Editorial: Why Ben Affleck Will Be the Perfect Batman

MAN WITHOUT FEAR  by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 Above: Mr. Affleck in "To the Wonder," which features his most recent starring role.  Photo ©Magnolia Pictures.

“Wearing a costume was an intense source of humiliation to me.”  So said Ben Affleck of his experience playing a comic book superhero in the much-maligned Marvel film “Daredevil.”  Considering the definitiveness of such a statement, it seemed safe to assume that Mr. Affleck would never return to the world of spandex-clad vigilantes, especially after he reinvented himself as the Oscar-baiting director of “Argo” and “The Town.”  And yet, return he will—it has been announced that the actor will play none other than Batman.

            On many levels, this news shouldn’t be surprising.  Over the years, Mr. Affleck has developed a strong relationship with Warner Brothers Pictures (which owns the film rights to Batman)—the films he’s directed and starred in for the studio have resonated with both mainstream audiences Academy voters.  It makes sense that they would choose an “in house favorite” to play such a beloved character.  And yet, everyone seems enraged by the decision.  While Mr. Affleck’s reputation was salvaged long before he accepted a best picture Oscar for “Argo,” the stigma of “Daredevil” lingers, so much so that there’s been an almost-serious push from fans to get the White House to bar Mr. Affleck from playing superheroes.    

            Some would say this is going too far.  But superheroes are always a subject of passionate discourse, discourse that I have always strived to encourage.  Which is why I feel compelled to argue that beneath all the rigorous reasoning and reactionary hysteria, there is a simple truth—Mr. Affleck will, most likely, be a terrific Batman.  You may disagree, but I believe that he is a great and serious actor, a man who is ready to take on a complex mainstream role.

            Of course, I do have a love-hate relationship with Mr. Affleck.  Of late I have been distressed by the acclaim he has received for “Argo,” a suspenseful period drama that was still never compelling as its acclaim suggested.  As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Affleck’s directing is impressive work for an actor trying a new trade, but not particularly compelling when measured by the standards set by the work of experienced filmmakers.  He may have won the Oscar, but in the long run, I doubt he’ll impact the art form.

            But Ben Affleck the director and Ben Affleck the actor are two separate things.  As a performer, he’s second to none—he brings a seamless, easy gravitas to his roles.  In “Argo,” he speaks in a soft voice that makes him seem both professional and vulnerable and in Terrence Malick’s transcendent drama “To the Wonder,” he holds the screen without speaking at all.  Just the sight of him walking through a grassy backyard is mesmerizing.  That image—the actor moving thoughtfully, hands on hips—is enhanced by Mr. Malick’s smooth virtuosity, but it is Mr. Affleck who gives him the necessary building blocks to construct a character.

            I don’t think that anyone who has seen Mr. Affleck’s performances in “To the Wonder” and “Argo” could deny that he’s a great actor.  But they might not be convinced that he can play a superhero which is why I have one last plea—if you are not a believer, watch “Daredevil.”  You may have already seen and despised the film, but I have a sneaking suspicion it has been long enough that people may have forgotten what it was like to actually sit down and watch the film.  And as far as I’m concerned, to watch it is to be taken in by Mr. Affleck’s performance.  As Matt Murdock, the blind attorney who uses his heightened senses to fight crime as the vigilante Daredevil, Mr. Affleck exudes a relentless anger.  At the climax when he hurls a man from a window and growls, “Bullseye,” his triumphant rage imparts a giddy thrill.  But it also comes in handy in quieter moments, such as when Matt’s legal partner Foggy is incensed by his friend’s refusal to defend a crime lord.  “Yes, why is that, Mr. Murdock?” he asks, irritation rising.  “Because,” Mr. Affleck replies with barely suppressed fury, “we only take clients who are innocent.”

            That’s just one of many great moments from an underrated film and an even more underrated performance.  But when it comes down to it, what you really need to know is this—superheroes are multifaceted characters and Mr. Affleck has the power to credibly unify Batman’s many facets.  After all, he did it with Daredevil.  In that performance, the character never seemed to be split into man and superman—he was the same person in and out of costume.  Whether he was pummeling street thugs or arguing over a morning cup of coffee, the same righteous anger and tenderness could be found in his voice.  He made you believe that a well-dressed lawyer and a bloodthirsty vigilante could be one man, and a human one at that.

            While I have confidence in Mr. Affleck, I have to admit that I can’t be sure he’ll be able to pull off the same feat as Batman.  After all, he will be acting in a film directed by Zack Snyder (who seems to be making a career of squandering great performers in mind-numbing spectacles like “Watchmen” and “Man of Steel”) and unlike in “Daredevil” where he was simply headlining one film, the new “Batman” will see him becoming a cog in a mass of corporate machinery.  Like Marvel, Warner Brothers is determined to create a series of inter-linked superhero films, a strategy best-served by the dull planning of executives, rather than the unpredictable but vastly superior instincts of an auteur.  And for all Mr. Affleck’s talent, it’s almost a foregone conclusion that he won’t top Christian Bale’s memorably fierce and witty portrayal of Batman in Christopher Nolan’s tremendously exhilarating “Dark Knight” trilogy.

            But then again, that’s not the point.  The point is that Ben Affleck has it within him the ability to play a superhero well, to make a comic book character a plausible human being.  Of course, he’ll have to do it wearing that iconic mask, but I don’t he’ll let us forget the man behind it, even if that man is a godlike savior, standing above Gotham City and waiting for the right moment to take flight.

Movie Review: "Elysium" (Neill Blomkamp, 2013)

AN ALLEGORY EXPLODES:
BLOMKAMP'S LATEST IS MORE BRAWN THAN BRAIN 
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

In the opening scenes of“Elysium,” the latest dystopian saga from South African director Neill Blomkamp, the camera skims across two opposing futuristic landscapes—the barren, cramped houses of Earth (where the lower classes languish in this vision of the future), and the green lawns of the titular space station (which are home to the rich). As I beheld these vivid worlds, I wondered if that camera was speeding towards something special, carrying me into a meaningful and exhilarating narrative that would stand out in a sea of disappointing summer blockbusters. But, as “Elysium” shows, hope is a fragile thing, a dream that can be abolished by a lethal dose of radiation.

           That is the fate that befalls the film’s hero, Max (Matt Damon) at least, and at the worst possible moment. For the first time in his life, Max has a stable job at a factory and even a potential romantic partner in his childhood friend, Frey (Alice Braga). But all that is taken away from his when Max becomes irradiated at work. Weak, vomiting, and with only five days to live, Max has only one chance for survival—earn a trip to Elysium (which has machines that can cure any illness) by doing a job for a criminal kingpin named Spider (Wagner Moura).

           I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to reveal that Max eventually makes it too Elysium, where he crash lands amidst space McMansions in a grimy starship. Yet Mr. Blomkamp spends little time on that gleaming station—as 2009’s District 9” proved, this director prefers the dust and dirt of Earth. In fact, I can’t think of a blockbuster filmmaker with such an intense fetish for visual ugliness. Mr. Blomkamp may outfit his characters with robotic suits of armor, but their nothing like the golden breastplates of the “Iron Man” films. Instead, they’re gray, bulking, and in one case, drilled into a character’s skin. Like much of the movie, they’re not pleasant to look at.

           For some, this visual style might indicate that Mr. Blomkamp is a brutal realist trying to inject science fiction cinema with grim gravitas. But I don’t think that’s accurate. “Elysium” does strive for plausibility, but it makes the mistake of privileging action over character development. Whereas Christopher Nolan or Bryan Singer might have used the film’s premise to explore questions of class and immigration, Mr. Blomkamp uses it as springboard for a series of inane and bloody action sequences. Of course, this didn’t have to be a problem in itself—there are plenty of satisfying summer blockbusters like “Pacific Rim” that lack engaging action sequences. But those films succeed because they have characters whose vulnerabilities make them worthy of your attention and despite Mr. Damon’s talent, Max is a dull cipher. Oh sure, the film goes to great lengths to show that he’s a charming, romantic fellow, the kind of man who can mock robots and flirt with a cute nurse in the same morning. But charm can’t hold a candle to eccentricity or complexity and those are the two key ingredients that Max lacks.

           With Max failing to deliver, you might hope to find a character worth caring about in Jodie Foster’s Delacourt, who is charged with protecting Elysium from intruders. But Ms. Foster gives a surprisingly inept performance (which is particularly disappointing in light of her bizarre and compelling speech at the Golden Globes)—not only does she fail to create a three-dimensional antagonist for Max to butt heads with, but in one of the strangest missteps of the year, she alternates British and American accents. More distressingly, we never find out why the character is so determined to protect Elysium and it could have been interesting to learn what made her decide that segregating the rich from the poor was the best policy for a brighter future.

           I’m sure there are some viewers who’d think exploring such question would slow down the movie’s momentum. But that’s not how I feel. In my opinion, complex intellectual queries and debates can fuel a movie’s action rather than dissipate it—when ideas are at stake as well as lives (in truly great sci-fi movies like “X2,” “The Fountain,” “WALL-E,” and “Inception”), the story becomes a question of not whether the hero or villain will prevail, but whose ideology will emerge as dominant, determining the course of civilization. I suppose “Elysium” does this somewhat by suggesting that the determination of the poor will ultimately prevail, that declaration is bludgeoned and bruised by the film’s action, which takes precedence not only over character development, but narrative coherence as well. 

          Still, I think there might have been a great film buried in “Elysium.” The premise could have made for a great philosophical thriller, but it also might have been fine fodder for comedy. The story is rife with ridiculous characters, from a kindly, philosophizing nun who mentors Max to a bearded faux-Scottish assassin who attacks him with a sword. Between these unintentionally comic figures and moronic shots of children running through golden fields that would fit seamlessly into a VISA commercial, “Elysium”suggests that Mr. Blomkamp could have an unexpected and unwanted knack for comedy. I doubt he’ll indulge in his next film, but in the mean time, this picture reminds us of a universal truth—when it comes to medicine, laughter trumps robot-suited saviors every time.

Corner Characters Part Three: Leaders of the Dominion

A CONCLUSION TO THIS MONTH'S EXPLORATION OF THE MINOR CHARACTERS OF "STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE" 
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 Above: Salome Jens as the Female Changeling and Jeffrey Combs as Weyoun
 

WEYOUN First, he was shot; then, he died in a “transporter accident”; then he committed suicide; then an unruly prisoner snapped his neck; and finally, he was shot again and this time, remained dead.  Despite this impressive cycle of death and reincarnation, the treacherous commander Weyoun was not the first “Star Trek” character to display quasi-immortality.  But he was certainly one of the most frequently assassinated, most likely because he annoyed both his allies and his enemies—his pompous, simpering smile endeared him to no one.  But if Weyoun’s obnoxiousness irked other characters, it was to our delight. For in his happily deluded idiocy he became one of the wittiest, most terrifying, and tragic characters to step through the airlocks of Deep Space Nine.

            By the time Weyoun appeared on the show, his species (the Vorta) were already familiar to Sisko and company.  Pale-skinned and dark-haired, they’d certainly been visually memorable, but the real attraction was that they were some of the most valued servants of the Dominion, responsible for commanding legions of starships and soldiers, as well as handling diplomatic affairs.  Essentially, they were brainwashed pawns who had been genetically designed to worship the Founders of the Dominion as gods, but they were hardly mindless servants.  Instead they were cultured, sensitive leaders, better suited to conversation then combat.

            No one filled these criteria better than Weyoun.  In his first appearance, he allied with Captain Sisko, but only temporarily for as soon as the Cardassians joined the Dominion, Weyoun was sent to oversee the empire’s assimilation.  And while most would have taken this opportunity to establish strong diplomatic relations and trust, Weyoun used it mostly to smirk and lie, sneering at Damar’s alcoholism but acting as if he himself were attending some sort of drunken party for despots, not starting a war.

            Ultimately, it was his joyous personality that made Weyoun such a wonderful character.  He had no back story (at least not in the way of Dukat or Damar); he was simply a man doing his job.  Yet he was stunningly multi-faceted because he could be both nimbly delicate and horribly bloodthirsty.  In one of his finest moments during the show, for example, Weyoun ceases examining a painting to announce a man’s execution.  But, as if totally unmoved by the thought of murder, he quickly turns back to the artwork to pose a query: “Would this be more aesthetically pleasing if it were blue?”  It’s a fascinatingly strange moment.  Weyoun’s careless attitude towards killing may be sickening, but there’s also something oddly innocent about his fascination with the painting.  As one character rightly remarks, “Weyoun’s a hard one to figure out.” 

            Sadly, Weyoun’s devil-may-care theatrics ultimately led to his downfall.  But though he was often slaughtered in the line of duty, the Founders chose to clone him a total of eight times.  These clones sometimes varied (one even defected from the Dominion in the hope of insuring peace), but each Weyoun was mostly the same as the last.  In particular, they all displayed a fanatical loyalty to the Dominion’s Founders.  “It is an honor to be summoned to your presence,” Weyoun says to one Founder during the show’s final season, bowing his head and spreading his hands in deference.  In that moment, it is clear that his devotion to his masters is thoroughly sincere.  And yet in his voice you still hear traces of that grinning madman, who delights even at the thought of blood being shed.

THE FEMALE CHANGELING One of the most wonderful aspects of “Deep Space Nine” was that nearly every main character on the show had their own personal nemesis.  The story was rife with adversarial duos (Sisko and Dukat, Bashir and Sloan, for example) who didn’t just meet on the battlefield—they spent real time together, arguing different perspectives through conversation, rather than just trading blows.  As a result, they all formed powerfully intimate and volatile bonds, but I confess there is one such relationship I prefer that above all others.  It is the dreamlike, seductive war between Odo and the Female Changeling. 

            In many ways, the Female Changeling was the person Odo had waited to meet his whole life.  Despite a rewarding career as Deep Space Nine’s chief of security, he remained anguished by the fact that he appeared to be alone in the universe.  His amazing abilities—from his natural liquid state, he could take on almost any form, including the humanoid appearance he adopted for work—weren’t shared by anyone he’d ever met.  So when he finally set foot on his home world and was greeted by the Female Changeling, it concluded nearly thirty years of anguish and isolation.

            Alas, the Female Changeling was not what Odo expected.  At first she surprised him with her unnervingly holistic outlook.  Unlike Odo, who spent most of his time in humanoid form, she believed that to be a Changeling was to constantly take on different shapes, to simply experiment by existing as a bird, a branch, or even a cloud.  “To become a thing,” she tells Odo, “is to know a thing.  To assume its form is to understand its existence.”  Such a concept was compelling in itself, but there was another dimension to the Female Changeling’s beliefs as well—to her, those who could not change form (known as “Solids”) were inferior.  Still carrying bitter memories of the days when Solids had hunted and brutalized Changelings, she chose to oppress and control numerous humanoid races by taking her place as one of the dictatorial leaders of the Dominion.  “Why control anyone?” Odo asks her.  Her reply?  “Because what you can control can’t hurt you.”

            Absolute faith in the superiority of her race was a key part of the Female Changeling’s allure because in defending those beliefs, she represented a simultaneously utopian and totalitarian fantasy.  It was a balance—she often dwelt in peace with other Changelings (merging her mind and body with them to form an ocean known as “The Great Link”), but she also commanded a limitless fleet of warships that could be dispatched to any planet to unleash armies, or even horrific plagues.  Thus, the way her life blended these displays of power with blithe spirituality made for a fascinating juxtaposition, especially since it was all based upon a desire to preserve and protect her people.  And even then, there was more to her than that.  The Female Changeling wasn’t compelling solely because of how she thought.  No, everything about her was mesmerizing—her calm voice, punctuated by throaty articulations; her smooth, texture-free face, completed by a skin-toned dress that rendered her form clean and unbroken; and the way she always seemed thoroughly unflappable, even in the heat of battle.  Of course there were rare occasions when she lost control of her emotions but when she did, the results were hypnotically brutal.

            As you can probably gather, the Female Changeling was not a particularly good person.  And yet I still find myself sympathizing with her above almost all of the other characters on the show.  I love that something otherworldly about her; she was not of this world and therefore her every appearance carried the weight of surreal drama.  Still despite all that, I often feared for her.  The heroes of the show were always protected—as protagonists, their victory was assured.  By contrast, the Female Changeling was doomed to fail by the oppressive power of the show’s writers, who cast her as an immoral force to be conquered.  In that way she was one of the only truly vulnerable characters in the story and that made me care about her all the more.

            As I think back on the Female Changeling’s many appearances, I am reminded of how often her presence elevated the show.  Yet I have a slight preference for the wonderful season six episodes in which she reunites with Odo, trying to help him explore what it means to be a Changeling.  Just listen to her words of wisdom for him when he realizes he’s missed a meeting: “You have been living with the Solids’ concept of time for too long.  Let them worry about their meetings.  You are a Changeling!  You are timeless.  As am I.”

Corner Characters Part Two: Traitors and Renegades

CONTINUING ANALYSIS OF THE MINOR CHARACTERS

FROM "STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE" by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 Above: Kenneth Marshall as Lt. Commander Michael Eddington

EDDINGTON Like all “Star Trek” shows, “DS9” focused on Starfleet, an organization that focuses both on the exploration and defense of space.  But the Starfleet officers of this show were not like their predecessors.  Many made horrifying mistakes, some were downright amoral, and a few were even traitors.  Among these was the eager security officer known as Lieutenant Commander Michael Eddington.

            Initially, Eddington seemed like a model officer.  He was a by-the-book man, unwilling to break the law when the circumstances invited it, and in possession of a receding hairline and pale visage that rendered him pleasantly milquetoast.  Little did we know that in between sucking up to his superiors, he was secretly working for the Maquis, a renegade terrorist group fighting against the Cardassians.

            It was not until almost two years after his initial appearance on the show that Eddington’s treachery was revealed and it was soon after that he became truly interesting.  It turned out that he was not a serious freedom fighter, but a man swept up in the tragic romance of fighting for a lost cause.  A avid reader of Victor Hugo’s Les Misérable, he fancied himself to be a tragic figure like Jean Valljean.  He was a noble hero, raging against the establishment, breaking the law for the good of the many with as much gumption as he could muster.

            Towards the end of his time on the show, Eddington received a harsh taste of reality when he was forced to surrender himself to the show’s protagonist, Captain Sisko.  Yet Eddington’s spirits were unhampered—even when he lost, he kept his demented spirits up.  Just watch him blabber about his lucky coin with a loon on it to Sisko.  As he crows about what he calls his “lucky loony,” he is revealed to be a man so joyfully, dementedly passionate that you can’t help but root for him, even if he is living in a dream.

SLOAN Throughout “DS9,” a number of secret espionage organizations appeared as villains, notably devious factions like the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shi’ar.  But whereas those organizations belonged to enemy governments, the elusive Section 31 was another matter—a ruthlessly inhumane cabal sanctioned by Starfleet itself.  For the most part, Section 31’s operatives remained unseen but there was one who often visited the crew of Deep Space Nine.  His name was Luther Sloan.

            Clad in a spotless leather uniform and armed with a dangerous smile, Sloan was the consummate villain.  He had almost no morals; in fact, he even condoned genocide.  But what was even more fascinating was the brilliance he displayed in manipulating others, especially DS9’s heroic doctor, Julian Bashir.  When they first met, Sloan believed Bashir might be a double agent passing military secrets to the Dominion.  Once this proved false Sloan asked Bashir to join Section 31—an offer he accepted in the hope of destroying the organization from within.  But we soon learned that Sloan never really trusted Bashir; he simply needed a hapless, honest young man to serve as a pawn in his game.

            Ultimately, Sloan wore many guises.  In carrying out covert missions, he invented many cover stories for himself.  Once he posed as a grieving father out to avenge the death of his son; another time, he appeared as the deranged protégée, seeking justice for his murdered mentor.  But these comic book-style covers were there only to hide the real truth—that Sloan’s only true goal was to protect Starfleet, even if it meant killing billions.  Of course, he was not wholly unsympathetic.  In one of the last episodes in the series, Bashir converses with a dying Sloan, who tells him, “You are proof that ideology is a poor substitute for kindness and decency.”  But if Sloan really believed that, it was buried deep with the darkest shadows of his cruel conscience.

In Retrospect: "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine"

CORNER CHARACTERS: EXPLORING THE FRINGE FIGURES OF
"DEEP SPACE 9"  by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 

 

Left: Marc Alaimo as Dukat
in Season Four of the show

 

Have you ever found yourself watching a movie or television show and realized that your sympathies lay not with its heroes, but with its minor characters?  With the villains, seducers, and fools who fill the margins?  I have, especially as I’ve been watching “Deep Space Nine,” the third television series in the “Star Trek” franchise.  While I certainly found favorites within its main cast (especially the tortured, cantankerous shape-shifter Odo), I often found myself longing to be reunited with certain guest stars.  In fact, the main characters often seemed like vehicles for getting to know the supporting cast. 

            It is for this reason that I decided to take a deeper look into the minor characters of the show.  “Deep Space Nine” may be about the futuristic operators of the titular space station, but it is enriched immensely by the sparse presence of their casual friends and commendable adversaries.  To them, I dedicate the following (which will be presented in multiple parts) as we go deep into the shadows of one of the greatest shows of all time.

DAMAR Murderer.  Pawn.  Terrorist.  Revolutionary icon.  More than anything, Damar embodied the core meaning of “DS9”—that no one is simply a hero or simply a villain.  Of course in his early appearances, the man certainly seemed to be more of the later.  Grey-skinned and armored, Damar was a key figure in the Cardassian Union, a militaristic government whose exploits pushed it well towards an alien version of fascism.  But Damar was happy to be a part of this system, mainly because of his brotherly devotion to his superior, Gul Dukat.  It seemed as though that was how it was meant to be—Dukat issuing the orders, Damar determinedly following them.

            Then, everything changed.  When the Cardassians found themselves oppressed by the treacherous galactic power known as the Dominion, Damar stepped down from his ivory tower to lead a revolution against the occupying force.  In the process, he not only inspired his people but stepped into a leadership role with passion, forsaking not only his usual deference but also his chronic alcoholism.  Thus, he served as a reminder that even when we’re weak, we still have the potential to be leaders.

            There is one more thing to be mentioned about Damar, though.  In the final episode of “DS9,” he is shot and killed by Dominion soldiers in the midst of the revolution.  It’s a heroic end for a great man, but also tragic karma.  Damar, a man who murdered many, is murdered himself.  His death weighs heavy, but so do the deaths of those he killed in name of duty.

 DUKAT Damar was not the only Cardassian to change dramatically over the course of “DS9”—the same can be said of the enigmatic Gul Dukat, a villain who appeared multiple times during each season of the show.  But while his friend gradually grew into a man who could take pride in his convictions, Dukat’s beliefs shriveled and twisted into a web of madly arrogant inconsistencies.  And the worst part?  He’s not just a monster but a relatable despot, a man whose cruelty you can understand, even appreciate in some mad way.

            When Dukat struts onto the scene, he carries the weight of a dark history.  For years, he oversaw the Cardassian occupation of the planet Bajor, during which Bajorans were routinely enslaved, abused, and killed.  Dukat prided himself on presiding over this brutal state of oppression, but being an overlord was never enough.  For some strange reason, he became desperate to be loved by the Bajorans.  Despite using and exploiting them, he showed them small kindnesses (like abolishing child labor), trying to establish himself as both a dictator and a knight in shining armor.

            Any sane doctor would probably diagnose Dukat as a sick man, on par with the very worst of dictators.  And yet, he mad moments of humanity.  When he took in his estranged daughter Ziyal, he did it partly to prove how noble and fatherly he could be, but also because he truly did love her.  And when she was finally killed, Dukat’s spirit completely broke—he allowed all his careful plans for power to go up in flames, instead choosing to collapse into a heap, sobbing, “My precious girl…..”

            For most of “DS9,” Dukat remained an insecure, power-hungry lunatic, smiling and slaughtering with equal enthusiasm and ever in search of the respect of his enemies.  But Ziyal’s death altered him forever.  And while such an event might have humbled a better man, it simply drove Dukat even more insane.  Abandoning the pursuit of military power, he turned to religion, salving his wounds by becoming a satanic spiritual seeker.  The result led to his final demise, as he tumbled into the fiery depths of a certain kind of hell.

            Dukat’s final appearance is a fitting conclusion—it shows how deeply mad he is.  Yet as he screams nonsensically about setting the entire universe aflame, you can’t forget the man who cried while watching his daughter slip away.  Is Dukat truly evil?  Probably.  But he also has a desperate need both to receive and to give it, something which makes improbably and irrevocably human.

 

Movie Review: "Fruitvale Station" (Ryan Coogler, 2013)

IN LOVING MEMORY: "FRUITVALE" IS AN ODE TO OSCAR GRANT
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Ariana Neal and Michael B. Jordan in Mr. Coogler's film

If you’ve read any cinematic or real world news reports, you probably know what “Fruitvale Station” is—the story of Oscar Grant, a twenty-two year-old black man murdered by a white police officer in 2009.  To say the least, it’s a horrific thing the movie depicts, a brutal reminder that no matter what progress America makes, it will only be as good as the people who live in it.  And yet the film is not merely a meditation on Grant’s death.  It is more prominently about the last day of his life, and it immerses you in his routine so fully that there are times when you forget that soon it will all end.

            But why is this immersion so successful?  Part of it is the unfettered, melodrama-dodging tone of the film.  Early on, writer-director Ryan Coogler gives us a bedroom scene where Oscar (Michael B. Jordan) is cut down by his girlfriend Sophina (Melonie Diaz) regarding his recent infidelity.  In another film, this might be a heated, even operatic moment.  Cinematographer Rachel Morrison keeps her shaky camera at a slight distance and the dialogue is remarkably restrained.  There is no discussion of betrayal or trust; only Sophina’s utterance that she hates picturing Oscar with “that bitch.”

            According to the film, infidelity was the least of Oscar’s crimes.  He sometimes sold drugs and even served time in prison, which is shown in a wrenching flashback.  But while much has been made of this fact in reviews, I found that the movie made it impossible to doubt Oscar’s integrity.  Mr. Coogler and Mr. Jordan (who is at once steadfast and playful in the lead role) make us think not about the actions, but the man behind him.  The man who loves to play with his daughter.  The man who discusses marriage with a complete stranger downtown.  The man counts down to New Year’s Day on a BART train, crowded to the brim with joyous passengers.

            That moment on the train is by far one of the finest in the film.  While the BART is a morbid symbol throughout the story (the Fruitvale BART station is where Oscar was beaten and shot by the police), often shown rattling across sunny bridges like a herald of death, it’s also a place where people come together.  Watching Oscar shout “Happy New Year!” with the other passengers and sharing drinks with them, I felt some of their happiness.  In that moment, a group of people who don’t know each other still manage to celebrate and be happy together.

            If only it could last.  The celebration is interrupted when Oscar is pulled off the train by the police and then killed by them.  “You shot me,” he breathes as he lies on the pavement bleeding.  “I have a daughter….”  It’s hard to imagine anything quite so awful.  That moment may be only a fraction of the film but when you watch transpire, nothing else seems to exist except the hateful cruelty, the injustice, and all of the suffering Oscar’s family will now have to experience.

            Why show this onscreen?  To change the way of our world, no doubt about it.  But Mr. Coogler, his cast, and his crew don’t call us to action in so many words—they simply tells us who Oscar was on that last day, presenting the events with honesty and clarity.  There is no sensationalism; there is no explicit call for justice.  But there doesn’t need to be.  By the end, you know exactly what needs to change.     

Movie Review: "The Wolverine" (James Mangold, 2013)

HOWLING, LESS BOLDLY:

"THE WOLVERINE" LACKS THE PASSION OF ITS PREDACESSORS
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Ken Yamamura and Hugh Jackman run in a scene from the film 

As I began writing this review of “The Wolverine,” I realized something—I have been anticipating the film’s release for nearly four years.  In fact since the opening of its predecessor (2009’s “X-Men Origins: Wolverine”), I have followed every announcement regarding the sequel’s agonizing growing pains, from director Darren Aronofsky’s untimely defection from the project in 2011 to August 2012, when principal photography finally began.  Indeed, production seemed to be one episode of zesty turmoil after another, which begs the question—was it worth the wait?  In a word, mostly.  “The Wolverine” may be a milder, sillier breed of blockbuster, but it is a mostly agreeable adventure.  The storytelling may be slight, but as I watched the film, I began to feel that even if it wasn’t worthy of its predecessors, it was at least a satisfying supplement. 

            Still, at the beginning of the movie those precursors have been left far behind.  After a quick flashback to the bombing of Nagasaki in World War II, the film leaps vaguely into the future where the legendary warrior Logan, AKA Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) is brooding high in the mountains.  It seems that the former superhero has lost his way—burdened by grief and loneliness, he no longer uses his powers to fight for the greater good.  Instead, he mopes, using his famed metal claws mostly for slashing trees and putting dying bears out of their misery.  And while Logan does attempt to discipline some lawbreaking hunters in a bar, his attack is cruel and clumsy.  Clearly, he needs someone to give a reason to keep living.

            That someone turns out to be Yukio (Rila Fukushima), a sharp-witted, redheaded warrior who summons Logan to Tokyo.  At first, the invitation seems harmless—Yukio’s sole objective it to reunite Logan with Yashida, a dying corporate titan who owes our hero a debt.  Alas, there are other players in the game, including mobsters, ninjas (if this movie and “Batman Begins” are to be believed, nearly every twenty-first century human is secretly a ninja), and most importantly, Mariko (Tao Okamoto), Yashida’s granddaughter and intended heir to his empire.  Because she’s about to become the most powerful woman in Japan, Mariko becomes the target of various scheming sectors, all of whom have uniquely convoluted motives for assassinating her.  Luckily for her, Logan is on hand to find off these sinister assailants and, to put it mildly, “comfort” her (even though the movie’s best romantic sparks are between Mr. Jackman and Ms. Fukushima, who conveys an electric mixture of both toughness and amusement).

            To say the least, I can see how inserting Logan into this scenario might have appealed to director James Mangold and the film’s writers (Mark Bomback and Scott Frank, who rewrote an earlier draft by Christopher McQuarrie).  Of course, the fracturing of the Yashida dynasty provides the potential for physically deft action, but the prospect Logan being drawn into a world foreign to him is more compelling by far.  For all his travels, Logan never visited Asia in previous films and sending him to Japan suggests some interesting possibilities.  How is a man shaped when he enters a world so different from his own?  Time and time again, movies and real life have shown that such a journey can be transformative.

            Alas, Mr. Mangold does not appear interested in transformation.  That gloomy opening of the mountains is about the only scene that gives us a tangible sense of Logan’s inner life—once he lands in Tokyo, the film turns its attentions from emotional anguish to the intrigue in the Yashida clan a series of action scenes that are never particularly exhilarating.  Initially, the question of what secrets this mysterious and violent family might be hiding in its smooth wooden residences is intriguing, but none of the answers satisfy.  It turns out that nearly every character in the family are motivated by a one-dimensional quest for power so by the end, the allure of mystery is almost completely deflated.

            This is a shame because there are moments when “The Wolverine” threatens to become something more touching and emotional.  In the Nagasaki flashbacks, for instance, we see Logan saving Yashida’s life by shoving him into a deep pit when the atomic bomb is detonated.  Then later, both men clamber to the surface to behold the horrific destruction—a whole city, turned to a cloud of smoke and dust.  It is in this moment that the film seems to hint at some sort of powerful post-war commentary because it ties neatly into Logan’s early declaration to “never hurt anyone, ever again.”  After seeing a whole city destroyed, how could he say anything else?  At the climax of a lifetime of violence, the horror of war and death has struck him in the face, never more present the when he returns to Nagasaki and beholds its restored buildings as they gleam under the sun.  In that moment it looks beautiful but also fragile, because the tragedy of its destruction lingers still.

            If this scene were explored further, it could have helped “The Wolverine” develop an anti-war message in conjunction with Logan’s emotional journey.  But this never happens because rather than questioning Logan’s violent actions, the film sponges them clean—he slashes his enemies so fast that we never get a look at their wounds.  Only when Logan himself is wounded are we allowed to see some blood because apparently, it’s permissible to view the hero as vulnerable and human, just not his opponents.  In some films, such chaste violence can be a relief from gratuitous gore, but found this brand of sanitized violence at once dehumanizing and uninteresting.  We’re are never meant to understand Logan’s enemies as being anything other than soulless, stupid thugs who exist only to be tossed from hotel windows and hurled at top speed from the bullet train.  If Mr. Mangold had taken the time to make us sympathize with the Yashida clan’s many minions, it could granted the film not only a conscience, but a powerfully dramatic narrative.  But instead, he lets the characters’ personalities fade like melted butter, until they become as thin and flat as Ross Emery’s bright, weightless cinematography. 

            In the end, these offenses make “The Wolverine” one of Logan’s weaker adventures (when not going solo, he’s a regular fixture in the wonderful “X-Men” movies).  Yet it is still superior to most of the other 2013 summer blockbusters.  Rather than emulating the hectic jumpiness that’s become commonplace in superhero extravaganzas like “Iron Man 3” and “Man of Steel,” Mr. Mangold and editor Michael McCusker instill the film with a slow pace that allows suspense to burn gradually within the sleek halls of the Yashida residence.  Indeed, “The Wolverine” never feels hyperactive or overblown—for every wild, convoluted street fight, there’s a quiet or even comedic moment to counter it, like the scene where Logan and Mariko hide out in a “Mission to Mars” themed hotel room.  The film may not develop its characters fully, but it gives us a taste of the tragedy that haunts them all, enough so that you care about the outcome of the madness.

            So “The Wolverine” is not an utter failure.  But even if it were, I think I would have left the theater happy.  Why?  Because there, at the end of the film, is a teaser for Logan’s next adventure (“X-Men: Days of Future Past,” which opens May 23^RD of next year)—a deliciously alluring scene in which Mr. Jackman trades rough words with a magnificent Ian McKellen, who enters the film looking slick in a black overcoat and fedora.  And in that moment “The Wolverine,” with all its pleasures and disappointments, evaporates before your eyes because suddenly, only one thing matters.

            That once more, the best is yet to come.