When the first Fantastic Four came out in 2005, it was not a good time to be making comic book movies about comic books that weren't serious. Sam Raimi's first two Spider-Man flicks had just taught the non-comic-loving world that superheroes had both brains and hearts, Guillermo Del Toro's first Hellboy (2004), though not a high-profile film, was rather good and also featuring a dark and somber mythology, and Batman Begins, which hit Can-Am screens a month before Fantastic Four, pushed critics and audiences over the final edge of belief that a comic book movie must be serious, dark, and restless in order to be good, legitimate, popularly acceptable art. The fact that Fantastic Four is not, as a series, a dark and serious enterprise didn't stop filmmakers from trying to force it to fit such a tone, and the resulting film, when not outright awful, was underwhelming and dull. So it's not surprise that its 2007 sequel 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer, was a gift-wrapped critical punching bag. I certainly had no intentions of watching it with memories of the first film still fresh in my mind.
But I'll watch virtually anything as long as it's free, and this month's new Telus Preview Channel is Action, and amidst all the awesome double-bill screenings of The Rock/Con Air and Aliens/the original Predator came, obviously, Rise of the Silver Surfer, which somehow got taped and somehow got watched, in its entirety, last night. I was expecting lots of things from Silver Surfer, but a good time wasn't one of them.
And yet, a good time was exactly what I got. Casting aside all efforts to make The Fantastic Four something they're not, Rise of the Silver Surfer is lighthearted, candy-coated, well-played fun that exercises the spirit of its source material with delightful abandon. The plot is nicely straightforward: the Surfer, a scout for a planet-eating entity known as Galactus, has marked Earth as his boss's next meal, and by the time the Four get this information, they have less then a week to come up with a way to throw Galactus off course. Galactus has awfully inconvenient timing, because Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic (Ioan Gruffud) and Sue Storm/The Invisible Girl (Jessica Alba) are still trying very hard to hold a wedding without a world-threatening crisis breaking out before they can say "I do". For others, however, Galactus' timing is great, because it coincides with some nameless lackey un-boxing Reed's defeated arch-nemesis Victor Von Doom so that he can meet up with the Surfer and try to strike an alliance. When his proposal is rejected, Doom turns to the U.S. military - and the Fantastic Four - with the insistence that they must work together in order to save the planet. Of course, Dr. Doom is full of crap. Fortunately, The Invisible Girl has a power none of her comrades can absorb from her: feminine charm, which, also fortunately, the non-human Surfer is not immune to. And did I mention that the Surfer has total mastery over matter, and is Earth's only hope? Much planet-saving ensues!
When I say the plot's straightforward, I don't mean there are no holes or discrepancies, just that if you roll with them, you'll have a good time. Who un-boxed Doom, and why? Why does the military let him parade around with virtually unrestricted access and no armed escort? How, exactly, does the Surfer defeat Galactus? Rise of the Silver Surfer is one of those films in which such trifles don't matter, and if you think they need to matter, of course you'll hate it. The whole feel of this film is 100% Fantastic Four comic book fun, and succeeds on those grounds. Its deliberately cheesy humour is nicely underplayed, and it has a lot of genuinely funny moments to boot, mostly courtesy of Ioan Gruffud's spot-on portrayal of Reed Richards. Gruffud, the titular star of A&E's fantastic Horatio Hornblower films, plays Reed as every inch the haplessly boring, scientific, un-witty, out-of-the-loop straight man character he is, and the result is lots of natural, believable, enjoyable comedy. A lot of critics panned his performance for being dry - well, it is, and that's the point. Reed is a dry character, who produces lots of dry humour, and when you do it right, like Gruffud does, this is a good thing. There's also a lot of fun provided by Johnny Storm/The Human Torch (Chris Evans) and Ben Grimm/The Thing (Michael Chiklis, The Shield), particularly in a Surfer-related plot device that causes the Four to be able to trade powers by touching each other. All in all, how understated everyone is is surprising and delightful, and really ties the film together. There are some pleasantly touching moments, too, again divided up between Reed/Sue and Johnny/Ben. And the phone call that interrupts Reed and Sue's third attempt at a wedding at the film's close is a brief moment of pure comic genius, a hilariously ludicrous scenario which the cast plays straight to end the film on a wonderfully memorable note.
I'm going to be a presumptuous cynic here and suggest that another reason Rise of the Silver Surfer didn't do well with Canadian/U.S. audiences may be that there was no significant action occurring in major Can-Am cities, or affecting major Can-Am attractions (aside from a crack in the Washington monument), and I wouldn't be surprised if this led to a lot of people not caring about damage or peril occurring on-screen simply by virtue of being disconnected from the locations. The first major peril of the film involves the Surfer dislodging the ferris wheel at Central Pier in Blackpool, Englad, a major tourist attraction and point of significance - but only if you know that it's more than just another ferris wheel in the first place, and you think about it in relation to the movie's main theme. In the context of the film's primary sub-plot, in which Reed and Sue's wedding is constantly postponed because they can't have a 'normal life', I thought it was a brilliant decision to imperil/have an assault on a monument that represents, well, a pleasant and normal life instead of the usual imperiled government or patriotic monument, which though more globally, recognizable, wouldn't have much impact in this film. There's also a lot of potential for audience disconnection in the film's climax, in which a) the Four don't defeat Galactus, and b) the parts taking place on the ground take place in what looks like a small residential area in (I believe) Hong Kong. When the lights go on again, signifying victory, it really is stunning and effective to see a city so densely lit as Hong Kong come back on-line. In the average Hollywood film this scenario would probably take place in Times Square, but with a small and unassuming Hong Kong street comes not only commercial/entertainment neon advertising, but more emphasis of the theme of a normal life: lights burst on in corner groceries, laundromats, office buildings, real run-of-the-mill, everyday sort of places. It's a small touch, but a big reinforcement.
Also, a lot of people were upset about having a non-corporeal villain, complaining that he wasn't scary. I don't think he was supposed to be. Galactus, and defeating him, is the main plot of the film - but it's not the point. It's a character-driven story, and Galactus is merely a backdrop for giving the characters new situations to interact in.
Honestly, the only thing I had a hard time rolling with in 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer was the fact that Chris Evans and Jessica Alba, whose characters are brother and sister by birth, share absolutely no discernable genetic markers, by which I mean I was starting to wonder if my memory of the comics failed me and the characters were supposed to be adopted. Alba is a lovely lady, but whoever decided to dye her hair blonde and bronze her skin for this film succeeded only in making her look very strange, very fake, and ultimately, very distracting, and not in the good way. What can I say, I'm an artist. Strange visual discrepancies distract and bother me far more than their plot equivalents. Yes, yes, I know that Sue Storm is a blonde in the comics, but this is one area in which a little revisionism wouldn't have hurt.
4 Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer is enough good (mostly) clean fun that I wouldn't mind having it on my shelf if I ever find it in the cheap bin. It's a great way to spend a fun and relaxing evening, as long as you're willing to accept it for what it is.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
FlashForward
The main selling point for FlashForward, the new HBO/ABC interpersonal drama/sci-fi/procedural that premiered this past Thursday, has been stressing that it comes to us courtesy of the co-writer of The Dark Knight. That advertising sold me, and I'm glad it did.
The premise of FlashForward is so simple it's complex, and absolutely fantastic: on a normal day, everyone on the planet simultaneously blacks out for exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds - except, as the main character puts it, they didn't black out. They went somewhere else, and those who didn't die in the meantime came back with memories of events that have yet to take place. While everyone's "flashforward" happens on the same day and time - April 29, 2010, at 11 a.m. (California time) - everyone's flashforward is different. Except, of course, for the people who did actually black out and saw nothing, the assumed meaning of which is that they'll be dead by that time. The pilot wastes no time getting into the action, which is made sufficiently terrifying as the blackouts mean hundreds of thousands if not millions of deaths in car or plane crashes, swimmers drowning as they lose consciousness in the middle of the water, patients dying unattended on operating tables, and so on. The show appears to have tipped its hat to its largely British cast by honouring the mystifying British love for inappropriate slow-motion; thankfully, this is very brief. Overall, the chaos is neither overdone nor insufficiently chaotic, which is a hard line to walk, so kudos to all involved.
It looks like the show's focal point is going to be FBI agent Mark Benson (Joseph Fiennes), and those who are directly connected to him - his wife Olivia (Sonya Walger, Lost, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles), their young daughter, his partner, Demetrius (John Cho, Star Trek), and probably his AA sponsor, Aaron, with Olivia's colleague Bryce as a wildcard. And, of course, the villains and/or people behind the blackouts, one of whom has been clearly identified (Jack Davenport, Miss Marple, Pirates of the Carribbean), and one of whom was revealed in the trailer for next week's episode (Dominic Monaghan, Lost). It's shaping up to be a reasonably interesting cast of characters, too. While it's been established that Mark and Olivia love each other and are happy together, with the script eschewing the overdone "wife is bitter with workaholic cop husband" story by making them both busy people who love their jobs (she's an ER doctor), they also have a bizarrely passive-aggressive relationship characterized by Olivia leaving Mark little anti-love notes or text messages saying things like, "You're a crappy husband. I HATE YOU." This confusing dynamic is made all the more interesting by Olivia's flashforward of herself cheating on Mark, a vision she hates and fears. The characters are divided into three distinct reactions to their visions of the future. Mark, Olivia, and Demetrius have seen evil or frightning futures and are terrified that their visions will come to pass; they will take deliberate action to alter or prevent future events. Aaron's flashforward included his daughter, a Marine killed by a bomb in Afghanistan, and with this confusing suggestion that she is somehow alive. With this vision, Aaron is given a new hope - and he is terrified that his future won't come to pass, and it is inferred that he will do everything he can to make it happen . Bryce, who blacks out just as he's about to commit suicide, sees a hopeful future that he doesn't elaborate on and wakes up brimming with life and joy - whatever he saw, he's looking forward to its arrival, just watching and waiting. It's an interesting division, these three distinct reactions, and I look forward to seeing how this all develops.
While the show's selling point has been fixated squarely on writer/director/producer David S. Goyer, who wrote the story for The Dark Knight as well as Batman Begins, on which he co-wrote the screenplay as well - and this is an excellent selling point - it should be noted that writer/producer Brannon Braga (Star Trek: The Next Generation), shares show creation and writing credits here, which will make it extra disappointing if the show suddenly tanks. Using the Batman films as a benchmark, intertwined and/or circular storytelling is Goyer's specialty, and in this respect the pilot sits head and shoulders in this respect above other recent sci-fi- themed shows with ensemble casts. In other words, Goyer can actually juggle multiple character storylines properly. His introduction of the show's characters was neither too cryptic (a device usually used to conceal a lack of genuine mystery or drama), nor was it a case of too much information. Beautifully done, sir. Some early on-line reviews have been complaining that the show has already clearly revealed several ultimate and character plot points. Well, that's what's commonly known as "foreshadowing", is a crucial element of circular storytelling (finishing a story the same way it begun; see: the Bourne trilogy), and in the hands of a capable writer, is one of the most paradoxically exciting and satisfying storytelling devices there is. I can't think of a single good story that is built and dependent on the shock value of its reveals. In my experience, good storytelling all about the journey. Any hack with a word processor can come up with a plot; for example, Lord Haversham was murdered, and everyone thinks it was his wife, since she was having an affair with his brother, but actually the butler did it. What will make that simple story awful or excellent is not learning what happened, but why and how it got from point A (the murder) to point B (who did it). Versions of that sample plot are the foundation of shows like Miss Marple or CSI - but not every episode is good, is it? The most skilled storytellers reveal all their secrets and tell you exactly how the story will end within the first act, but do it so well that you probably didn't catch it the first time around, and can't quite put your finger on why the story's conclusion was so right, but you know in your gut that it was. The Prestige is a perfect example of this.
FlashForward's staging and cinematography are beautiful, and the acting is strong, with Joseph Fiennes well on his to making amends for his title roles in the abominable Shakespeare in Love and the okay but forgettable Luther. Sonya Walger and Jack Davenport elevate the quality of any production they're in, and FlashForward also includes what looks like a long-term guest role for the elegant Alex Kingston, who is best known this side of the pond for a long stint on ER, but who I remember for her beautiful, heartbreaking turn opposite David Tennant in the Doctor Who two-parter "Silence in the Library"/"Forest of the Dead."
On the basis of the pilot alone, my only complaints with FlashForward are the irritating (gimmicky?) use of that capital F (instead of just letting "flashforward" stand as the inverse of "flashback"), the fear that it will either suddenly tank or keep improving until it is unceremoniously cancelled without resolution five weeks from now, and the fact that I have a very, very hard time making out most of the dialogue, which interestingly enough is also my only big problem with the recent Batman films. There's a certain low range which I can hear but barely understand words in, for example, I must concentrate very hard during Christian Bale and Liam Neeson's sparring sequence on the frozen pond in Batman Begins in order for their dialogue to be more than muted gibberish. This range problem is exacerbated on FlashForward by the fact that a large number of U.K. male actors tend to compensate for difficulties in maintaining an American accent by half-mumbling in an almost subvocal tone, which usually does the trick but is very hard to hear, and Joseph Fiennes is quite guilty on this charge. As he's the show's primary actor, well, either I'm going to start adapting to this range (which would be great), or drive my husband crazy by rewinding or asking, "what'd he say?" every twenty seconds (which would be hard to classify as "great").
In my opinion, FlashForward is worth the risk of the frustration that comes with a show being suddenly cancelled mid-story In a decade where series get axed if they don't top the Neilsen ratings within three episodes, making a good pilot has become more important than ever, and FlashForward is one of the finest pilots I've seen yet. Not too empty, not too full, it demonstrates the show's potential while delivering a surprisingly satisfying fourty-something minutes of TV. I'm looking forward to watching it grow.
The premise of FlashForward is so simple it's complex, and absolutely fantastic: on a normal day, everyone on the planet simultaneously blacks out for exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds - except, as the main character puts it, they didn't black out. They went somewhere else, and those who didn't die in the meantime came back with memories of events that have yet to take place. While everyone's "flashforward" happens on the same day and time - April 29, 2010, at 11 a.m. (California time) - everyone's flashforward is different. Except, of course, for the people who did actually black out and saw nothing, the assumed meaning of which is that they'll be dead by that time. The pilot wastes no time getting into the action, which is made sufficiently terrifying as the blackouts mean hundreds of thousands if not millions of deaths in car or plane crashes, swimmers drowning as they lose consciousness in the middle of the water, patients dying unattended on operating tables, and so on. The show appears to have tipped its hat to its largely British cast by honouring the mystifying British love for inappropriate slow-motion; thankfully, this is very brief. Overall, the chaos is neither overdone nor insufficiently chaotic, which is a hard line to walk, so kudos to all involved.
It looks like the show's focal point is going to be FBI agent Mark Benson (Joseph Fiennes), and those who are directly connected to him - his wife Olivia (Sonya Walger, Lost, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles), their young daughter, his partner, Demetrius (John Cho, Star Trek), and probably his AA sponsor, Aaron, with Olivia's colleague Bryce as a wildcard. And, of course, the villains and/or people behind the blackouts, one of whom has been clearly identified (Jack Davenport, Miss Marple, Pirates of the Carribbean), and one of whom was revealed in the trailer for next week's episode (Dominic Monaghan, Lost). It's shaping up to be a reasonably interesting cast of characters, too. While it's been established that Mark and Olivia love each other and are happy together, with the script eschewing the overdone "wife is bitter with workaholic cop husband" story by making them both busy people who love their jobs (she's an ER doctor), they also have a bizarrely passive-aggressive relationship characterized by Olivia leaving Mark little anti-love notes or text messages saying things like, "You're a crappy husband. I HATE YOU." This confusing dynamic is made all the more interesting by Olivia's flashforward of herself cheating on Mark, a vision she hates and fears. The characters are divided into three distinct reactions to their visions of the future. Mark, Olivia, and Demetrius have seen evil or frightning futures and are terrified that their visions will come to pass; they will take deliberate action to alter or prevent future events. Aaron's flashforward included his daughter, a Marine killed by a bomb in Afghanistan, and with this confusing suggestion that she is somehow alive. With this vision, Aaron is given a new hope - and he is terrified that his future won't come to pass, and it is inferred that he will do everything he can to make it happen . Bryce, who blacks out just as he's about to commit suicide, sees a hopeful future that he doesn't elaborate on and wakes up brimming with life and joy - whatever he saw, he's looking forward to its arrival, just watching and waiting. It's an interesting division, these three distinct reactions, and I look forward to seeing how this all develops.
While the show's selling point has been fixated squarely on writer/director/producer David S. Goyer, who wrote the story for The Dark Knight as well as Batman Begins, on which he co-wrote the screenplay as well - and this is an excellent selling point - it should be noted that writer/producer Brannon Braga (Star Trek: The Next Generation), shares show creation and writing credits here, which will make it extra disappointing if the show suddenly tanks. Using the Batman films as a benchmark, intertwined and/or circular storytelling is Goyer's specialty, and in this respect the pilot sits head and shoulders in this respect above other recent sci-fi- themed shows with ensemble casts. In other words, Goyer can actually juggle multiple character storylines properly. His introduction of the show's characters was neither too cryptic (a device usually used to conceal a lack of genuine mystery or drama), nor was it a case of too much information. Beautifully done, sir. Some early on-line reviews have been complaining that the show has already clearly revealed several ultimate and character plot points. Well, that's what's commonly known as "foreshadowing", is a crucial element of circular storytelling (finishing a story the same way it begun; see: the Bourne trilogy), and in the hands of a capable writer, is one of the most paradoxically exciting and satisfying storytelling devices there is. I can't think of a single good story that is built and dependent on the shock value of its reveals. In my experience, good storytelling all about the journey. Any hack with a word processor can come up with a plot; for example, Lord Haversham was murdered, and everyone thinks it was his wife, since she was having an affair with his brother, but actually the butler did it. What will make that simple story awful or excellent is not learning what happened, but why and how it got from point A (the murder) to point B (who did it). Versions of that sample plot are the foundation of shows like Miss Marple or CSI - but not every episode is good, is it? The most skilled storytellers reveal all their secrets and tell you exactly how the story will end within the first act, but do it so well that you probably didn't catch it the first time around, and can't quite put your finger on why the story's conclusion was so right, but you know in your gut that it was. The Prestige is a perfect example of this.
FlashForward's staging and cinematography are beautiful, and the acting is strong, with Joseph Fiennes well on his to making amends for his title roles in the abominable Shakespeare in Love and the okay but forgettable Luther. Sonya Walger and Jack Davenport elevate the quality of any production they're in, and FlashForward also includes what looks like a long-term guest role for the elegant Alex Kingston, who is best known this side of the pond for a long stint on ER, but who I remember for her beautiful, heartbreaking turn opposite David Tennant in the Doctor Who two-parter "Silence in the Library"/"Forest of the Dead."
On the basis of the pilot alone, my only complaints with FlashForward are the irritating (gimmicky?) use of that capital F (instead of just letting "flashforward" stand as the inverse of "flashback"), the fear that it will either suddenly tank or keep improving until it is unceremoniously cancelled without resolution five weeks from now, and the fact that I have a very, very hard time making out most of the dialogue, which interestingly enough is also my only big problem with the recent Batman films. There's a certain low range which I can hear but barely understand words in, for example, I must concentrate very hard during Christian Bale and Liam Neeson's sparring sequence on the frozen pond in Batman Begins in order for their dialogue to be more than muted gibberish. This range problem is exacerbated on FlashForward by the fact that a large number of U.K. male actors tend to compensate for difficulties in maintaining an American accent by half-mumbling in an almost subvocal tone, which usually does the trick but is very hard to hear, and Joseph Fiennes is quite guilty on this charge. As he's the show's primary actor, well, either I'm going to start adapting to this range (which would be great), or drive my husband crazy by rewinding or asking, "what'd he say?" every twenty seconds (which would be hard to classify as "great").
In my opinion, FlashForward is worth the risk of the frustration that comes with a show being suddenly cancelled mid-story In a decade where series get axed if they don't top the Neilsen ratings within three episodes, making a good pilot has become more important than ever, and FlashForward is one of the finest pilots I've seen yet. Not too empty, not too full, it demonstrates the show's potential while delivering a surprisingly satisfying fourty-something minutes of TV. I'm looking forward to watching it grow.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
"But in eighteen-hundred and twelve, they burned your White House!"
Speaking of that CNN article on District 9 being recently banned in Nigeria until all scenes involving the crimelord and his shaman are removed, it must be said that the article in question contains the finest bit of propaganda I've seen that wasn't directly related
to WWII.
This is CNN's first on-line District 9 print feature to include a photo of its writer-director, South African native Neill Blomkamp, and what a photo it is. Not only does this baby serve to silently yet purposefully emphasize that this is situation in which a white man has offended black men, but of all the photos taken on District 9 press junkets, CNN picks one of Blomkamp smirking, which strongly suggests deliberate, sinister, and racistly superior intentions.
My hat is off the the photo editor. This is absolutely brilliant, perfect propaganda - so subtle, but only if you're thinking about it, which is what makes good propaganda effective. As stupid, insulting, and inflammatory as I think this particular bit of propaganda is, in a weird way it has greatly increased my respect for CNN as an organization that is extremely good at what it does.
to WWII. This is CNN's first on-line District 9 print feature to include a photo of its writer-director, South African native Neill Blomkamp, and what a photo it is. Not only does this baby serve to silently yet purposefully emphasize that this is situation in which a white man has offended black men, but of all the photos taken on District 9 press junkets, CNN picks one of Blomkamp smirking, which strongly suggests deliberate, sinister, and racistly superior intentions.
My hat is off the the photo editor. This is absolutely brilliant, perfect propaganda - so subtle, but only if you're thinking about it, which is what makes good propaganda effective. As stupid, insulting, and inflammatory as I think this particular bit of propaganda is, in a weird way it has greatly increased my respect for CNN as an organization that is extremely good at what it does.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Head, meet sand. I have a feeling you two are going to become good friends.
Yesterday, CNN.com put up an article about how the depiction of Nigerians in District 9 offends some Nigerians. For those who haven't seen the film, there is a sub-plot involving a Nigerian crimelord and his shaman, who have seized the opportunity to exploit the helpless Prawns as they're evicted from Johannesburg while also killing them and eating their hearts (and other body parts) because they believe that they'll be imbued with the aliens power upon doing so (i.e. become able to use their bio-engineered weaponry; the Prawns are also much physically stronger than humans).
Let's ignore for a moment the question of why CNN is just now running a story about controversy over a film that's been in international release for over a month. The bigger issue is that writer/director Neill Blomkamp didn't just pull this idea out of his ear. I don't know what the stats are for Nigeria in particular, but cannibalizing enemies, rivals, or physically unusual persons for the purpose of gaining special powers is a very, very old practice which remains an active problem in many parts of the African continent. The day The National Post ran a review of District 9, in which the reviewer criticized this aspect of the film as being offensive and culturally insensitive, the back page of that issue's 'A' section was devoted to an ongoing series of articles about how the abduction, dismemberment, and murder of albinos for the purpose of gaining supernatural power through cannibalization has reached a critical mass in Tanzania. If Blomkamp was stereotyping anyone with his depiction of this practice, it was crimelords and criminals, because the film very carefully establishes that the Nigerian villains are not Joe Average citizens.
Of course seeing this on film would be viscerally offensive to the tens of millions of Nigerians who aren't cannibals. It's a horrific, evil practice, and its depiction in District 9 should make anyone want to puke long before the hand-held camera action starts. But banning its portrayal on the grounds of cultural insensitivity or offense, or fear of stereotypes - as the Nigerian government is now doing due to increasing complaints from the citizenry - isn't going to do anyone much good. As a Christian, I have spent a lot of (stereotyped) time being reminded of the evils the institutional Church has perpetrated, both in my lifetime and long before. I have seen lots of Christians behaving very badly on film. I could consider it personally offensive to see something in a film such as a priest sexually abusing children, and (somewhat) rationally argue that this portrayal promotes a negative stereotype or condemnation of the Church as a whole. While successfully preventing that film from showing a priest abusing a child may make some people feel good or righteous about themselves in the short run, maintaining the illusion that nothing's amiss, it is a selfish, useless exercise that does no good. The wrongs must be faced, and set right; the house must be cleaned. When there are still an unbelievable amount of people ready to hold you personally responsible for all innocent blood spilled during King Richard's Crusades, you learn pretty quickly that ignoring or denying a shameful practice - especially one that's actually ongoing - doesn't make it go away.
It's a hard thing to face and own up to, being a part of a culture or body in whose name other parts are committing great evil. It's a source of great grief. But problems of this scale can't be fixed until they're recognized and condemned by enough people who are willing to fix them, and Neill Blomkamp has done nothing wrong by drawing attention to this particular problem in a very public way while being very careful not to indict the general populace in the process.
Let's ignore for a moment the question of why CNN is just now running a story about controversy over a film that's been in international release for over a month. The bigger issue is that writer/director Neill Blomkamp didn't just pull this idea out of his ear. I don't know what the stats are for Nigeria in particular, but cannibalizing enemies, rivals, or physically unusual persons for the purpose of gaining special powers is a very, very old practice which remains an active problem in many parts of the African continent. The day The National Post ran a review of District 9, in which the reviewer criticized this aspect of the film as being offensive and culturally insensitive, the back page of that issue's 'A' section was devoted to an ongoing series of articles about how the abduction, dismemberment, and murder of albinos for the purpose of gaining supernatural power through cannibalization has reached a critical mass in Tanzania. If Blomkamp was stereotyping anyone with his depiction of this practice, it was crimelords and criminals, because the film very carefully establishes that the Nigerian villains are not Joe Average citizens.
Of course seeing this on film would be viscerally offensive to the tens of millions of Nigerians who aren't cannibals. It's a horrific, evil practice, and its depiction in District 9 should make anyone want to puke long before the hand-held camera action starts. But banning its portrayal on the grounds of cultural insensitivity or offense, or fear of stereotypes - as the Nigerian government is now doing due to increasing complaints from the citizenry - isn't going to do anyone much good. As a Christian, I have spent a lot of (stereotyped) time being reminded of the evils the institutional Church has perpetrated, both in my lifetime and long before. I have seen lots of Christians behaving very badly on film. I could consider it personally offensive to see something in a film such as a priest sexually abusing children, and (somewhat) rationally argue that this portrayal promotes a negative stereotype or condemnation of the Church as a whole. While successfully preventing that film from showing a priest abusing a child may make some people feel good or righteous about themselves in the short run, maintaining the illusion that nothing's amiss, it is a selfish, useless exercise that does no good. The wrongs must be faced, and set right; the house must be cleaned. When there are still an unbelievable amount of people ready to hold you personally responsible for all innocent blood spilled during King Richard's Crusades, you learn pretty quickly that ignoring or denying a shameful practice - especially one that's actually ongoing - doesn't make it go away.
It's a hard thing to face and own up to, being a part of a culture or body in whose name other parts are committing great evil. It's a source of great grief. But problems of this scale can't be fixed until they're recognized and condemned by enough people who are willing to fix them, and Neill Blomkamp has done nothing wrong by drawing attention to this particular problem in a very public way while being very careful not to indict the general populace in the process.
Monday, September 21, 2009
What A Looker!
Speaking of divisive, controversial issues directly resulting from the 2009 Toronto International Film Festival, how about that striking dress worn by Drew Barrymore at the Whip It premiere, and seen by me in The National Post? The photo in question is, sadly, not available in the Post's on-line archives - I still get most of my news the old-fashioned way - and a good one has been surprisingly hard to find, considering how big a flap this dress has caused, but there a few okay snaps here. For a clear look at the dress, but worn by a model who doesn't rock the look like Barrymore does, pop over to The Alexander McQueen Experience. I can't provide a direct link because this is a flash slideshow, but if you scroll the thumbnails all the way to the end, the dress in question is fourth from the right.
On a normal day, the fashion industry and I have no reason to be on speaking terms, but this is more or less the textbook definition of "total work of art." Also, I personally think it's one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing I've ever seen.
On a normal day, the fashion industry and I have no reason to be on speaking terms, but this is more or less the textbook definition of "total work of art." Also, I personally think it's one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing I've ever seen.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
The Sand Pebbles
Talk about art imitating life, a life which obsesses over the nature of art. The Sand Pebbles (1966), starring Steve McQueen, Richard Attenborough, Richard Crenna, and Candace Bergen, is a film about issues whose hilarious tagline happens to be "THE STORY OF MEN...men who disturbed the sleeping dragon of China as the world watched in terror!". In light of my recent comments on women, film, and "issues", and some of the responses those comments have garnered, I can't begin to explain what a perfectly funny coincidence it is to have watched The Sand Pebbles tonight.
Directed by Robert Wise (West Side Story, The Sound of Music, The Day the Earth Stood Still), The Sand Pebbles takes place in 1920's China and tells the story of U.S. Navy engineer Jake Holman (McQueen), newly transferred to a post patrolling the Yangtze River on the U.S.S. San Pablo. Jake is an uncomplicated man, and while good at his trade and far from stupid, he defines the term "military grunt". He is content with his place in the Navy, and with Jake, what you see is what you get - he's not hiding any secret strengths below his average-Joe surface. River patrol is pretty boring, but Jake gets unwelcome excitement in the form of dozens of Chinese nationals who have slowly made the San Pablo their home, filling out the holes in its crew for the price of room and board. Some of those holes are in Jake's engine room, and it's not long before this bigoted johnny-come-lately is stirring up the sleepy, comfortable rhythms the crew has grown into as it coexists with the Chinese while doing as little work as possible. Jake's first and only friend on the ship is Frenchy (Attenborough), a gentle and genial fellow who takes a shine to a local woman on his first shore leave with Jake. Jake kind of has women on the brain himself, specifically Shirley (Bergen), a missionary he met while en route to his new post. As internal conflicts on the mainland deepen, it's not long before the American gunboat's grudgingly tolerated presence becomse something far less welcome, though they remain forbidden to use force against the Chinese. Tensions skyrocket when the Chinese lay siege to the Pablo, trapping its crew aboard and forcing it to winter in the harbour as the sinking water level becomes impossible for a boat that size to navigate. What really brings everything to a head, though, is the increasingly dangerous position the crew finds themselves in after one of their own is falsely accused of the murder of a Chinese national.
Packed with heavy themes of bigotry, sexual abuse and slavery, and the many facets of Communism, the first half of The Sand Pebbles is an engaging and exquisite drama. Steve McQueen was an extraordinary talent, and his performance here is one few actors can rival; it may very well be his finest. In his hands, Jake's everyman attitudes and conflicts are real and recognizable, and selling that type of character is one of the harder things for an actor to accomplish. Richard Attenborough plays a role very different from the one he played opposite McQueen four years earlier in The Great Escape, bringing Frenchy to life as a man of shy, quiet determination who's as easy to identify with as Jake is. Captain Collins (Richard Crenna, who you may recognize as Rambo's Col. Trautman) and his first officer, Mr. Bordelles, are a rare cinematic pair in that they are both not only men of good character who make a good team, but who are excellent officers and seamen as well. Candace Bergen's Shirley doesn't have a lot of screen time, but she uses that time very well, creating a natural character who reminds me of many of the missionaries I've known. Robert Wise was an extraordinary hand at drama, and in this area The Sand Pebbles is rivaled by few other films. Looks, body language, and myriad other small but important touches make the characters and their actions and reactions natural, normal, and real.
The second half of the film brings with it military action, and these sequences are not up to par with the film's strong dramatic scenes. Not only is the direction less deft, resulting in one of the more unengaging cinematic naval battles in recent memory, but the second half is also where the film starts becoming engulfed by its primary political message. This is not to say that wasn't clear from the start. While the final ten minutes should be terrifying, and similar scenes in other films have left me unable to sleep, I found the terror here was overshadowed by the message. About thirty minutes before the end, the film's politics become cemented to its emotions, and after over two hours of identifying with Jake, his last scenes left me unaffected by his predicament because I'd been firmly told why I should feel what he feels in those last moments, whereas up until then the film had simply made a good argument for what it thought was the best reason for Jake to feel as he does. The first problem with this is that I'm very stubborn and stupidly proud, and have an automatic negative gut reaction to emotional instructions. The second, wider problem with this is that, while well-presented, I couldn't relate to or identify with the film's reasons for its feelings, which is why they worked well as a preferred option to consider, but not as an absolute. After two hours of restrained yet very effective presentation, this lessened the message somehow. In this way, The Sand Pebbles is very similar to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance: the first half is a perfect, incredible example of its genre and filmmaking in general that also brings a powerful, thought-provoking message; the second half gives all that up for a soapbox.
On a separate note, I would feel remiss to not mention that the shortest available version of The Sand Pebbles clocks in at three hours and three minutes, and doesn't really have what many filmgoers including myself would consider to be an "ending" . It stops rather than ends, an important distinction for any story, but one you may find especially frustrating for a story of this legnth. A more recent example of a film that finishes instead of ending is No Country For Old Men, which uses that device in a fuller, more effective fashion than the film in question. If you don't like getting that kind of sass from your movies, you may prefer watching the first half of The Sand Pebbles and then paying a visit to Moviepooper.com to fill in the rest (or just ask me how it ends).
On a very separate note, for some reason I'm convinced that Robert Wise was one of the few McCarthy-era directors to be an actual, card-carrying member of the Communist party, but I can't seem to find any corroboration of that, so I'm starting to doubt that this conviction/memory is correct. If it's not, who am I confusing him with?
First half good, second half less good, The Sand Pebbles is as perfect an example as I could've asked for of the difference between a good film about issues and a bad or not so good film about issues - because it's both! No one will ever accuse me of being efficient, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the virtue. :D
Directed by Robert Wise (West Side Story, The Sound of Music, The Day the Earth Stood Still), The Sand Pebbles takes place in 1920's China and tells the story of U.S. Navy engineer Jake Holman (McQueen), newly transferred to a post patrolling the Yangtze River on the U.S.S. San Pablo. Jake is an uncomplicated man, and while good at his trade and far from stupid, he defines the term "military grunt". He is content with his place in the Navy, and with Jake, what you see is what you get - he's not hiding any secret strengths below his average-Joe surface. River patrol is pretty boring, but Jake gets unwelcome excitement in the form of dozens of Chinese nationals who have slowly made the San Pablo their home, filling out the holes in its crew for the price of room and board. Some of those holes are in Jake's engine room, and it's not long before this bigoted johnny-come-lately is stirring up the sleepy, comfortable rhythms the crew has grown into as it coexists with the Chinese while doing as little work as possible. Jake's first and only friend on the ship is Frenchy (Attenborough), a gentle and genial fellow who takes a shine to a local woman on his first shore leave with Jake. Jake kind of has women on the brain himself, specifically Shirley (Bergen), a missionary he met while en route to his new post. As internal conflicts on the mainland deepen, it's not long before the American gunboat's grudgingly tolerated presence becomse something far less welcome, though they remain forbidden to use force against the Chinese. Tensions skyrocket when the Chinese lay siege to the Pablo, trapping its crew aboard and forcing it to winter in the harbour as the sinking water level becomes impossible for a boat that size to navigate. What really brings everything to a head, though, is the increasingly dangerous position the crew finds themselves in after one of their own is falsely accused of the murder of a Chinese national.
Packed with heavy themes of bigotry, sexual abuse and slavery, and the many facets of Communism, the first half of The Sand Pebbles is an engaging and exquisite drama. Steve McQueen was an extraordinary talent, and his performance here is one few actors can rival; it may very well be his finest. In his hands, Jake's everyman attitudes and conflicts are real and recognizable, and selling that type of character is one of the harder things for an actor to accomplish. Richard Attenborough plays a role very different from the one he played opposite McQueen four years earlier in The Great Escape, bringing Frenchy to life as a man of shy, quiet determination who's as easy to identify with as Jake is. Captain Collins (Richard Crenna, who you may recognize as Rambo's Col. Trautman) and his first officer, Mr. Bordelles, are a rare cinematic pair in that they are both not only men of good character who make a good team, but who are excellent officers and seamen as well. Candace Bergen's Shirley doesn't have a lot of screen time, but she uses that time very well, creating a natural character who reminds me of many of the missionaries I've known. Robert Wise was an extraordinary hand at drama, and in this area The Sand Pebbles is rivaled by few other films. Looks, body language, and myriad other small but important touches make the characters and their actions and reactions natural, normal, and real.
The second half of the film brings with it military action, and these sequences are not up to par with the film's strong dramatic scenes. Not only is the direction less deft, resulting in one of the more unengaging cinematic naval battles in recent memory, but the second half is also where the film starts becoming engulfed by its primary political message. This is not to say that wasn't clear from the start. While the final ten minutes should be terrifying, and similar scenes in other films have left me unable to sleep, I found the terror here was overshadowed by the message. About thirty minutes before the end, the film's politics become cemented to its emotions, and after over two hours of identifying with Jake, his last scenes left me unaffected by his predicament because I'd been firmly told why I should feel what he feels in those last moments, whereas up until then the film had simply made a good argument for what it thought was the best reason for Jake to feel as he does. The first problem with this is that I'm very stubborn and stupidly proud, and have an automatic negative gut reaction to emotional instructions. The second, wider problem with this is that, while well-presented, I couldn't relate to or identify with the film's reasons for its feelings, which is why they worked well as a preferred option to consider, but not as an absolute. After two hours of restrained yet very effective presentation, this lessened the message somehow. In this way, The Sand Pebbles is very similar to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance: the first half is a perfect, incredible example of its genre and filmmaking in general that also brings a powerful, thought-provoking message; the second half gives all that up for a soapbox.
On a separate note, I would feel remiss to not mention that the shortest available version of The Sand Pebbles clocks in at three hours and three minutes, and doesn't really have what many filmgoers including myself would consider to be an "ending" . It stops rather than ends, an important distinction for any story, but one you may find especially frustrating for a story of this legnth. A more recent example of a film that finishes instead of ending is No Country For Old Men, which uses that device in a fuller, more effective fashion than the film in question. If you don't like getting that kind of sass from your movies, you may prefer watching the first half of The Sand Pebbles and then paying a visit to Moviepooper.com to fill in the rest (or just ask me how it ends).
On a very separate note, for some reason I'm convinced that Robert Wise was one of the few McCarthy-era directors to be an actual, card-carrying member of the Communist party, but I can't seem to find any corroboration of that, so I'm starting to doubt that this conviction/memory is correct. If it's not, who am I confusing him with?
First half good, second half less good, The Sand Pebbles is as perfect an example as I could've asked for of the difference between a good film about issues and a bad or not so good film about issues - because it's both! No one will ever accuse me of being efficient, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the virtue. :D
Friday, September 18, 2009
Movies For Women, and The End of Internet Anonymity Syndrome
While I was letting this post stew for a few days as I put my thoughts together, I left a half-formed comment on Entertainment Weekly's Popwatch Blog (www.popwatch.ew.com), a micro-version of my argument for why there are few well-known female directors. One of the Popwatch writers took half of that half-formed comment and posted in in their "makes us think" article, inviting other EW readers to comment on, um, my (half-) comment. I discovered this not due to my daily jaunt over to ew.com, but by Googling "Jane Campion interviews" and finding my name crop up at a publication called Bitch Magazine, commenting on how stupid my comment was (I can now say that I've been bitch-slapped by Bitch Magazine. Tell me that's not entertaining). The Lesson? People do in fact read what you write on the Internet, so be smarter about it, and remember that anything can be misquoted. So here's the whole argument, fully-pondered, fully-rendered, for your consideration.
The Toronto International Film Festival has been upon us for several days now, and with it a new piece (the Keats bio-pic Bright Star) from Oscar-nominated director Jane Campion (The Piano). Campion's presence at the festival brings with it an expected spree of interviews in which both interviewer and interviewee at some point complain about the lack of female directors, lack of films for women, and the need for more female empowerment (whatever that really means. I haven't figured it out yet. EW.com film critic Lisa Schwarzbaum describes Bright Star as "womanly-wise." I haven't figured that one out yet, either.
Now, this rubs me the wrong way for two reasons. First of all, it would appear that when people complain about a lack of female directors, what they're really complaining about is a lack of female directors who are also household names. The thing is, the number of male directors who are household names - i.e., who you can name-drop in conversation with anyone you know regardless of their film knowledge and get an "oh yeah, him!" in return - is very small number indeed. Spielberg...Lucas...Michael Bay...Clint Eastwood...maybe Cameron or Scorsese or the Cohen brothers. Out of the huge number of men who direct films, a very small number succeed in directing films that go on to see cinematic distribution, and within that very small number, very few make big waves in the general public mind. Which leads to the question of how many female directors there are to begin with by comparison, because that does matter in such a conversation. If, in a sampling of a hundred film school students, fifty men and fifty women, fourty-five of those men want to be directors, but fourty-five of those women are more interested in cinematography and screenwriting, bemoaning the significantly larger number of male directors is meaningless. Now, if fourty-five men and fourty-five women all want to direct professionally, all work equally hard at perfecting their craft and making connections, and all want to make high-quality, interesting films that reach a broad audience (or crappy films that also reach a broad audience, like Transformers or Cold Mountain), it would be a bit strange, yea even suspicious if thirty men but only two women wound up directing widely-distributed films. But this conversation means nothing without a grasp of how the number of directors seeking to make films for broad audiences is divided across gender lines in the first place.
That idea of "broad audiences" is my second point, and a big part of my theory on the lack of household-name female directors. In my experiences as an artist, and a life-long big consumer of art, be it film, literature, music, or video games, an overwhelming number of female artists tend to focus their art on "women's issues." The result is often a work that is made strictly for consumers with the same approach to feminism as the artist, and has little concern for actual art. One of the most famous female fantasy authors to date is Marion Zimmer Bradley, whose The Mists of Avalon (1982) is a highly influential tome that female fantasy authors like Mercedes Lackey have taken their cues from since. I may have read way too many Bradley imitators in junior high; let's just say they didn't leave a mark in the good way. The Mists of Avalon is a re-telling of the Arthurian myth based on, well, the premise that all men are patriarchal pigs whose sole apparent purpose in life is to make women miserable, and that girls rule and boys drool. The story is merely a vehicle for Bradley's manifesto, and as such its quality is a secondary concern, by which I mean it's a rather bad book. In general, any book or film whose focus on "issues" supersedes its concern for making quality art tends to be shoddy, regardless of the artist's gender. I think the American feminist movement is one of the worst things to happen to art, because its message of "empowerment" also promotes the message that it's every female artist's solemn duty to make art about women's issues and only women's issues. There's nothing wrong with niche art - one of my favourite films, Brick, is a bizarre production that I can't imagine appealing to anyone other than a film geek, a Dashiell Hammett fan, or someone so obsessed with Joseph Gordon-Levitt that they'd watch him wash the dishes and consider it time well-spent - but if the art is bad, and never moves past the paradoxical attention-seeking/navel-gazing nature of niche art, who the audience is doesn't matter. I personally feel that making a great movie is far more useful than obsessing over the fact that there are still sexist men roaming free even in today's enlightened society.
What do directors like Jane Campion think about female directors who make films for wider audiences? Beats me, because the pro-empowerment directors never mention these ladies in their interviews. Everyone's favourite manly-man high-octane thrill ride, Point Break, was directed by one Ms. Kathryn Bigelow, who also directed everyone's less-favourite manly-man high-octane thrill ride, K-19: The Widowmaker (featuring Harrison Ford doing his best "Sean Connery in The Hunt for Red October" impression), as well as James Cameron's Strange Days. There are also a lot of women doing great work behind the camera other than directing. Veteran film editor Thelma Schoonmaker has been assembling Martin Scorsese's films since before Taxi Driver, and won an Oscar for The Departed - but since she's not the boss, she and women like her don't seem to count as "women behind the camera". In the world of fantasy literature, former Neverwinter Nights game-writer Naomi Novik recently burst into the scene with her Temeraire novels, entertaining and well-done historical fantasy that has something for everyone and seeks to tell an engaging story (though in fairness, I can only apply that description to the first three; her two most recent ones have faltered a bit).
I think what offends and entertains me the most about this whole business is the thoughtless sexism of "empowered" women promoting the bizarre idea that movies not made specifically for women are lesser films that we tolerate, that we cannot identify with these films, and that we all secretly crave and prefer "women's films" above all others. I guess I must be a man trapped in a woman's body, because my favourite films include The Seven Samurai, The Big Lebowski, The Great Escape, John Carpenter's The Thing, Stargate, Escape from New York, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, the Rock, Die Hard, Get Carter, and most of the films to come out of Marvel Studios in the past decade. I didn't see the A&E Pride and Prejudice until my husband convinced me that it was amazing. And there are a goodly amount of women in the video game industry, which pro-empowerment feminists tend to write off as being just for men. Alyssa Finley is the lead hand on the BioShock series, an extraordinary work of art and tech. Google "Rapture City" for a visual, and prepare to have your socks knocked. Susan O'Connor is the game writer responsible for BioShock, Gears of War, Far Cry 2 (which I've recently put my hand to, and is brilliant), and many other solid shooter titles. Those alternately funny, morbid, funnily morbid, and overall genius Vault-Boy, Vault-Tech, and skill book illustrations from Fallout 3? You can thank Natalia Smirnova, who's also responsible for the entire user interface of The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Bioshock, Gears, and Far Cry are all first-person shooters, to boot - the epitome of the "just for men" genre. But with the kind of credentials these ladies have, there's no good reason to assume they're not making the games they love to make. All of the titles listed above are "game of the year" winners in some way.
To blame the ratio of big-name female directors to big-name male directors on sexism is an easy out. To ignore the female directors who aren't big names but who make well-loved films that aren't just for women is humourously sexist. To ignore skilled women behind the camera who don't happen to be directing is just insulting. To attempt to write off films, books, and games that aren't made specifically for women as being just for men is sexist and insulting. To make good art, whoever you are? Now that's empowering. Whatever that means.
The Toronto International Film Festival has been upon us for several days now, and with it a new piece (the Keats bio-pic Bright Star) from Oscar-nominated director Jane Campion (The Piano). Campion's presence at the festival brings with it an expected spree of interviews in which both interviewer and interviewee at some point complain about the lack of female directors, lack of films for women, and the need for more female empowerment (whatever that really means. I haven't figured it out yet. EW.com film critic Lisa Schwarzbaum describes Bright Star as "womanly-wise." I haven't figured that one out yet, either.
Now, this rubs me the wrong way for two reasons. First of all, it would appear that when people complain about a lack of female directors, what they're really complaining about is a lack of female directors who are also household names. The thing is, the number of male directors who are household names - i.e., who you can name-drop in conversation with anyone you know regardless of their film knowledge and get an "oh yeah, him!" in return - is very small number indeed. Spielberg...Lucas...Michael Bay...Clint Eastwood...maybe Cameron or Scorsese or the Cohen brothers. Out of the huge number of men who direct films, a very small number succeed in directing films that go on to see cinematic distribution, and within that very small number, very few make big waves in the general public mind. Which leads to the question of how many female directors there are to begin with by comparison, because that does matter in such a conversation. If, in a sampling of a hundred film school students, fifty men and fifty women, fourty-five of those men want to be directors, but fourty-five of those women are more interested in cinematography and screenwriting, bemoaning the significantly larger number of male directors is meaningless. Now, if fourty-five men and fourty-five women all want to direct professionally, all work equally hard at perfecting their craft and making connections, and all want to make high-quality, interesting films that reach a broad audience (or crappy films that also reach a broad audience, like Transformers or Cold Mountain), it would be a bit strange, yea even suspicious if thirty men but only two women wound up directing widely-distributed films. But this conversation means nothing without a grasp of how the number of directors seeking to make films for broad audiences is divided across gender lines in the first place.
That idea of "broad audiences" is my second point, and a big part of my theory on the lack of household-name female directors. In my experiences as an artist, and a life-long big consumer of art, be it film, literature, music, or video games, an overwhelming number of female artists tend to focus their art on "women's issues." The result is often a work that is made strictly for consumers with the same approach to feminism as the artist, and has little concern for actual art. One of the most famous female fantasy authors to date is Marion Zimmer Bradley, whose The Mists of Avalon (1982) is a highly influential tome that female fantasy authors like Mercedes Lackey have taken their cues from since. I may have read way too many Bradley imitators in junior high; let's just say they didn't leave a mark in the good way. The Mists of Avalon is a re-telling of the Arthurian myth based on, well, the premise that all men are patriarchal pigs whose sole apparent purpose in life is to make women miserable, and that girls rule and boys drool. The story is merely a vehicle for Bradley's manifesto, and as such its quality is a secondary concern, by which I mean it's a rather bad book. In general, any book or film whose focus on "issues" supersedes its concern for making quality art tends to be shoddy, regardless of the artist's gender. I think the American feminist movement is one of the worst things to happen to art, because its message of "empowerment" also promotes the message that it's every female artist's solemn duty to make art about women's issues and only women's issues. There's nothing wrong with niche art - one of my favourite films, Brick, is a bizarre production that I can't imagine appealing to anyone other than a film geek, a Dashiell Hammett fan, or someone so obsessed with Joseph Gordon-Levitt that they'd watch him wash the dishes and consider it time well-spent - but if the art is bad, and never moves past the paradoxical attention-seeking/navel-gazing nature of niche art, who the audience is doesn't matter. I personally feel that making a great movie is far more useful than obsessing over the fact that there are still sexist men roaming free even in today's enlightened society.
What do directors like Jane Campion think about female directors who make films for wider audiences? Beats me, because the pro-empowerment directors never mention these ladies in their interviews. Everyone's favourite manly-man high-octane thrill ride, Point Break, was directed by one Ms. Kathryn Bigelow, who also directed everyone's less-favourite manly-man high-octane thrill ride, K-19: The Widowmaker (featuring Harrison Ford doing his best "Sean Connery in The Hunt for Red October" impression), as well as James Cameron's Strange Days. There are also a lot of women doing great work behind the camera other than directing. Veteran film editor Thelma Schoonmaker has been assembling Martin Scorsese's films since before Taxi Driver, and won an Oscar for The Departed - but since she's not the boss, she and women like her don't seem to count as "women behind the camera". In the world of fantasy literature, former Neverwinter Nights game-writer Naomi Novik recently burst into the scene with her Temeraire novels, entertaining and well-done historical fantasy that has something for everyone and seeks to tell an engaging story (though in fairness, I can only apply that description to the first three; her two most recent ones have faltered a bit).
I think what offends and entertains me the most about this whole business is the thoughtless sexism of "empowered" women promoting the bizarre idea that movies not made specifically for women are lesser films that we tolerate, that we cannot identify with these films, and that we all secretly crave and prefer "women's films" above all others. I guess I must be a man trapped in a woman's body, because my favourite films include The Seven Samurai, The Big Lebowski, The Great Escape, John Carpenter's The Thing, Stargate, Escape from New York, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, the Rock, Die Hard, Get Carter, and most of the films to come out of Marvel Studios in the past decade. I didn't see the A&E Pride and Prejudice until my husband convinced me that it was amazing. And there are a goodly amount of women in the video game industry, which pro-empowerment feminists tend to write off as being just for men. Alyssa Finley is the lead hand on the BioShock series, an extraordinary work of art and tech. Google "Rapture City" for a visual, and prepare to have your socks knocked. Susan O'Connor is the game writer responsible for BioShock, Gears of War, Far Cry 2 (which I've recently put my hand to, and is brilliant), and many other solid shooter titles. Those alternately funny, morbid, funnily morbid, and overall genius Vault-Boy, Vault-Tech, and skill book illustrations from Fallout 3? You can thank Natalia Smirnova, who's also responsible for the entire user interface of The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Bioshock, Gears, and Far Cry are all first-person shooters, to boot - the epitome of the "just for men" genre. But with the kind of credentials these ladies have, there's no good reason to assume they're not making the games they love to make. All of the titles listed above are "game of the year" winners in some way.
To blame the ratio of big-name female directors to big-name male directors on sexism is an easy out. To ignore the female directors who aren't big names but who make well-loved films that aren't just for women is humourously sexist. To ignore skilled women behind the camera who don't happen to be directing is just insulting. To attempt to write off films, books, and games that aren't made specifically for women as being just for men is sexist and insulting. To make good art, whoever you are? Now that's empowering. Whatever that means.
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