Monday, July 22, 2013

Genre Tropes: A Defense of Filmmaking Cliches

Recently I had the pleasure of viewing Guillermo del Toro's new film Pacific Rim and I was fortunate enough to be accompanied by two close friends. However, after the movie they expressed their displeasure of the film, citing trite characters, a formulaic and cliched story, and general lack of excitement. In the end they felt that Pacific Rim just wasn't their thing (or just said that to seem like they weren't ganging up on me). Now, if I were a lesser person I might simply say they "aren't watching the film right" or they "just don't get it." But that's intellectually irresponsible to me because I know my friends aren't stupid.

In my view, Pacific Rim really is precisely what you get in the trailer: there's some giant monsters, here's some giant robots, now FIGHT! To me, that's about as visceral as filmmaking gets: simple premise, simple story, simple characters. You go in, you sit back, and you just watch. The kind of movie that is meant to bring you in through the action and not through the characters (which is something not recommended, but not impossible). Really, what I keep coming back to in my head is that Pacific Rim is just meant to be a mindless summer blockbuster, just not the kind we're used to anymore.

These days we have blockbusters movies that have their characters brooding and sulking with complicated themes and ideas that are shoved down our throats (Dark Knight Rises, anyone?) without necessarily fleshing said ideas out. Just this summer, Man of Steel tried desperately to explore the nature of heroism itself and the proper use of great power, only to push it aside for a lot wanton destruction.

But don't get me wrong, the last forty minutes of Man of Steel were actually very exciting for me. While most people might not see it this way, I've always related to the hero standing up and fighting back, even at great cost. Not because I'm a hero, and not because I'm particularly strong. No, it has more to do with my inherent powerlessness. I have neither the power, the authority, or even the right to stand up to my personal villains and knock some sense into them. To me, the only way to express such pent up emotions is through a knock-down, drag-out fight onscreen. Personally, I find that more acceptable then one day physically expressing my emotions on whatever person seems to have made it their mission to ruin my day.

That's what a film like Pacific Rim does, it's vicarious filmmaking. It lays out what it wants to do (giant robots fighting giant monsters) and does what it needs to justify making a film of it. In discussing the film after the fact, one of my friends expressed that the story was too simple and predictable, and had been hoping for something more original, saying that the writers didn't even seem to try. Not to step out of line, but I feel that such statements are often unwarranted.

Speaking from experience, producers and writers of films (even bad films) usually know much more about filmmaking and storytelling than even their own films will let on. Filmmakers don't enter a film trying to create something wholly original (what is these days). Instead, they lock on to what they are most interested in delivering and focus on that. Once they know they can do that, then they deal with the other details. On the flipside, perhaps del Toro wanted to tell a much more original story but was nixed by producers who demanded it be streamlined so that audiences could focus on the robots vs. monsters. Some may feel this leads to machine-like filmmaking, but I posit that it's more often in the finer details that a film becomes personal, not just in the story.

Guillermo del Toro himself has commented on the distinction between his spanish language films and his american films. He has scoffed at the idea that his films made in his native tongue are more personal and speak more about himself as a person and a filmmaker. del Toro explains, "Fuck, you're wrong! Hellboy is as personal to me as Pan's Labyrinth. They're tonaly different, and yes, of course you can like one more than the other... But it really is part of the same movie. You make one movie. Hitchcock did one movie, all his life."

Another fascinating point brought by one of my friends is that they seem to enjoy every crime film they see (generally speaking) and pointed out that many crime films, even ones based on true stories, follow a formula. But he still likes them... what can be made of this? Do we all have inherent biases towards certain films? Are we willing to overlook the problems of one type of film while decrying another for similar faults?

This got me thinking about what I look for in a film. Is it good characters? Good story? Original presentation? In the past I've stated that all I ask is that the film be confident in itself, and from there it can do no wrong. I now realize that's a tad optimistic, but it's still not too far from where I stand currently. There are certain functions required for even the most basic of cinematic displays, and to that end I wish to tear apart my own bias towards action films. And I'll use non-classics, so there is more room for discussion.

To this end, I want to talk about the two screen adaptations of the character The Punisher. Many people hate the first one (in which the character is portrayed by Thomas Jane) while loving the chaotic mayhem of the the second (starring Ray Stevenson). I find myself leaning in the opposite direction. Is it the action, the pace, the performances? No, for me it all came down to clear-cut characters, not "good" ones, mind you.

Now, some might be so glibe as to joke "what characters," to whom I ask to please shut up while I make my point. Generally speaking, you should know where a film is headed within the first 15 minutes. The film needs to establish the place, the people, and at least hint towards the major conflict, if not just get it under way already. The Punisher did this successfully, while also having the benefit of Thomas Jane as the lead. You see who he is, you understand him and why he does what he does (more or less). Then once the inciting incident comes (death of his family) you see how he changes. This drastic change in the main character fuels the cathartic confrontation at the end. It's a sense that this was all building to something.

On the other hand, The Punisher: War Zone establishes nothing. I'm not sure what the intent of the film is beyond violent action scenes. I have no idea who Ray Stevenson is portraying beyond "guy who shoots gun." This lack of connection takes all the impact out of the action scenes.

But this is something that Pacific Rim does correctly: establishes it's simple (if cliched) characters and turns them loose in this unique setting. Granted, there is very little connection to most of the characters beyond Charlie Day and Rinko Kikuchi, but at the very least we understand who they are and what they are going through.

All of which makes me wonder what my friends expected going into Pacific Rim. No, it's not their cup of tea. Yes, the characters could have been better. Yes, the story could have been more complex. But are those the only reasons we go to see movies? Whatever happened to going to movies and just watching in awe at what was displayed onscreen? Is there not a place for some of the simpler things? Formulas are used for a reason: it's so the filmmakers can know the general story so they can get into scenes and get creative within there.

There's an old idea in Genre Theory that states all films made after the release of John Ford's The Searchers are nothing but remakes of The Searchers. Even if you buy into that, it could only be in the broadest of brushstrokes. Why do we get hung up on these broad brushstrokes so often that we forget the finer details. It's all about the presentation.

Case in point: Nicolas Winding Refn's new film Only God Forgives has one of the simplest, broadest stories of the year. It is cast with expressionless, mannequin-like characters. On the page, it seems like just another revenge movie. But you get into the finer details, the craftsmanship, the artistry. That's where it comes alive. That's where you find the movie.

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