Author: Christian Sauvé

  • Prisoners (2013)

    Prisoners (2013)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) I approached Prisoners reluctantly.  Sure, it got great reviews… but it also came along with the reputation of being a dark and unpleasant thriller.  I kept putting it off, constantly reasoning that I wanted to see something lighter in my short free time.  Well, now that I have finally sat down to watch Prisoners, can I acknowledge that I was wrong in delaying watching it?  This has to be one of the finest films of 2013.  Sure, it’s dark.  Really dark, as stories about child abductions and psychopath criminals usually are.  But it’s temporary darkness at worst: The film wraps up to a fine conclusion that strikes a perfect balance between hard-earned light and unforgiving consequences.  There are a few unfortunate coincidences within the plot, but much of Prisoners has the satisfying heft of a good crime novel. (Remarkably enough, it’s an original screenplay.)  Moral dilemmas abound, and the sense of barely-repressed darkness is constant.  As a no-fun crime drama, it allows actors to shine: Hugh Jackman turns in one of his best performances as a grief-stricken family man taking justice in his own hands when the police won’t hold a suspected abductor while his daughter is missing.  Meanwhile, Jake Gyllenhaal also has a career-best role as a driven investigator trying to make sense of a convoluted web of back-stories and shadowy criminals.  Paul Dano is also remarkable as a punching-bag character.  Still, French-Canadian director Denis Villeneuve gets the credit for a film that manages a satisfying conclusion out of a bleaker-than-bleak film.  (Significantly enough, the film either takes place at night, or during overcast/snowy days.)  The film may not be fun, but it is strangely uplifting and shows what happens when viewers are trusted to handle more than the usual Hollywood pap.

  • You’re Next (2011)

    You’re Next (2011)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) I’m not much of a slasher/home-invasion horror fan, but You’re Next is a fine, well-executed example of the form.  Working from a familiar let’s-kill-all-characters-until-only-one-survives template, writer Simon Barrett and director Adam Wingard wring competent thrills out of the proceedings, and deliver a story that’s more interesting than the usual psycho-killer standby.  Sharni Vinson makes for a capable last-girl heroine that anchors the film by going beyond the damsel-in-distress archetype.  You’re Next cleverly makes use of its limited budget by taking place in one location with a limited (and dwindling) number of characters.  Interestingly enough, the film keeps the more extreme gore under control until well into the third act –alas, the last few deaths feel as gratuitous as they are sadistic.  Still, the rest is a knowing example of the genre, crafted well enough to remain interesting even for those who are not horror movie fans.  It’s single-mindedly dedicated to entertainment for the audience, and that’s what makes it worthwhile.

  • The Rhesus Chart (The Laundry Files 5), Charles Stross

    The Rhesus Chart (The Laundry Files 5), Charles Stross

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 2014, 368 pages, C$31.00 hc, ISBN 978-0-4252-5686-2

    One of the hidden benefits of having taken a bit of time away from reading favourite authors in the past three years is that, suddenly, I had two Laundry Files novels to read back-to-back.  Ha!  Take that, interminable wait in-between volumes!  Go away, unfulfilled addiction to one of my favourite ongoing series!  Hello, instant gratification!

    At first glance, fifth volume The Rhesus Chart looks like a romp.  Discussing the series on his blog, Charles Stross has announced that while the first four volumes of the series had been homages to spy thrillers, the next three-book cycle would take on aspects of urban fantasy.  So it is that The Rhesus Chart starts off modestly with series narrator Bob Howard discovering a nest of vampires set in London’s financial district.  Now wait: Has someone said “vampire”?  In the Laundry universe?  Why yes: While the novel begins with “everybody knows vampires doesn’t exist”, Stross ends up doing some fancy foot-tapping in order to justify their existence within the framework of the series, and it works pretty well.  When investment banking quants end up thinking a bit too much about the nature of new fiscal instruments, they end up ridden by extra-dimensional parasites that demand consumption of human blood for quantic-cognitive purposes.  When Bob discovers what they’re up to through data mining, he declares an emergency, loads up for bear and…

    …and that’s when, mid-way through, The Rhesus Chart takes a most unexpected and delightful plot detour, letting go of the expected fang-hunt in favor of something far more in-line with the series’ satiric approach to occult intelligence.  I’m sitting on my hands not to say more, but I’ll add that right after I was openly musing (in reviewing The Apocalypse Codex) that The Laundry Files was worth reading for world-building more than plot, here is a novel that brings plotting back to the forefront.  Characters in The Laundry Files are far more competent and reasonable than would be expected from similar urban fantasy series, and Stross doesn’t miss an occasion to poke fun at other vampire fiction (most notably by featuring a vampire-hunter demonstrated to be even worse than the vampires).

    Throughout, The Rhesus Chart keeps up the fine (and sometimes dizzying) game of spot-the-references, blending geek jokes with pop-culture references, technical wizardry and genre references.  I suspect that The Laundry Files is a narrowcast series: very enjoyable to those who happen to fall within the parameters of its premise, a bit less comprehensible to others.  As a whole, the series is steadily getting grimmer even though The Rhesus Chart certainly seems to be a bit more comic (at times) than its two predecessors: Stross indulges in lame bureaucratic humor in describing how the Laundry forms a committee to deal with vampires (or PHANGs, as they are designated), but scores a few smiles in describing vampires using trendy software development methodology and project-management techniques to figure out what’s happening to them.

    Some plot threads are launched that will hopefully pay off in future installments (including a new cat, and a conversation that suggests that Bob’s relationship with Mo is of high interest to the upper management of the Laundry).  The editing is a bit slack in that the same plot points seem hammered home a few times (although, to be fair, the plot does get so convoluted at times that it seems as if even the narrator isn’t too sure what’s happening and why) and the usually heavy-handed exposition risks alienating those who aren’t already fans of exposition, although few of those will have made it to the fifth book of a series that delights in its exposition.

    Then there’s the ending, which turns The Rhesus Chart from a romp to a significant installment in the series: The vampires bite where we least expect, several recurring characters die and one of the most comforting relationships in the series is badly damaged.  Some of this could have been predicted from the overall series arc: other than the typical Campbellian plotting tropes, narrator Bob has, as demonstrated in the ways the narration has progressively gotten away from him, grown significantly in power and now knows too much to remain the sole viewpoint.  In order to grow, The Laundry Files needed to shake up some of the foundations of the series, make Bob more miserable and find itself a few other narrative entry points.

    It’s that kind of willingness to upset the status quo (as also shown most spectacularly in the conclusion to his initial Merchant Princes cycle) that makes Stross an interesting author even when he’s cold-bloodedly engaged in the mercantile tradeoffs of a continuing series.  The Laundry Files could have stayed in stasis, featuring Bob Howard fighting the newest tentacled evil-of-the-book, but The Rhesus Chart show that Stross is actively reshaping his series as he goes along.  Keeping in mind that the series started from what was meant to be a one-off short novel and that Stross’ game-plans keep evolving as he goes on (with a seven-book cycle now planned to hit nine volumes), this is a series that’s going to be worth reading for a while.

  • The Heat (2013)

    The Heat (2013)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014)  It’s almost liberating to realize, shortly into a film, that you’re not the target audience.  It’s a realization that frees you from the burden of trying to like the movie: Once you realize it’s aimed at someone else, you can become as dismissive as you can.  So it is that comedy The Heat is really aimed at another kind of audience.  While I’m left uncharmed by Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy, I can remind myself that the movie is for someone else.  I can criticize the dumb humor, unlikable characters, simplistic plot points and lazy witless approach and who’s going to stop me?  The movie is made for someone else.  Overlong, repetitive and unnecessarily gruesome?  Not. For. Me.  I can find peace with The Heat as long as I remind myself that I shouldn’t be watching it.  This isn’t meant to be a solid procedural cop drama: it’s a high-concept (Bullock reprising Miss Congeniality!  McCarthy being as rude and foul as she can be!) executed just well enough by director Paul Feig to ensure that the target audience feels that it got what it wanted.  It turns out that I like McCarthy a lot less in lead roles than in supporting turns such as Bridesmaids, and the tonal problems with the script frankly pale besides its unpleasant atmosphere.  I suppose that I should feel satisfied that this is a female takeover of a typically masculine film genre.  I should probably be happy that a performer as unorthodox as McCarthy gets a big leading role.  But somehow, as The Heat plays out, I’m left out in the cold and unsatisfied by the results.  But, oh yes, this isn’t for me.

  • Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

    Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In Theaters, August 2014) At a time where superhero films are in real danger of being overexposed, it’s refreshing to see that Marvel Studios are doing their damndest to avoid resting on their laurels.  Their “Phase 2” slate of movies has branched off in interesting directions so far, from quasi-improvised comedy (Iron Man 3) to far-out geekery (Thor 2) to almost-serious political thriller (Captain America 2) to an irreverent space opera with Guardians of the Galaxy.  From a plotting standpoint, this ensemble-cast action caper isn’t anything new: we’ve seen more or less the same thing half a dozen times before from Marvel Studios alone.  But from the 70s pop-fueled title card onward, it’s obvious that this is a successful attempt to stretch the envelope of superhero films in a new stylistic direction: bold, brash, colorful and with a clear emphasis on fun that feels refreshing after the stone-faced dourness of Nolan’s Batman trilogy (to say nothing of Man of Steel.)  The result is never less than highly entertaining.  Much of the credits for this success goes to writer/director James Gunn, who manages to ride herd on a good ensemble cast, a somewhat esoteric mythology, complex SFX-laden sequences and surprising pop-culture references (including pleasingly dissonant musical cues).  With this film, Chris Pratt makes a strong bid for superstar status, while Dave Batista proves to be an unexpectedly gifted performer and Zoe Saldana shows why she rose so quickly to stardom.  Guardians of the Galaxy was an insanely risky project on paper, but the result is pure blockbuster entertainment.  Particularly exemplary are the film’s occasional moments of seriousness (tempered by un-ironic fun) and its satisfying coda which takes pains to deliver its payoffs and make sure that everyone is happy.  Such crowd-pleasing instincts are a good way to ensure that the audience will come back for more, and a sign that Marvel Studios truly understand what business they’re in.

  • The Machine (2013)

    The Machine (2013)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) On one hand, this is a science-fiction film that at least tries to deal with questions about Artificial Intelligence, avoids the easy plot templates and comes from someplace other than Hollywood.  On the other hand, The Machine is a bit dull, somewhat derivative and feels a bit empty for genre SF readers.  It’s also dark and damp in ways that feel more low-budget than intentional (otherwise, this would be the worst-designed laboratory in scientific history).  The special effects are often dubious but occasionally successful then they need to count: much of the film hinges upon a machine construction sequence, and to its credit that’s where The Machine judiciously spends its SFX budget.  But compared to SF movies in general, it feel lackluster and often blunt-edged: for all of its thematic ambitions, the dialogue can be as on-the-nose as to be insulting.  Caity Lotz does a fine job at playing a dual role, while Toby Stephens is an acceptably bland anchor for the film.  There are interesting quirks in the script (including cyborgs developing their own communication channels) but much of the film’s surprises can be seen well in advance.  While the thematic ambitions of the film are higher than usual, they fail to cohere into anything resembling a self-consistent argument.  While The Machine is quite a bit better than many similarly-budgeted SF films, it falls into the uncanny valley of films that are just ambitious enough to fail in delivering their fullest potential.  Call it an interesting film if you must, but temper your expectations accordingly.

  • Sharknado 2: The Second One (2014)

    Sharknado 2: The Second One (2014)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) There’s really no point in trying to exert critical judgement on a self-consciously camp film such as Sharknado 2: Based on the unexpected success of the first film, this sequel delivers more of the same with even less regard toward basic believability.  It’s its own self-aware parody, making the wisecracks for its viewers in an effort to distance itself from accountability.  So what’s left to say?  The breathless plot outline (“Sharknado strikes New York!”) is enough to entice viewers, while the low budget speaks for itself.  There are more celebrity cameos than anyone but a pop-culture junkie can identify (to the point of thinking “this guy must be a celebrity of some sort, otherwise the scene makes no sense”) and Sharknado 2 definitely is on to its own joke to the point of being its own parody.  Nit-picking the film is useless, from the ludicrous book-signing technique to the silliness of cleaving sharks in mid-air with a chainsaw: all of this is expected, probably even intentional.  Surprisingly enough, the film comes together a bit more satisfyingly than the original (which had a flat third quarter) and is slightly better-directed as well.  Still, this really isn’t a good film, and there’s something almost impure in films designed to be bad.  Suffice to say that Sharknado 2 meets expectations, and aren’t most movies really just aiming to do that?

  • Machete Kills (2013)

    Machete Kills (2013)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) I’m a long-time fan of Robert Rodriguez’s films (all the way back to Desperado on VHS), but it sure looks as if he’s spent the last decade repeating himself with a long series of sequels and spin-offs.  Machete Kills is the third film to be spun off from 2007’s Grindhouse, and it suggests that the joke has been played out.  Not that the film itself is unpleasant to watch: As you may expect from its neo-grindhouse inspiration, it’s suitably over-the-top, allowing Rodriguez and his ensemble cast to have a lot of fun by sending up an assortment of action movie clichés.  Danny Trejo is compelling as usual as the titular Machete, but it’s a toss-up as to whether he’s having as much fun as Mel Gibson (as a Bond-grade villain), Charlie Sheen (as a lecherous President) or Sofia Vergara (using her shrill persona to good effect, for once).  Even Lady Gaga gets a role as a shape-shifting assassin.  The action gets silly quickly and never lets basic disbelief being an obstacle.  It’s all good fun, except that Rodriguez’s low-budget aesthetics (tight framing, cheap special effects, lazy blocking, editing that allows actors to share a scene without ever having been in the same room together) are less satisfying than one would expect… especially once they’re repeated too often.  Rodriguez can command bigger budgets than he used to at the beginning of his career –he should use that power for a few money shots.  Still, despite the over-the-top action, shameless exploitation (often going straight to comic parody) and self-aware ridiculousness, there’s a sense that Machete Kills is a bit too big for its aw-shucks attitude.  By focusing on the comedy, it even loses a bit of the edge that the first Machete had, and the focus on violence while downplaying the nudity is a step in the wrong direction.  It’s too long for its own good, and in stretching out some of its duller stretches, invites tiresomeness.  It probably doesn’t help that this is Rodriguez’s umpteenth return to the same source: For all of the chuckles and I-can’t-believe-I’m-seeing-this outrageousness, by the time the end credits roll, there’s no need for a third Machete outing.  Let’s leave well-enough alone and let’s hope that Rodriguez does something a bit fresher for his next effort.

  • The Apocalypse Codex (The Laundry Files 4), Charles Stross

    The Apocalypse Codex (The Laundry Files 4), Charles Stross

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 2012, 336 pages, C$27.50 hc, ISBN 978-1-937007-46-1

    Of all the ongoing SF&F series out there, I have to rank Charles Stross’ The Laundry Files as one of my favourites.  It seems specifically designed to appeal to my strange mix of computer knowledge, public-service career, fascination for Lovecraftian horrors, liking for spy thrillers and penchant for geeky comedy.  I’ve been a fan since the first small-press hardcover edition of The Atrocity Archives, and I’ve been fascinated by how the series has evolved from a one-shot singleton to a series with an accelerating plot spanning multiple volumes.

    The fourth installment of the series, The Apocalypse Codex, picks up a few weeks after the rather grim conclusion of The Fuller Memorandum.  Narrator Bob Howard is back in service (somewhat) after being abducted by a strange cult and re-possessing his own body, acquiring some curious necromancer powers along the way.  Still shell-shocked by the events, Bob find himself promoted to middle-management early in the novel and is asked to supervise two independent contractors as they go to Colorado in order to investigate a curiously effective preacher.  Operating deep in enemy territory, Bob will have to discover how far his powers go, avoid detection and somehow… manage.

    The Apocalypse Codex clearly runs along the same lines as The Fuller Memorandum: It further marginalizes Bob as the narrator (by making him discuss events at which he wasn’t present, effectively switching between first and third-person narration), returns to plot threads introduced in previous volumes, maps out some of the things previously left unsaid and further explains the multiverse in which The Laundry Files are set.  While the set-up of the book may look like another mad-cultist romp at first, it is set against the ticking clock of Case Nightmare Green and eventually leads to a confrontation between Bob and a few past horrors, at a time when he is better equipped to deal with them.

    A good chunk of the book is a Peter O’Donnell / Modesty Blaise homage, featuring a new character named Persephone Hazard and her trusty side-kick.  If you’re a North-American with no knowledge of Blaise, don’t worry: the character is interesting enough in her own right, and would make a perfectly good narrator should Bob find himself unavailable at some point.  The tone of the novel does remain consistent with the rest of the series, blending some humor with deep horrors.  (Despite the extraterrestrials brain parasites being featured here, the most repellent horror of the novel has to do with non-supernatural forced human reproduction…)

    A distinguishing feature of The Laundry Files (by happenstance at first, and then more deliberately) has been the way the series has steadily pivoted away from its one-shot origins into a series capable of sustaining a longer duration.  We see this further at work in The Apocalypse Codex by the way it lowers the idea density of the series and heightens the ongoing subplots.  I was initially apprehensive about the televangelist premise for two reasons: first, it seemed a bit ordinary and second because televangelists seem to be easy targets for SF writers usually writing from a non-Christian viewpoint.  This second doubt eventually went away once it became clear how thoroughly Stross had researched and presented his subject: The novel’s televangelist isn’t as evil as he is thoroughly manipulated by monsters beyond his imagination, and Stross is careful to provide detailed explanations about how his doctrine differs from the usual, to the point of giving a sympathetic voice to a pastor able to explain the quirks of the cult’s interpretation of scriptures –especially the titular codex.

    This being said, my first set of doubts weren’t entirely assuaged: As The Laundry Files slow down for the long haul of a planned nine-book series, it’s normal for the freshness of the first few volumes to be normalized and taken for granted.  This isn’t exactly the best of news for those who read for world-building rather than plot, but it is to be expected.  The Apocalypse Codex does contain quite a bit of imaginative details (including some frightening descriptions of what the American occult services are willing to do) to placate series fans, and the personal growth of Bob’s character is also becoming interesting now that he’s evolving out of the lowly-sysop/operative into a more challenging manager/case-officer.

    Astonishingly enough, I can’t help but note the way Bob’s career seems to run in parallel with mine, adding another layer of personal interest in the series: When I picked up The Atrocity Archives in 2004, I was a lowly techie much like Bob, toiling away in a public service bureaucracy at the lowest difficulty setting.  A decade later, I ended up reading The Apocalypse Codex at a time when I’m knocking at the doors of middle-management, taking on a small team and trusting them to do the right thing.  When Bob muses over his own career growth and responsibilities, let’s say that resonates –and this despite the thankful lack of necromancy, otherworldly horrors and brain parasites in my own line of work.

    So it is that I suspect that I will remain a fan of The Laundry Files for quite a while yet.  The Case Nightmare Green ticking clock is as effective an overarching plot device as I can imagine, and with every installment, Stross proves that he can make the series evolve at its own rhythm, deepening and extending his universe as needed.  The Apocalypse Codex is strong work from a clever writer, and it just happens to push most of my power chords as a reader.  Onward to The Rhesus Chart!

  • Double Star, Robert A. Heinlein

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Signet, 1955, 256 pages

    The first stop in my modest 2014 Heinlein-Hugo-Winning-Novel reading project is 1955’s Double Star.  Written after Heinlein had become a first-rate SF writer but before he hit his all-time highs, it won the 1956 Hugo Award for best novel.  In the list of top Heinlein novels, it usually gets forgotten behind Starship Troopers, Stranger in a Strange Land and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.  Still, re-reading it today, roughly twenty years after I first encountered it, I’m struck at how well it exemplifies the best of early-era Heinlein and much of the SF genre at the time.

    For one thing, it’s short: Written at a time when typewriters ruled and serial magazine publication was still very important, it barely exceeds 55,000 words.  (Contemporary adult SF genre novels are around 100,000 words.) As a result, it can be read quickly and, perhaps most importantly, it can focus on the essentials of the story it wants to tell.

    It’s not that original a story: In a now-alternate future where much of the Solar System has been colonized and humanity has encountered alien races on Mars and Venus, a down-on-his-luck actor gets hired for a very special job: impersonate an important politician for a crucial event, given how the real politician has been abducted.  This “simple” assignment soon stretches out to include more political shenanigans when the real politician is found incapacitated even as an election campaign heats up.  The conclusion is straight out of the classics (or subsequent homages), but isn’t less effective for it.

    Told through evolving first-person narration (as in; our protagonist often changes his mind during the course of the novel, deliberately reflecting his growth as a person), Double Star straddles two or three worlds at once.  It’s obviously about politics, just-as-obviously about acting but also (while this may be so obvious as to be invisible to genre readers) about fifties-SF notions of the future.  By which I mean that the future explored in Double Star is a reasonably average one by SF’s mid-fifties standards.  It has alien races within the solar system (because no one was certain, at the time, that we could exclude those), system-wide colonization, torch-ships and moon cities.  Of course the technical details are charmingly quaint: video is available on spools of film, the empire has eight billion people scattered throughout the entire system (we recently went just above seven on just this planet) and there’s no information networks beyond news providers.  While Heinlein does include a perfunctory bit of color in his cast of character, gender roles remain firmly steeped in fifties conventions: The only female character of note is the politician’s secretary, and she (of course) is in love with her boss and represents the emotional pole in the story.  As infuriating as this can be, that’s the way most SF of the time envisioned the future.

    So Double Star definitely speaks to a fifties Science-Fiction audience.  But what it tells them is a treatise on reasonable government and the demands of acting as a profession, and that’s worth a few words of praise.  For one thing, our narrator is very much an actor, in his instincts as much as his vocabulary.  There are many clever passages in the novel in which the narrator describes his process “getting in character” either physically or mentally, and they offer a fascinating glimpse into the inner thoughts of an actor.  The details through which he perceives the world are a bit different than the stock engineer/hero protagonist of so much fifties SF, leading to exemplary paragraphs like the following:

    At turnover we got that one-gravity rest that Dak had promised. We never were in free fall, not for an instant; instead of putting out the torch, which I gather they hate to do while under way, the ship described what Dak called a 180-degree skew turn. It leaves the ship on boost the whole time and is done rather quickly, but it has an oddly disturbing effect on the sense of balance. The effect has a name something like Coriolanus. Coriolis?

    The last two words are the point of the quote in which actor-meets-physics, but let’s also notice the confident let-me-explain-complicated-things tone of the entire paragraph, as good an example of the strengths of Heinlein’s writing, mixing technical knowledge (“180-degree skew turn”) with relatable details (“which I gather they hate to do”).  Much of Double Star is written in the kind of prose that can be read effortlessly, from a first chapter that has a rollercoaster of pulp-style adventure plotting to a more wistful concluding chapter that reflects on a life fully lived.

    What’s more interesting than the acting prose icing (and, frankly, what I’d forgotten in the twenty years since I’d read the book) is the political content.  Like most people, our narrator starts with a mild loathing of politicians but, by dint of doing the job, comes to appreciate the details and complexity of it all.  Heinlein does a fine job at portraying politics (which he calls “the only sport for grownups”) as a nuts-and-bolt team effort.  There are enjoyable info-dumps along the way.  It’s simplified, sure, but not as much as you’d think in 55,000 words.  Surprisingly enough for some readers, Heinlein presents the empire as a Commonwealth-style parliamentary monarchy (a far better system than American-style politics, but then again I’m Canadian), and finds a respectable use for a king.  Go ahead and square that with the rest of his best-known bibliography.  At the very least, Double Star still offers something to think about, which isn’t bad nearly sixty years later.

    Dramatically, there is a lot to like as well in the way Heinlein deals with his narrator.  He starts the novel as a fairly unlikable self-important schmuck, but gradually evolves out of his own narrow limits to become a better man… by playing the role of a better man until he authentically assumes the personality.  His puffery is replaced by earned confidence, his cheap rejection of complexity is replaced by hard-won experience and while that may sound like Drama 101, it’s relatively well-executed, especially within a mere 55,000 words.  (Admittedly, some transitions do look easy: Hypnotism plays a big role in one of his fundamental evolutions, and another is driven by merely hitting the books for a few days.)

    It all amounts to a remarkably effective novel even today.  I propose it as a particularly polished example of fifties SF (indeed, it was selected as one of the nine representative novels of the genre and era by no less than the Library of America) and a good blend of influences within that genre.  It’s an ideal approach vector for anyone interested in Heinlein: It doesn’t carry much of the baggage of his later novels, and has a better chance to seduce on length and wit alone.  After re-reading it, I reaffirm its spot on my list of Alternate Hugo winners (or in this case, actual Hugo winners) and am feeling quite a bit better-disposed toward the next title in my Heinlein Re-Read Project.

  • Despicable Me 2 (2013)

    Despicable Me 2 (2013)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) I liked the first Despicable Me without going overboard for it, and much of the same goes for its sequel.  While Despicable Me 2 is far too emotionally shallow to be held aloft alongside some of the finest examples of the animated family film genre, it’s amusing and zippy enough to be worth a watch.  I suspect that beyond the reformed-bad-boy appeal of protagonist Gru, much of the sequel’s charm hinges upon the character of Lucy (judiciously voiced by Kristen Wiig): as a capable yet endearing character, with combat skills matched with clumsiness and over-eagerness –her non-date with Gru makes for an odd but effective bonding scene.  Otherwise, it’s easy to see the overabundance of charm in Despicable Me 2, from the three daughters (as equally adorable as in the first film, if perhaps under-used) to the omnipresent minions that act as comic mascots of the series.  The film is bright, colorful and directed with dynamic pacing (I suspect plenty of freeze-frame details).  It may not amount to much in the thematic department (even Gru’s romantic baggage is dealt with lightly), but the speed and accumulation of jokes is more than enough to keep the film afloat.  Despicable Me 2‘s comic tone seems more controlled than the original, and I was impressed at the film’s success in mastering even the most obvious jokes: There’s a gag about a cat being rejected from abduction that can be seen coming at least two solid seconds in advance –and it still gets a good laugh.  I’m not so fond of the ethnic stereotyping or the somewhat linear plot, but the tone of the film doesn’t invite much scrutiny, and it should best be appreciated as a light-hearted comedy without any deep intentions. 

  • Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 (2013)

    Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 (2013)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) Given how much I liked the original Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, it’s no surprise that I found the sequel underwhelming –but when underwhelming merely means “enjoyable to watch” as compared to “you should see this, no really”, then it’s not much of a demotion.  Picking up moments after the end of the first film (but with added back-story weaved into the recap), Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 goes wilder than its predecessor in presenting an island filled with sentient food creatures, with punny names from Cheespider to Shrimpanzees.  Many of the previous film’s characters are back in this second serving, starting with the lead couple.  It’s in considering the addition of a human villain that Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 seems more ordinary than the first film: The villain’s actions are transparent enough to evoke comparison with bad sitcoms, and once you start thinking about the premise, the addition of sentient food creatures raises a number of questions (“What determines what can be eaten?” being one of the first ones) that can’t be satisfactorily answered within the context of a fast-paced family comedy.  Still, despite those nagging questions, there’s no denying the visual richness of the results: Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 is bright, colorful, packed with movement (at times, a bit too much for a first viewing –there seems to be freeze-frame details packed in every other shot) and showcases a rolling parade of gags.  Several of them land effectively, leading to a succession of smiles from beginning to end.  As a family film, it’s not too bad: funny, optimistic, paced quickly enough to reward multiple viewings… it could have been much worse.  It’s no shame if it doesn’t quite reach the level of its predecessor.

  • R.I.P.D. (2013)

    R.I.P.D. (2013)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) Poor Ryan Reynolds.  He’s a very likable actor with a string of good performances in smaller movies (Waiting, Adventureland, Buried, Safe House) but who seems unable to get a role in a high-budget franchise film good enough to make him a superstar.  Blade 3, Wolverine, Green Lantern and now R.I.P.D.: he just can’t catch a break.  His latest effort is clumsier than most: While R.I.P.D.‘s “undead policemen” premise almost self-consciously attempts to ape high-concept SF comedy such as Men in Black, it never manages to transform a few interesting images into anything close to the potential of its premise.  The first act has some potential and amply demonstrates that it’s a big-budget production.  Afterwards, though, it seems to become steadily less ambitious and increasingly inept at what it does attempt: The hunt-the-deados rationale lacks urgency compared to the entire “undead policemen” premise, while the overarching plot about a magical artifact seems far too rote to be interesting.  It really doesn’t help that the film’s sense of humor is so… odd.  Not bad, just odd in ways that seem more bizarre than amusing.  (Often, you can tell that someone thought a details would be funny, even though it’s not, in itself, funny.)  Many of the script’s conceptual laughs fall flat on-screen –which may simply betray sub-par directing and deficient special effects more than anything else: the idea of “mismatched avatars”, for instance, is cause for more frustration than laughs when it’s used so inconsistently.  But the more questions you ask about this film, the more frustrated you’ll get.  (Never mind the uncomfortable theological questions raised by the premise, then wilfully ignored by the rest of the film.)  The few bright spots include a few early special-effects sequences, Reynold’s aw-sucks performance and a relatively good turn by Jeff Bridges who seems to be reprising his True Grit frontier-lawman persona with panache.  R.I.P.D. remarkably degenerates the longer it goes on, suggesting that it, too, is a dead film that doesn’t quite understand how not-alive it is.  Hopefully Ryan Reynolds will take notice of the parallels with his career before it’s too late.

  • The Last President, John Barnes

    The Last President, John Barnes

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 2012, 400 pages, C$31.00 hc, ISBN 978-1-93700715-7

    As of mid-2014, John Barnes has written thirty-three books and I have read twenty-two of them, with eight more somewhere in my to-be-read stacks. (What I’ve got left to read quickly gets into his early-career juvenilia and obscure titles long out of print.) I mention this as a feeble claim to authority when I say that when it comes to Barnes, I have come to expect the unexpected.  He’s one of my favourite SF writers despite/because I’m never too sure how I’ll react to any given book.

    As I’ve written elsewhere, there are good Barnes novels, there are bad Barnes novels but there are no dull Barnes novels.  Over the years, I have become convinced that he is a bit bored, disillusioned and maybe even disappointed with the genre SF readership.  How else to explain the constant subversion of expectations, the nose-tweaking, the genre-hopping to be found in his bibliography?  Reading Barnes is like being dared to go past hidebound genre expectations, even when he’s demonstrably working within the traditions of Science Fiction.

    The price to pay for liking such an unpredictable author is that, from time to time, he ends up writing a novel that doesn’t require assessing as much as explaining.  The Last President, third book in the Daybreak series and arguably the concluding volume in a trilogy, in one of those: With the wrong expectations, it’s a dud, but with the right expectations it becomes half-way interesting.

    It almost goes without saying that the rest of this commentary will include complete spoilers for the end of this book.  There are no other ways to discuss it.  For reasons that will soon become clear, that this is a novel (heck, a series) best spoiled rotten from beginning to end, as readers prepared for what Barnes has in mind have better chances of appreciating what he is trying to do.  I’m going to write two further non-spoiler paragraphs and then I’m going to delve deep into the keys to The Last President.

    What about a few general thoughts about the book?  It’s written cleanly, although some of the Midwestern geography gets esoteric without a map.  Long-time Barnes readers will note that after a Daybreak Zero that was generally exempt of sexual violence (one of the author’s recurring motifs), we get a far-too-rough-sex scene just in time to make us lose sympathy for a character who is then promptly killed.  Barnes has written elsewhere about how this third book was written more closely to his vision for the series than the first two heavily-edited ones, and while this does show in smoother pacing and scene transitions, it’s not a radically different reading experience.

    Last non-spoiler stuff: What makes this Daybreak trilogy interesting, as far as catastrophic slides into post-apocalyptic mayhem are concerned, is the titular concept of “Daybreak”: the idea that a substantial number of humans would execute a variety of plans designed to make human civilization regress hundreds of years in the past and ensure that we’d stay there.  That’s Nightmare Fuel stuff as far as I’m concerned, and I suspect that it’s a reason why, despite my overall distaste for Barnes’ goals in writing the series, it has occupied such an unusually large space in my thoughts since I’ve finished the book a few days ago.

    OK, on to the good spoiler-full stuff: The Last President concludes this Daybreak trilogy with a downbeat tone exemplified by two overlaid let-downs:  The protagonists of the trilogy lose their bid to rebuild the United States of America, and Daybreak is revealed to be a creation of aliens determined to destroy human civilization.

    Whew.

    Let’s tackle the aliens first.  As far as science-fictional ideas go, “paranoid aliens kneecap human civilization before it causes them trouble” is a pretty good one.  Alice Sheldon’s “The Screwfly Solution” still gives me the notional heebie-jeebies, and buried deep into my files is the manuscript of a (bad) novel using that exact same premise (even down to the “next step is them coming here to finish the job” send-off which also figures in The Last President)  But a good idea doesn’t necessarily mean an appropriate idea, and its use as a definitive answer for Daybreak isn’t nearly as compelling as I thought it would be when I first supposed it while reading the first volume.  Daybreak is a lot scarier as a purely human creation, arising in the collective unconscious as a response to the contemporary environment.  It’s also more appropriate to have human protagonists fighting another human creation: making it come from aliens takes it deep into “unfair” territory, and comes close to trivializing the struggle against Daybreak when the deck is stacked so obviously against civilization.

    But, you know, cool idea –well-presented if perhaps revealed a bit too late like the cherry on a sundae.

    Still, it becomes a forgivable weaker point when compared to the other big let-down of the novel: the idea that the forces of civilization (as represented, perhaps pretentiously, by the attempts to keep the United States government intact) are served a resounding defeat in their efforts to fight back against Daybreak.  Not to put a fine point on it, they spend roughly half the book winning battles and spanking Daybreaker hordes, only to be ambushed by authorial fiat and lose for the rest of the novel, until the United States are no more than a handful of separated fiefdoms.

    That’s quite a bit more problematic than aliens, especially as the conclusion of a trilogy.  Genre readers have been conditioned to expect the pot at the end of the rainbow, so to speak.  We read fiction for the hardships, but also with the expectation that something will be a bit better at the end despite the terrible prices paid along the way.  This is especially true the longer the work: I don’t particularly care if a character dies at the end of a short story: I haven’t had time to attach myself.  But a trilogy requires a far bigger investment in time, and my expectations of a reward go up correspondingly.  So when I tackle a series that starts with the apocalypse and sets out with the stated goal of keeping the United States together, it’s kind of, oh, a massive disappointment when the ending consists of characters shrugging and telling themselves that at least they tried.  The book doesn’t end in defeat as much as in dramatically lowered expectations, and a bit of hope for the bits and pieces left.  (There’s also a bit of dramatic irony in how Daybreak is ultimately dismantled not by the cleverness of characters fighting for peace, order and good government, but by the ruthless plans of a back-wood dictator going for a power-grab.  Let’s put the worst facets of humanity against each other and see who wins…)

    But before climbing the barricades of outrage, let’s take a moment to second-guess this first reaction and double-check that my expectations as a reader were the same as those with which Barnes wrote the series.  Because the piece of information that is essential in understanding the Daybreak trilogy is this: Barnes is an iconoclast, and he’s not entirely unsympathetic to the destruction of civilization as he describes in his series.  As he writes on his Amazon page:

    I like writing on all sides of an issue, and in this case it was particularly easy because fundamentally, I’m a Luddite; if I could figure out a way to make Daybreak happen and send us all back to steam trains and biplanes without killing a few billion people, I would be sorely tempted, but at the same time I recognize that emotional response as idiotic…

    I couldn’t be any less sympathetic to this point of view (I really, really like civilization) but I’m trying not to take it personally: Barnes’ entire bibliography, as fascinating and varied and exasperating as it can be at times, is filled with examples of him writing to get some reaction out of his readership.  It’s no exaggeration to write that, as far as this trilogy’s characters are concerned, Barnes is Daybreak in the most literal sense, especially when, on his blog (and elsewhere; Barnes hasn’t been shy in discussing his series), he admits that…

    …the reason for engineering the Seven Nations Future in such a complex way is surprisingly simple: I wanted a huge canvas for all kinds of adventures, and it took a pretty big story to set that up. I wanted to contrive a dieselpunk kind of world that would never be wiped out by computers and nukes, as was the interwar era where so many of my favorite pulp adventures took place.

    So there’s the important takeaway, and key to the series so far: this Daybreak trilogy was never about readers seeing characters winning the war against the Daybreakers, regaining their iPhones and rebuilding a modern civilization: it was about Barnes setting up a fictional playground for further adventures.  The deck was stacked against the defenders of civilization from the onset, both from Barnes’ affections and from his ultimate goals.

    I can respect the series a lot more now that I know this.  I also expect that in the later grand scheme of things, after Barnes has had time to write further novels in this universe, the initial Daybreak trilogy will be regarded for its true nature: the opening cycle of a much longer Seven Nations Future series.  I’m still not too sure, mind you, that a trilogy was the best way to go: A novel could have low-balled the sensation of betrayal, while a long-running unified series à la Song of Ice and Fire would merely see the first three books as prologue.

    But so it goes with any Barnes novel, which aren’t usually to be read unless we’re committed to a bit of a struggle and soul-searching about expectations.  I’m amused to see that The Last President, as of mid-2014, has an average Amazon reviews ranking of 3.5 stars, but those reviews are widely scattered across the five stars spectrum: Such a novel ends up getting reactions all over the map, and that’s the way Barnes seems to like it.  Given that this review is roughly twice as long as my usual ones, you can gather that I have engaged with the novel to an unusual extent, that that I still haven’t made up my mind as to whether or not I liked it.  What’s confirmed, though, is that I’m eagerly waiting for the next Barnes novel with no other expectations than being surprised.

  • Piranha 3DD (2012)

    Piranha 3DD (2012)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2014) I really, really disliked 2010’s Piranha 3D (to which this “3DD” film is a sequel), so I have no one else to blame for disliking this one as well.  It’s not as if I’m completely opposed to monster B-movies in which most of the cast gets eaten before the end credits, but there’s something about the gleeful sadism of this series that has me gritting my teeth.  The good news, I suppose, is that Piranha 3DD is a lesser film than its predecessor: fewer laughs, scaled-back scope and, crucially, reduced gore.  Given that my main issue with the previous film was the excessive amount of carnage that flipped the film from “harmless laughs” to “stomach-churning tragedy”, reduced gore is more than a relief in this case.  That may explain why, in the end, I found Piranha 3DD less objectionable than its predecessor, even though its final few sadistic moments do push my patience.  One of the lesser virtues of the film is that it’s just as intensely self-aware than its predecessor.  Almost falling into parody, this installment features over-the-top nudity, a self-referential David Hasselhoff, easy shocks (the grossest moment of the film can be seen coming fifteen minutes prior to its occurrence) and deaths so mean-spirited that they almost makes you wish for the annihilation of our species.  The plot mechanics are familiar to the point of tediousness; even more so given that the film barely tries to make sense of its dramatic progression.  Much of Piranha 3DD feels like self-imposed hardship as it moves from one obligatory death to another –but that may just be me, pondering why I chose to watch the film despite not expecting much from it.  (The deluded answer is along the lines of “it’s barely 75 minutes long, it won’t require any hard thinking and –who knows- it may even be mildly interesting.”)  As ridiculous as this film can be, it straddles an uncomfortable middle between fun parody and disgusting horror –less so than its predecessor, granted, but still along the same lines.  I’m not sure there’s even an ideal audience for this kind of film.  Maybe I hope there isn’t.