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by Chris Barsanti

28 Jun 2008


Filmed back in 2004 but for some reason only trickling out into indie release now, Take Out is a video verite snapshot of a day in the life of a hapless Chinese delivery man trying to come up with hundreds of dollars to pay off a rapacious loan shark. While never trying to overdraw on the meager funds of this simple premise, the film contains a rich wealth of acutely observed sociological detail layered behind the pay-up-or-else storyline. There is no music, very little in the way of a script, and not much hope for a big payoff. Nevertheless, Take Out still stands as more of the more exciting indie releases of the year, inexplicably delayed though it may have been.

Co-written and -directed by Sean Baker, a former writer for Greg the Bunny, Take Out is cast entirely by nonprofessionals and was shot in surprisingly crisp video at a real Manhattan takeout joint up on 103rd and Amsterdam that the filmmakers rigged with microphones. The rhythms of the day are well observed, the opening and closing of the heavy iron shutters, the lunch and dinner rushes, and the endless haggling with customers trying to chisel just a little bit more (“I thought you said it was $3.25, not $4.25;” “Can I get more duck sauce?”).

Having been woken up earlier by the loan shark’s goons who left a warning in the form of a bruising hammer blow to his back, Ming Ding (a moon-faced Charles Jang) borrows over $600 in a couple frantic hours, but is left with a day’s work to make the final $150. After a friendly co-worker lets him take all the deliveries in order to maximize tips, Ming spends the day biking through rain and traffic, delivering to businesses, the projects, luxury apartments, and tiny walk-ups. After a half-hour or so of this, the average viewer will be reduced to Ming’s tunnel vision, eagerly watching every dollar that the customers give out, grimacing at the constant slights (“No speakee English?!”) and overwhelmingly thankful for the tiniest glimpses of human warmth.

For Ming, life in America is all about the looking in, usually just a glimpse of another crowded New York apartment (some elegant, many not so). Amidst the squalling traffic and relentless rain, even the claustrophobic restaurant—the kind of place where the faded photos of all the dishes are on display, and they also serve fries and chicken wings—with its tight-knit band of workers seems like a harbor in the storm. Having put his parents in debt to get to America, leaving behind a wife and a son born after he left, Ming has nobody but these fellow immigrants (most of whom seem to be illegal) to look out for him and no real connection to this raging, squalling, honking city but the money.

At some point Ming may become like the assured pair of cooks who spend the film expertly flinging food in and out of their woks—the filmmakers keep a journalist’s eye on the workings of the restaurant, particularly the voluble Big Sister (effortlessly scene-stealing Wang-Thye Lee) who runs the counter and phone like a master conductor —or he may easily fall the other way, into destitution or deportation. The lack of any safety apparatus or backup plan whatsoever is never spelled out but looms there nonetheless.

There are some who will say that they will never think the same way about ordering Chinese takeout after seeing this film. These, of course, are probably just people who have never had to take minimum-wage (or less) service industry positions in life, and so need to be prodded by something like this film to even consider the lives of those who serve them. But carping about class issues aside, there is something to the idea that Take Out does a service by taking its viewpoint from the outside. Here, the aliens are those strange people who open up their doors for the deliveryman and sigh impatiently as he counts out their change, griping out getting chicken instead of beef or how long the delivery took. Some will at least think twice about welshing on a tip after seeing Take Out, which is more effect than many films with one thousand times the budget have on society.

by Bill Gibron

27 Jun 2008


By its very definition, imagination is limitless. The only true restrictions to the notion exist in the connection to actual human thought. Clearly, whoever is hiring (or perhaps, cloning) the creative forces at Pixar have found a way to circumvent said biological boundary. In an artistic endeavor where there are no sure things, this astounding animation studio has that most unprecedented of reputations - they never make a mistake. Not only are their films fantastic examples of motion picture craftsmanship, but they keep getting better with each and every new offering. Take their latest, the special sci-fi allegory WALL*E. It a stunning achievement in computer generated imagery, and once again expands the company’s range in dealing with subject matter both speculative and wonderfully sly.

It’s been 700 years since humans inhabited Earth. Leaving it in an environmentally decimated state, waste removal robots are the only thing left behind. Their job - to compact and eliminate the mess. Centuries later, all that’s left is one surviving unit. WALL*E is a determined little droid that has developed a sort of consciousness. Picking through the rubble while listening to songs from Hello Dolly on his internal recording unit, the small service entity spends his days building skyscrapers out of trash. At night, however, he appears lonely, pining for someone, or perhaps something, besides his cockroach companion to share his dump-derived treasure trove. His prayers are answered one day in the form of EVE. She’s a automated sentry looking for any signs of life returning to the planet. Though she seems to have little time for our tin hero, he is instantly smitten. And when she has to leave, he’s not letting her go away.

While the aforementioned synopsis only addresses the first 25 minutes or so of WALL*E, to go any further would ruin this brilliant film’s many discernible delights. There is also a need for a narrative caveat - don’t believe the hype that Disney is dishing out over this latest supposed kiddie fare. This is not Pixar’s version of Robots, or a cutesy combination of silent comedy and Silent Running. Instead, this is complex, comparative evaluation of a planet and a people out of control, a coolly cynical (and often quite touching) swipe at junk culture, ‘Superstore’ suburban society, and all those who require comfort as their waistlines expand to match the malaise. If those statements fail to make sense, don’t be too distressed. After watching this fascinating film, you’ll completely understand what writer/director Andrew Stanton is after.

As the mind behind many of Pixar’s biggest hits - Toy Story, Monster’s Inc., Finding Nemo - Stanton is clearly reaching for a more mature theme here, one that centers on clear cause and effect, reality and revisionism, and an unspoken need for ecological concern. The first third of the film, taking place within a sadly scorched environment, hints at consumerism gone chaotic. All around are remnants of shopping centers, mega-marts, and harsh hard sell advertising. At times, WALL*E closely resembles John Carpenter’s cautionary satire They Live, only in this future shock society, the mandates to ‘buy or die’ are not subliminal…and definitely not of invading alien design. When EVE arrives, WALL*E stretches the subtext even further, her scanning ray rendering everything she explores “red”, or “inhabitable” - including the cityscapes which once defined civilization. 

How some small fry raised on a routine diet of previous Pixar anthropomorphized animals will react to this material is intriguing, since it stands in sharp contrast to the stunt casting standards usually found within the genre. WALL*E speaks in a strange electronic whine, occasional blips enunciating actual words. EVE is more coherent, singular statements like “Directive” and “Plant” easily understood. But Stanton is much more interested in character development than any internal game of name that celebrity. This is the least fame driven collection of any Pixar company, many behind the scenes staying more or less unrecognizable. And while the visual antics are intriguing and downright clever, most of the jokes take place in locales that will test a wee one’s personal patience.

Once the story moves interstellar, so to speak, things get even dicier. WALL*E works best when you’re in on the razz, and no one under the age of 12 will get the insightful inferences. They will see the circumstances, the disconnect between people and place, the blob like behavior of a populace that no longer cares, and scratch their pointed little heads. Sure, the malfunctioning robot gang that becomes our heroes’ protectors, and some of the mesmerizing anarchic action sequences, will clearly keep younger audiences tuned in, but what’s self evident within WALL*E‘s world is that, for once, Pixar has purposefully inserted a far more complicated and multi-layered concept of story inside its flawlessly rendered designs.

And what a gorgeous set of images they are. WALL*E announces yet another massive leap in technological talent for the fabled filmmakers, a textural, tactile quality that continues to push CG 3D into uncharted artistic arenas. The visual element really helps sell much of what Stanton and crew are commenting on, the vast vistas with their epic scope and suggestive details filling the screen with more eye candy than even the most seasoned cinematic sugar junky can handle. If there is one minor flaw here, a pet peeve for those of us who enjoy good science fiction, it’s that WALL*E doesn’t spend more time in and around the dead planet. A mind could free associate for hours on the prophetic pictures that Pixar chooses to paint. Along with the tale told, we have quality of an unmatched caliber.

Of course, the animation giant has once again set itself up for one of the mightiest of (potential) falls. As each film opens, as Oscars continue to poor in, as accolades build and revisionist criticism starts to bubble, it’s hard to see where the company can go next. And you just know there are dozens of A/V villains out there waiting for Pixar to tank, to provide a problematic flop that fails to live up to Ratatouille‘s tenderness, Nemo‘s naturalism, Monsters’ amazing sense of invention, or The Incredibles aced super heroism. Hopefully, it never happens, but if it does, Stanton and his gang can probably point to WALL*E as the beginning of the end. When you raise the bar as high as this, down seems the only logical next step. If anyone can buck such motion picture providence, it’s this unflappable filmmaking co-op. A masterpiece like WALL*E proves that perfectly.

by Bill Gibron

26 Jun 2008


Feel that heat? Summer just continues to sizzle. For 24 June, here are the films in focus:

Wanted [rating: 9]

...if they’re not careful, those Marvel superheroes better watch out. Wanted could usurp their position as 2008’s best popcorn escape.

Hollywood is notorious for repeating ideas. When something is successful, you can guarantee studio suits are desperate to find a way of copying it. With this Friday’s release of Wanted, something even more unusual takes place. While it’s clear that this movie borrows liberally from the Wachowski’s action packed bullet time virtual reality revisionism, it also incorporates much of Fight Club‘s insignificant rebel in a crass corporate pond philosophizing. Together, the combination adds up to a strangely unique experience. On the one hand, you easily recognize the various references. On the other, Russian director Timur Bekmambetov uses the homage as a means of manufacturing his own incredible vision.read full review…


Wall*E [rating: 10]

WALL*E announces yet another massive leap in technological talent for the fabled filmmakers, a textural, tactile quality that continues to push CG 3D into uncharted artistic arenas.


By its very definition, imagination is limitless. The only true restrictions to the notion exist in the connection to actual human thought. Clearly, whoever is hiring (or perhaps, cloning) the creative forces at Pixar have found a way to circumvent said biological boundary. In an artistic endeavor where there are no sure things, this astounding animation studio has that most unprecedented of reputations - they never make a mistake. Not only are their films fantastic examples of motion picture craftsmanship, but they keep getting better with each and every new offering. Take their latest, the special sci-fi allegory WALL*E. It a stunning achievement in computer generated imagery, and once again expands the company’s range in dealing with subject matter both speculative and wonderfully sly.  read full review…


Standard Operating Procedure [rating: 8]

In some ways, Standard Operating Procedure is too appalling to appreciate. It’s like watching the Nuremberg Trials, Nazis purposefully passing the buck higher and higher up, fully aware that no one above a certain rank is around to take the blame.

As the old saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. In the case of the horrifying images witnessed by the world as part of the investigation of Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, very little of said commentary centered on context. The acts inferred by the photos were shocking, even more so when placed alongside the Bush Administration rhetoric that the United States was functioning as “liberators” and “peacekeepers” in a nation already haunted by a ruthless, tyrannical dictator. Yet there were photos of American soldiers, seemingly torturing, humiliating, and endangering the lives of so-called ‘enemy combatants’, all in the name of the War on Terror. read full review…


The Counterfeiters [rating: 8]

What’s clear about The Counterfeiters is that it is intended to be a Holocaust film where the archetypal facets associated with the era are reduced to a filmic footnote.


By now, you’d figure that the Holocaust and the Nazi persecution of European Jews would be all tapped out, creatively. After all, the last three decades have seen numerous media exposés and artistic interpretations. From the sublime to the subjective, Hitler’s Final Solution is one of the most well worn (and historically necessary) subjects tackled by filmmakers, and yet the potential storylines seem never ending. A perfect example is the 2008 Best Foreign Film winner Die Fälscher (translation: The Counterfeiters). Telling the true story of underworld crime figure Salomon Sorowitsch and his forced labor efforts on behalf of his SS captors, we wind up witnessing one of the most unusual and effective views of this undeniably horrific time ever offered. read full review…


Married Life [rating: 4]

There will definitely be an audience for this kind of slow burn situational potboiler, but for many, there will be too much stagnancy and not enough sizzle


Marriage might just be the perfect cinematic allegory. You can infer so many differing metaphoric elements in the dissection of why men and women marry - and sometimes separate - that the permutations appear endless. There’s the emotional facet, the sexual supposition, the commitment and loyalty facets, and of course, the scandal ridden and adulterous angles. Together with an equal array of stylistic approaches, we wind up with a veritable cornucopia of combinations, a wealth of possibilities linked invariably to the age old notion of vows taken and knots tied. So why is it that Ira Sachs period piece drama, Married Life, is so downright flat? Could it be that this filmmaker has finally found the one cinematic category - the noir-tinged whodunit - that defies matrimony’s easy explanations and illustrations? read full review…


The Legend of God’s Gun [rating: 9]

...a shot on video fever dream filtered through the latest high tech post-production optical candy factories to produce one of the most original and unforgettable films of the newly crowned “noughts”.


It’s an interesting time for the once dead film genre known as the Western. Ever since Clint Eastwood snagged an Oscar for his “revisionist” revival of the spiraling cinematic favorite, post-modern moviemakers have embraced a more deconstructed version of the oater. In their mind, the standard element of black hat/white hat, good vs evil no longer holds sway in a society far more ambiguous and ethically unsure. While recent horse operas have tried to trade on those wholesome, old fashioned values (the recently released 3:10 to Yuma), others have actually tried to dig deeper into that dilemma. The 2006 Australian hit The Proposition was one such example, as is the upcoming Brad Pitt ‘epic’ The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Both movies see the stereotypical symbolism inherent in the category as a means of making larger, more metaphysical points.  read full review…

by Bill Gibron

26 Jun 2008


As the old saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. In the case of the horrifying images witnessed by the world as part of the investigation of Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, very little of said commentary centered on context. The acts inferred by the photos were shocking, even more so when placed alongside the Bush Administration rhetoric that the United States was functioning as “liberators” and “peacekeepers” in a nation already haunted by a ruthless, tyrannical dictator. Yet there were photos of American soldiers, seemingly torturing, humiliating, and endangering the lives of so-called ‘enemy combatants’, all in the name of the War on Terror.

Now, Errol Morris, acclaimed director of such fascinating documentaries as The Thin Blue Line, Gates of Heaven, and The Fog of War, wants to uncover the background of this unapologetic policy stain. Via interviews with those involved, those supervising or overseeing the American-occupied Iraq prison system, those charged with prosecuting and/or court marshalling the participants, and those who really were in the country to conduct covert coercion of detainees, a slightly bigger picture develops. What we learn is that some of the rumored atrocities were nothing more than SOP - military slang for ‘standard operating procedure’. While they looked unconscionable, what was depicted was part of a typical war time work method.

That many of these images are excusable is Morris’ first major revelation. The press is branded as premeditated in its automatic denouncement, especially when we learn that some of the stills were staged in order to show brass that action was being taken to retrieve the mandated intelligence. Certainly, not every excuse is plausible, and the frequently featured face of Lynndie England, gaze fixed with a beaming grin and fist constantly poised with a congratulatory “thumbs up” gesture, seems inappropriate for what is happening in the foreground. Yet the ex-soldier, present and accounted for, tries to convince us that her involvement was a matter of juvenile puppy love and personal inexperience.

More times than not, Morris lets his interviewees tap into that ever-popular ‘just following orders’ mantra that means nothing within the concept of human morality and individual ethos. Some literally choke on the words, working them out of their obviously guilty mouths like the bad taste of some long digested disease. At other instances, there is an honesty that ripples across the screen, keeping us from instantly condemning the individual speaking. Sabrina Harman, constantly referenced as the main person responsible for taking the photos, seems stunned that she was even present, her coy on-camera demeanor and telling letters to home (excerpted for voice over narration) suggesting she objected, but also couldn’t contradict a chain of command that ordered prisoners be “softened up” for later interrogation.

Explanation does help here. The sexual nature of the images was a direct response to what the Brass saw as an “Islamic machismo” among the population. As a patently paternalistic society, the emasculating means of mistreated the prisoners had a clear overtone of religious ridicule. Similarly we hear stories of how the detainees threw human waste at their captors and caused violent diversions in hope of escaping. While Standard Operating Procedure barely touches on this, it’s clear that Abu Ghraib had a simultaneous set of problems - those of a typical penitentiary and the addition of a calculated, controlled system of US approved questioning and information extraction. Shockingly, torture is never denied - it’s just argued against within the backdrop of many of the photos.

In some ways, Standard Operating Procedure is too appalling to appreciate. It’s like watching the Nuremberg Trials, Nazis purposefully passing the buck higher and higher up, fully aware that no one above a certain rank is around to take the blame. Equally unsettling is the lack of that one element that President George W. Bush and his Texas troubadours always seem to avoid - accountability. Colonel Janis Karpinski, demoted from Brigadier General, sees the tag placed upon her as political retribution for outing former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and his role in approving such treatment. In the end, we feel shocked and saddened that our nation could fall so far from the tenets of humane treatment simply to strike fear into the hearts of men who may or may not have played a part in any pre or post 9/11 attacks on Americans, both at home and abroad.

While disturbing and quite fascinating, the film itself is not without controversy. In trying to illustrate the various points brought out in the testimony, Morris goes back to his tried and true habit of reenacting the atrocities. While never very graphic in nature, these well-executed scenes seem to be spitting in the face of those who argue that the media, and its manipulation of this material, failed to tell the entire story. And no matter how much truth there is, a lens languishing on a pool of blood or the naked body of a dead prisoner, dramatic lighting and music accenting the horror, does little to support or sidestep their statements.

Morris is also been lambasted for paying the participants of Standard Operating Procedure, a notion that again, seems to defy the aesthetic accepted by documentarians around the world. Of course, the filmmaker’s response is matter of fact - if he didn’t pay them, they wouldn’t participate. Still, there is something unseemly about people desperate to clear their name only doing so if there’s a paycheck involved. Sure, many in the Abu Ghraib case seem to have been scapegoated to save a sagging foreign policy that polarizes everything about the Iraq situation, but true innocence is usually argued openly, and for free. A check at the end feels like truth being bought - or even worse - created for the sake of some coin.

No one is questioning Morris’ motives, and he has been quite vocal in dismissing allegations that he’s avoiding certain elements. In the end, Standard Operating Procedure is about the preparation of a set of charges, and an eventual legal defense, against actions that appear to have way too much of the former and very little of the latter. The labeling of certain images - men posed next to each other in the nude, staged suggestions of fictional torture - as simply part of the process may bring about an uncomfortable chuckle as the classification is explained. But there is little to laugh about in this clear military calamity…and while many were jailed, it will be the American people who pay the price for this blunder. It’s a sentence that will last must longer than any time served, or any contextualized illustration.

by Bill Gibron

25 Jun 2008


When it was first announced that George Lucas, Harrison Ford, and Stephen Spielberg were contemplating a fourth dip back into the Indiana Jones franchise and the character’s wishing well of good will, there were immediate red flags. The first was perhaps the most disconcerting - Lucas had just successful sunk his formerly viable Star Wars series, and most of the prequel problems came directly from the movie mogul’s hands-on approach to the material (scripting, directing). The acknowledged king of the popcorn blockbuster at least guaranteed someone sane - and skilled - behind the lens, but Lucas was still going to handpick the story to be told…and the individual to write the all important screenplay.

In the past, the scripts for the Indiana Jones films were crafted by some fairly impressive scribes. Raiders of the Lost Ark saw Lucas share story credit with Philip Kaufman (Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Right Stuff) while Lawrence Kasdan got the nod to polish the plotlines. Temple of Doom had American Graffiti‘s husband and wife team of William Huyck and Gloria Katz behind the typewriter, while the Last Crusade employed Menno Meyjes (The Color Purple) and Jeffrey Boam (The Dead Zone, Innerspace) to bring the trilogy to an end. So of course, the first question many fans had was - who would write installment #4. Oddly enough, the first name tossed around put everyone at ease.

While he is many things, Frank Darabont is definitely a smart, intelligent filmmaker. After spending most of the ‘80s writing genre junk like A Nightmare on Elm Street 3, and The Fly II, he landed a gig helping bring the exploits of everybody’s favorite archeologist/adventurer to the small screen. From 1992 to 1993, he helped fashion the Young Indiana Jones Chronicles into a cult hit. Of course, 1994 saw him finally break out into the big leagues, his adaptation of Stephen King’s Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption turning into one of the most beloved films of the decade (and in some circles, all time). So he seemed like a natural to retrofit the aging character for a post-millennial mindset.

Of course, with all things Indy, Lucas made sure his imprint was all over the proposed plot. Certain elements had to be part of the updated environment. The Cold War would be substituted for WWII, Soviets would stand in for Nazis, Jones would be reunited with a famous face from the past, and the main narrative element would center around ancient astronauts, aka aliens, and the infamous crystal skulls that supposedly suggest that previous civilizations were inspired by (or perhaps started by) these visitors from another realm. It was a tall order, but if anyone could pull these divergent elements together, it was Darabont.

That was back in 2003! Now, five years later, we have the finished film, a semi-successful jumpstart of the entire Indiana Jones universe, with the possibility of more to follow. Strangely enough, Darabont’s name is nowhere to be found. While Lucas and Speed 2/Rush Hour 2‘s Jeff Nathanson are given story credit, it is David Koepp who earns the coveted WGA nod. Responsible for a myriad of projects both good (War of the Worlds, Spider-Man) and mediocre (Snake Eyes, The Trigger Effect), he now sits on the final screenplay, maestro of the character’s move into a golden sunset retirement.

Those uninspired by the Summer hit openly questioned what happened to Darabont’s draft. After all, this is an Ain’t It Cool News world, a place where films are reviewed and critiques confirmed BEFORE casting is even considered. Recent efforts like Rocky Balboa, Rob Zombie’s reimagined Halloween, and Speed Racer all got a going over before the first frame of celluloid could be shot. So the lack of a legitimate Darabont script seemed suspicious. After all, Lucas loves to keep a lid on his process, the better to keep the potential detractors at bay. And the pre-publicity junket provided the brave game face that marketers need to have their movie make money.

But you just knew that, somewhere along the line, Darabont’s version (entitled Indiana Jones and The City of the Gods) would eventually turn up. And supposedly, it has. About three weeks ago, 11 June, G4TV’s The Feed - along with several other sites - ran reviews of what they called “a bootleg copy” of the script. Available for a short while in a PDF file, those lucky enough to grab a look (before it was summarily removed from the web) learned a shocking fact - many of the elements fans complained about in part four were nowhere to be found in Darabont’s draft. Even more disconcerting, Lucas’ money grubbing mitts seem to have guided the film away from its origins and more toward a crass, commercial feasibility.

Perhaps the biggest difference between what Darabont created and the final product is the lack of a certain character named Mutt. The adolescent rebel without a clear creative cause (except, perhaps, to carry on the Jones’ legacy in another franchise of films) is nowhere to be found in City of the Gods, while he more or less dominates the last two thirds of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Many view this character as a pure Lucas contrivance, an unnecessary link to Indiana Jones’ past that exists only to further the series’ future installment prospects. Making matters worse, new neo-teen it boy Shia LeBeouf got the nod, indicating that in action adventure terms, the flavor of the moment defies artistic advantage.

Mutt’s absence aside, the other major element gone from Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is bad gal diva dominatrix Col. Dr. Irina Spalko. In her place - which really is a loss considering that the indomitable Cate Blanchett would be out of the film as well - City of the Gods has a series of unclear culprits, individuals who all want a piece of the glass head action. Even more intriguing, the actual aliens themselves are made into villains by Darabont, evil in their desire to keep the skull’s secrets away from the modern world, if you will. If there is one weakness in this occasionally talky script, it’s the lack of a clear antagonist. Indy always seems to work better when he’s up against a Belloq, an evil cult, or those bedeviling Germans of the Third Reich.

What’s increased in Darabont’s draft is the involvement of Marion Ravenwood. As we learn during Kingdom‘s first act University of Chicago chase, Mutt has a mother named Marion. Much later on, we are reintroduced to the Raiders fave, Karen Allen bringing the same spunk and drive to the part that she did back in 1981. The thing is, as soon as she’s introduced, the new film treats her like luggage, a grinning goon carry-on that simply enjoys basking in her former lover’s presence. Of course, in Koepp’s script, she’s mother material, giving Indy a biological link to the sequel shape of things to come. 

But Darabont actually treats Marion like an important part of the story. She is more sidekick than cast off, back to the original role she played during the hunt for the Ark of the Covenant. She’s determined, not domesticated, a capable partner in this latest hunt. Clearly, Lucas didn’t want nostalgia usurping a potential payoff, so City of the Gods’ take on this material was tossed aside. In its place was a moment of fanboy fodder, followed by little else. Indeed, while reading over Darabont’s script, many of the elements audiences complained about (the A-bomb/frig escape, the giant ants) are present, but handled in a serious, sobering manner (something Spielberg tried to match in his work behind the lens).

The last big difference rests in one of Kingdom‘s weakest subtexted - the notion of Indiana Jones as a potential communist sympathizer. The McCarthy era element within the storyline is quickly shuttled aside for more of Mutt’s Wild One vagueness, and the whole notion that, somehow, during the War, our hero could have turned (especially after helping the Soviets steal the Area 51 secrets) is played as pointless. In Darabont’s script, Indy is actually friends with one Yuri Makovsky from the USSR. It makes the eventual betrayal more plausible, palatable, and the questions of his motives much easier to accept.

Of course, Darabont tosses in the action. There is a wonderful bi-plane scuffle, and a last act denouement which, while not quite the optical spectacle delivered by Spielberg in the actual film’s finale, does provide the requisite send-off. Elsewhere, Indy’s dad makes an appearance, as do other characters missing from Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. If you believe that this really is Darabont’s work (he loved his version so much that when Lucas rejected it, he asked for pal Spielberg to intervene), then what is clear is that, while his boss wanted a way to reinvent the franchise with a new lead (Mutt Jones and the Soda Shop of Death! ) City of the Gods was attempting something far more tenuous - pleasing the fans while finding a way to update the material after 16 years away from the fray.

Many have noted that Lucas, already a pariah among even the most devoted fans of his previous efforts, cleary mandated a certain type of script, one that relied on occasional drops into junk culture juvenilia for the sake of a certain demographic (can you say Jar Jar Binks???).  He never intended the 200X Indiana Jones for adults, believing - rightly or wrongly - that the character remains forever cemented to its Saturday kiddie matinee serial roots. And no one knows if Darabont’s particular vision would stay intact throughout the production process, a system that sees stars, producers, studios, and eventual focus groups adding their trademark two cents.

But one can dream - and in that capacity, Indiana Jones and the City of the Gods by Frank Darabont (or whomever) provides that point of conjecture. It reminds us of how manufactured most movies are, the creative committee stretching far beyond the simple mandates of a wide-eyed aficionado. That anything good comes out of such a struggle seems impossible, and yet the eventual release of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull hit more marks than it missed. Would Darabont have been equally successful? One never knows. But what’s clear is that, in a battle for the final word, there was Lucas’ way, or the highway. All roads lead to his take on this material, for good and for bad - just like the fans worried about way back when.

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