Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief -- Movie Review

Richard Riordan, the writer of the series that the Chris Columbus-helmed picture is loosely based on, realized that the best narratives and storylines are those that have already been around for thousands of years.  No need to ransack the pop culture detritus of sixties and seventies sitcoms, action figures, board games, and reboots, when you've got a veritable pantheon of familial conflict, supernatural creatures, sex, and mindless violence.  They've probably retold Homer's Odyssey (which is admittedly pretty kickass) at least a couple of dozen times now.   

Still, no matter how good the underlying story, it always comes down to the execution.   And Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief flails and misses most of the time.  There is the increasingly annoying overreliance on CGI, dialogue which can charitably be called expository, and an underlying thematic structure that just moves from set piece to set piece and finally to predictable ending like a connect-the-dots-puzzle.   The performances are hardly noteworthy either:  Brandon Jackson plays a hoofed Stepin Fetchit offering sad, urban comic relief, Pierce Brosnan appears constantly drowsy from flu medication, and Joe Pantiliano seems to have cornered the actor's market on New York-accented douche (with a noticeably expanded gut to boot).   Is Catherine Keener the middle-aged mom in every single coming-of-age movie being produced now?  Uma Thurman chews scenery like a pro.  And poor, poor Steve Coogan.  Channeling Alice Cooper via Alan Partridge as Hades.  I'm not sure if he was trying to convey menace, but it came off as bare-chested embarrassment instead.  The two leads, who probably should remain nameless, can't do much with what they're given, and so don't.  And ala Watchmen, is anybody aware that you don't need to match songs word-for-word with the narrative?  I.e., playing "Highway to Hell" driving on the highway to Hades/Hell and playing Lady GaGa's "Poker Face," while walking through a casino?  When did music in movies have to be so goddamned literal? 

I was intrigued, though, at the idea of a Camp Crystal Lake for the various offspring of god/human couplings.   Considering that there were at most a dozen gods on Mt. Olympus (including oddly, a token black Greek god), and since there were what looked like a couple hundred or so teenage warriors-in-training at summer camp, someone needs to find the gods a hobby besides penetration and impregnation.  Ease off the throttle, boys and girls.  Sudoku, perhaps?  How about a cooking class?

"My mom was raped and knocked up by Zeus, who literally came in the form of a swan.   I now crave breadcrumbs and poop on the lawn incessantly."

And I don't even want to think about centaurs.   Allegory is pretty creepy when it likely involves horse dicks and ultrasound.  

Percy Jackson might be worth a rental, depending on how high you are at Blockbuster.   And the PG rating might be a little deceptive, as my five year old found a few of the scenes unnecessarily terrifying (thanks for making me feel like a bad parent, MPAA!).

Compulsory Performance Review -- Cinematic Edition -- Big Fan

What's the difference between "passion" and "obsession"? Between "devoted fan" and "addiction"? Big Fan takes an introspective look into the self-delusional nature of those who claim to be the former, but weave scarily into the latter. It stars Patton Oswalt, who performs excellently as Paul Aufiero, a mid-thirties parking lot attendant who still lives with his mom in Staten Island, drives her car, and spends large parts of his monotonous day scripting smack-talk for a local New York area sports call-in show. His call-ins are anonymous performance art, and provide the only catharsis and real achievement in his life, although Aufiero seems fine with that. He can't even afford to go to the games, but tailgates in the parking lot anyway. His universe more or less implodes when a chance spotting of his Giants linebacker hero leads into a violent beating, and his loyalty to his team is placed in direct opposition to his family's wishes and his own dignity. When his anonymity (and brother's lawsuit against the player) gets exposed by his nemesis, Philadelphia Phil, on the call-in show, Paul decides to respond with appropriate rage and retribution.

Directed by Robert Siegel, who also wrote The Wrestler, the movie is light on sentimentalism and on portraying Aufiero as a hapless, sympathetic victim. Aufiero never focuses on the violence that was done to him by the Giants player, because his devotion to the team would somehow be in question, if he acted contrary to the best interests of the team. Instead, he focuses his rage on the slights of some unknown asshole on the radio. This projection and acting-out allows him to process his feelings (and manifestations) of impotence, rage, and alienation, without actually changing any of his limited life options in response. The last twenty minutes or so of the movie wallow in the dark, vicious, and often homophobic nature of regional sports rivalries, where rites of manhood get passed along on a barstool in a sports bar, profanely, loudly, and full of free-form bravado. I wish I could say that I didn't grow up in an environment similar to that (albeit on the high school football level), but I can't.

Considering that my last rental movie review on this blog was Anvil: The Story of Anvil, it's interesting how they evoke similar feelings of uncomfortableness for their main characters. You want to shake them by the collar, and say "get your shit together," but they are set on certain paths, and really don't define themselves by typical societal standards, to everyone around them's head-shaking disapproval. Big Fan is interesting from a sociological viewpoint almost as much as an entertainment one. Good performances, minimalist directing, subdued lighting and cinematography, and a story-line that avoids easy payoffs and happy-ending sentimentality -- it's an above average rental or Netflix streaming download.

Avatar -- Movie Review -- Attack of the Blue Na-Na

Avatar presents the interesting juxtaposition where I want desperately to defend something I found deeply hollow and unsatisfying, just because it looked so damn pretty up on the big screen.   Since I'm pretty much stuck in the Charlie Brown wishy-washy role, I might as well go pros and cons.

Compulsory Performance Review - Cinema Division - Anvil, The Story of Anvil

I never really got into metal. In the late seventies/early eighties, growing up, it was the music form with the most cachet in our small New England factory town. Iron Maiden, AC/DC, The Scorpions, Judas Priest, etc., were all very popular (although hip hop/rap moved in and took over by the mid-eighties). I understood and appreciated the anti-establishment, anti-religious, rebel without a cause mentality of metal, but got tripped up when it came to the trappings, be it black concert shirts, satanic poster imagery, and the sometimes almost cliquish knowledge and devotion of the local fan base. In addition, the screeching vocals, long thrashing guitar solos, and often silly faux-evil lyrics combined with the violent head bobbing just left me perplexed, if not apathetic most of the time. This Is Spinal Tap!, released in 1984, ushered in the mockumentary format with a fantastic parody of the heavy metal lifestyle, but the excesses and mythology of the genre were well-documented enough that the satire worked best by just playing it straight for the most part. David St. Hubbins, Nigel Tufnel, and Derek Smalls could have really existed (and probably did as pastiches of real-life metal artists), so the suspension of disbelief about the characters was minimized down to willful acceptance, which made the comedy that much more biting and connecting to the audience.