyder can't do that. Snyder has difficulty doing anything beyond creating pretty pictures.
Sucker Punch is a dreadful, multi-layered mess. Every image is processed to the point of banality. Every sound is reprocessed, sweetened, and hammered to pancake flatness. If this guy were presented with a real vagina, I reckon he'd cut away the clit, remove the lips, and create a perfect Barbie crotch.
Sucker Punch is the Barbie crotch of action movies. It has no taste. It doesn't kick or moan when you stroke it. It doesn't get wet. It doesn't get nasty. And when you suck it, it tastes like plastic.
Once again, here is proof that video game action doesn't work in a feature length movie. When you're a passive observer, you need more than endless, mindless motion that signifies nothing, but thinks it's the second fucking coming. Movies require involving stories with interesting characters. Movies are not and will never be giant versions of video games. Video games are played and interacted with. Movies are watched. There's a difference. A big fucking difference. Why is that so hard to understand?
For mine, the film's only saving grace is the fetishistic representation of the film's young and fresh fighting femmes. They're a very sexy lot and they acquit themselves well under the circumstances. For a film rated PG-13 by the MPAA, the eroticization of the ladies goes about as far as studio influence will allow.
Why do we continue to pretend that nothing is actually about sex when almost everything is about sex? Especially anything that influenced this rotten marriage of a thousand superior influences.
Why are depictions of anybody's sexual bits automatically assumed to be exploitation? Exploitation of whom? The adult actress who was forced to perform at gunpoint? Give me a break! Humans are sexual creatures. We're all here because of sex. Sex is fun. Sex is natural. If you have a problem with that, then let's look at your upbringing... or your religion. Just get your hang-ups out of my face.
At least real porn is honest.