Who's Up For Chelios Pong & Why Am I Bleeding?

CRANK (2006)

The poster art was way too good to pass up.

DEAR GOD THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANT IN A MOVIE FUCKING SHIT MOTHER LOVING MONKEY CUNT...

...and so on and so forth. I was going to write this entire review in capitals and profanity, but then I had a small seizure halfway through, ran through ten walls, and now have new M.-shaped openings to wave to my neighbors though. In case you're wondering, yes, this movie is that fucking good.

So I tried to come up with an appropriate means to honor the epicness that is Crank. And I came up with this: Chelios Pong. It's kind of like a drinking game, a la my friends at French Toast Sunday. But lets be real, if you're watching Crank, you're not drinking. You're snorting lines of coke and zapping yourself with a taser every time your heart slows down. So, in honor of the awesome that is Crank, here is a game of Chelios Pong designed for Chev Chelios himself. Unless your name is Chev Chelios, do not try this at home or anywhere else. You will die. Maybe Chuck Norris can join in, but even that's pushing it.

TAKE A DRINK EVERY TIME CHELIOS PUT A GUN TO SOMEONE'S HEAD

We'll start off easy in Chelios Pong, even though Crank starts off as anything but. We're introduced immediately to Chev Chelios, the more-than-volatile hit-man who wakes up to find out he's been poisoned in his sleep and has about an hour left to live. And the only way to keep himself alive? Keep his heart pumping. Fast. The movie starts on a high note and just gets higher. It's really something to admire when you hit the ground running and keep the tension pumping until the last very frame. It's action, action, and more action. Not needless, not extraneous--very important, life saving action. Shameless premise? Absolutely. But we need more shamelessness like this! It's a movie that never has to apologize, and even if it did, it'd prefer to spit in your face and call you a fag. And, whenever you think you're about to hit a slow point and take a breath, there's that dull thud of Chelios' heartbeat, reminding you that, when time is ticking, every beat counts. And it's time to break some skulls.

SNORT A LINE OF COCAINE EVERY TIME A BADASS CHARACTER IS INTRODUCED

Now for the list of awesomeness. For a movie filled with some of the craziest fuckers you will ever meet, all the actors and actresses held their own and were perfect for each and every role. Jose Pablo Cantillo was perfect as the henchman with a short and explosive temper. Efren Ramirez worked it as the drag queen man-on-the-street, Kaylo. DRAG QUEEN. FUCKING AWESOME. Dwight Yoakam was a hilarious mad doctor, matched only by his Chocolate, Valarie Rae Miller. There was even some celeb-spotting--credited as "Hatian Cabbie" was the black man from X-Men: First Class (wonder why he died first...?). The thing is, at the end of the day, every actor seems to accept this movie for exactly what it is--a campy ass fun fucking time--and they embrace the spirit of that with their characters. Their crazy, crazy fucking characters.

Of course, the is leaving out the best character of them all. Chev Chelios himself. The dude is a fucking superhero. An action hero. A most epic character among epic characters. Let's look at the facts: he's a hit-man with a soft spot for his girl, but he harbors sadomasochistic tendencies even when he's not hopped up on "The Chinese Shit" and he's guaranteed to fuck everyone up, including himself. He's a straight up MOTHERFUCKING BADASS. Chev Chelios has that act-first-think-later attitude that we love in James Bond, but instead of being suave about it, he's crass and brutal. What it comes down to is this: Chev Chelios' biggest obstacle is Chev Chelios. Oh. And The Chinese Shit. 

STICK YOUR HAND IN A TOASTER EVERY TIME EVE DOES SOMETHING ADORABLE

No, not that kind of toaster, you dirty, geeky bastard. Though Caprica Six is about just as deadly. Moving right along...just when you think I couldn't get more excited about this movie, it happened. Eve. Anyone who's even skimmed this blog will know I have a bit of a fetish for rough and tumble women with guns. Eve is on the exact opposite side of that spectrum. She's the eye-candy, the pretty little thing that runs around with her purse and her squeals all blonde and boobs. An action movie essential. Get it? Got it? Good. 

Except there's more to Eve than that. The thing is, she's an actual character. I think the brilliance of Eve has to be credited partly to the script and partly to Amy Smart, who absolutely owns the role. I'll spell it out for you: in action movies, we have two types, the overcompensating (but always appreciated) butch badass, or the girly girly who hops from one tit to the other and doesn't do diddly. Eve rests somewhere in between. Granted, she doesn't wield the gun in the relationship--she leaves that all to Chev. But she's not a helpless woman. And therein lies the distinction: even though Eve is femme as hell, she not only takes care of herself, but also her man. She's the rhyme and reason behind Chelios, the driving force to why he does everything he does. He's got the muscle and the badassitry, but when she tells him to fix the clock on the microwave, boy best fix the clock on the microwave. Seriously, hats off to the script writers for writing one extremely fucking rare believable romance. Which, in turn, makes Eve one badass bitch. Their chemistry is great, their relationship feels genuine, and I'm with them every step of the way. Really, Nicolas Sparks has a thing or two to learn about adrenaline junkies and their hoes. 

INJECT YOURSELF WITH SOMETHING-THAT-STARTS-WITH-E EVERY TIME A NEW STYLE COMES UP

Here's the think--Crank is a really stylized movie. But in a good way. This is the epitome of some art in an action film. On the flip side, we've got movies like Drive, that are some action in an art film (I enjoyed the movie, I swear, I just also have a shit ton of fun making fun of it). The point is, there is a fine line, and Crank balances it perfectly. We've got our crazy fucking action, but it also happens to be blended perfectly with little bouts of comic-book-esque style. It adds to the heightened sense of ridiculousness and just makes the movie that much more awesome. 

STICK UP A HOSPITAL EVERY TIME CHELIOS EXPLAINS WHAT'S GOING ON

In certain movies, especially ones with convoluted plots, the main character will have to repeat the plot over and over to various minor characters, just to let everyone know what the fuck's going in. Crank had Chelios explain his heart issues over and over again. Why? Not because it's complicated. Not because the audience has a hard time wrapping their heads around it. No, every time Chelios has a little exposition scene, the writers are bragging. They're motherfucking bragging. Why? BECAUSE IT'S SO FUCKING AWESOME! WHY DIDN'T ANYONE COME UP WITH THIS PREMISE SOONER? WHY IS THERE BLOOD COMING OUT OF MY EAR--?

JUMP OUT OF A HELICOPTER EVERY TIME CHELIOS JUMPS OUT OF A HELICOPTER

Naturally, this is one you only have to do once. Be sure to watch out for wind interference while trying to make a phone call. 

Frank Martin Is Not A Tourist.

THE TRANSPORTER (2002)

Image from shockya.com.

Before there was Driver, there was the Transporter. Frank Martin is a no-nonsense transporter who will serve as a getaway driver as well as deliver a couple less-than-savory packages. He's slick, he blunt, and he has rules that cannot be broken. Rule #1: when it's a deal, it's a deal. Rule #2: no names. Rule #3: don't open the package. However, when the package thrown in his drunk starts squirming and crying out for help, he can't quite help but bend the rules a little. Especially when she turns out to be a smoking hot bound and gagged Asian chick. Which is when all hell breaks loose in a top-speed, knuckles bared, fight for their lives. So sorry, Ryan Gosling, save the art deco for Andy Warhol, this is how you do a motherfucking movie about getaway drivers.

Jason Statham gets all the bitches.

I'm not going to say it's perfect. There were a couple bumps on the road, to put it nicely. The bad guys, for one, could have kicked it up a gear. The head honcho turned out to be the father of our bound and gagged Asian, Lai, who looked a shit ton like Michael Jackson on a bad day. And, alright, daddy issues, I can root for that. It worked for Star Wars, we can do it again, right? And, of course, they had the complimentary American bad guy just so we don't get completely confused because what the hell is this, some foreign movie? They called the American "Wall Street", but that was about the only badass thing going for him. Other than that, he had no scars or no signature weapon, nothing that really set him apart as an awesome henchmen, so I couldn't really get into him.

The good guys, however, were something else. First off, Frank Martin. Played by Jason Statham. Just the words "Jason Statham" should give you automatic faith in the movie. Which isn't to say he hasn't played in a couple crap movies, he's done his share of crap. But the dude is just so fucking entertaining it's hard to be disappointed in him. The camera likes him. And he always delivers exactly what you expect from him--a solid performance that is exactly one thing: Jason Statham. He plays Jason Statham in every movie and we've just gotta love him for him. To top it off, Frank Martin is a character that we haven't seen the likes of in a while. Sure, he's got the swagger of an anti-hero, always treading that neutral territory between bad and good. But he's got some heart, and something that we haven't witnessed since the 90s--he doesn't actually kill anyone. Really. Watch the movie. Do people die in good, bloody gore? No. They just kind of...fall down and don't get back up. And the ones he does leave standing usually go white with fear and turn tail in the other direction. In the age of slow-motion kills when we get to watch superheroes themselves slice a coin through the bad guy's skull, there is something almost nostalgic in this movie. Something actually nice about the hero who...is an actual hero and performs badass stunts but does it with a little mercy and a lot of style.

Image from culturemob.com.

As for the stunts, I've got to say. The action scenes were a heck of a lot of fun. I mean, c'mon. Jason Statham--sorry--Frank Martin literally engages in a bit of oil wrestling with about five other guys and slips and slides all over the floor, kicking all their asses. Really, what more can you want? There's just some really brilliantly choreographed fight scenes--and we're talking hand-to-hand combat, mind you. Not a simple draw-a-gun-and-done. Mixed martial arts is always the way to go.

As a side note, there was one downside to the action. And that was the music. Who the fuck compiled this score? It's weird, it's out of place, and it doesn't get me pumped. There are some genres you can get away with bad music. Dramas, occasionally, especially when it's that Victorian-era crap. Comedies don't always need a good score if the jokes sell it for them. But action films. You need good, choreographed action, and a good soundtrack to pump it up. If you want me adrenaline going, give me something to ride it on. I don't know about you, but I don't work out to elevator music. It's Fratellis or bust. The point is, you can make the best action movie ever, but if you don't have a score supporting it, it's going to trip and fall on its face. And that, unfortunately, was the fate of The Transporter.

Still. Bad score aside, I've got to give credit where credit is due. And that credit lies in Lai, played by Shu Qi. I'm sure there are plenty reasons not to like her, but I couldn't help but be charmed by the girl. I mean, she spends the first half of the movie tied to a chair with duct tape on her mouth, rolling around trying to escape. She's incredibly endearing, especially for action movie eye candy. Badass action scenes aside, I've got to say, I think my favorite parts of the movie were when Frank was trying to maneuver around her. Whether she was stuffed in his trunk or unable to keep her mouth shut, the two had good chemistry together and they milked it.

Honey badger don't give a shit.

At the end of the day, this is just a fun as hell movie. Good action, good eye candy, and good Jason Stathem. I might've been disappointed if I'd caught this one in theaters, but as a rental or a caught-it-while-it-was-on-tv, it makes for good, brainless fun. 

Modesty Blaise: Double Feature!

MODESTY BLAISE (1966)

Image from listal.

It's really only fair that Modesty Blaise follows James Bond (with a little Haywire in between--I got a little too excited about that movie and prematurely reviewaculated), as she is the 007 of women. She's the women every man wants and every woman wants to be. I mean...you know. James Bond with tits and a bad acid trip. The thing about Modesty Blaise is that it's your quintessential 60s movie. You have to go in knowing that or else you might squawk in surprise for the first half of the film like a violated chicken. Everything is weird and nothing makes sense, but you leave with the vague impression that you've been smacked in the face with an Andy Warhol.

I'm pretty sure there was a plot. Something about Modesty Blaise, the government spy type, being doubled crossed by...someone. I'm also pretty sure I zoned out halfway through, so I'm sure there was a little more to the plot than that. But the fact that my attention fizzled and died says it all, really. Credit where credit is due--Modesty Blaise packs some punches. Naturally, her biggest asset as a spy is her pretty smile and her way to charm everyone she meets (really. Everyone. She even has a small army of stereotypical arabs in her pocket). But the really wild thing about her is she's not afraid to kill. With a smile. Which is honestly a little chilling, because she's more or less what Audrey Hepburn would look like if she went M16. Now imagine Holy Go-fuckin'-lightly pulling a Patrick Bateman at the end of Breakfast at Tiffany's and you catch my drift. As for the actors themselves, Monica Vitta plays Modesty Blaise and does a good job of it. The only other one really worth mentioning is Terence Stamp, who plays her platonic (question mark?) partner in crime. I have a large soft spot for Terence Stamp, which is weird because he doesn't actually have a very large claim to fame, but he's always done good in my book.

But what this movie really has to offer is atmosphere. In bucketfuls. I don't know what was more colorful in this movie--the characters or the wallpaper. The outfits would have made David Bowie blush, the set design is trippy as hell, and the props are quite literally out of this world. And did I mention there are musical numbers? It couldn't get campier if two unicorns were having sex on a rainbow. Lady Gaga, eat your heart out.

In short, it's a great movie to have in the background while you have the pot smoke burning and the lava lamps glowing. As a cinematic story, I'm not sure it actually holds up. But it's visually amazing, generally good fun, and has a couple ridiculous musical numbers if that's your kind of thing.

MY NAME IS MODESTY (2004)

Image from www.blurayvn.com.

So, for reasons unbeknownst to...just about everyone in the modern world, for some reason, we've decided to pull Miss Modesty Blaise out of retirement. I have a vague suspicion that it might have something to do with the fact that Quentin Tarantino produced it. My Name Is Modesty has very little do with the original movie. We've picked up the pace, we've cut down on the flash, and we've modernized it. A shit ton. 

My Name Is Modesty follows Modesty Blaise, who now works in a casino. Which is all well and fine. Until, of course, a group of criminals come to collect what's theirs at the casino and find one very challenging roadblock in their way--Modesty Blaise. The only one who can let them into the vault. And so begins a long night of a cat and mouse game between Modesty Blaise and her captors. On a bet, she ends up telling them her history in entirety. It's really an origins story for Modesty Blaise, splashed with the nice tense background of a hold up at a casino. 

Modesty and the 7th Dwarf.

Modesty Blaise is played by Alexandra Staden, who comes across as a sleek, manipulative woman, always in control of herself and those around her. She has an edge of morbid humor and an uncanny ability to stare her attackers in the eye, even when they have a gun pointed at her. In short, she's a badass, but subtly so. In the other corner, we have the thief, Miklos, played by Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. If that name sounds familiar, you've been watching too much Game Of Thrones. Yes, Modesty is a badass, but this guy really steals the movie. He's sadistic, but in that way that taps into the campy, B-movie spirit of the film. He's smarmy, but at the same time very human. He's used to being in control when he has a gun in his hand, and it's a lot of fun watching him trying to figure out how to psych out Modesty, who is unshakable. 

Her origins story itself is a lot of fun. It has everything you could want from it--the wise old mentor, the young rebel girl, the story of these two surviving against the odds. Despite the fact that there's only really one fight scene at the end, the movie moves along at a clip pace and keeps you engaged. It helps that it runs a neat 77 minutes and is on instant play on Netflix. If you need a good rainy day movie or have an hour to kill, My Name Is Modesty is good, solid, B-movie fun. 

Are You There, God? It's Me, Marky Mark.

MAX PAYNE (2008)

Image from starpulse.com.

Everyone's had that moment. You watch the trailer, it's great, you're psyched. Then you go to the theater and leave feeling cheated out of your money and violated. I always assumed there was nothing worse than that let down. And then I saw this movie. Max Payne commits the crime of a well-done, exciting set-up...and then falls on its face by the third act, leaving you to wonder whether the writer didn't have a brain aneurysm on the table and slammed his head against the keyboard a couple times to finish the story. It's not the plot. There have been some very good combinations of murder noir and religious mysticism. This just isn't one of them. It's not about the actors. Even if they all look like some casting director's second choice, they pull it off well. And it's not about the characters. They're all solid. The fall of this movie is simply that, like a Harvard girl turned stripper, it makes some bad decisions down the road and doesn't live up to any of its promises. 

It sets us up with a good start. The whole thing is very murder noir, very eerie. The tone of the movie is great, there's a lot of evil "fans slicing through air" shots, and grundy, dark scenes. Our main guy is interesting enough--Max Payne, played by the hardass version of Mark Walhberg. He's got the classic hangups: his wife and kid were murdered and he was all of ten minutes too late. So it's a cliché problem we've seen before, but you know what? It always works. If it ain't broke. So instead of spiraling into an alcoholic depressed mess, Max decides to channel his rage in a different way--he chases down unsolved cases and beats criminals to shit, looking for the one that got away--the man who killed his family. Yes! A vengeance flick! I'm so on board. Tell me more, Max Payne, tell me more, like does he have a car?

Bad movie = suddenly worth it.

But, like all good detectives hell bent on his own self-destruction, Max gets in too deep. Following a hot tip, Max finds himself in a club full of nefarious types and smoking hot women. AKA: the gorgeous Natasha, AKA: Olga Kurylenko, AKA: motherfucking Bond girl. Her performance is short lived, but sure as hell memorable. And she introduces us to the next best thing--pseudo-dominatrix Mila Kunis who plays Natasha's Russian gangster sister, Mona Sax (you say sister, I say lesbian lover. Don't worry, John Moore, I'm rewriting your script, it's coming along great). Max gets mixed up with the sisters, all the while being hunted by Jim Bravura, a straight-edged detective played by Ludacris (am I the only one who gets really excited when I see rappers act...and act well?). So far, this movie has the makings of everything I want out of life.

And then the angels come. The angels are these strange Norse myth beasts that come out of the shadows and fuck your shit up. Okay. This setting is over the top as it is, I'm cool with introducing strange mythological beasts into it. Really. I don't have a problem with it. What I do have a problem with is the only time anyone sees these angels is when they're tripping off this drug that's a big "government military secret". I'm down with a secret military drug that makes soldiers super human. I'm down with mystical angels. But it's got to be one of the other. Why, you ask? Well. Enter Act Three.

It's right at the top of the screenwriter's handbook 101: your main character cannot be forced into the third act. They have to make a definitive choice that steers the final act of the movie, or else they're just a boring as shit main character. After a series of (fairly well done) action sequences and various interrogation sessions, Max Payne finds himself betrayed by his best friend and sinking quickly to the bottom of an icy river. And so Max saves his own life by drinking the punch--he downs a vial of the super secret military drug that makes you super human. And then everything goes to shit. Really. If you ever watch this movie, just turn it off when he hits that icy cold water. Make up your own ending. Maybe he sinks and dies. Maybe Natasha comes back to life and gets it on with her sister. Maybe Ludacris strokes his chin thoughtfully for half and hour. Whatever it is, it's better than what actually happens.

What actually happens is Max Payne starts tripping balls. Seriously. Not even exaggerating. He trips balls, sees these crazy ass angel things who don't do shit except hover menacingly, and throughout all that, somehow manages to kill the bad guy. I don't know about you, but if I was tripping that hard, I don't think I'd have the proper aim needed to fire a deadly shot into the bad guy. I think I'd probably inform everyone that I had become a rooster illusion and jump out of the fucking window. This is supposed to be the moment in which Max Payne confronts his demons and exacts his revenge on the man who killed his family, but instead it turns into Max Payne getting high as shit and somehow accidentally saving the day. If this was Pineapple Express, I would've been happy. But it's not. It had the makings of an excellent, albeit campy, murder noir action movie. And then the end was a complete mess. Mona Sax started off Russian and badass, and turned out to be completely useless. Jim Bravura played an excellent character with enemies on both sides of the fence who could have ultimately teamed up with Max Payne, but instead he fell into dust. And Max Payne's potentially awesome vengeance kick left me wondering what the writers were on when they wrote the third act and how I could get my hands on it.

"Drugs are bad!!!"

In short? Give this movie a watch. Just kill it as soon as Max Payne hits the icy water. Drowning death/incestuous lesbian zombies/anything else you can come up with is so much better. 

"I'll More Than Alarm You."

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO (2011)

Prepare for battle...

Everyone's thinking it, not so many people are saying it. Let's just go all out, shall we? I call it...BATTLE OF THE REMAKE! In one corner, those crazy Swedish bastards. In the other corner, AMERICA! It should be known that the referee is only literate in the language of Chuck Norris' body hair, so she was unable to read the novel these movies were based on. It should also be known that copious spoilers lay ahead, and honey badger don't give a shit. Let the fighting commence!

Round One:

The thing that really sold the US version of Girl With The Dragon Tattoo for me was the new and improved Mikael. Honestly, I can't tell you what it is about Michael Nyqvist. Maybe I just don't like his face. Whatever the case, Nyqvist bored me to tears. I couldn't get into his character, I couldn't get into him period. But I didn't really have time to care because I was too busy drooling over Noomi Rapace's awesome. Either way, I went into the US version expecting much of the same. Sure, I love Daniel Craig and I've got a lot of faith in him. But Mikael is just...a white rice character. Well. Let's just say I was pleasantly surprised, and I owe 99% of that to one very important character. The cat. I don't know what it is, probably a cat woman dyke thing, but watching 007 play with a kitty cat is incredibly endearing. And so I decided Mikael could have a place in my heart. He likes cats, he's got a good personality, and he's got multiple little faucets of his self for us to touch on--his affair, his ex-wife, his daughter. All of it rounds out to a good, interesting Mikael Blomkvist. In short, Daniel Craig has to work very hard to disappoint me.

And the winner is...Daniel Craig and his pussy.

Round Two:

Ah, what I wouldn't give for this to be a physical cat fight. The thing about Rooney Mara is I liked her. A shit ton more than I thought I would. Let's face it, the woman had big shoes to fill and tiny feet to fill them with. But instead of completely trying to replicate Noomi Rapace's job well done, she took the character down a La Femme Nikita road. Lisbeth became much more pure animal instinct, and for that, I have to give the little ball of energy Rooney Mara mad props. But with her almost too-intense eyes peering out of her doll face, she felt less like Lisbeth Salander and more like something Tim Burton might concoct. Noomi Rapace is a gritty, badass punk who still carries with her a sharp edge of humanity underneath the smoldering flames of the violence that lives inside of her. Or I just want to get in her pants. Either or. 

And the winner is...Noomi Rapace (be still my beating heart).

Round Three:

If anyone remembers my previous review of the Swedish version (The Girl With The Occasional Hangnail), you'll know that I bitched at length about Mikael and Lisbeth's relationship. There was just something about it that simply didn't sit right with me. Then I saw Craig and Rooney Mara. I do get the feeling I might have been subliminally forced into liking it since there were so many attractive promotional images of the two together. Nonetheless, Mara and Craig had great on screen chemistry. They worked brilliantly off each other, and despite their clear differences, somehow seemed to fit. I think what it all comes down to is the fact that Fincher took the time to include trivial, yet touching intimate moments. Something as simple as Lisbeth demanding Mikael to keep his hands on her while she worked somehow added that much more to their relationship, making it feel natural and flow easily through the movie instead of forcing a connection.

And the winner is...Daniel Craig and Rooney Mara.

Round Four:

Also known as, "and then another incestuous Swede walks into a bar...". One of the main problems with the first movie was that I just couldn't follow along. Maybe it was the subtitles. It's entirely possible I'm just that much of a stupid American. Whatever the case, everyone just felt like another Swedish Nazi having sex with his sister. In the American version, Fincher seemed to breath a little more life into the important family members and then shrugged off the rest of the snippy old bitches like dried up snake skin. Sure, I'm sure important plot points were lost thanks to America's "time is money" philosophy. But who really wants to listen to Aunt Helga whine and cough up cat fur?

And the winner is...David Fincher.

Round Five:

Alright. So I'll be blunt. With tag lines like "the feel bad movie of the year", I was expecting to feel a little more brutalized. Yes, the rape was brutal as all hell. Yes, the post-rape shower made me physically uncomfortable. Good job. But skip ahead a little bit to Lisbeth's revenge. Yes, she goes through the exact same motions. But what's that? While she was tying her rapist up, she had time to do her makeup? So you're telling me she just decided, in the middle of this emotionally and physically violent scene, to play a little dress up? Alllllrighty then. Skip ahead a little more. When Mikael is squirming between the jaws of Vanger Jr. Martin Vanger has Nazi blood, a childhood fraught with violence, and he's a pathological sadist who gets off on brutally raping and killing random women. Got it. Now look at Craig. He looks...vaguely uncomfortable? He's got a neck brace on. Now, I'm pretty sure anyone who's ever had to wear a neck brace will tell you how extraordinary uncomfortable they are. Because, you know. They chafe and stuff. Right. Now let's skip to Nyqvist, who has a hangman's cheap noose wrapped around his throat. Call me old fashioned, but there's something about Nyqvist's torture that hits a more visceral note, despite Craig's good acting and the excellent help of our friend the plastic bag.

What I'm trying to get at here is between the heavily made up raccoon eyes Rooney Mara sports while she sodomizes her rapist and the odd little neck brace, I get the feeling Fincher got a little caught up in the theatrics when he really just needed to zero in on the genuine, visceral, bloody heart of the moment. The more visually appealing brutality is, the less it hurts. I know what you're thinking. M., lay off. It just looks cool. You're right. You're totally right. I mean, it's not like people are going to entirely miss the point of the movie and make a clothing line based off a mildly psychopathic rape victim, right?...Guys? Right?

And the winner is...Noomi Rapace and her terrifying tattoo skills.

Round Six:

All's well that ends well. Or, you know. Drags out to the point of nibbling on popcorn kernels. Here's the thing. We kind of...don't give that many shits about Mikael's case. It was just a plot device used to get us to this super interesting missing woman case, and now that the case is solved, mission completed, job well done, we're ready to pack up and go home. Alright, so I get that this one isn't that easy to wrap up, we have to explain how Mikael gets off, we have to give Lisbeth a last moment of badassitry, we have to see our hero ride into the sunset with...well...a girl. But did it really need to last as long as it did? I was having LOTRs deja vu watching the multiple endings drag out in front of me. Yeah, so the Swedish version dragged on just as long. But somehow I expected it to drag, since the whole movie had been a lot slower, a lot quieter. Fincher's version was much more fast paced and action packed, so when he dragged his feet through the end, I felt it. 

And the winner is...Zer Svedish.

And The Winner Is...

Er...that's a bit of a tough answer. Especially considering the fact that they've officially tied and I've got no tie-breaker. Look, what it comes down to is, they were both excellent movies in their own right. Usually I feel strongly about one version, but this time I could swing either way. Really, if we could just do this movie one more time mixing and matching the best bits from each movie, I'd be happy. As it is, I'll be content to watch both versions multiple times to satisfy my masochistic love for this brilliant, dark movie.

If It Ain't Broke.

TAKEN (2008)

Image from amazon.com.

A pretty little American girl falls into the hands of evil human traffickers who come from some non-white country and her father/retired CIA agent goes back into the field to find her. Roll credits. That should really be all you need to know about this movie. It's a recycled plot, played out with characters we've all seen before, and to top it all off, it's filmed in that dark, depressing, realistic action movie style, as opposed to most of the high-contrast fantasy colored flair that comes out of big budget Hollywood. In short, my ADD-generation brain plans to lose interest halfway through the second act, flip to Family Guy, and tune back in just in time to see the closing five minutes. 

Except I don't. In fact, I don't look away from the screen at all.

Image from mattfind.com.

I'm not going to say it's the best movie of the year. But I will say that they pulled it off. Really well. The plot is more or less a straight line from A to B, no frills, nothing really all that original. But it doesn't really need anything else. After all, if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? They're working with the same action movie formula that's worked time and again. They don't stray, don't try anything over the top, and there's something satisfyingly clean about the whole script. Sure, maybe it's a bit paint-by-numbers. But if it hooks me in and entertains me the whole way through, I say there's nothing wrong with playing it safe, especially after so many recent movies have been a little over the top with their desperate race to create something "original". But "look what I can do, aren't I better than everyone else?" doesn't actually work when...you aren't better than anyone else. You're just shitting on an older-than-time method that's proven to satisfy audiences time and again. I don't want you to get the wrong idea--I'm all about the hooky experimental acid trips. You say 90 minutes, I say I love the smell of Napalm in the morning. But there is something utterly refreshing in a movie that dots its i's, crosses its t's, no more, no less.

Still from amazon.com

But enough of that. Onto the real reason why I was so taken with Taken. Liam Neeson. In my mind, this man can really do no wrong. So he made a couple shit movies. Clash of the Titans (2010) is an example, and then he was in some Star Wars spoof called The Phantom Menace (1999) or something equally ridiculous. But let's face it, even when he's in crap, he still manages to shine like a family heirloom pocket watch. I can't really tell you what I like so much about the man. It's possible it's all in his kind eyes. Whatever Jedi mind tricks he's using, it works. Plus, for someone approaching 60s, dude fucking kills at action scenes. I loved him in A-Team (2010), I loved him in this, I'm looking forward to watching him kick ass all the way to retirement. Anyway, you've got to admit that it's ten times more believable that a CIA agent with some 30 plus years of training under his belt with actually be the lean, mean killing machine all the 20-some pretty boy action heros try to be. Because they were clearly born with a butterfly knife in hand. Well. This girl excluded.

Overall, good, solid movie. Definitely worth a viewing. Liam Neeson was great, the whole thing was very satisfying, the action was fantastic, and Light Sticks was completely unrecognizable. The built up in the beginning paid off nicely, it had a good suspenseful grip, and best of all, didn't fuck around with a halfbaked romance. Nope. Neeson mercilessly kicked ass quite nicely on his own, thank you very much. If you're looking for a movie that may not make your top ten but will not disappoint, look no further. 

The Girl With The Occasional Hangnail.

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO (2009)

Moral? Do not fuck with a chick with nose rings.

Alright. I'll start off with the confession that I haven't read the book. Because books are for losers and don't have enough car chases in them. But then I saw the trailer. You know. The trailer. The trailer which put me into spasms of motherfucking awesome, and just put my girlfriend into spasms of epilepsy (and then gave me the silent treatment for putting her through that). Anyway, I figured if I'm going to be wetting myself over the American trailer, I might as well do the good thing and see the Swedish movie first. And let me tell you--holyfuckingawesome. I know movie critics have this moral code called "if everybody loves it and it isn't over thirty years old, it must be shit". And yes, the movie and the books got a shit ton of hoopla. But there's a very rare occasion when the movie that everyone considers badass really is that badass. This is one of those movies. 

Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth.

The plot is simple enough. Reporter Mikael Blomkvist (played conveniently by Michael Nyqvist, who apparently only stars in movies with extraordinarily vague titles...ah, Svedens) is only months away from getting locked away at Stockholm and decides to use the spare time he has left to take on another case. He's hired by a sweet old (and slightly insane) grandfatherly type, Henrik Vanger, who is obsessed with the disappearance of his niece, Harriet, who went missing some 40 years ago. Mikael hops on board to take on the assignment, slowly picking through clues, sifting through evidence. He's your standard, older man sleuth, who works his way though boxes upon boxes of evidence bundled up in front of a fireplace. You can't help but find him completely endearing, and noble in a sort of old fashioned gentleman detective way. 

On the flip side, we have Lisbeth Salander, played by the extraordinarily talented and just plain sexy Noomi Rapace. Would that I could explain all the ways Lisbeth is a fucking badass. She's a talented computer hacker, who gets herself involved in the case by hacking into Mikael's computer. She's also everything I could ask for in a female heroine. She puts up a hell of a good fight against the boys, she doesn't censor herself for anyone, and she believes revenge is a dish best served hog-tied and sodomized. But best of all? She doesn't have all of that "I'm a woman, therefore I'm the emotional one" in this movie. Instead, she closes off completely, to everyone, no exceptions. And she gets herself into some fucked up tight spots, but she never plays the victim. She carries her demons on her back and wears them well. She doesn't need the male lead to help her with the load, thank you very much. But then again, I might just love her so much because she's half-dyke. 

Image from moviesmedia.ign.com.

About Lisabeth and Mikael. I'll say this. I had a problem with them. Which is weird, because I spent the entire first half of the movie waiting for them to finally bump into each other. And I was there with these characters through it all. From Mikael's careful mental avoidance of his prison sentence, to Lisabeth's (fucking intense) rape. I was there, I was with them. I was loving every second of it. And then they started to share the screen, and something shifted. Mikael, for one, turned into a love sick puppy dog. And I get it. I'd probably do the same, and it makes sense for his character. But still. That previous gentleman nobility about him kind of went out the window. So I lost a good chunk of respect for him. 

But there was something stilted about their relationship in general. The characters were acting just as I would expect them to--he was falling for her and she wasn't really giving him the time of day--but somehow their chemistry just wasn't doing it for me. It wasn't their acting, and it wasn't the writing, because both were spot on. It was just something uncomfortable in the relationship period. Maybe it was because I'd hoped they would have some sort of father-daughter bond instead of going the easy way out with a love interest. Maybe it was just that Mikael does awkward as hell sex scenes. Whatever it was, it rubbed me the wrong way, and apparently rubbed Lisbeth the wrong way, who couldn't seem to wait to step out of every scene she was in with him. And if this had been one, doomed, awkward relationship in the course of both their lives, I would've been fine with that. They both got what they wanted--he got to drive a car for the first time since his divorce, and she got her good-man lovin'. So they grew as characters and could move on, and Lisbeth could be the new James Bond and have a Bond Boy (or Girl) in every movie. Except somehow I get the feeling Mikael isn't leaving us for a good while. Let's just hope he works on his sex face. 

I think we all know who wears the pants in this pair.

Complaints about their relationship aside, it was a really fucking good film. It was paced well (even though the slowish beginning did pick up a little too fast for me towards the end), it had some painfully realistic and intense senses, and it was a movie that wasn't afraid to go there. Really, I thought since it was so popular among soccer moms it was going to be fluffier than this, but it had some scenes that spun out into dark, unnerving places. Which makes sense when you realize the original Swedish title is Men Who Hate Women. Especially since...this movie had nothing to do with a dragon tattoo. Except that she had it. Whoop-de-fucking-do. Might as well call it The Girl With The Occasional Hangnail.  

While watching the film, I couldn't help but wonder the eternal question: "How the fuck is Hollywood going to pull this one off?" My prediction is that, if its anything like the trailers (which, experience has told me, it probably isn't, but I'll keep hoping!), it'll probably be epic. I don't doubt they'll cut out a good portion of the easy, slow pace in the beginning (because who needs subtle tension building, really?), but they may make up for it with a more cohesive relationship between Mikael and Lisbeth (let's face it, if there's one thing Americans are good at, it's contrived romantic sub-plots). Daniel Craig I happen to be a big fan of, so I have some hope there. Rooney Mara may look cool punked-out and she has impressed me before, but I know it's impossible to beat Noomi Rapace's complete and utter badassitry, so I won't even hold that expectation against her. I love Led Zeppelin like my unborn fetus. So the fact that I give Trent Reznor's version of The Immigrant Song the thumbs up is a major compliment. All in all? I'm still looking forward to feeling bad, come Christmastime. 

Terminator 4: The Only Script Written In All Caps.

TERMINATOR: SALVATION (2009)

Image from http://www.pinktentacle.com/

We all know the Terminator series. Even to all those who haven't seen it, they're aware that the only reason no one messes with California is because the Governator will seek it's enemy target and destroy without remorse. I personally did a marathon night of the first two, skipped the third one because I was told it was crap, then ran to the theaters to catch the fourth. By that point, I was married to the series. I was right there with them. But after seeing the latest addition to the Terminator franchise...I come away with mixed feelings. 

The thing is, it's problematic. It doesn't fit in neatly with the rest of the series, it feels disconnected, and it distorts some major facts we just spent three movies (or two, if you're me) laying out. The characters are off, the tone just doesn't jive...this isn't the future we've really been waiting for. It's so insane, I felt the need to give a play-by-play to sift through the nonsense. 

Terminator: Salvation (2009) follows two main strains: the John Connor (Christian Bale) story and the Marcus Wright (Sam Worthington) story. The John Connor story, frankly, I don't really give two shits about. Which is a shame, because child John Connor was actually pretty badass for a kid actor, which is saying a lot (I'm looking at you, young Anakin. Where did they find that boy, a Cheerios commercial?). The point is, in this movie, John Connor is a dickwad. Remember when Christian Bale flipped his shit? Now imagine that for two hours. Yeah. All John Connor did was scream. At everyone. There was something about a device that could basically pause robots, something about a bully on a submarine, but I couldn't really hear the plot over Christian Bale frothing at the mouth.

The second (and handsomer) storyline revolves around Marcus Wright. The best part of the movie is really the first five minutes, in which they threw all their movie making brilliance and then farted around for the remainder of the movie. It's a concise yet poignant scene in which Marcus Wright, the human, is trapped in a holding cell, waiting out his last few minutes before he gets the chair. He's visited by Dr. Kogan, played by the ever amazing Helena Bonham Carter, who pleads him one last time to donate his body to the noble cause of Cyberdyne. Dun dun duuun. He finally accepts her offer on one condition--a kiss. I don't really think Dr. Kogan complained much. So Marcus Wright is donated to science and...wakes up some 15 years later. Unaware of just about everything. He spends the next 20 minutes of the movie doing a sexy walk. I wish I was kidding. Actually, I don't. His walk is quite sexy. He could have shoved a dead rodent in his mouth and spun in tight circles burping the alphabet for 20 minutes and I would've watched it. It probably would've been a more cohesive movie too.

I digress. Marcus Wright stumbles upon a very young and very Russian Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin), who doesn't really do older Kyle Reese any justice. Instead of being the badass we know, he's some loser who's holed up in this abandoned building uh...just because? No real reason why he's there. And he's got a sidekick black little girl mute, so they really jammed all their minority quotas into one character. I'll run with it. All goes well until Kyle and the sidekick get harvested by the robots. Yikes. So Marcus Wright is off to save the day. Or...you know. The loser and the sidekick black little girl mute.

Nothing sets the mood like a good near rape experience. 

Meanwhile, he runs into some resistance chick called Blair Williams (Moon Bloodgood). She attempts to be a badass chick, but kind of fails. Miserably. Especially since--oh--wait--the only problem girls ever seem to have is that old men in the middle of bum fuck nowhere are trying to rape them. Riiiight. Between her and John's useless as shit wife who he probably beats on a regular basis (all apologies, Bryce Dallas Howard), this movie doesn't really do much for anyone even remotely feminist-minded. In any case. After almost getting raped, unsuccessfully trying to defend herself, and having to wait for Marcus to beat the shit out of some smelly old homeless men, Blair decides what she really needs is to try to get in Marcus' pants. Because that's what I would do after almost getting raped too.

The ridiculous does not stop there. She brings her new crony home with her--AKA, to the Resistance headquarters. Which, credit where credit is due, leads into one of the most well done scenes in the movie. The tension rises when the man who we know to be a robot but who doesn't know himself attempts to walk through a mine field specifically designed to go after robots. Whoops. 

Needless to say, it does not go well for him (though I kept thinking what a crap Resistance they would be if he actually made it across). He gets dragged into the hospital wing where they tear him open and find out...holy crap. Heeee's a fucking robot. Well, except for bits of his brain and his human heart--looks like someone's been watching a little too much Wizard of Oz. Which leads to a nicely acted little emotional breakdown from Marcus. So what does John Connor do? I'll give you three guesses. That's right, kids. He yells and barks and froths at the mouth. I'm telling you. Patrick Bateman had fewer anger management issues. Granted, you know, I get it. He has issues with the robots. But I'd be a heck of a lot more sympathetic if he hadn't spent the last hour snarling like it was a full moon. 

Terminator...Salvation? 

So they chain Marcus up, thinking he's some new species of undercover robot, even though he just told them he's on a personal mission to rescue Kyle Reese (John Connor thinks he's after John Connor. All machines must be out to kill John Connor. John Connor is not paranoid. Don't look at John Connor like that or John Connor will eat your face!). But Blair is still trying to get to Marcus' metal parts, so she frees him and helps him escape. John Connor of course chases after them. John and Marcus confront each other, and have a conversation in the middle of a dangerous robot-worm filled lake that they literally could have had ten minutes ago if John had just stopped barking for two seconds. Marcus basically informs him that he'll get into the land of robots, find Kyle Reese, and help John Connor bust him out. Despite the fact that they carry on a perfectly calm conversation, as soon as they agree to it and everyone's happy, John starts barking again with, "WHAT ARE YOU?" Really, John? Homeboy is putting his neck on the line for your future father and you're going to show your gratitude by snarling? Allllright then. 

Skip-jump past a relatively badass John Connor scene in which he hijacks a robot motorcyle, and Marcus slips undetected into Skynet. Meanwhile, John is making his own break in to Skynet. Whoa...wait. Okay. Two seconds ago, Marcus agreed that he would help you get inside. And now...you're doing it yourself? Alright. Well. That's a giant fucking plot hole. Anyway, Marcus gets inside and has a Bladerunner moment where he confronts the hologram of our friend Helena Bonham Carter who in short, tells him he's completed his mission in drawing John Connor into Skynet, well done, Robotman. Fux. Marcus rails against his maker, rips out a chip in his head, and scrambles to keep a handle on his humanity, running to make sure he hasn't singlehandedly fucked over the human race. Go Marcus!

Which is just about when the movie makes a very sudden turn from mediocre crap to Holy fucking awesome. The machines blink and bleep...the red smoke fumes...a thick metal door explodes in John Connor's face, knocking him flat on his back. The epic music starts up, and...

Calves of steel...

...Chest of doom...

...

ofux.

That's right. The Terminator is BACK, bitches. And he's come to reign some asskicking hell on John Connor. I cannot tell you how fucking happy I was to see the Governator's bulldog mug. This is what the Terminator series is suppose to be about. Arnold Schwarzenegger making the human race (and occasionally the Skynet minions) eat dirt. And he owns the screen. So sure, it's a cameo that doesn't even last that long since his skin gets torn off more or less instantly, but the machine powers on like the beast it is. 

John Connor, in his infinite wisdom, grabs Kyle Reese and makes him tag along, even though he's...you know. Being chased by the fucking Terminator. But hey. Adult son/teenage father bonding moments really don't get any better than near death experiences. And despite the fact that John puts up a damn good fight...the Terminator fucks him in the ass. And who comes to save the day but...a man who needs to die for a noble cause. Or a machine. Marcus and the Terminator have an epic machine vs. mostly-machine battle, because there's nothing better than two super strong badasses going at it. But...alas, Marcus has a weakness. The Terminator uses the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique or something of the sort and Marcus falls to the ground. Terminated. Tear. 

And now John Connor's back in shit. But thanks to a bit of unfortunate construction design, some tool (get it? Tool?) decided to put the molten lava vat right next to the pipe of freezing ice air. And after being melted and frozen, the Terminator finally comes to a halt, but not after clawing a deep scar into John's face. Yes! Something canon! We have a origin for the scar! This movie just got knocked up a couple cool points. With that, John Connor scrambles back and tries to revive the hotness, because he realizes that Marcus Wright is really the only reason this movie works. So he hits him in the chest a couple times and...lo and behold! Marcus is revived! Just in time to watch the Terminator come back to life and stab John right through the chest. Bummer. Marcus finishes off the Terminator and carries John Connor to safety. 

And now our insane and nonsensical journey comes to an end. John Connor is on a poor excuse for a hospital table, his heart failing. Everyone's crowding around the soon-to-die John, weeping, looking pitiful, and it's like The Room 2. There are hugs all around, sentimental moments between John and Reese, a little "don't forget how awesome I was" to his wife, Kate. And then...finally Marcus steps forward. And the scene runs something like this:

"Kate..."

"You can have it."

"Your bod?"

"My heart."

"......yay."

We don't blame you, Kate. We really don't. So Marcus, the badass fucking machine, decides to give away his heart to save John. Hold on. They have a machine man on their side. Isn't he really fucking valuable in fighting the Resistance? Isn't there some old lady or any other partially dead injured Resistance fighters who would be more than willing to give their heart for the great John Connor? What the fuck? I get that it's exciting that we get to mirror the beginning, sacrifice and all that, but really. What the fuck?

And then, how could we forget John Connor's heartfelt thank you. Oh, wait, you don't remember it? Maybe that's because it didn't exist. That's right, Marcus just gave up his life so you could have your stupid heart and survive, but hey. I'm pretty sure a manly stare-off from your pedestal on the hospital bed will suffice.

Finally, the grand finale of failure. It ends with one of those: I know you thought this movie was pretty epic, but it was actually a minor battle in the war against Skynet. Wait...what? You're kidding, right? Way to end on a bum note and make the character's sacrifices and the entire battle the movie set up seem like grains of sand. Well. I'm glad I spent 11 bucks to see a small event in the war against Skynet. Give me a little more bang for my buck.

In the end, this movie is ridiculous, nonsensical, out of the loop with the rest of the franchise, but when you get passed all that crap...it's just a fun fucking movie. I wouldn't have done a play-by-play for it if it wasn't so much fucking fun. It's a perfect movie to watch in the wee hours of the morning when you're winding down with a couple friends.  The action is good, and the...uh...the Terminator's small cameo is good...and...um. The action is good. Next question.