Iron Man

Director: Jon Favreau

Cast: Robert Downey Jr., Terrence Howard, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jeff Bridges, Shaun Toub, Faran Tahir, Leslie Bibb

Paramount Pictures; US: 2 May 2008; UK: 2 May 2008; 2008

Official Site

Dear Marvel Comics:

Get ready. If rumors are true, and you are indeed lowballing Jon Favreau out of participation in Iron Man 2 (a story now supported by both Ain’t It Cool News and IESB.net), you’re signing your company’s industry death warrant. Now, you might think that statement is a little harsh, but let’s look at the facts, shall we. Driven by a desire to see your characters treated with respect and reverence, you branched out into production to secure said status. After deciding on Iron Man as your first project, you hired Favreau, let him push the unproven Robert Downey, Jr. into the starring role, and held your breath for the results.

And what did you get in return? Well, the film is headed toward $600 million worldwide, is destined to be the must-own Christmas DVD extravaganza of 2008, and the film has an astonishing 93% approval rating at Rotten Tomatoes (by comparison, last year’s There Will Be Blood sits at 91%, while Oscar winner No Country for Old Men is at 95%). To get 192 critics to love anything, let alone yet another comic book superhero adaptation speaks volumes for the talent involved. Granted, you had the foresight to think outside the cinematic standard, to avoid the typical names that went with the genre. And NOW you want to play cash games? You’ve got to be joking.

Let’s look at things realistically. If you screw this up, if you fail to put Favreau back in the director’s seat, you risk quite a bit. Now, you could argue that you’re taking an Alien approach to the franchise, letting a new vision come in each time and replace the previous one. Unfortunately, it’s hard to believe that there’s another James Cameron or David Fincher waiting around the next corner for your call. And for the sake of argument, you could dump Favreau, hire some heretofore unknown filmmaker, and create the next artform sensation. But in a commercial dynamic where “what have you done for me lately” is typically answered in dollars and sense, you’re about to kill the fatted calf - and, apparently, for no other reason than penny-pinching.

As the song and sentiment suggests, money does indeed change EVERYTHING. As Harry Knowles pointed out in his view of the situation, had Iron Man been a bomb (or to give you some credit, a marginal hit), this conversation would be moot. In pure Ang Lee style, you’d sit back, lick your angry stockholder wounds, hope you can survive another few years, and mandate a franchise reboot at some point in the future. Of course, now that it’s a big fat hit, everyone thinks the coffers are congested. Paydays become massive where once they were minimal, and expectations run higher than your rehabilitated star in his ‘80s glory days. So we can assume that you are smart businessmen and recognize a rip-off when you see it. Opportunism follows any formidable achievement. It would be foolish to suggest otherwise.

Naturally, Downey must get his money. Of all the brilliant strokes of cinematic genius within Iron Man - and there are many - hiring the troubled celeb as your Tony Stark reeks of pure creative karma. He needed a chance to prove his always undervalued mantle, and you wanted a face to carry the franchise. At a recent screening of your next offering, The Incredible Hulk (more on this in a moment), a cameo by the billionaire weapons manufacturer got the loudest applause of the evening. Apparently, audiences love Downey, so he’s truly a priority. One assumes he’s locked in for the long haul.

The situation with Favreau is the same, and yet different. No one would argue that he was an A-list Hollywood director. Made was well received, Elf was a Will Ferrell inspired hit, and Zathura remains an unfairly marginalized future family film classic. And while he appears to be a genuine nice guy, devoted to his craft and eager to work with the fans and insiders to forge an artistic and commercial triumph, he could be a bastard to be around. There’s no doubt he wants to get paid - that’s why he does what he does. Clearly, to undercut him so, you must think his participation is unimportant.

Frankly, that’s just failed logic. Again, you could find someone else to make your next Iron Man movie (and guide an eventual Avengers epic), and this new voice may be just as valid or even more viable than Favreau. But let’s remember where you came from for a moment, shall we. Tony Stark was not the best known of your Marvel membership, nor were fans clamoring for his adventures. Many in the mainstream marketplace were already sick of comic book films when Iron Man was announced, and Favreau truly worked his butt off to raise the profile of this potential underachiever. You took a risk and opened the film well before Summer actually started, with school still in and your mandatory teen boy demo fretting over more than what movie to see. And now you’re sitting on a multi-BILLION dollar franchise.

Like the Oscars when they nominate a movie and not its director, you clearly believe Favreau had a minimal role in Iron Man‘s eventual success. Either that, or you’re just cheap. The current buzz supports the latter position. Okay, so you like to watch your money. That’s cool. Well, let’s review box office revenue in the post-millennial marketplace, shall we? Spider-man was a massive hit. Its sequel did similar business. Sure, Part 3 suffered, but then again it also sucked. Something similar happened with the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The initial movie was a massive hit, the second film secured those returns, as did number three. And in both cases, the same director (Sam Raimi and Gore Verbinski, respectively) helmed the sequels. So clearly you will make money with Favreau handling Iron Man 2‘s duties…and remember, Downey is your wild card.

Let’s talk about the actor for a moment. Clearly, he will be loyal to the director who went to bat for him. And if you can Favreau in favor of someone else, there will be no outward protest, “hold out”, or non-contractual production snafus. Downey will do his job, collect his paychecks (both upfront and back end), and eventually retire happy and very well paid. But this doesn’t guarantee his pleasant participation in any future projects. The minute his term runs, any feelings he has for Favreau will come out in the new negotiations. And let’s not forget the still unproven nature of Iron Man as a continuing character. He is still a quasi-unknown icon, unlike Batman or Superman with a wealth of myth and numerous high profile supervillians waiting in the wings.

But perhaps the biggest factor you’re failing to calculate into this mix is the fans. They don’t call them ‘geeks’ for nothing. Indeed, they will fret over the smallest detail and use the updated bully pulpit of the Internet to air their numerous fetish-like grievances. Get on their bad side - and one senses you already have - and they will make you pay. Not necessarily at the box office, as viewership tends to remain sheep to the aesthetic slaughter, but where it really counts: perception and pre-release publicity. If the fanboys fail to support your decisions, you can guarantee at least two years of vitriol (Iron Man 2 is slated for 2010). They will build consensus, draw up outside strategies, gain the support of their like minded webmasters, and take you to task over everything. And if one recalls correctly, they were the reason you branched out into production in the first place, right?

The Incredible Hulk won’t save you - not this time. While it may be a more satisfying version of the material than what Ang Lee offered five years ago, it will not be an Iron Man sized success. Clearly, Louis Leterrier is a lot of things - capable action director, someone the difficult Edward Norton can work with - but he’s no Favreau. His version of the Marvel Universe still seems unfocused, not quite in sync with what you and your company have in mind. In fact, it would be safe to say that The Incredible Hulk feels more like the outside looking in adaptations that Iron Man gallantly avoided. In the end, you’ve probably got another hit on your hands, but don’t be looking to Rotten Tomatoes to verify its creative merit.

A word to the wise: open up the pocket books and pay the man. Avoid the months of hate that will be harvested on your behalf. Prove to those who still sit on the fence over supporting your talent takeover that you’re not the heartless misers the media is making you out to be. Unless you are clued into something we sideliners fail to grasp, taking Jon Favreau out of the franchise’s future seems absolutely insane. Remember - you need him much more than he needs you. He can ride his Iron Man cred directly into any high profile project he wants (even more so if the film becomes the #1 hit of the Summer, which appears more than likely). Do the right thing and all will be well. And here’s hoping you’re prepared if you don’t. Seriously.

—Bill Gibron

It was what we did every Saturday night. Before we discovered dating, drugs, and delinquency, the pre-adolescents of the ‘60s and ‘70s sat down in front of the boob tube with complete parental guidance and gave Carol Burnett and her merry band of parody pranksters 50 minutes of our undivided attention. We would wade through the endless shots of Lyle Wagner’s chin, tolerate Vicki Lawrence’s Mini-Younger-Me version of the star attraction, and the lunatic fringiness of latter addition Tim Conway, just to see…him. And the minute Harvey Korman walked out onto the soundstage, we were prepared. You see, the classic straight man with an unusual executive presence, was the most unpredictable aspect of Burnett’s sketch satire.

The other formidable individual in Korman’s career also got his start in television. But thanks to an Oscar for his hilarious The Producers, Mel Brooks rapidly became a film farce icon. Looking for someone to fill the frequently difficult role of comic villain, he tagged Korman to essay the partr of evil railroad tycoon Hedley Lamarr in Blazing Saddles. For those used to seeing the comedian every week, his turn in the controversial classic was a revelation. Gone were the unintentional snickers and moments of sketch stretch ad libbing. In there place was a fiery farcical turn as the only man who could sentence innocent people to death while simultaneously humping a knickknack. Brooks was so impressed he brought Korman back for High Anxiety, History of the World Part 1, and Dracula: Dead and Loving It.

By the time he entered the hospital with a ruptured abdominal aorta four months ago, Korman was resigned to a life out of the ultra bright limelight. While he and Conway would still tour with a stage show that relied heavily on their Burnett days, the 81 year old was no longer in his prime. His health had been shaky for years (he even joked about it in interviews) and the emergency surgery resulted in a protracted stay, and by the time he passed away on 30 May, he had been through the medical mill. Several operations and the usual “complications” meant that humor had lost one of its heavy lifters. In the world of second bananas, Korman wasn’t just the tops, he was the surefire sweetest of the bunch.

He was born in 1927 to Chicagoans Cyril and Ellen Korman. In kindergarten, he started acting. By the time he was 12, he had turned professional, landing a gig on a local radio show. All throughout high school and up and during his service in World War II (he was a Navy man), Korman was desperate to perform. Upon his discharge, he moved to New York, took the occasional odd job, and began the painful process of auditioning. When nothing turned up after several years beating down Broadway, he moved to Hollywood. There, among the burgeoning broadcasts of early television, he found his variety show niche.

The venerable Danny Kaye gave Korman his big break. In 1964, he became a regular on the versatile star’s TV series. It was the kind of recognition the 37 year old was dying for…and it worked. Three years later, Carol Burnett came calling. Over the next 11 years, Korman would win four Emmys (he was nominated for a total of seven), bring home a Golden Globe, and share the small screen with individuals soon to become undeniable TV myths. Burnett’s show was part burlesque, part social satire, part movie/pop culture parody, and the rest of the genre’s sensational shtick all rolled into one. Korman was a genius as short form free-for-all, and yet he hoped he could make the leap to motion pictures. Turns in mediocrity like Lord Love a Duck, Last of the Secret Agents, and The April Fools didn’t help his quest.

No, it took Brooks shrewd eye to give Korman the roles he required to break out. Hedley Lamarr remains Saddles most surreal creation, a fourth wall breaking bad guy who sees greed and goofiness as shared positive attributes. He has no trouble trouncing his own reputation both as a character and as a performer (Korman has a classic line about destroying his chances for a Best Supporting Actor nomination for how arch and over the top he is) and he does it all with a snicker and a smirk. While it wasn’t that big of a stretch from what he was doing with Burnett and company every week, Brooks typically gave his casts a more profane playground within which to romp. It was perfect for someone as sly as Korman.

High Anxiety offered another type of weirdo, this time the dominated asylum administrator Dr. Charles Montague. He delivered a delightful turn, even if Brooks’ obsession with aping Hitchcock frequently undermined the film’s overall funny business. Perhaps Korman’s most memorable moment for the writer/director was as the catty Count De Monet in History of the World Part 1. Few will forget his most memorable retort to a traveling companion, “Don’t get saucy with me, Béarnaise.” While it was a minor cameo in a wildly uneven movie, Korman made the sequence solely his. Yet after showing up in the deadly dumb Dracula spoof, he never got a chance to work with Brooks again. As he aged, Korman became a frequent guest star in episodic TV, as well as an accomplished voice over artist. The latter wasn’t that big of a leap - kids in the ‘60s had adored his take on the Flintstone’s friendly alien advisor, the Great Gazoo.

Korman, for his part, was always unsure of his stardom. In conversations later on in life, he would joke about leaving the Burnett show, about the hubris of thinking he could go it alone, and the failure he felt when proposed solo sitcoms or showcases went nowhere. There were times when he seemed angry about all the attention to his work in sketch comedy, as if somehow he was being reduced to a certain satiric stereotype. He never badmouthed those who he worked with, and was respectful (if slightly resentful) for the backwards glancing. Yet when CBS aired a reunion of sorts in a celebrated flashback show from 1993, rating were through the roof. It both validated and confused the comic. Even up until his death, Korman seemed convinced that major mega-celebrity was just another casting call away.

By the time the millennium rolled around, Korman was in his mid-70s. He made a couple of appearances in cartoon-related product, and spent some time reminiscing for those inevitable “whatever happened to” nostalgia shows that VH-1 and TV Land specialize in. He maintained close ties with Conway, and stayed in touch with Burnett and the rest throughout the years. In a recent piece, Brooks complimented his former fiend, saying that no one could sell a straight line like Korman. While he made life on the set complicated (Mel couldn’t keep his directorial demeanor whenever Harvey was vamping), he was a necessary element in Saddles/Anxiety‘s success. Yet for many, Korman will always be Mother Marcus, the gigantic Jewish mother, or the hapless bumpkin Ed, married to the shrill, insufferable Eunice. Yes, every Saturday night, we sat waiting to see what Harvey Korman would do next. It was always worth it.

—Bill Gibron

He got his start like most pre post-modern moviemakers, via the still struggle medium of ‘50s/’60s television. There, his approach was allowed to take root and flourish. He had actually begun his career as an actor, appearing in productions for such stalwart shows as Playhouse 90, The Twilight Zone, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Before that, he had studied his craft with the famous teacher Sanford Meisner. Not bad for an Indiana boy born of troubled first generation Russian immigrant parents. His father was a boxer turned druggist, his mother was an alcoholic who died when Sydney was 16. Now, with his own passing from stomach cancer at age 73, Hollywood has lost one of its solid cinematic artists.

Pollack first came to prominence after a stint onstage, when he co-stared with future lifelong friend Robert Redford in the film War Hunt. The two formed an instant bond and would go on to work together for nearly 45 years, Pollack directing his pal in the films This Property is Condemned, Jeremiah Johnson, The Way We Were, Three Days of the Condor, The Electric Horseman, Out of Africa, and Havana. In fact, over the course of his career, Pollack featured Redford in nearly a third of the 20 movies he made. He also worked regularly with such old school stars as Burt Lancaster (The Scalphunters, Castle Keep) and Robert Mitchum (The Yakuza), and later made two films with contemporary macho man Harrison Ford (Random Hearts and the Sabrina redux).

Like Sidney Lumet and John Frankenheimer, Pollack brought the dramatic intensity of his days in the theater and TV to the fledgling revolution occurring in film. His style could best be summed up by the brilliant social commentary They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? Set within a Depression era dance-a-thon, and featuring fiery performances by Jane Fonda, Michael Sarrazin, and Oscar Winner Gig Young, Pollack uncovered the simmering unease of the era, perfectly reflecting the film’s contemporary 1969 mirror message. His movies were like that - quiet and subtle, selling their conceits in perfectly modulated performances and expertly helmed scenes. And like his fellow filmmakers of the era, Pollack wasn’t afraid to try.

He did so with the old fashioned romance The Way We Were, though that movie also tackled subjects like racism and political unrest. Jeremiah Johnson was a pure post-modern Western, an anti-establishment look at one man defying nature to live at personal peace. Three Days of the Condor took the Watergate hangover and cast it as part of an international intelligence Cold War malaise, while The Electric Horseman argued against fame and for those who would sidestep the spotlight to live freely, and happily. Many of the heroes in Pollack’s films defy the odds to be their own person, be it the US ex-pat caught up in Castro’s Cuban revolution, or a young associate taking on a crew of crooked lawyers.

As an actor, Pollack frequently blurred the line between good and evil. In what is perhaps his most memorable turn, he was the confused agent in Tootsie who can’t understand Dustin Hoffman’s Michael Dorsey, and frankly, doesn’t want to. Conned into playing the part by the superstar himself, the director gives an amazingly unhinged turn. In Woody Allen’s searing Husbands and Wives, Pollack is the midlife crisis middle ager who tears his bimbette girlfriend down every chance he gets. He’s horrific and abusive. When Harvey Keitel couldn’t continue on with Stanley Kubrick’s arduous shooting schedule, Pollack stepped in and essayed the role of Victor Ziegler in Eyes Wide Shut, and most recently, he was George Clooney’s image conscious boss in the thriller Michael Clayton.

Oddly enough, his peak probably came in the early ‘80s when Out of Africa took home seven Academy Awards, including one for Pollack as Best Director. He had been nominated before - and definitely deserved the statues - for Tootsie and They Shoot Horses, but the epic Meryl Streep/Robert Redford weeper was the kind of effort that Oscar is naturally drawn to. After that success, his follow-up Havana flopped, and while The Firm was a hit (thanks to Tom Cruise and the John Grisham pedigree), Sabrina and Random Hearts also tanked.

The Interpreter, a 2005 suspense piece starring Nicole Kidman and Sean Penn, was the director’s last fiction film, and first foray behind the lens in nearly six years. During his absence, which was more or less self imposed, Pollack had played producer, adding titles like The Talented Mr. Ripley, The Quiet American, and Cold Mountain to his resume. The recent death of collaborator and friend Anthony Minghella hit Pollack hard. It wasn’t the first time tragedy had hit so close to home. In the early ‘90s, Steven, Pollack’s only son with wife Claire Griswold (they met at the Neighborhood Theater in New York, and were married for nearly 50 years) died in a light plane crash.

Today, the director is survived by his spouse, two daughters, and six grandchildren. Oddly enough, Pollack himself was an avid pilot, flying his own private aircraft. It was a trait he shared with co-star John Travolta when the two appeared in A Civil Action together. In 2006, the director offered up what would be his last film - the unlikely documentary Sketches of Frank Gehry. When asked to describe the allure of the subject matter, the filmmaker was deceptively honest. Apparently, Pollack was so intrigued by his first glimpse of the famed Guggenheim Museum that he became psychologically obsessed with the architect and his body of work.

It’s safe to say that, like this love letter to an unsung builder and dreamer, most of Sydney Pollack’s films were missives to men and women marginalized and unsung - and usually undeservingly so. He championed the underdog and understood the human foibles inside the heroic. As a filmmaker, he was approachable and affable, eager to teach and pass on what he knew. While no one is suggesting his films changed the course of cinema, they did establish a kind of abject professionalism that many of his compatriots from the ‘60s and ‘70s couldn’t command. He didn’t set out to deconstruct the medium or revise it into his own aesthetic likeness. Instead, Sydney Pollack made solid, substantive films. His is an onscreen voice and a behind the scenes presence that the artform will sorely miss. 

—Bill Gibron

In the world of weak analogies, Steven Spielberg is the Beatles of blockbuster movies. He literally invented the genre, reconstructed it when it went wonky, and continues to leave a legacy of legitimate popcorn art with every passing decade. This is the man responsible for some of the greatest cinematic entertainments of all time. The list simply boggles the mind: Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Raiders of the Lost Ark, ET, Jurassic Park, Minority Report. Even his so-called failures - 1941, Hook, A.I.: Artificial Intelligence - contain moments of celluloid splendor.

Yet the Fab meta-phor is appropriate since the 62 year old director went through a similar critical reconsideration in the ‘90s, and the consensus was not pretty. As John, Paul, George, and Ringo were marginalized as nothing more than a “boy band” or “pop phenomenon”, reducing their relevance to a Britney Spears video, Spielberg was called overrated, low brow, and mired in the mainstream. His success was his albatross, his talent his very reason for an over-generalized dismissal. Naturally, all of his serious work was left out of the conversation, substantive masterworks like The Color Purple, Empire of the Sun, or Schindler’s List limited to the flukes formulated by an Oscar desperate hack.

Of course, just like everything else on the Internet, Spielberg’s reputation has started to rebound, and with good reason. Frankly, there was nothing wrong with it in the first place. As his latest offering, yet another installment in the formerly finished Indiana Jones Trilogy, rakes in another box office bundle, it’s time to look back at what this amazing director does best - creating indelible images that transcend time to celebrate cinema in its purest, most potent form. While these ten examples are just the tip of the iconic iceberg, they prove why Spielberg is the best. Few can match his manipulation of the language of film. Let’s begin with:

Jaws (1975) - The Underwater “Discovery”
So much of this movie is engrained in our entertainment subconscious that almost any scene could be picked for inclusion here. But there is one moment in particular, not part of the original Peter Benchley novel, that marks the moment Spielberg announced his intention of being a serious filmmaker. He wasn’t playing around anymore. The combination of techniques - set-up, shot selection, shock value - brings the total terror of what Chief Brody and Matt Hooper are facing directly to the fore. Learning that it was all created in a crewmember’s swimming pool is the sweetest part of its moviemaking mythology.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) - The Home Invasion
Some would point to the arrival of the alien mothership as this film’s iconic moment, a sequence where spectacle merged with significance to etch an indelible image into our collective cultural scrapbook. But the better, more powerful scene comes halfway through, when unknown forces attack the country home of Gillian Guiler. Even more frightening, they appear to be after only one thing - her tiny son Barry. Using inference and suggestion to brilliant effect, we arrive at the moment when watching the sky was not just a suggestion - it was a warning worth taking seriously.

1941 (1979) - The Ferris Wheel Fiasco
It was the movie that argued for Spielberg’s retreat from wunderkind status, a big brawling mess of a comedy that was more unfocused funny business than It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World War II. Still, there are a couple of striking sequences, with the last act attack on the tiny California suburb one of the best. Of particular note is a scene in which a seaside Ferris Wheel, perched dangerously close to the pier, is suddenly switched on. Without warning, a mortar shell loosens the attraction from its bearings. In pure blockbuster style, it careens down the dock and into the water. Classic.

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) - The Bar Fight
In a film made up of amazing sequences, many overlook this opening takedown between Indiana Jones, a recently introduced Marion Ravenwood, and a bunch of Nazi-led nasties. Proving once and for all that Spielberg is the king of carefully choreographed chaos, the pieces of this barroom brawl fall naturally into place, each swing of a fist or plonk with a whisky bottle adding another accent to the action. Toss in the natural chemistry between stars Harrison Ford and Karen Allen, and it’s clear that a legendary bond would be formed, one that would finally be explored three decades later. 

ET: The Extraterrestrial (1982) - The Suburban Bike Race
The late night arrival. The meeting in the backyard. The agents’ flashlights chasing our title creature through the underbrush. The flight past the moon. “I’ll Be Right Here”. There’s a reason this fragile fairytale remained the number one box office draw for years. Spielberg poured all his imagination and vision into this quiet story of a boy and his visiting alien, successfully marrying emotion with event to craft a timeless wonder. Yet for anyone looking for a how-to on intricate chase dynamics, ET‘s escape to the forest via a band of two wheelers is the pulse pounding primer.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984) - The Mining Car Chase
In a much maligned movie that many site as the series’ worst, Spielberg steps up and does what he does best - combine amazing F/X with brilliant mise-en-scene to forge a heartstopping, breathtaking literal rollercoaster ride. There are so many jawdropping gags here, references to everything from modern amusement parks to the films of Buster Keaton (and his Civil War classic The General, in particular), that it’s hard to keep track of everything that’s going on. By the time Spielberg introduces the stunt work element, a whole new realm of action is achieved…and this is coming from the man who redefined it just three years before.

Hook (1991) - The Pan Discovers How to Fly…Again
In what many think is the director’s weakest film (it gets more vitriol than 1941, but then again, it does star Robin Williams), the story of the little boy who supposedly never grew up gets a surreal, slightly Yuppified sheen. From a fantasyland that looks like a skate park gone gruff to a lead who appears 40 pounds to heavy to play an impish sprite, Hook has its problems…many, many problems. But it also contains one classic moment where Pan, attempting to recapture his happy thought, remembers being a Dad for the first time. Suddenly, he takes flight, and for one magical moment, the movie works effortlessly.

Jurassic Park (1993) - The T-Rex Attack
Anyone who questions the overreliance on CGI needs look no further than this remarkable sequence from the director’s return to blockbuster glory. Thanks to Stan Winston’s miraculous practical creatures, and the seamless integration of the computer generated material, we totally believe in the primitive smackdown occurring before our eyes. Of course, Spielberg’s creative craftsmanship and shot selection add to the scene’s overall power. While the raptor attack would end the film on a suspense-filled high note, the first time we see this massive prehistoric beast lumbering across the landscape still sends the gooseflesh across your arms and the shivers up your spine.

AI: Artificial Intelligence (2001) - The Robots Discover A Submerged New York
Near the end of the Spielberg interpretation of Stanley Kubrick’s last project, a pair of humanoid automatons travel to the mythical island of Manhattan to seek out the Blue Fairy. Upon arriving, however, they come across a metropolis semi-submerged in water. As skyscrapers spew overflow and other buildings decay and collapse, the duo tries to locate the last important clue in their quest. Where the movie goes from here has caused lots of online debate, but there’s no denying the impact of seeing the Big Apple literally drowning from nature’s wrath. It’s a stellar moment in a criminally underrated film.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008) - The Nuclear Age is Born
Perhaps the biggest challenge facing Spielberg and crew when asked to revisit this franchise some 16 years after it officially ended was to bring the character and his age-based situation up to date. Sure, Harrison Ford looks and acts older, and he’s surrounded by characters who constantly remind him of his senior citizen status. But leave it to a genius filmmaker to find a single image that instantly captures the essence of this dynamic. Having survived the initial blast, Indy lands outside Ground Zero, and as he climbs a nearby hill, a massive mushroom cloud provides a perfect backdrop. Welcome to the ‘50s, ‘30s serial hero!

—Bill Gibron

Leave it to film’s last agent provocateur to do what a sloppy stoner comedy couldn’t. A couple of weeks ago, when the lackluster lampoon Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay opened, audiences were treated to a last act exercise in paltry political commentary. Briefly, our Asian/Indian heroes try to reclaim their good patriotic name after being mistaken for terrorists. Through a series of stodgy misadventures, they somehow wind up in Crawford, Texas. There, they hook up with our current Commander In Chief, and after a few blunts, the supposed purple haze induced belly laughs begin.

Now, there is nothing new with painting our sitting President as a foolish frat headed party boy. It was a legacy that he carried across two elections (and two wins), and South Park savants Trey Parker and Matt Stone did something similar - and far funnier - with their 2001 sitcom That’s My Bush. Comedy Central cancelled that sage-like series, only to revive the leader as loser ideal with their Our Gang rip-off L’il Bush. Since the advent of humor, government officials have born the brunt of satire and comic criticism. The powerful have always found themselves in mirth’s machine gun sites.

Mostly, it’s viewed as harmless fun, a chance to knock down an elected official with the only weapon remaining inherent in the people - the freedom of speech. Of course, the current administration has used every post-9/11 tactic they can to curb such rights, but leave it to the jesters to maximize what few liberties are left. The portrait painting is also kind of lame. Bush is dumb. Bush is out of touch. Bush is controlled by advisers out to forward their own agenda, not that of the nation. None of this is new, and seldom is it clever. But it avoids the real problems with this presidency, so it’s also more or less ignored.

Where someone like George W. really needs to worry however is when someone serious takes up their cause. In this case, Oliver Stone has just announced the final casting on his proposed limited biopic on our 43rd executive officer (Entertainment Weekly offered a sneak peek in this week’s edition). The project, entitled W., will begin filming in a few weeks, and while not every role is set (the writer/director is still looking for someone to play vilified VP Dick Cheney), Stone seems ready. With the suddenly hot Josh Brolin parlaying his No Country for Old Men cred into the title part, and supporting turns from Elizabeth Banks (as Laura), James Cromwell (as Daddy Bush Sr.) and Ellen Burstyn (as Momma Barb), this promises to be another controversial send-up of history.

It’s well worn territory for the criminally underrated filmmaker. Even though he owns two Oscars (for Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July) and has made several sizeable box office hits, including Wall Street, Natural Born Killers, and Any Given Sunday, it’s his political pictures that have raised (and equally reduced) his reputation. Many see JFK as a misguided masterpiece, a conspiracy theory tricked out as actual fact, while Salvador is too liberalized to explain the Central American crisis of the mid ‘80s. He’s taken on Fidel Castro (his 2003 documentary Comandate) and made one of the most jingoistic films about the terrorist attacks of seven years ago (World Trade Center).

Yet for anyone looking to gain some insight into what Stone might be attempting here, they need look no further than the brilliant deconstruction of the only US President ever to resign from office. 1995’s Nixon was seen, at the time, as the perfect combination of man and material, a subject that Stone could really sink his teeth into while exploring the post-Vietnam Watergate watershed that drove a decade into decadence and indecision. Yet, oddly enough, the famous burglary celebrated by the Washington Post and its pair of supercop journalists, Bob Woodward and Carl Berstein, was a minor part of the narrative. Instead, Stone looked for a big picture pronouncement, hoping to highlight the paranoia and pettiness that drove this leader to illegal acts of insane arrogance.

While some considered the hiring of Anthony Hopkins antithetical to the movie’s designs (how a British actor best known for playing a suave serial killer could take on one of the most American of political icons was frequently questioned), it turned out to be a masterstroke. Stone wasn’t looking for a mimic, or worse, a Rick Baker manufactured make-up version of Nixon. He wanted to showcase the human being inside. What Hopkins did was genius. By finding out what made this predatory political animal tick, he literally turned into the crooked Commander in Chief. It’s impossible to watch this film 13 years later and not see the media made images present in the UK thespian’s mannerisms.

Apparently, W. won’t be so broad in its scope. Nixon went from the leader’s days as a poor California boy to almost every electoral benchmark in his career. In recent interviews, Stone likened this latest project to The Queen, a narrative that takes seminal events from the subject’s life and shows how they add up to the man we see today. In comparison to Nixon’s “symphony” he says, W. will be more like “chamber music.” Of course, there are other hints at the approach within his comments. He calls Bush “an alcoholic bum”, pointing to his “conversion to Christianity” as the driving force in his professional and political decisions. For a director who never skirted scandal, embracing hot button concepts like addiction and religion seems par for the course.

Yet just like Nixon, one expects extensive dramatization in order to get to the essence of an area. One thing films can be faulted for is such a shorthand concept of truth. It’s impossible to cover all facets of an individual’s personality, even with the jaded judicial notice of an already clued-in audience. Composites have to be created both in characterization and circumstances. Stone is often raked over the coals for taking such a condescend view, but within the language of film, it’s literally impossible to deal with an entire lifetime in three hours. Of course, some might argue with the intent of those who try, but with all great art comes even greater ambition - and hubris.

Additionally, W. is planned for an Election 2008 release date. That means that Bush will still be President when the movie is in theaters - barring any production delays or problems (like the upcoming Actors Guild strike). How that will affect Stone, or his cast, remains to be seen. Additionally, movies like this usually strive to set the tone for someone’s legacy. Nixon wanted to humanize someone that was systematically demonized. It may have wound up doing a little of both. Similarly, W. has the potential for shedding some light on the current Commander’s often puzzling decision making process. It could also go Harold and Kumar all over his rationale.

No one expects Oliver Stone, a serious moviemaker, to have the President of the United States snorting coke off a stripper’s treasure trail, but it’s clear that a subject like George W. Bush places such a sequence in the realm of dramatic possibilities. Even early script reviews have argued that W. balances the administration’s tendency toward bumpkin burlesque with real insights into how the politics of fear work. Maybe Stone will settle for something in the middle. Or we could be seeing the unmaking of an already undone leader. One things for sure - this is one man who may be wishing the world saw him as a dope smoking stooge after all. The truth may be far more telling - and terrifying.

—Bill Gibron

In one week, we critics will know for sure. The time frame is ten days for the rest of the moviegoing rabble. Barring any cosmic collision or other Earth shattering event, the fourth (and hopefully, final) installment in the chronicles of one ‘part-time’ professor Henry Walter “Indiana” Jones, Jr. PhD will finally unfold. It’s been an astounding 27 years since the original Raiders of the Lost Ark redefined the popcorn action movie, setting up a series of like minded entertainments that would come to dominate the ‘80s. In between there have been two sequels (Temple of Doom in 1984, Last Crusade in 1989) and a TV series outlining the archeologist’s earliest exploits.

And now, a mindboggling 19 years since the last motion picture wrapped up the man’s myth quite nicely, reputation ruiner George Lucas and his blackmailed partners in crime Steven Spielberg and Harrison Ford, are reviving the series for one last shot at…well, some kind of glory. Given the god awful title of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, the top secret project has seen its far share of controversy. From Ford playing the character at his advanced, AARP-like age (he’ll turn 66 this July), to the pre-production hoopla over the hiring - and unexpected firing - of writer Frank Darabont (who handled similar chores for the property when it was on television), fans have prayed that none of Mr. Star Wars Prequel’s pedestrianism transferred over to this title.

As of today, all signs point to pathetic…or at the very least perfunctory. The trailers have taken the original movies’ mystique and washed it in a veil of forced nostalgia. It wasn’t until recently that we actually got to see parts of the plot, and the From Russia with Love meets Apocalypto vibe isn’t fooling anyone. Now comes the first major death blows - anonymous early reviews on websites like Ain’t It Cool News. Spielberg and company are livid, publically complaining that the first “official” showing for critics won’t be until Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull plays Cannes on 18 May (the same day it screens for other media outlets around the US). Yet somehow, secured to a surreal policy revolving around blind bidding and state’s rights, a few exhibitors have seen the movie - and their opinion is not pretty.

In general, most believe the film won’t match the hype, that obsessives who’ve languished over their VHS/DVD copies of the trilogy will be greatly underwhelmed by what’s onscreen. They point to the well-hidden plot (more on this in a moment) and over-familiarity with the material as weak points, while giving marginal praise to what Spielberg and his capable cast do behind the camera (though Shia LaBeaof suffers the harshest words). While it represents the smallest majority of those who will finally establish the critical consensus on this highly anticipated summer stock, it’s clear that, at least out of the starting gate, Lucas’ decision to reprise this franchise is meeting with high expectations and less than satisfied reactions.

And then there is the storyline. Without going into heavy spoiler territory (and if you want to walk in completely unaware, skip this paragraph and move on), Dr. Jones is a now a WWII vet, compelled by the Soviet government to find the legendary Crystal Skull. Apparently, it’s actually part of an alien skeleton (located in Area 51 - how original) and once returned to its rightful resting place, it provides a source of great power. LeBeaof plays a character named Mutt Williams, who may or may not be Jones’ son, and Marion Ravenwood is back as well. The trailer promises Ama-zombies, jungle car chases, and the standard stunt physicality that made these movies so memorable.

Clearly, any return to this character and these movies creates an almost impossible level of fan frenzy. It’s the reason that Temple of Doom consistently remains the least loved entry in the franchise. Of course, coming on the heels of the brilliant masterpiece that is Raiders, it’s not hard to see why. But as with most one-sided perspective, forged out of personal want more than medium needs, a sequel must suffer through the classic cinematic Catch-22. It has to provide more of the same while being different enough to warrant its existence. It has to recapture the old magic while making new, retelling the same story with the same characters while bringing a freshness to both.

It’s a dodgy motion picture paradigm, one that few filmmakers have ever successfully maneuvered. Peter Jackson may have won an Oscar for The Return of the King, the last installment in the Lord of the Rings epics, but many look at The Fellowship of the Ring as the franchise’s best (good luck with those Hobbit prequels, Guillermo). Similarly, The Matrix may have redefined the artform - at least for a few years - but the subsequent slam bam revisits created more hatred than holiness. Spielberg himself, perhaps the only director capable of capturing lightning in a bottle more than once, has been reluctant to revisit his oeuvre. Over the course of 24 feature films, he’s only been involved in four sequels - the three Indiana Jones films, and a Jurassic Park repeat.

Of course, he’s the only director who could pull this off. While marginalized by minds who think it’s easy to make sharks suspenseful, flying saucers fascinating, aging white men heroic, or animatronic extraterrestrials believable, he stands as one the greatest auteurs of all time. While his participation in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull seemed obvious, a lot had changed in his career since Dr. Jones and his Dad rode off into the sunset nearly two decades ago. Armed with a couple of Oscars, and more than enough industry and commercial cred, going back to this already established property seemed antithetical to his own career needs. Of course, imagine the uproar had Lucas left him out of the project all together, or worse, decided to direct it himself.

Perhaps that’s why everything has felt a little forced since the very beginning. The fourth film was announced a couple of years ago, and comments by Ford even indicated the ticking time clock bomb hanging over everyone’s head. While age is never a major issue in Hollywood (the biz will reconfigure any narrative to meet what they consider to be profitable demographic designs), having someone your grandfather’s age play a rough and tumble man of action pushes the boundaries of believability. The early pre-reviews don’t criticize Ford or his performance - they leave most of the vitriol for Master Shia - but with his sagging star power and paltry box office returns, Indie isn’t innocent either.

As the time clicks away to the planned press screening, as both sides gather ammunition and prepare for a fight, as the turnstiles twist and the money starts rolling in, only time will dictate the final legacy for the Indiana Jones franchise. If this movie makes scads of cash (outside the critical accord), you can bet that the suits will be slobbering for more. If it fails to attract an overwhelming financial windfall, this may be the man-myth’s last hurrah. Whatever the case, it may be time to gear down the rabid love for the series to something more realistic. Sadly, like the serials that inspired them, the time may have long since passed for this particular product. 

—Bill Gibron