You nicknamed my daughter after the Loch Ness Monster?

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2

(2012)

The final finale of the Twilight saga, in which pig-boy Jacob tells Bella that, “No, it's not like that at all!” after she accuses him of being a paedo. But then she comes around to his viewpoint, doubtless displaying the kind of denial many parents did who let their kids spend time with Jimmy Savile or Gary Glitter during the ‘70s. It's lucky little Renesmee will be an adult by the age of seven, right? Right... Jacob even jokes that he should start calling Edward, “Dad”. And all the while they smile and smile.

Borrowing the trick of Harry Potter in splitting the last book in the series in two movies to make more cash (or to preserve the artistic integrity of the material, take your pick), both series have in common an action-lite part one and an epic face-off in part two. However, Twilight distinguishes itself with the usual mixture of dreadful acting, dialogue, sub-Dido songs and sluggishly banal but slightly surreal domesticity. Obviously a vampire soap opera shouldn't be dull, but this manages it for the first hour.

After Part 1's freakishly protracted disease movie, I feared the series had returned to the simply forgettable qualities of the second and third films. Sure, there were a few bright spots (Lee Pace enjoying himself as a sub-Spike vamp) and a touch of the altogether wrong with a horrifically odd CGI baby, but director Bill Condon finds himself mostly imprisoned within protracted canoodling between Edward and Bella. And clumsy voiceovers to cover the parts visual storytelling cannot reach. He tries all sorts of tricks to deflect attention, hitting the cutaways-to-nature button like an undiscerning Nic Roeg devotee. Often his choices are ultra-cheesy or just plain naff (vampire super-fast running, the slow motion love marathons of our super-sex-charged couple). And yet, what he is doing visually is always much more interesting than anything in the middle sequels, helped along by Guillermo Navaro’s lucid cinematography.

As for subtexts, who knows what the hell is going on, but it’s all ripe for analysis; what goes through Stephenie Meyer’s peculiar Mormon mind to come up with this stuff? There’s the aforementioned fixation of Jacob with a baby/child; it’s okay that he “imprinted” on her, it’s totally natural (that’s what they all say). Then there’s the now supervamp Bella, whom Edward constantly smiles over like in slightly sickly fashion; look how he empowered her and made her all she could possibly be (after nearly killing her)!

The acting is the usually mixture of wood and ham; Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattison have given perfectly respectable performances in other movies but barely register here. Taylor Lautner, of course, makes an impression for the entirely plankish reasons he usually does. You realise that some of his dialogue might be quite mockingly amusing if he wasn’t delivering it. But also that, if anyone with any range were playing Jacob, the ultra-creepy aspect of his child-bride obsession would be even more of an issue.

The rest of the cast range from model-type eye candy posing about with nary a line to speak, to a sprinkling of proper actors either looking out of place because they can act (Peter Facinelli, Billy Burke) or because they are so over-the-top (Michael Sheen). There are others, like Dakota Fanning, where you wonder that they took the gig since it certainly wasn’t for the challenge. And then there’s that sallow Jamie Campbell Bower managing to irritate as usual just by being there smirking, Edward Scissorhands clone Jackson Rathbone remaining as unnaturally immobile as ever and Ashley Greene proving she has the best hair stylist of the cast. There’s a Kurt Cobain look-a-like vampire too, but I’m not sure how intentional that was. Maggie Grace also shows up (I think I’d forgotten she was in Part 1), this time without Liam Neeson in tow.

Just as it looked like it would end as insipidly as it had continued, there’s a big scrap. The poster, surely one of the most appalling ever designed, suggested that the final confrontation wouldn’t be worth the wait. But hats-off to Condon for a highly impressive battle sequence in the last half (take note, action directors; good staging is everything, even if the stage looks like a big white fluffy stage). This is as full-on as 12-certificate decapitation-crazy movie can be, and I was cheering away as beloved characters were offed right left and centre.

And then... I knew it was too good to be true. Still, a whole extra star for the easily the most involving half hour since the first movie. There is also a fun moment where the increasingly pay cheque-orientated Michael Sheen emits a high-pitched laugh that must have sent most of this am-dram cast scurrying in alarm behind their acting coaches.

**1/2

Comments

You're waterboarding me.

The Upside (2017)
(SPOILERS) The list of US remakes of foreign-language films really ought to be considered a hiding to nothing, given the ratio of flops to unqualified successes. There’s always that chance, though, of a proven property (elsewhere) hitting the jackpot, and every exec hopes, in the case of French originals, for another The Birdcage, Three Men and a Baby, True Lies or Down and Out in Beverly Hills. Even a Nine Months, Sommersby or Unfaithful will do. Rather than EdTV. Or Sorcerer. Or Eye of the Beholder. Or Brick Mansions. Or Chloe. Or Intersection (Richard Gere is clearly a Francophile). Or Just Visiting. Or The Man with One Red Shoe. Or Mixed Nuts. Or Original Sin. Or Oscar. Or Point of No Return. Or Quick Change. Or Return to Paradise. Or Under Suspicion. Or Wicker Park. Or Father’s Day.

What about the meaningless line of indifference?

The Lion King (2019)
(SPOILERS) And so the Disney “live-action” remake train thunders on regardless (I wonder how long the live-action claim would last if there was a slim hope of a Best Animated Feature Oscar nod?) I know I keep repeating myself, but the early ‘90s Disney animation renaissance didn’t mean very much to me; I found their pictures during that period fine, but none of them blew me away as they did critics and audiences generally. As such, I have scant nostalgia to bring to bear on the prospect of a remake, which I’m sure can work both ways. Aladdin proved to be a lot of fun. Beauty and the Beast entirely tepid. The Lion King, well, it isn’t a badfilm, but it’s wearying its slavish respectfulness towards the original and so diligent in doing it justice, you’d think it was some kind of religious artefact. As a result, it is, ironically, for the most part, dramatically dead in the water.

Poor Easy Breezy.

Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood (2019)
(SPOILERS) My initial reaction to Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood was mild disbelief that Tarantino managed to hoodwink studios into coming begging to make it, so wilfully perverse is it in disregarding any standard expectations of narrative or plotting. Then I remembered that studios, or studios that aren’t Disney, are desperate for product, and more especially, product that might guarantee them a hit. Quentin’s latest appears to be that, but whether it’s a sufficient one to justify the expense of his absurd vanity project remains to be seen.

You know what I think? I think he just wants to see one cook up close.

The Green Mile (1999)
(SPOILERS) There’s something very satisfying about the unhurried confidence of the storytelling in Frank Darabont’s two prison-set Stephen King adaptations (I’m less beholden to supermarket sweep The Mist); it’s sure, measured and precise, certain that the journey you’re being take on justifies the (indulgent) time spent, without the need for flashy visuals or ornate twists (the twists there are feel entirely germane – with a notable exception – as if they could only be that way). But. The Green Mile has rightly come under scrutiny for its reliance on – or to be more precise, building its foundation on – the “Magical Negro” trope, served with a mild sprinkling of idiot savant (so in respect of the latter, a Best Supporting Actor nomination was virtually guaranteed). One might argue that Stephen King’s magical realist narrative flourishes well-worn narrative ploys and characterisations at every stage – such that John Coffey’s initials are announcement enough of his …

She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

My name is Dr. King Schultz, this is my valet, Django, and these are our horses, Fritz, and Tony.

Django Unchained (2012)
(MINOR SPOILERS) Since the painful misstep of Grindhouse/Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino has regained the higher ground like never before. Pulp Fiction, his previous commercial and critical peak, has been at very least equalled by the back-to-back hits of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Having been underwhelmed by his post Pulp Fiction efforts (albeit, I admired his technical advances as a director in Kill Bill), I was pleasantly surprised by Inglourious Basterds. It was no work of genius (so not Pulp Fiction) by any means, but there was a gleeful irreverence in its treatment of history and even to the nominal heroic status of its titular protagonists. Tonally, it was a good fit for the director’s “cool” aesthetic. As a purveyor of postmodern pastiche, where the surface level is the subtext, in some ways he was operating at his zenith. Django Unchained is a retreat from that position, the director caught in the tug between his all-important aesthetic pr…

Kindly behove me no ill behoves!

The Bonfire of the Vanities (1990)
(SPOILERS) It’s often the case that industry-shaking flops aren’t nearly the travesties they appeared to be before the dust had settled, and so it is with The Bonfire of the Vanities. The adaptation of Tom Wolfe’s ultra-cynical bestseller is still the largely toothless, apologetically broad-brush comedy – I’d hesitate to call it a satire in its reconfigured form – it was when first savaged by critics nearly thirty years ago, but taken for what it is, that is, removed from the long shadow of Wolfe’s novel, it’s actually fairly serviceable star-stuffed affair that doesn’t seem so woefully different to any number of rather blunt-edged comedies of the era.

What you do is very baller. You're very anarchist.

Lady Bird (2017)
(SPOILERS) You can see the Noah Baumbach influence on Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut, with whom she collaborated on Frances Ha; an intimate, lo-fi, post-Woody Allen (as in, post-feted, respected Woody Allen) dramedy canvas that has traditionally been the New Yorker’s milieu. But as an adopted, spiritual New Yorker, I suspect Gerwig honourably qualifies, even as Lady Bird is a love letter/ nostalgia trip to her home city of Sacramento.

You’re a staring Stanley!

The Sixth Sense (1999)
(SPOILERS) It has usually been a shrewd move for the Academy to ensure there’s at least one big hit among its Best Picture Oscar nominees. At least, until the era of ever-plummeting ratings; not only do the studios get to congratulate themselves for their own profligacy (often, but not always, the big hits are also the costliest productions), but the audience also has something to identify with and possibly root for. Plus, it evidences that the ceremony isn’t just about populism-shunning snobbery. The Sixth Sense provided Oscar’s supernatural bookend to a decade – albeit, The Green Mile also has a stake in this – that opened with Ghost while representing the kind of deliberate, skilfully-honed genre fare there was no shame in recognising. Plus, it had a twist. Everyone loves a twist.

Do you read Sutter Cane?

In the Mouth of Madness (1994)
(SPOILERS) The concluding chapter of John Carpenter’s unofficial Apocalypse Trilogy (preceded by The Thing and Prince of Darkness) is also, sadly, his last great movie. Indeed, it stands apart in the qualitative wilderness that beset him during the ‘90s (not for want of output). Michael De Luca’s screenplay had been doing the rounds since the ‘80s, even turned down by Carpenter at one point, and it proves ideal fodder for the director, bringing out the best in him. Even cinematographer Gary K Kibbe seems inspired enough to rise to the occasion. It could do without the chugging rawk soundtrack, perhaps, but then, that was increasingly where Carpenter’s interests resided (as opposed to making decent movies).

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

Search This Blog