The Killing Joke

Year: 2016

Director: David Ayer

Cast: Will Smith, Jared Leto, Margot Robbie 

Run Time: 2 hours 3 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG-13

With three women (only one of them white), two African-American men, a Hispanic, and a Native American playing major roles, Suicide Squad is easily the most diverse Hollywood film of the entire year. Which is a damn shame, because Suicide Squad shouldn’t be the most anything. Obviously, I love that fact that DC’s other properties are challenging Zach Snyder’s faintly misogynist White Dude-iverse, and Suicide Squad is head and shoulders above Batman v Superman’s soul-sucking chaos, but it’s still – you know – not that good.

Shall I count the ways Suicide Squad is only OK?

Well, here’s the plot. Governmentperson Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) has initiated a project that will team the world’s strongest supervillains (only one and a half of which actually seem to have superpowers) to defend the world from extreme threats against their will. This motley crew is Deadshot (Will Smith) a trigger-happy assassin whose one weakness is his love for his daughter, cue the orchestra; Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), the unpredictable right-hand woman of The Joker (Jared Leto), who needs no introduction nor is he given one; Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), a ludicrous Australian stereotype who frustratingly turns out to be one of the best characters in the movie; Diablo (Jay Hernandez), a hot-tempered gangbanger who can shoot flames from his hands; and Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), who is a C.H.U.D.

Then the movie tosses in its two most racially offensive characters at the last second, hoping we won’t notice: the stoic Native American Slipknot, who is not affiliated with the shock rock band and is actually like a good climber or something who cares, and Katana (Karen Fukuhara), a Japanese swordswoman who is tasked with protecting Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), the soldier helming this operation.

And what is this operation, exactly? Stopping the Enchantress, an ancient being possessing the body of Flag’s One True Love, Dr. June Moone (Cara Delevingne), who slept late on the day God was handing out cool superhero names. Enchantress is supposedly creating a machine to take over the world, but she mostly just belly dances in front of a pillar of magic for an hour.

Does our team band together despite their evilness to fight through a series of video game levels until they reach the belly dancing endboss and learn a little something about friendship along the way?

You bet your sweet bippy they do.

While Suicide Squad is the most fun movie of DC’s pale shadow of the MCU thanks to its relaxation of the “absolutely no jokes” mandate, it’s a movie that essentially only serves to remind you of other, better movies. It’s like a slightly grimmer Oscar clip reel.

The quickest comparison that spring to mind is Guardians of the Galaxy, thanks to Suicide Squad’s constant pilfering from the classic rock songbook. Both films even feature Norman Greenbaum’s existentially irritating “Spirit in the Sky.” But Suicide Squad lacks GotG’s ironic sense of juxtaposition, landing more in Bratz: The Movie territory by slamming on a new record every time the mood shits, which is about every 12 seconds. It so desperately wants you to know how Very Very Cool it is, but it’s about as impressive as a junior high student in a Queen T-shirt.

I should know. I’ve been one.

When you dive deeper into the film, the comparisons get even bolder and more inscrutable. The flick I found to be most on my mind while watching Suicide Squad was Ghostbusters. Obviously, I’m not accusing it of ripping off a movie that came out weeks earlier, but the similarities are stunning and say a lot about the current state of studio cinema. First we have the poppy color scheme full of radioactive greens, reds, and blues that’s by far the most exciting visual element of the whole shebang. As the plot progresses, the palette becomes more muted, drab, and impossible to differentiate, but the intro is an eye candy sugar rush, full of comic booky and refreshing color extremes.

Then there’s the less kind comparisons, like the forced subplot about creating your own family that has the emotional resonance of a cinderblock, or the idiotic third act where the plan revolves around using a bomb to reverse magic because science(?).

You might have noticed a pattern here, in that everything good tends to degrade the closer we get to the finale. That’s because the third act is the film’s closest approximation of the Batman v Superman manifesto, meaning it’s drab, stupid, and all too full of itself. We’re treated to some suuuuuper slooooow action that attempts to hide its juvenile simplicity beneath a veil of keening orchestral grandeur. And the already spotty dialogue (“We locked him in a hole and threw away the hole.”) completely gives up the gun at this point, so characters shout the plot at each other in between winking comments about how EVIL and BAD they are.

That’s not to say the rest of the movie isn’t stupid. It’s very stupid. Will Smith is forced to attempt to pull sympathy out of a shot of him staring at a little girl mannequin, for crying out loud but it’s popcorn movie stupid, full of decent enough – if forgettable – action, and a bristling set of hard-nosed character dynamics.

Some harder than others.

There are a smattering of other similarities, including Ju-On (Enchantress’ emerging from Dr. Moon’s body is achieved in an elegantly creepy effect), Lights Out (Enchantress’ whole deal), and Deadpool (who knew we’d get two separate superhero movies this year that cover the difficult topic of unicorn fetishes?), but do you know one movie Suicide Squad DOESN’T want to draw comparison to? The Dark Knight.

Unfortunately, Jared Leto is here to remind us that Heath Ledger was really great in the role. Many people have played The Joker before and many will after, and they all bring something different to the role. Leto, however, is playing Heath Ledger. And not well. It doesn’t help that he’s asked to perform the film’s most dizzily inane  material in a series of grotesquely bad flashbacks that actively undo Harley Quinn’s character.

Luckily, he’s barely in it. And the people we do spend time with are actually pretty decent. Will Smith is far and away the best addition to the cast, wringing a wry humanity from a traditional badass role. Jai Courtney also makes a particular impression, packing so much personality into Captain Boomerang that it makes up for every other bland cypher he’s been asked to play in franchise pictures. And obviously the talk of the town is beloved character Harley Quinn, but while Margot Robbie brings a playful, electric charm to the role, she’s written with such grating insincerity that her relentless quipping is like being clubbed in the cerebral cortex. And there’s only so many times I can watch a hot woman kick ass while everybody gapes at her in astonishment. She’s a good fighter, get over it.

I think the character could blossom with a better screenwriter behind her, but for now she’s an abortive standout, trapped between her undeniable energy and the film’s single worst storyline. So, you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both, and there you have Suicide Squad. It’s not as bad as the detractors would have you believe, merely a little dunderheaded, but it’s certainly no argument for more DC comic book movies.

TL;DR: Suicide Squad is less stupid and more fun than Batman v Superman, but it's still no triumph.

Rating: 6/10

Word Count: 1273

Reviews In This Series

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (Snyder, 2016)
Suicide Squad (Ayer, 2016)

Popcorn Kernels: The Fairer Sexploitation

In which we present mini reviews of two female-directed entries in stereotypically male-directed genres.

American Psycho (For our Scream 101 episode about this very film, click here.)

Year: 2000

Director: Mary Harron

Cast: Christian Bale, Jared Leto, Reese Witherspoon

Run Time:1 hour 42 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

A pent-up Wall Street VP lashes out in a variety of homicidal ways.

American Psycho is a crazy film. One of the few generally accepted horror classics that I hadn’t seen, it defied my expectations at every turn. Based on the controversial Bret Easton Ellis novel that divided critics between viewing it as a dressed-up misogynist tract or a razor-sharp satire, the film was directed by – of all species – a woman. In case you’ve never read this blog before, let me make it very clear that this puts me firmly in the movie’s camp pretty much from the get-go. As far as I can figure it, this is the only popularly regarded staple horror film to have a woman behind the camera (I’m not counting The Babadook, which is far too new to qualify as a classic, as much as I may love it. And I’m certainly not counting Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare).

And how does having a female director affect the horror and humor of American Psycho? Not one whit. Well, maybe we linger a little longer on a showering Christian Bale, but you ain’t catching me complaining there. Other than that, it’s a perfectly sharp yuppie satire for people who liked Fight Club a little too much.

Perfectly skewering the venal, acquisitive nature of Reaganomics-fueled Wall Streeters who are all shallow, greedy, and interchangeable, American Psycho depicts the meltdown of a single individual: Christian Bale’s Patrick Bateman – in this massive horde. As he strains to rein in his homicidal outburst, his peers ignore him entirely, even when he publicly confesses to his many sins. This is best encapsulated in a key scene where Bateman trundles a body into the trunk of a cab and a passing coworker coos over the trendy duffel bag he’s using to perform the deed. This is a world where you can be a murderer or, in fact, be murdered yourself, and you won’t make the slightest dent in the indestructibly grinding clockwork of capitalism.

It sounds intense, and it is. But it’s also pitch-black hilarious humor so grim that even the folks on the gallows might find it distasteful. Patrick Bateman is a man who murders people who can nab reservations at better restaurants than he can, discussing the finer points of Huey Lewis and the News while zipping up a plastic poncho to protect his designer suit from stains. Patrick Bateman is a man who trembles at the mere sight of  trendy business card, who has a stroke of panic when an opponent’s apartment is nicer than his. His viewpoints and motivations are so pointlessly inane that you can’t help but laugh, even as you cringe at the thought that the world around him allows him to get away with his crimes.

The only thing stopping American Psycho from being a flat-out black comedy masterpiece is a tendency toward repetition in the second act. Every scene follows a very precise structure, hobbling its ability to shock. A glorious ATM scene that simultaneously implies that Money is God and kicks the film’s craziest sequence into gear provides the jolt that the system needs, but the film enters a holding pattern for a little too long to preserve my patience. But we can’t all be perfect. American Psycho is a clever, superb little lick that’s just as keen to reference The Texas Chain Saw Massacre as Ivana Trump. I love that, even if it houses a half hour that falls short of being a masterpiece.

Rating: 7/10

Fast Times at Ridgemont High

Year: 1982

Director: Amy Heckerling

Cast: Sean Penn, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Judge Reinhold

Run Time: 1 hour 30 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

The teens at Ridgemont High really love bangin’.

Another entry in an exploitation genre secretly helmed by a woman, Fast Times at Ridgemont High definitely wears its gender on its sleeve, at least a teensy bit more. Despite its unfair proportion of bare breasts (a male full frontal scene was excised by the ever-progressive MPAA), Ridgemont High is first and foremost a story of a young woman discovering her sexuality and learning what she wants from men. Of course, this is a rote toss-up between a smooth talking stud and a namby pamby Nice Guy, but this was 1982. Let’s not expect too much.

This young woman, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh in the role that made her a star (though she showed great promise in the previous year’s Eyes of a Stranger), is a sexually active teenager treated with a tremendous amount of respect. Her sexual misadventures are never presented as shameful, and an abortion scene late in the film is presented as a natural – if difficult – part of life, used to further Ridgemont High’s sweetest relationship, between Leigh and her ne’er do-well brother Judge Reinhold.

Of course, she’s the only character given anything even remotely resembling a story arc. The movie around her is a haphazard explosion of random, occasionally comic vignettes following stoners, football players, cool guts, and nerds through their daily lives. Each fragmented piece is part of a vast mosaic, depicting nothing in particular. It’s vexing, and the tendency to showcase overlong, almost actively unfunny sequences (an imaginary surfing championship interview, an enraged football player winning a game) is damning. To be fair, I have the personal bias that Sean Penn’s stoner drawl and Robert Romanus’ droning deadpan rub me exactly the wrong way, like a sandpaper suit.

This total disconnection from the concept of “story” or “character” is intensely frustrating and the movie’s habit of poor continuity editing only highlights how scraped-together the overarching plot feels. Even Phoebe Cates’ iconic bikini scene suffers from – frankly – a dreadful botch-job on the part of the splicer. This is less like cutting a movie and more like cutting the cheese (Hey! Rimshot!).

Of course, the “time in a bottle” aspect of Ridgemont High does much to soothe any wounds it may have caused. With a pitch perfect soundtrack of 80’s hits that have actually aged terrifically (Jackson Browne, The Go-Go’s, The Cars… This is a synthcrap-free zone) and a horde of future stars (joining Penn and Leigh are Forest Whitaker, Nicolas Cage, and horror icons Amanda Wyss – Freddy Krueger’s first victim in A Nightmare on Elm Street – and Kelli Maroney, who would eventually return to the Sherman Oaks Galleria where this film was shot four years later in Chopping Mall), Fast Times at Ridgemont High is a dreamy time capsule of days gone by.

It might not be a perfect high school sex romp, but it’s decently funny and occasionally sweet. I can make do with that while jamming to “We Got the Beat.”

Rating: 6/10

Word Count: 1155
Reviews In This Series
American Psycho (Harron, 2000)
American Psycho 2: All-American Girl (Freeman, 2002)

And The Oscar Goes To...

Year: 1998

Director: Jamie Blanks

Cast: Jared Leto, Alicia Witt, Rebecca Gayheart

Run Time: 1 hour 39 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

For the entirety of Urban Legend, all I could think about was how the pretty-boy teen star in front of me has been nominated for Best Supporting Actor at the Academy Awards tonight.

He was unfortunately snubbed for Best Actor in 1998.

I've been missing the slasher genre after a personal drought that feels like a hundred years. I haven't seen a solid slice 'n dice since the first week of January and I was really feeling it. I know that might be hard to understand, but for me slasher movies are the equivalent of Vitamin D. You don't need it every day but if you go without it too long you start to get pale and shaky.

Luckily my reintroduction to the genre came in such a perfectly crappy 90's package.

Remember when Scream happened? And suddenly every slasher film had to have a postmodern meta script? Well, most of those were written by Kevin Williamson who admittedly wasn't the most skilled screenwriter in the world. But Urban Legend is one of the first Williamson-style slashers to be produced without so much as a sidelong glance from the man himself and the absence is striking.

Replacing the "we are living a slasher movie" idea from Scream with "we are living an urban legend" sounds like an interesting idea at first, but the filmmakers don't seem to realize that what they're satirizing isn't actually a legitimate storytelling technique with more generic principles than "this totally happened to a friend of a friend."

Although I do know several people who succumbed to Didn't Check the Back Seat-itis.

But nevertheless the sassy self-aware teens are back, this time led by Parker Riley (Michael Rosenbaum), a douchey frat boy who's planning a party to celebrate the 25th anniversary of a mythical dorm massacre on campus (aka Randy). 

His sassy self-aware friends include Paul (Jared Leto), an intrepid student reporter who doesn't let pesky ethics get in the way of a good story aka Gale Weathers; Damon (Joshua Jackson), the douchey prankster aka Stu; Sasha (Tara Reid back when she was making theatrical releases - remember that?), a college radio host and slut about town aka Tatum; Brenda Bates (Rebecca Gayhart) the perky girl with huge eyes and an equally huge crush on Paul aka... Rebecca Gayheart in Scream 2; and her best friend Natalie Simon (Alicia Witt), the innocent heroine aka Sidney Prescott but with less personality traits.

It's telling as to the film's overall quality that Tara Reid is actually a better actress than Alicia Witt.

Luckily there's two sturdy genre mainstays on hand in the form of Robert Englund (Freddy Krueger) and Danielle Harris (eternal Halloween Final Girl) to class up the proceedings a little bit.

Like they needed to.

Basically what happens is they all wander around their Hogwarts-sized campus and get killed in a variety of ways, all inspired by various urban legends. In between killings, there's pop culture references that range from obnoxious but fun (Joshua Jackson's car plays the Dawson's Creek theme song) to actually quite sweet (the resident security guard (Loretta Devine) is inspired to greatness by Foxy Brown).

And although nearly every single plot point is either predictable (Sergio guessed the killer about halfway through the film - faster than yours truly even! Cheers to Sergio.) or unfathomably dumb (the Final Girl has an urban legend-related backstory, the killer gives a Motive Powerpoint Presentation), the gore is nearly nonexistent, and the acting is bargain basement quality, it's a wonderful trip to the depths of the mid-90's postmodern horror period.

It's dumb, it's campy, people die, and everybody has a good time. The middle tends to drag, but it's an exciting look into the mechanics of the genre.

A quick discussion about the ending: Highlight for spoilers [REBECCA GAYHEART IS THE KILLER. Who knew? I figured it wouldn't be a woman because I'd have heard about it before now but no! It is! I mean her motive is basically "I want to bone Jared Leto" but who doesn't? As far as I'm concerned, that's a pretty solid reason to do anything. Anyway, female killers are a rarity and I always appreciate a break from formula. Thank you, dumb movie, for not being as dumb as I thought you would be!]

You'd be surprised what you can hide underneath a bulky coat.

I wouldn't really suggest this film to anybody either older or younger than myself, but this is the perfect nostalgic visit to the decade in which I grew up. Also Jared Leto. Who is the reason I wrote this in the first place. (Coming full circle, guys!)

Here's where it gets deep. Although Leto started out as a forgettable teen star in dumb post-Williamson slasher films, he is now up for one of the most prestigious awards in Hollywood. It's a testament to practice, hard work, and never demeaning where you are now. You might think you suck, or that your job is too menial or beneath you. 

But never forget that this is where you come from. Once you get there, you'll realize that where you are now was essential training in getting where you want to be. You can rise above your current status, you just have to keep chugging. 

Then, one day, you will be as pretty as Jared Leto.

Killer: [Brenda Bates (Rebecca Gayheart)]

Final Girl: Natalie Simon (Alicia Witt)

Best Kill: Dean Adams (John Neville) gets his ankles slashed like one of my favorite urban legends and then is impaled on those "DO NOT ENTER" car spikes, thereby proving my fears about those things are legitimate.

Sign of the Times: Every frame of every second owes its entire existence to the Kevin Williamson Dynasty.

Scariest Moment: The opening scene - always check the back seat. And never listen to "Total Eclipse of the Heart" when the phrase "Turn around" is ironic.

Weirdest Moment: Tara Reid fellates a microphone to illustrate her point - but she's hosting a radio show so nobody can see it.

Champion Dialogue: "He's most likely shacked up in some motel with a girl. Or a guy... Farm animal... Whatever!"

Body Count: 9; also a dog.

1. Michelle is beheaded with a battle axe from the backseat of her car.
2. Damon is hung from a tree and dropped onto a car windshield.
3. Tosh is strangled and has her wrists cut.
4. Dean's heel is slit and then he's run over by a car and impaled on tire spikes.
5. Parker is force fed pop rocks and drain cleaner.
6. Radio Man is strangled.
7. Sasha is stabbed and beheaded.
8. Professor Wexler is stabbed to death.
9. Creepy Janitor dies in a car crash. 

TL;DR: Urban Legend is a dumb postmodern slasher movie, but it's just what I needed after a long drought.

Rating: 7/10

Word Count:1150