By its very definition, a victim is someone who is “injured, destroyed, or sacrificed” or “subjected to oppression, hardship, or mistreatment.”  For said individual (or group), the crime is often less difficult than the aftermath. In the moment, the harm comes quickly and without anticipation. In those long, often equally painful days/weeks/months/years afterwards, the mind goes into a tailspin while the physical wounds, if any, heal and scar over. Things fester. They rot. The result is a changed human being, a person no longer lacking a tag. Call it victim, or perhaps survivor, but the truth remains that they have been changed forever. Only ‘owning’ what happened to them, that psychological shell game that purports to empower the damaged and distraught, can one supposedly walk upright again and move on.

Alternative titles: It’s the End of the World as We Know It (and Roger Feels Fine); The Day After the Day After.

POSITIVES:

Starts with a bang, literally, and ends with a great onscreen caption.

Claustrophobic and surprisingly tense character study.

Cult director Roger Corman does a lot on a tight budget.

Shadowy hints of monster effectively build suspense.

They’re supposed to be the hip alternative to the Oscars and the Golden Globes, a better cultural gauge than the People’s Choice and a last man standing survivor amongst the many Spike/Blockbuster wannabes. It’s had categories like Most Desirable Male/Female, Best Dance Sequence, and Best Sandwich in a Movie. Currently, among all the mainstays, it addresses choices like Best Gut-Wrenching Performance, Best Scared as Shit Performance, and Best Kiss. Indeed, over its 21 years in existence, the MTV Movie Awards have argued that, more than any other mainstream celebration of cinema, they have their finger on the pulse of the under 30 populace.

For live action features, there is no city like Paris. The bistros. The sidewalk cafes. The bakeries filled with baguettes and croissant. The nightclubs with their exotic can-can dancers. Every cliche in the cinematic book. Fimmakers from Woody Allen to innumerable French auteurs like Renoir and Chabrol love the gorgeous city of light. It exudes elegance and romance. It offers stunning locations and famous landmarks. It’s a backdrop with a bounty of available angles and approaches. It’s also an easy symbol, shortcut for emotions otherwise needing explanation or examination. Of course, not every genre finds the town as tantalizing. While cartoons occasionally visit the banks of the River Seine (it’s the home to Pepe Le Pew, after all), most pen and ink offerings avoid the city.

With the recent announcement that Pixar, those purveyors of flawless (?) animated family films, was once again going back to the base for a sequel to the fan favorite Finding Nemo, a question has arisen among cartoon connoisseurs. To paraphrase said sentiment—are the masters of mainstream computer animation looking to be more creative, or more commercial? Posited another way, the issue becomes one of corporate interference, business model meddling, and a true lack of pundit perspective. Granted, John Lasseter and the gang stumbled a bit with Cars 2 (seen by many as made for merchandising reasons only) and Brave (which may have won the Oscar but few true converts), but for the most part, their reputation has remained unsullied…