And More White People.

TRAILER: WORLD WAR Z (2013)

Believe it or not, every now and then, I do actually pick up a book without pictures. In the quasi-recent past, one of those books was World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, penned by Max Brooks. And I loved that book. Loved the shit out of it. Made everyone I know read it, including my impossibly tolerant mother. Here's why World War Z rocked: it wasn't just a zombie book. Naturally, the living dead would have been enough to completely satisfy me. But what really made this book stand out from the rest was the fact that it was, more or less, a hypothetical, sociopolitical study of how different cultures would react to the end of the world. Completely fictional and, at points, mildly ridiculous (remember the Samurai?), but it was fascinating, imaginative, and different. 

At least, it was. Until the movie caught on. And maybe I'm jumping the gun. Hell, the movie hasn't even come out yet. But it's its anything like the trailer, it looks to me like more #whitepeopleproblems. Because, clearly, we do not have enough movies about nuclear, all-American white families with first world issues.

Like, O.M.G. Gag me with a spoon.

Really, this movie would've been a lot more dynamic if they'd just done "Bradgelina & Children Fight Zombies." They've got one from each country, right?

In short: this trailer better be misleading as hell, or I'm gonna be pissed.

DINOSAURS, BITCHES.

JURASSIC PARK (1993)

"Dinosaurs eat man. Woman inherits the earth."

Let's get one thing straight. Dinosaurs are badass. If you don't think dinosaurs are badass, you need to get an MRI pronto because chances are, you have a large parasite eating away at the part of your brain that differentiates badass from Justin Bieber. With that said, Jurassic Park could have easily been cool without even trying. They could've slapped a couple CGI creatures in there, and then slapped a couple hundred more flying little digital splashes of color and called it a day. Because that's how movies are made, right?

Image from www.filmofilia.com

Wrong. Jurassic Park is how movies are made. Or at least, how movies should be made. No matter how many times I've seen it, I have yet to find a single fucking flaw in the thing. When I say it's a flawless movie, I mean it's a motherfucking flawless movie. So flawless that I had to review it twice because I just couldn't contain my feelings. It is better or worse in 3D? Meh. As an avid 3D disparager, I actually didn't mind it in 3D this time around. Why? Well, because it's Jurassic Park on the big screen. They could've had those irritating television popup ads on the bottom corner of the screen every five minutes and I still would've enjoyed the shit out of it. 

What makes this movie a timeless classic is this: it brings out the child in us. And I don't mean the child who wants to go see animated spy hamsters roll around for an hour an a half (guilty as charged). I mean that feeling of absolute wonderment we get when we see something for the first time. That unbridled curiosity, the desire to know, to feel, to touch, to jump out of a moving car because hell, if the animals won't come to us, we'll go to them. Really, it's a filmmaker's wet dream, the ability to capture the essence of filmmaking in one solid film. You want to wow me, give me dinosaurs, give me lovable characters, give me a score that I can feel expand in my ribcage. 

Image from businessinsider.com.

The brilliant thing is, Jurassic Park is about so much more than dinosaurs. It's about Dr. Alan Grant, played by you'll-never-get-a-better-role Sam Neill, who finds something in him capable of change, of evolution. It's about Dr. Ellie Sattler, played by you'll-really-never-get-a-better-role Laura Dern, who constantly challenges male hierarchy and, more often than not, beats them at their own game. Can I get a holla for a badass female character who doesn't have to hide her femininity or the fact that her biological clock is ticking to be considered a "badass?" Jurassic Park is about Dr. Ian Malcolm (you'll-never-be-hotter Jeff Goldblum), who constantly warns the heroes of the chaos to come but doesn't get to say I-told-you-so until it's far too late. More than anything, however, this movie is about motherfucking John Hammond (thank-you-for-your-awesome-face Richard Attenborough), who you love, then hate, then love some more, because he's flawed to his core but hell, at the end of the day, we can't really blame him.

Of course, I have to give a shout out to my favorite people in film: the minor characters. Those who doesn't get half as much love as they should because at the end of the day, they're the shoulders the heroes stand on to get to the finish line. First, we've got a rebellion-son subplot which, honestly, didn't need to be there, but hell, the 90s were good to Wayne Knight. So sure, the storm could've come through and ripped out the security systems and let all the dinosaurs loose, but that wouldn't have been half as fun, nor would it have been half as human, to watch Dennis bumble around and taunt a small, curious, and--dare we say--sassy dilophosaurus. Then we've got the two grandkids, Tim and Lex Murphy, who just had Steven Spielberg stamped all over them. If anyone knows how to write realistic, witty, and badass children, it's Steven Spielberg. He's pretty much the only director that can throw children on the screen and not kill the movie instantly. True story.

Image from fyeahjurassicpark.tumblr.com.

But hey, this wouldn't be a Smoking Pen review if I didn't give a shout out to my man Samuel L. Jackson. Who knew he could play such a damn good nerd? Especially when he's burning through cigarettes like no tomorrow. Finally, my favorite character, Robert Muldoon, played by Bob Peck. He's a small role, but he's a hunter who gets what was coming to him while, at the same time, going out in a blaze. It's a subtle character, but you feel both satisfied by his death and redeemed. Plus, he has the line, "clever girl." Can't top that.

And the end of the day, despite the epic actors and the even more epic dinosaurs, we have to acknowledge the fact that it was the score that really put the movie miles ahead of all other monster movies. That feeling of awe you get when you see the Brachiosaurus rear up to get the high leaves? The intensity that builds as the children climb the electric fence? The moment you fall in love with motherfucking pelicans? Yes, the writing is great, I'm really happy for you, I'ma let you finish--but can I please shake John Williams hand? I'd wax poetic, but I'm really just going to let it speak for itself. Enjoy 3:20 of motherfucking instrumental magic. Bitches.

It's Aliiiiiiive!

So it's no secret that I've been royally with cheese sucking at blogging. But! I am not dead! Sorry, George Lucas. I live to hate the prequels another day. I've been quietly (like a motherfucking ninja) drafting up posts, so you'll start to see a little more activity from my side of the blogsphere in the next couple days. In the meanwhile, a quick update!

1. All is well in Hotlanta. I've got a short film in post-production, and since this is the first script I've ever written that's come to life, so you can guarantee I'll be jumping up and down like a rabid Easter bunny when that shit is completed.

2. I've also been doing some good ol' fashioned novel writing. Sci-fi all the way. No details about that, but I will say my girl has forbidden me from seeing Oblivion since there are elements of the plot that look too similar. So everyone tell me that movie sucks even if it doesn't so I don't go Natural Born Killers on Tom Cruise.

3. Even though I've been AWOL, you all still nominated me for the first round of LAMMY's. What the frak? You guuuuys. Bringing back the support and voting on some badass bloggers this year.

Basically, I've been as busy as Michael Madsen, so I apologize for the very large void in the space that was The Smoking Pen. However, I swear by my pretty floral bonnet that I will return guns blazing, dick-envy swinging, pen in one hand and chainsaw in the other to deliver motherfucking movie massacre.

"America's Not A Country. It's A Business."

KILLING THEM SOFTLY (2012)

Image from screenrant.com.

Killing Them Softly takes place in a dystopian world where America is enslaved by its own debt. People live like vultures in poverty, killing and stealing just to get by in an economy that chews them up and spits them out, leaving them with no other options except self-destruction. 

Oh. Wait. This isn't science fiction. This is a raw and bloody reminder of America after the Bush years, when the economy fell on its face thanks to a couple shaky-fingered puppeteers and the little guy was the one chosen to pick up the soap. I know you thought you were going to the movies to see Brad Pitt be a fucking badass and kill some bitches, but you were wrong. This movie is a blood-fest, no doubt about it, but it's a political commentary, first and foremost. And don't worry, Republicans, Obama gets shit for it too. 

Honestly, it's hard for me to give this movie a proper response. As an action movie, it falls a little short. The script has holes. There are long stretches of monologue. The third act leaves a little to be desired. As a cynical as fuck commentary on the state of the world, it succeeds. In short, this is the kind of thing that might've made a better play than it does a movie (all the satire and none of the explosions), if it wasn't for the brilliant editing and shocking imagery. 

Let's start with the good stuff. The first thirty minutes or so are flawless. The dialogue is great, the characters are sharp and well defined. We've got Frankie (Scoot McNairy) and Russell (Ben Mendelsohn), two less-than-professional gangsters who will do just about any hairy job for a little money. They get hired to rob a regular high-stakes card game, run by Markie Trattman (Ray Liotta). So you know how Ray Liotta always plays the unflinching, can-kill-you-with-my-pinky badass? Well. Ray Liotta takes a turn for the worst as a sniveling push-over who gets the crap beaten out of him (by none other than Racetrack from Newsies. Think about it. Guess he bet on the wrong horse.). Maybe I'm being a little harsh on Trattman--he does, after all, hold up well under pressure and sticks to his story no matter how hard you punch him. Still, it's...well. Possibly one of the most gruesome beatings I've seen a guy take on the big screen. It's the kind of visceral, sickening violence that makes you want to send Ray Liotta a couple Get Well Soon balloons and a script for a Christmas-themed family comedy. 

On the topic of awesome characters, I have to mention Mickey, the emo hitman, played by James Gandolfini. Mickey has issues. He drinks, he fucks whores, and he spends a lot of time sopping up his tears while waxing poetic about his wife. Really, Gandolfini does an excellent job as a washed out hitman who's so miserable he can hardly get up the motivation to get out of his bathrobe. He's a pathetic character, but a well written pathetic character. 

Then there's our main man, Jackie (Brad Pitt). He's a cold, hard negotiator who knows how to talk his way out of most any situation. He's generally a "good guy," except for the whole killing thing. Really, he's a character I should be able to get behind. Except for the fact that the movie doesn't seem to do him justice. He's badass character, but he spends most of the film talking Mickey off the ledge. We don't get a lot of time seeing him in action. And when we do seem him beat the shit out of some people, well, sure, it's cool, but somehow it just doesn't feel like enough to live up to this awesome reputation he's built up for himself. Which maybe has something to do with the fact that his character never really breaks a sweat. He gets mildly irritated from time to time, but he never really faces any major obstacles. Because he doesn't have a "low point," it's hard to feel really satisfied when he pulls his badass moves and closes the job.

Brad Pitt's third-act issue isn't an isolated incident. Unfortunately, too many of the excellent characters (including Mickey the emo hitman) fail to get a decent wrap-up. Instead, they get a one-line sentence of exposition explaining how they did or didn't get their comeuppance, and leave it at that. Especially Dillon. Don't get me started on Dillon. Despite the fact that he's apparently a major antagonistic character, we never really see him, we never hear him. He just floats around like the Black Smoke Monster or something. And then when we finally hear about how he gets his, it comes without rhyme or reason. I take it back, the Black Smoke Monster had more personality than this guy. 

Stylistically, this movie holds up well. They play with sharp cuts and purposefully jarring editing. Another favorite moment of mine is when Russell the Aussie gets high and keeps floating in and out of consciousness. It's an effective style, even if they draw it out a little too long, and got a good chuckle from me. 

All in all, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this movie. The characters were really unique and enjoyable to watch. The acting was excellent (I hope to see Scoot McNairy a heck of a lot more after this). The monologues were great. The political commentary was on point, even if it did smother the plot from time to time. At the end of the day, it's a movie that tries pretty hard to blend two different genres and doesn't entirely pull it off. However, it's still an enjoyable movie with a lot of excellent violence and memorable characters. And Ray Liotta. Gets the shit beat out of him. I rest my case. 

BAMF Of The Week: M.

M. (JUDI DENCH)

"To Hell with dignity! I'll retire when my goddamn job is finally done."

If we know James Bond films for nothing else, we know them for the Bond girls. The sleek, sexy little pieces of eyecandy with stripper names. Yet so often, we fail to recognize the Bond girl among Bond girls: M. Sure, maybe one day I'll do a BAMF Of The Week for all M.s, but Judi Dench's M. has a special place in the car battery strapped to my ribcage. She's hard-edge and, above all, gets the job done. Whatever it takes. Even if that means having her own agents go through with some rather questionable tasks. She's a cold, hard bitch is there ever was one, but even passed her stoney exterior, we get constant glimpses of something more to her. Hints that she's a mother, that she was once a woman who fell in love with a poet. Little things like that only add to the awesomeness that is her character and make her even more impressive for never, ever folding under pressure. 

And, of course, there is her incredible relationship with Bond. While at times they may be at each other's throats, you get the impression (especially with the Craig series) that she's one of the few people who knows the Bond behind his martinis and charming smile. They share a trust if only because they both distrust everyone else--like soldiers caught behind enemies lines. And at the end of the day--no matter how much of a brat Bond can be and no matter how much of an ice queen M. can be, they have each other's backs. In one way or other. Even if that means M. trusts Bond enough to let him dig himself out of his own bloody grave.

Best films: Casino Royale (2006) and Skyfall (2012), without a doubt. Judi Dench's M. and Daniel Craig's Bond have a brilliant relationship. At times weirdly maternal (Archer style), at times masochistic, they always manage to bring out the best and worst of each other. And I physically cannot get enough of it. 

Worst films: Did I like Judi Dench with Pierce Brosnan? Sure. He introduced her into this world, I'm glad she's stuck around for so long. However, I got the feeling they were really holding her on a tight leash in the Brosnan days. Her character had so much potential and instead of letting her fly, they kept her to the sidelines looking like a grandmother bull-dyke. 

Best quotes: "I love keeping naughty boys in order."

Fun fact: Her ringtone is the James Bond theme song. Also, she's the reason my first name has been shortened to "M." Not that I'm a fangirl or anything. Er.

And Then A Wild Aston Martin Appears!

SKYFALL (2012)

Obligatory bare-Craig-chest image.

Ever since Pierce Brosnan, we've become accustomed to a bigger, faster, explodier Bond. Each new movie had new gadgets, new gear, new nonsense. We propelled Bond into the future with invisible cars, cheap smiles, and all the luxuries of modern cinema. And we drank the punch. We expected Bond to get increasingly more hip and in-tune with our culturally relevant standards. We were waiting for Bond to switch out Q. for Google and start sexting his Bond girls.

And then Sam Mendes said, "Well. Fuck that."

Skyfall reminds us exactly why we loved the Bond films in the first place. If nothing else, it's a very loving homage to the Bond of the good old days. Bond is no longer clowned up and jumping around like a kangaroo on cocaine; he's a genuine spy. Yes, he's still the bold, brash bastard we all know and love, but he's a little more in control of the situation. Of course, the genius of this movie is that, for most of the movie, we get Bond completely out of his element. He spends the first half of the movie a battered, alcoholic mess with a very, very bruised ego. After twenty-three movies of a perfect shot, there's something extraordinarily satisfying about watching Bond miss his target. So not only do we have a highly competent organization set out to trip up Her Majesty's Secret Service, but we also have a damaged Bond struggling to keep up. I mean, why didn't anyone think of this before?

I think I've said all I can through my teeth. The twists in this movie are so epic that I would have to throw myself onto a Hattori Hanzo sword if I thought I spoiled this movie for anyone (even though, if you're a rabid Bond fan, you can see most of them coming ahead of time, it STILL doesn't change the fact that the "big reveals" are massively satisfying). That said, the spoiler portion of my review is under the cut! Otherwise, just see it, yeah? Or I will judge you. JUDGE.