The Case for the Yellow River

"The hit of the 38th Wellington Film Festival", the paper cried. Truth be told though, I did not go to Up the Yangtze based on that recommendation, but rather on the premise of the film: a documentary on the changing lives of those who live along the banks of the Yangtze river in China, now that the Three Gorge Dam project, the largest dam in the world, is nearing completion.

To be brutally honest, by the end of the film, I was quite disappointed. The main focus of the documentary was the family of "Cindy" Yu Shui, a poor family who live in a ramshackle hut near the rising river's edge, and her subsequent departure to work on the ships that ferry Western tourists up and down the river. A second, shorter story follows "Jerry" Chen Bo Yu, a wildly egotistical man also starting work on the same boat, and we also get to "talk" with interesting men from along the river, with different perspectives on what is happening and its impact on their lives.

While the blurb on the Paramount site says that "Director Yung Chang lets the subjects speak for themselves and avoids unnecessary commentary", I found that this was least true for the Yu family, whose story seemed to be "dramatically retold" for the cameras. Cindy herself rarely got the chance to speak directly about the various things happening in her life. The other people in the film - all real people to be sure - had the chance to let their individual personalities and perspectives shine through. While the director's commentary is fairly spartan, it tends to be recollections of his grandfather's poetry about the river, though without an actual frame of reference to see what has changed since that time, it is hard to really empathise with his wistful reminiscences. That plus the fact the actual project or the history of the river itself were virtually ignored left me without a context to properly place the signifcance of the changes.

The thing I had to remember for most of the Yu family story was that these are real people, real lives. Bureaucrats in China probably have ignored the plight of all those displaced by the project, and the tourist industry that has arisen in the wake of Western interest in the project probably has given rise to all sorts of hideous fake "traditional" pagentry and a service industry based on exploiting its staff. All the other people we encountered felt real, even when spouting tourist propaganda, but the Yus were the only ones to feel (and I hate to use the word) exploited by the film makers.

For my money, the documentary China Blue on the jeans manufacturing industry is a far better film than this one. Not to completely slate Up the Yangtze, but I was left with the feeling that the fascinating stories of the people in the film were done a disservice, in particular the Yus. For me, there is nothing worse than a documentary feeling fake. When the stories told were obviously true and the feelings real (like Jerry, and the man in the town where fighting with officials broke out), the film soared.

Verdict: A worthy goal, but I thought it didn't quite get it right, and it certainly did not live up to the hype. 1 gorge out of 3.

The Case for Revisiting Hell

The scene: Tuesday evening, reclining in a leather seat in the glorious Embassy cinema. Trailers roll as I anticipate the start of Hellboy 2: the Golden Army, a movie that has, apparently, on the success of the incredible Pan’s Labyrinth, allowed the director to indulge in his fantastical imaginings. I expected too much.

First the positives: The film looks amazing. I found the animation for the bedtime story told at the beginning of the film (especially the rendering of humans as incomplete wooden puppets) particularly cute. The creatures are a mix of horrific and cute (the dark angel was my favourite), the sets are sadly sumptuous, and the action sequences are breathtaking and filled with lots of loud bangs.

So is the story. The bangs are the sounds of the audience (well, of me) shooting myself as highly obvious plot developments take ice ages (and about 10 minutes of then-rendered-pointless action ) to eventuate. Other clunking sounds were caused by the jokes, which mostly fell flat, ably unassisted by a new character who bore a strong resemblance to a Nazic Stewie Griffin – perhaps not so surprising when I realised he was also voiced by Seth MacFarlane. And the character development… well, there was none. An old relationship went through motions while a new romance was given so little time to develop that, besides a Manilow moment (used as a bland blunt instrument to drive home a later plot point), one would hardly realise it was there.

So yes, I was not overly impressed with the story itself. Oddly enough, at the time, the film passed by without too much pain. I later realised that, after I while, I had kind of started ignoring the dialogue and paid attention instead to the background and the fight scenes. And the prospect of the much-hinted at sequel… well, here’s hoping that gets stuck in its own kind of (development) hell…

Verdict: A step forward visually, but several leaps backwards in anything resembling a film franchise that I would care about seeing. Hellboy 2: the Golden Army is about demons and the underworld, so, perhaps inevitably, it lacks heart and humanity. 3 Hail Mary’s out of 10.

The Case for Multiplicity

It is hard to express how low my expectations were going into Star Wars: the Clones Wars. Having experienced the devastating disappointment of the “prequel” trilogy, where special effects took the place of characterisation and horrendously complex (and to my way of thinking, nonsensical) plot supplanted fun and adventure, I was ready for the animated tales of the Republican Jedi versus the Separatist Robot Army to – to not put too fine a point on it – suck.

The Clone Wars is patched together from episodes from a prospective TV series aimed at children with attention deficit disorder, so themes and lines are repeated over and over again. It also meant though that most time was spent fighting and running around and blowing things up than talking about trade violations, so the whole thing trotted along at a fair pace until the horse encountered a plot hurdle, at which point it stumbled a bit, muddled through, and then carried on.

It is perhaps harsh to say that the characters in the animated movie had a lot more personality and were many times more empathetic than their flesh and blood counterparts. Harsh, but not untrue. Anakin Skywalker in particular was near likable, perhaps by the simple approach of removing the whole brooding “Doomed to Darth” anticipation and just playing him as a fairly happy go lucky and reckless Jedi. The other characters were much more in keeping with their grown-up film selves, for good or ill, and the new characters were fine, though of course will ultimately be pointless to the grander story (unless Anakin slays his pupil – now, that would an interesting twist for the kiddies).

While the film had nowhere near enough space battles for one such as myself, the other action sequences were entertaining enough. One of the contrivances of the plot is that the Jedi are fighting a robot army, so the slaughter of thousands of non-sentient beings leaves very little room for moral quandaries. The Clones of course are all Tems (he is everywhere! With so many different hair cuts!), and they are the red-shirted good guy cannon fodder, though to save the sensitive younglings, I noted that they all met the end of their mortality with their Storm Trooper helmets on.

In the end, my mind wandered as the story dragged, and the attempts at humour were as laboured as ever, but the pretty pictures kept me from glancing at my watch too often. And as the final credits rolled, I had to smile and admit it was not too bad. Definitely not great, but better than I had feared.

Verdict: How can one trust a modern Star Wars film that starts with the Warner Brothers “As Time Goes By” intro rather than the Fox fanfare? More than the “real” series, if this effort is anything to go by. The Clone Wars is squarely aimed at children, with the only real enticement for adults being the lure of their own childhood memories and the original Holy Trilogy. It would not convert anyone to the Force, but it will make a great computer game, which is possibly the point of the exercise. 5 Jawas out of 10.

The Case for the Sound of Thunder

It snuck up on me all of a sudden. While seated in the darkened cinema, an advertisement screened for the most ridiculous soft drink I had never heard of. That was followed by a trailer for another sequel to a trilogy of films I had never heard of. And by the time Robert Downey Junior showed up in a cassock with Tobey Maguire clutching his rosary beads, I knew the movie – if not the movie proper – had begun.

Tropic Thunder begins (after the mock trailers) with a bang or seven, and then settles down into a fairly familiar rhythm. This is a Ben Stiller film, so everything is pretty much telegraphed from the get-go, but there are still chuckles aplenty. Amazing turns from Robert Downey Junior, as a scarily-blue eyed Australian wunder-thesp who had cosmetic surgery to turn him black for his current role, and a barely recognisable Tom Cruise keep things very lively, though when Ben Stiller appears solo centre stage, a feeling of creeping death started to gnaw at me.

In fact, quite a few people were turned off Tropic Thunder by the Ben Stiller factor, and I have to say that I am turning into one of those people too. His scenes just weren’t that funny, and his character was just a slightly less dense (and much less appealing) Derek Zoolander. Jack Black played the fat man to a similar level of comedic success, and Nick Nolte played grizzled experience for the first 15 minutes of the film and then kind of faded away. But they didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things: Robert Downey Junior and Tom Cruise are all the reasons one needs to see this film.

There were guest cameos aplenty: Jon Voight, Jennifer Lovely Hewitt and the aforementioned Tobey Maguire (amongst others) all showed up for a wee while, and there were plenty of “white men being black” scenes for negative hipness points. As the movie is all about guys making a war movie, there were no female characters, and thus no love story, which leaves lots of room for guns, explosions and fairly quick and trite self-epiphanies, of which there were plenty.

But for all of its unoriginality and superficiality, Tropic Thunder is loads of stupid, simple fun, with a few movie references thrown in for good measure. For me, the film started at a high comedic point (especially with those trailers) and then swiftly plunged into only moments of hilarity by the time Steve Coogan departed. But there were still guffaws to be had throughout, and the final dance scene has to be seen to be believed.

Verdict: Aiming low and reaching that goal, Tropic Thunder is a load of nonsense with a few very good performances making it worth the watch. Everyone had fun though, both on the screen and in the audience, which was the main thing. 6.5 Platoons out of 10.

The Case for Olympic Gold

As I write this, and the fantastic amendments to the list of book fair attendees continue to come in, the Olympics are still raging. Tonight, however it will come to an end.

Watching a wee bit this morning, I saw a medal being presented to a victorious Russian Federation athlete, whilst in the background, the strains of the national anthem played, an anthem I always associate with the Soviet Union, filled the stadium. For me, it was a reminder that at any Olympics, politics lurks everywhere, despite what might be claimed.

While some are commenting on the best and worst of the games themselves, let me just hand out a few medals to the Olympic Organisations as well, for excellence in self delusion of being politically neutral in the face of strong evidence to the contrary:

Bronze Medal: to Team sports based on national boundaries for selection. While one could argue that for any two athletes to get together, it probably needs them to be in the same country, but surely if the Olympics was not about political boundaries and was more about individual achievement, these sports wouldn't really be in there.

Silver Medal: to those nations entering the arena on opening night under the Olympic flag (hello Chinese Taipei!). If you can't come in under your own flag in a supposedly neutral environment, politics is definitely playing its part.

Gold Medal: to the Australian comedy series The Games. TVNZ is repeating it far too late at night on TVNZ 6, and were I not keen to get before midnight, I would want to re-experience it myself. Watch it, laugh and weep.

Verdict: The Olympics is as much about politics and big business as it is about sport. But the chance to see athletes from all over the world compete together, challenging each other to perform their best... well, that is definitely worth a gold medal.

The Case for Book Fair Attendees

The Wellington Inner City Mission Annual Book Fair is just around the corner (the 6^th and 7^th of September), marking the end of the winter book fairs. While offering a broad selection of pre-loved literature, this is undoubtedly one of the least pleasant book fair experiences, due to the unrestrained and repetitive uses of loudspeakers and the opening morning queues that can at times spread itself around all four walls of the auditorium.

Of course, the patrons of these book fairs can add to the misery of the experience. Here then, with some assistance from another experienced book fair attendee, is a taxonomy of some of the people you may encounter at your next book fair. Mark them well, as they come with their own sets of social rules of engagement, or avoidance, in the rarified book fair atmosphere.

Amateur Attendees

Browsers

See a book. Pick it up. Read the first chapter of about 30 pages. Take about 10 minutes. Move on to the next book Stand block still while the crowd throngs around you, unable to pass by due to the proximity of the other tables. Try and avoid them, or be unashamed to “bump’ them a little.

Bulk Buyers

Opening day, and the race is on to fill the ridiculously large Two Dollar Shop bags they brought with them. Strategy: store now, sort later. They have their maps and head like hyenas towards the wounded book tables, ready to pick the carcass clean. One of the scariest of the book fair breeds. Stay out of their way, though when they sit down to try and sort their books, be sure not to give them any room.

Bulls

There is no spoon. There are no other attendees. There is just you, and the book or the table you want to get to. Be brave.

Conversers

It takes two to tango, or to have a loud and long conversation about nothing over books as those around you try and scurry by, but there are frequently those who meet over a crowded book table that decide that then and there is the perfect time and place to start a discussion about the minutiae of life. No thought is given to meeting up after books have been selected, either outside or in a café or even via the newfangled telephonic invention. This is the here and now, and for them at least, no one else exists. Until you speak up and ask them to move along. Go on.

Dilettantes

These are the poseurs of the scene, who display a staggering amount of knowledge in a huge amount of noise, but who don’t actually translate their words of action into deeds. Harmless, if mildly annoying.

Gobsmackeds

Never in this person’s life have they seen so many books. Or magazines. Or records. Or DVDs. Or people wanting to kill them for standing in the middle of the busiest thoroughfare, mouth open, for ten minutes. Treat them with pity.

Messers

I only recently noted these ones, but these are the people who will pick up the books that have been laid spine up to assist others in reading the title of the book, look at the cover, and then place the book back down on top of the other books, cover down. These people tend to do this with every book, without any consideration for those following them. While I would label their assassination justifiable homicide, any blood spilled would mess up the books.

Professionals

These are the experienced ones, who know what they are looking for and who have strategies for getting in and out with a minimum of fuss. Their book selections tend to be made with surgical precision, rather than with the (literal) broad strokes of the Bulk Buyers. Plays well with others.

Quiet Ones

The majority, looking for a book or two for their later enjoyment. Quiet ones can become vocal though, should the queues end up kilometres long. A good breed.

RelicHunters

These are the Antiques Road Show people of the book fair world, hunting for those rare objets d’art to make a fortune on. They therefore tend to be serious, determined and very, very picky. Avoid.

WithChilds

Because the crush of the first few hours of opening is not enough if it is just made up of people, some decide that their prams and pushchairs should be brought along not only to add to the morass, but also to be used as a fairly hand weapon. Children are ancillary, as noted by those parents whose children are screaming their heads off in utter boredom or bewilderment, while they themselves remain blissfully ignorant, eyes intently reading the latest Jackie Collins and ears closed through years of practice. Not to deny those with children the opportunity to search for a book or 17, but please…

Professional Attendees

Ambitious Scouts

These are the gamblers, always in the lookout for that rare first edition – to be sold for a good profit, of course.

Desperate Scouts

These are the failed book dealers in need of urgent profits. They are similar to the Grim Digs Scouts, except a bit less fussy and a much more hurried demeanour. Partly harmless.

Dishonest Scouts

The car salesmen of the book fair world, offering false advice on the chance of obtaining the book in your hand for theirs. There aren’t many of these out there, but they are around. Sometimes, they are not even professionals but just unscrupulous amateurs. Keep an eye out.

Grim Digs Scouts

Be careful of these ones – they are on a mission, and the ridges on their forehead let you know it. They will get the best condition, most easily sellable books delete over your dead body, should there be any possible doubt over who claimed the book first. Hold your ground.

Hobby Scouts

These are the happy-go-lucky kind, who wander around with smiles on their faces but a list in their hand, and who will offer friendly opinions on your selection in a fairly unobtrusive way. Mostly harmless.

Junk Merchants Scouts

Finding fools gold in them thar books.

The Volunteers

Cashier (Competent)

Either an old hand or a cool calm customer, the competent cashier is a blessing for those waiting in line. While this person can be assisted by a competent organiser, in and of themselves, they are able to total up the cost of your purchases and get you through the checkout in about a minute.

Cashier (Harried)

I won’t use “incompetent cashier”, because they are all volunteers so I think it is unfair to label them such. So I will stick to the “harried cashier” title, denoting those who have just lost the plot, either by being un-ably assisted by other cashiers or organisers, having forgotten basic counting and arithmetic skills, or being assaulted by faulty technology. One may feel sorry for them, unless one has been waiting in line for an hour due to their bungling.

Tea Ladies

Bless them, these people make the whole book fair world go around. Women or men who grease the wheels of the machine, with cups of tea and the odd biscuit.

The Organiser

The only time one really notices the organiser is when they are doing a bad job. Usually, the official organiser tends to fade into the “tea ladies” category, but when they surgically attach microphones to their mouths and decide the chaos of the book fair needs to be made more chaotic through “helpful” bulletins that are about 10 minutes out of date, they become more pronounced. And unappreciated.

Well, these are the ones I know of. Are there any others you may have spotted in your book fair adventures? Let me know!

The Case for the Darkness

What can I say about the Dark Knight?

Well let’s start with the cast: Christian Bale plays the humourless hero, Morgan Freeman plays the moral centre, Michael Caine plays wise experience, Maggie Gyllenhaal replaces Katie Holmes as a more world-weary love interest, Aaron Eckhart has the best hair (for most of the film anyway)… and then there is Heath Ledger.

I had heard huge amounts of hype about his performance, and while I am not going to debate its merits in the grand scheme of acting things, I have to say that in this movie, he is definitely the centrepiece. The film feels emptier without the psychotic presence of his Joker. He outshines some pretty hefty thesping talent (like Gary Oldman) and is able to camp his Joker up on a few occasions without reminding me of one moment of the 1960s Batdancing TV series version. His portrayal is of a psychopath on the edge, adding an unbalanced danger Jack Nicholson’s interpretation never had. He is scary, but a fascinating, alluring way.

The story itself plays brilliantly as well, albeit fairly contrived in the villains favour. But, despite the length, it still keeps the pace up, the action thrilling (rather than overshadowed by CGI) and the people miserable – for the most part anyway.

And what can one say about Gotham? It must be one of the most depressing cities on earth, despite all those who want to rescue it from its depravity. No one swears in it though. Perhaps there is really no point.

At any rate, this film was great. I found my suspension of disbelief sorely tested by the end of it, however much I loved the bad guys, but overall, it was definitely a film to be enjoyed at the cinema, and one I enjoyed seeing there.

Verdict: The Dark Knight was really good. A great cinematic movie that I doubt would be as enjoyable on the small screen. Not sure if I want more from the franchise, as I am not sure they can keep up the quality. But for this film, 8 Batarangs out of 10.