Rotten Tomatoes Summer 2009 Wrap-Up

I got a charge out of Inglourious Basterds. At a time when many mainstream entertainments pander to perceived audience taste, there’s something exhilarating about a film so intentionally unsettling. Basterds may not be Quentin Tarantino’s best work (for me, nothing is likely to top Pulp Fiction), but it may be his craziest, which is high praise. There are at least four scenes in the film that are as wild, unpredictable, and brilliantly conceived as anything QT has ever done; from the excruciatingly tense opening to the apocalyptic climax, Basterds is further proof — if any were needed — that Tarantino is one of contemporary film’s boldest figures, as well as someone whose love of cinema — good, bad, highbrow, or trashy — is both endearingly pure and infectious.

If, at any point during the ’80s, you had pulled me aside and told me I would one day derive any kind of satisfaction from a movie that Bobcat “Grover Voice” Goldthwait wrote and directed, I might have gotten violent on you — and yet here we are in 2009, and darn it if Goldthwait hasn’t gone and put together a surprisingly tender (and utterly profane) meditation on loneliness, aging, and death. Oh, and as if that weren’t enough, he squeezed a great performance out of Robin Williams in the bargain. I’m sure part of my enjoyment of World’s Greatest Dad stemmed from my tremendously lowered expectations, but I’m not going to quibble; besides, how often do you get to see Bruce Hornsby play himself in a movie that includes a subplot about autoerotic asphyxiation? I’m almost inclined to agree with Marshall Fine when he says, “Bobcat Goldthwait may be the most unique filmmaking sensibility since Albert Brooks.”

This undeniably inventive film combines science fiction, action-thriller and even romance in the form of a mockumentary while hinting at sociopolitical issues that once plagued South Africa during the apartheid era. Wikus van de Merwe, played by Sharlto Copley, is one of the more memorable characters I have seen in years. Considering that there is not one recognizable actor and considering the measly amount of money that was spent compared with other summer blockbuster disasters, I think the director Neil Blomkamp worked miracles with this movie. It is violent, gross, funny, sweetly sensitive and beautiful to look at all at the same time.

May to August is a repetitive season: $150 million budgets utilized towards explosions, mutants, toys, and mindless commercialism. But there is one summer cycle I look forward to: the Pixar cycle. First, the announcement of a movie with a slightly baffling premise. Then comes the underwhelming trailer. And, next, the bean counters come out, predicting Pixar’s toying with artistry as a sign of imminent commercial doom. Then comes opening day. Shuffle into the theater, head swimming with trepidation and uneasy optimism. The lights dim and the crowd hushes. And it becomes immediately clear that Pixar has done it AGAIN. Up is a masterpiece, unequivocal genius that forsakes demographics and audience pandering in the pursuit of wonderful, high-flying movie magic.

Let me begin by saying that, while I was somewhat familiar with the premise of the original Star Trek series, I never watched the show or any of its offspring, and the only film in the franchise I had seen prior to this May was Generations, which I found bland and forgettable. Combine all this with the fact that my expectations for “Summer Blockbusters” have been steadily declining over the past several years, and you might get a sense of why I was so pleasantly surprised by J.J. Abrams’ reboot-prequel of the franchise. The film was gorgeous to look at, all of the major characters had their moments to shine, and by toying with the timeline, Abrams has essentially established an entirely new franchise that neither invalidates the original nor, in my opinion, betrays it. I know some of the hardcore fans are actually a little upset about this last detail, but I happen to think it’s a brilliant move that will allow for a lot of creative freedom in future installments. Overall, I thought Star Trek was loads of fun, and though I will concede it possibly could have done with a weightier plot, I had such a good time watching it that I’m willing to dismiss that minor complaint, and I’m now officially looking forward to the sequel.

Tarantino’s pulled the bait-and-switch before — a heist movie without a heist,
a car-chase movie with barely any — but never better than this. Pitched as two
hours of Brad Pitt mugging and splattering Nat-zi brains, Basterds
instead turned out to be a rich, bizarro-world imagining of modern history, as
much ecstatic fan letter to the power of cinema as it was WWII action movie.
It’s not perfect — Tarantino sometimes indulges his weakness for rambling
dialogue — but there are so many unforgettable scenes and, like the
exploitation he so loves, it’s never the boring bits you remember. Mélanie
Laurent preparing for her cinema siege — with Bowie’s icy “Cat People” recast
as melodramatic torch song — and the cackling, spectral inferno that follows
(part Faust, part Raiders of the Lost Ark) are the two images of 2009
that will stay with me.

The dialogue is largely improvised but the characters and the circumstances are
rendered with a quiet realism that feels genuinely observational, like the
camera has only accidentally fallen on the most ridiculous man-joke ever. It
always feels fresh and new and the performances, by a pretty unprofessional
cast, are captivating. But frankly, for as inspired as the dialogue is, and as
tangible as the camera work seems, you have a hard time recognizing details
because you’re laughing so much.

Anyone can reboot a franchise. Throw out the rulebook and start again, invent
your own world and take things in your own direction. It takes real skill to
reboot a franchise in a similarly rulebook-discarding sense without destroying
40 years of intricate — and really only occasionally quirky — chronology. JJ
Abrams managed such a feat with his Star Trek reboot. Wholly entertaining
and brilliantly perceptive of everything Trek needs to be, it just gets so much
right. The crew, as a whole, work, even if Simon Pegg grates occasionally, and
its weakness is Eric Bana’s one-note villain, but it establishes such a
precedent for what’s to come that I’m on tenterhooks for the sequel.