Musicals Made 2020 Bearable; Long Live the Musicals
If you’d asked me in 2019 whether musicals were “my thing,” I might have said something like “well, I do enjoy musicals from time to time, but I wouldn’t say I go out of my way to watch them.” If you’d asked me the same question by July 2020, the answer would have been something like “oh my sweet mother of god I absolutely love musicals they are keeping me from going mad.” Throughout 2020, I consumed what to me was an absurd number of musicals for someone who had only dabbled in the genre previously. And the world was happy to oblige my desperate need for the joy a good musical can bring. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Show Must Go On YouTube channel joyfully screened some of Webber’s classics, including Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Phantom of the Opera. Other music institutions also happily aired operas, symphonic performances, and even professional productions of Shakespeare and other plays. And Spotify’s music catalogue gave me even more to enjoy, from Gilbert & Sullivan to walls of EDM and symphonies I’ve never heard before. But it was the musicals that gave me an escape.
Ape Lincoln: The Beauty and Terror of Planet of the Apes (2001)
As Palpatine would say: long have I waited to discuss this film! A film reviled for its infamously confusing ending, its gleeful presentation of punk apes and other humanistic ape-eries, and its attempt to convince us that Mark Wahlberg earned his way onto an expensive Air Force ape research space station while still getting away with calling apes monkeys every ten seconds. A film that shockingly made a decent chunk of change and almost got a sequel. It’s Tim Burton’s Planet of the Apes (2001)! Call it a remake or a reboot or a reinterpretation, Planet of the Apes has rightly earned its place as one part visual marvel and one part disastrous narrative — beauty and terror fused into one glorious package. Its position in the Planet of the Apes oeuvre has, alas, earned it additional and unfavorable comparisons to its more successful and narratively compelling predecessor and successor. Have the twenty years since this film’s release helped its perception?
Nostalgic Paris: Misery, Imagination, and Nostalgia in Midnight in Paris
Perhaps the most potent problem of our modern era is its obsession with nostalgia. In its least malignant form, nostalgia becomes an excessive love of art and fashion playfully removed from the socio-political conditions of its creation. In its most malignant form, nostalgia turns people into cult-like fascists who desire a return to a time that never really existed. Most nostalgia travelers rest somewhere between: fantasizing about going back to something that felt more familiar, even at the expense of the present. And then there’s Midnight in Paris (2011), which seems to relish in misery, imagination, and nostalgia at varying points and for varying purposes. What ultimately does the film say about nostalgia, then?
Fragile and Varied Masculinities: Road Trip and the Odd World of the 2000s
The 2000s were weird, y’all. Really weird. If, like me, you’ve taken a strange trip down the road of 2000s romantic and (teen/college) sex comedies, you’ll have noticed the curious similarities between so many of them. The 2000s trend probably began with the release of American Pie in 1999, a film that I actually quite enjoy mostly because, unlike most sex comedies of the long-noughties, it actually bothers with the (admittedly incomplete) effort to rehabilitate its immature male protagonists. 1999 was, after all, a transitional year, and sex comedies in the teen/college bracket are, naturally, transitional narratives. In almost all cases, that transition is into some form of adulthood, even when the characters are well into their adult years anyway. Unlike American Pie, though, Road Trip (2000) contains numerous false starts, owing that failure to its inability to grapple with its underlying ethical quandary: what does a man do if he’s the one who has cheated on his girlfriend? But let’s step backwards through time for a hot minute…
Throwing Grendel to the Vikings: Reassessing a 90s Adaptation
Imagine, if you will, the 1990s. You’re making a movie. A movie that doesn’t satisfy your test audiences and requires numerous re-edits that drag your production roughly $15 million over budget. A movie whose director will be replaced by the creator of the novel you’re adapting. A movie whose film composer, Graeme Revell, will be replaced by Jerry Goldsmith. A movie starring Antonio Banderas at, arguably, the height of his popularity. A movie that Roger Ebert will pan and which will bomb so horribly at the box office that fuzzy studio math puts it as the #32 or #1 worst box office flop in history (adjusted for inflation). A movie with so many production problems that it caused Omar Sharif to temporarily retire from acting (1999-2003). In Sharif’s own words: I said to myself, ‘Let us stop this nonsense, these meal tickets that we do because it pays well.’ I thought, ‘Unless I find a stupendous film that I love and that makes me want to leave home to do, I will stop.’ Bad pictures are very humiliating, I was really sick. It is terrifying to have to do the dialogue from bad scripts, to face a director who does not know what he is doing, in a film so bad that it is not even worth exploring.” IMDb (2003) If you imagine all of that and think it’s just not possible that this movie could be shockingly pretty darn good, well, you’d be wrong. You see, the movie in question is The 13th Warrior, based on Michael Crichton’s Eaters of the Dead (1977)(itself a loose adaptation of Beowulf and the historical writings of Ahmad ibn Fadlan). And The 13th Warrior, I’m here to say, is surprisingly good in a campy “full of heart” sort of way. Why? I’m glad you asked.
28 Days Later and the Delicious Comfort of Disaster
Living during a pandemic makes watching movies featuring pandemics particularly weird. Yet, there’s also something, well, comforting for some of us. After all, if you plugged into Netflix a few weeks ago, you might have noticed that Outbreak (1995) was one of the top viewed films. I have to think that people were watching for reasons other than morbid curiosity. And when I put out a call to pick a movie from my DVD collection for me to watch and discuss, a number of people gravitated immediately to 28 Days Later (2002) because of its relevance to the now. 28 Days Later is easily one of my favorite films, horror genre or otherwise. For those who haven’t seen it, the film opens with a group of animal rights activists (Animal Liberation Front without the name) raiding a government animal testing facility, which results in the spread of a deadly virus called “rage.” Flash forward to Jim (Cillian Murphy) some 28 days later, who wakes up from a coma to find himself in an empty hospital and no knowledge of what is going on. We learn pretty quickly that the rage virus has overtaken the UK, leading to mass infections, mass evacuations, quarantine, and the eventual breakdown of society. Jim is rescued from certain death by Selena (Naomie Harris) and her ill-fated friend, Mark (Noah Huntley), and together (sans Mark) they meet up with Frank (Brendan Gleeson) and his daughter, Hannah (Megan Burns), who encourage them to drive north to a supposed safe zone lead by Major Henry West (Christopher Eccleston; a.k.a. the Doctor). Naturally, things aren’t as they seem there… Not one bit.