I am the Super Mother Bug!

Bug

(2006)

If his resumé is any evidence, it can’t be very nice living in William Friedkin’s head. Less uncomfortable, perhaps, during that brief period in the ‘70s when he married his murky obsessions with strong material. Since the ‘80s his script choices have been dependably erratic, but the odd commercial success (Rules of Engagement) has kept him working. His last couple of films have exemplified his strange fascinations, as characters in tawdry circumstances spiral off into crazed, over-cooked, theatricality.

One might argue that this is appropriate, as both Bug and Killer Joe are adapted from plays. But the effect on this viewer is to ultimately disengage from the story. Maybe the hyperbolic climaxes Friedkin thunders towards are designed to reveal that, actually, he’s really making comedies. I can see that Killer Joe’s finale could be construed that way, except that it’s the kind of queasy humour that requires one to see the funny side of being suspended upside down in a brimming cesspit. Friedkin just isn’t a funny guy; he’s much to literal to translate humour or nuance from the page. Why bother when repeatedly bludgeoning the same spot over 90 minutes will do? As a result, the cumulative effect of Bug is wearying rather than compelling or provocative.

Lonely Agnes (Ashley Judd) lives in the misleadingly-named Rustic Motel. She waitresses at a lesbian bar and consumes assorted narcotics with her co-worker R.C. (John Carter’s Lynne Collins). R.C. introduces Agnes to Peter (Michael Shannon), a disturbed veteran, and a tentative but increasingly claustrophobic relationship begins between the two of them. Meanwhile, Agnes’ abusive ex (Harry Connick Jr.) has been release from prison.

There’s little need to open out the play from its single location, and Friedkin sensibly restricts himself accordingly. In contrast, he leaves little to the imagination as the inclusive paranoia and isolation of Agnes and Peter grow. One can imagine how much of this would have been based solely on the performances as a stage play, as it’s all about inviting an audience to identify with the leads’ delusional states (Peter, in particular, is a part that invites absurd grandstanding, and the never-reticent Shannon bites the head off the role, then proceeds to heave bloody chunks of it over the screen throughout – sometimes literally). When Peter hears helicopters we don’t just hear helicopters too, the lighting changes accordingly; they’re outside, dammit!

This might work if there was ever any Polanski-esque uncertainty over whether the demons in Peter’s mind were that alone, but casting bug-eyed Shannon ensures there’s no chance. You know Peter will be climbing the walls before long within a minute of his introduction. Which is a shame, as there’s legitimate reason for Peter to be concerned over untoward military experimentation with his health and wellbeing (Gulf War Syndrome, etc). As it is, Peter is dismissed as a paranoid schizophrenic conspiracy nut, obsessed with the idea that he has been infected with tiny bugs and eager to fold every grand scheme he can think of into his fantasy.

Friedkin is similarly unsubtle with Agnes, highlighting her addiction issues early on (be it coke, crack or pot) so it’s very clear where her shifting lines of reality come from. Judd is very good, an underrated actress generally, but as the performers are pitched into the antic final act there is no place to go but OTT. The resulting sensation is one of watching little more than a misjudged amateur dramatics production.

I’m not sure much could have been done to prevent this without doing serious work on the structure of the piece. Certainly, the late-stage appearance of Dr. Sweet (Brian F. O’Byrne) does a little to offset the increasingly one-note crescendo of tone. But going any further in that direction would probably require a Jacob’s Ladder-esque shift in emphasis. There are a couple of shots on the end credits that appear designed to either provide answers (Agnes’ missing child) or add ambiguity (the fate of Dr. Sweet), but by that point you’re past caring.

I’ve seen it suggested that the film is too sophisticated for a mainstream audience. I’d argue that the reverse is true. I don’t think it’s the cup of tea of a wider crowd anyway, but Bug is relentlessly unsophisticated. It takes a hammer to crack a nut (or a bug) and ends up a victim to its own relentless histrionics.

**1/2

Your Mickey Mouse is one big stupid dope!

Enemy Mine (1985) (SPOILERS) The essential dynamic of Enemy Mine – sworn enemies overcome their differences to become firm friends – was a well-ploughed one when it was made, such that it led to TV Tropes assuming, since edited, that it took its title from an existing phrase (Barry Longyear, author of the 1979 novella, made it up, inspired by the 1961 David Niven film The Best of Enemies ). The Film Yearbook Volume 5 opined that that Wolfgang Petersen’s picture “ lacks the gritty sauciness of Hell in the Pacific”; John Boorman’s WWII film stranded Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune on a desert island and had them first duking it out before becoming reluctant bedfellows. Perhaps germanely, both movies were box office flops.

If I do nothing else, I will convince them that Herbert Stempel knows what won the goddam Academy Award for Best goddam Picture of 1955. That’s what I’m going to accomplish.

Quiz Show (1994) (SPOILERS) Quiz Show perfectly encapsulates a certain brand of Best Picture nominee: the staid, respectable, diligent historical episode, a morality tale in response to which the Academy can nod their heads approvingly and discerningly, feeding as it does their own vainglorious self-image about how times and attitudes have changed, in part thanks to their own virtuousness. Robert Redford’s film about the 1950s Twenty-One quiz show scandals is immaculately made, boasts a notable cast and is guided by a strong screenplay from Paul Attanasio (who, on television, had just created the seminal Homicide: Life on the Streets ), but it lacks that something extra that pushes it into truly memorable territory.

Other monks will meet their deaths here. And they too will have blackened fingers. And blackened tongues.

The Name of the Rose (1986) (SPOILERS) Umberto Eco wasn’t awfully impressed by Jean Jacques-Annaud’s adaptation of his novel – or “ palimpsest of Umberto Eco’s novel ” as the opening titles announce – to the extent that he nixed further movie versions of his work. Later, he amended that view, calling it “ a nice movie ”. He also, for balance, labelled The Name of the Rose his worst novel – “ I hate this book and I hope you hate it too ”. Essentially, he was begrudging its renown at the expense of his later “ superior ” novels. I didn’t hate the novel, although I do prefer the movie, probably because I saw it first and it was everything I wanted from a medieval Sherlock Holmes movie set in a monastery and devoted to forbidden books, knowledge and opinions.

Say hello to the Scream Extractor.

Monsters, Inc. (2001) (SPOILERS) I was never the greatest fan of Monsters, Inc. , even before charges began to be levelled regarding its “true” subtext. I didn’t much care for the characters, and I particularly didn’t like the way Pixar’s directors injected their own parenting/ childhood nostalgia into their plots. Something that just seems to go on with their fare ad infinitum. Which means the Pixars I preferred tended to be the Brad Bird ones. You know, the alleged objectivist. Now, though, we learn Pixar has always been about the adrenochrome, so there’s no going back…

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies.

Watership Down (1978) (SPOILERS) I only read Watership Down recently, despite having loved the film from the first, and I was immediately impressed with how faithful, albeit inevitably compacted, Martin Rosen’s adaptation is. It manages to translate the lyrical, mythic and metaphysical qualities of Richard Adams’ novel without succumbing to dumbing down or the urge to cater for a broader or younger audience. It may be true that parents are the ones who get most concerned over the more disturbing elements of the picture but, given the maturity of the content, it remains a surprise that, as with 2001: A Space Odyssey (which may on the face of it seem like an odd bedfellow), this doesn’t garner a PG certificate. As the makers noted, Watership Down is at least in part an Exodus story, but the biblical implications extend beyond Hazel merely leading his fluffle to the titular promised land. There is a prevalent spiritual dimension to this rabbit universe, one very much

In a few moments, you will have an experience that will seem completely real. It will be the result of your subconscious fears transformed into your conscious awareness.

Brainstorm (1983) (SPOILERS) Might Brainstorm have been the next big thing – a ground-breaking, game-changing cinematic spectacle that had as far reaching consequences as Star Wars (special effects) or Avatar (3D) – if only Douglas Trumbull had been allowed to persevere with his patented “Showscan” process (70mm film photographed and projected at 60 frames per second)? I suspect not; one only has to look at the not-so-far-removed experiment of Ang Lee with Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk , and how that went down like a bag of cold sick, to doubt that any innovation will necessarily catch on (although Trumbull at least had a narrative hinge on which to turn his “more real than real” imagery, whereas Lee’s pretty much boiled down to “because it was there”). Brainstorm ’s story is, though, like its title, possibly too cerebral, too much concerned with the consciousness and touting too little of the cloyingly affirmative that Bruce Rubin inevitably brings to his screenplays. T

Piece by piece, the camel enters the couscous.

The Forgiven (2021) (SPOILERS) By this point, the differences between filmmaker John Michael McDonagh and his younger brother, filmmaker and playwright Martin McDonagh, are fairly clearly established. Both wear badges of irreverence and provocation in their writing, and a willingness to tackle – or take pot-shots – at bigger issues, ones that may find them dangling their toes in hot water. But Martin receives the lion’s share of the critical attention, while John is generally recognised as the slightly lesser light. Sure, some might mistake Seven Psychopaths for a John movie, and Calvary for a Martin one, but there’s a more flagrant sense of attention seeking in John’s work, and concomitantly less substance. The Forgiven is clearly aiming more in the expressly substantial vein of John’s earlier Calvary, but it ultimately bears the same kind of issues in delivery.

Maybe the dingo ate your baby.

Seinfeld 2.9: The Stranded The Premise George and Elaine are stranded at a party in Long Island, with a disgruntled hostess.

He tasks me. He tasks me, and I shall have him.

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982) (SPOILERS) I don’t love Star Trek , but I do love Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan . That probably isn’t just me, but a common refrain of many a non-devotee of the series. Although, it used to apply to The Voyage Home (the funny one, with the whales, the Star Trek even the target audience for Three Men and a Baby could enjoy). Unfortunately, its high regard has also become the desperate, self-destructive, song-and-verse, be-all-and-end-all of the overlords of the franchise itself, in whichever iteration, it seems. This is understandable to an extent, as Khan is that rare movie sequel made to transcendent effect on almost every level, and one that stands the test of time every bit as well (better, even) as when it was first unveiled.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

Search This Blog