Author: Christian Sauvé

  • Death Race 2 (2010)

    Death Race 2 (2010)

    (On DVD, December 2011) I won’t try to hide my disdain for the 2008 film that led to this follow-up, especially given how it establishes my low standards for approaching this film.  Can you expect anything good from a Direct-to-Video prequel to a wholly useless remake/prequel?  No way.  And yet, especially by the rising standards of Direct-to-Video action movie, Death Race 2 actually isn’t too bad.  Director Roel Reiné knows how to work with a small $7-million budget, and the film feels just as big as the big-budget 2008 film.  Luke Goss makes for a fine stand-in to Jason Statham as an action hero, Lauren Cohan seems to be auditioning for a chunk of Milla Jovovich’s career (similitudes may not be accidental given Paul W.S. Anderson’s presence as a writer/producer), and there are surprisingly big and enjoyable roles for both Danny Trejo and Ving Rhames.  The concept of the film has been stolen from the 2008 Death Race, but the dialogue has occasional moments, the story leads straight into the 2008 film, and the direction is quite a bit better than what we could expect with moving cameras, ambitious pyrotechnic stunts and audacious shots –some of them in super-slow-motion.  The car chase following the bank robbery looks as if its cost quite a bit, and the film seems to have been able to re-use a bunch of material from the 2008 film.  It’s certainly more colourful than its predecessor, taking away one of the main criticism I had of the earlier film.  No, there certainly isn’t any more social consciousness here compared to the 1975 film.  But it is exactly what it claims to be: a competently-made action film released straight to video.  I even enjoyed chunks of it.  The DVD extras are far more successful in focusing on the making of the film than trying to glorify it as an entry in an ongoing “franchise”; director Reiné is more interesting in discussing aspects of his approach in low-budget film-making.

  • The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, Paul Kennedy

    The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, Paul Kennedy

    Fontana Press, 1989 reprint of 1988 original, 898 pages, C$14.95 tp, ISBN 0-00-686052-4

    Continuing self-education for its own sake is seldom acknowledged in contemporary North-American culture.  There is a strong bias in favour of adult education if it has clear monetary advantages (ie; adult students getting degrees required for better employment) but there seems to be little to no discussion of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, simply to learn more about the world.  We’re expected to perfect our knowledge of matters such as world history in High School, and never think about it again unless it’s somehow part of our jobs.

    Nice theory, but if you’re a product of the modern education system, chances are that world history wasn’t your most compelling subject.  You probably learned about history as it led to the state of your country, with next to no overview about what else happened in the world at the time.  That’s… not ideal, but neither is it one of the big scandals of our society.  History, it can be argued, can’t be fully appreciated by individuals who scarcely have any sense of antecedents.  High School students barely have a past of their own –how can they be expected to think of civilizations are entities lasting hundreds of years?

    This ties into Paul Kennedy’s The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers insofar as it remains, even nearly twenty-five years later, one of the best and most readable overviews of world history between 1500 and 1988.  (The book’s subtitle promises “Economic change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000” and that’s a fair assessment, but then there’s the important “1989 – Fall of the Soviet Empire” asterisk to consider.)  This is the remedial class-in-a-book that adult readers may have been asking for, looking at world history from a very broad perspective in an attempt to contextualize the rest.

    It begins by describing the world circa-1500, noting as part of its first sentence that nothing at the time would have suggested Europe’s dominant role in world affairs during the next 500 years: Barely out of the dark ages, severely backwards compared to the Ming, Mogul, Persian or Ottoman Empires, Europe wasn’t seen as a particularly interesting player.  But Europe had the advantage of many smaller opposing kingdoms, all of them jockeying for dominance and nearly all of them ready for radical experiments with technology, economics and political systems.  Over the next half-millennium, the intense wars played over a small territory would lead Europe to dominance over their complacent neighbors.

    Of course “intense wars played over a small territory” is all of European History until 1945 and “Western Europe” is really a basket full of various empires fighting it out viciously.  (For a French-Canadian, reading about European history is an exercise in cheering for either England or France as they take on the rest of the world.)  The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers does an exemplary job at explaining the changing fortunes of each empire as it rises or declines, based on technological advances, enlightened policy decisions or the availability (or lack) of resources.  Names from the past emerge and disappear; why is it that I was never taught about the Habsburg Empire?  Who forgot to tell me about Amsterdam’s pivotal role in world affairs?  Ah, and this is what happened to the Austrian Empire…  and here’s why France squandered its advantages despite all the pro-French propaganda I was taught in High School.

    As much as any other book I’ve read this year, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers was a learning experience.  Kennedy writes about world-spanning subjects, but does so with a witty prose style, clear explanations, solid documentation and well-developed theses.  It took me much longer than usual to page through the book, but I don’t regret a moment of it.

    The weaker portion of the narrative follows World War 2, as Kennedy studies Cold War history and engages in nearly a hundred pages’ worth of predictions regarding the world’s circa-1988 power blocks.  It’s duller because it’s more familiar, but I should note that much of his predictions seem spot-on nearly a quarter of a decade later.  Kennedy isn’t particularly optimistic about Japan’s chances (something that economic crises and demographic implosion have since confirmed), is bullish about China (confirmed), thinks well of Europe’s chances as a unified power block (damaged by 2011’s Euro crisis, but still very much the case), is pessimistic about the Soviet Union (confirmed in spade by is implosion two years later) and is cautiously bullish about the United States.

    That last statement unpacks a bit with nearly 25 years’ worth of hindsight.  After considering half a millennium’s worth of history, readers may look at the invasion of Iraq and the United States’ current fiscal problems as a chilling demonstration of the kind of imperial overreach that have doomed empires before.  You can make a case that resource acquisition, at least in 2003, was behind the US actions in the Middle-East; you can also now make a case that like many empires before (or, ahem, during the Vietnam war), the US severely over-extended itself in a doomed attempt to secure its vital resources.  Kennedy, by 1987, was already predicting the end of the bipolar world in favour of geopolitics with several competing power blocks and it’s hard not to use the hindsight offered by his book as further evidence that this is happening.  It’s even possible that, having weakening itself through an entirely optional military adventure, the US has hastened its ongoing decline vis-à-vis other power blocks.

    So it is that by the time I re-emerged from The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, eyes blinking in the sunlight, I felt as if I had crammed a semester’s worth of world history and written a paper on the topic.  The kind of heady sensation isn’t the only reason to keep on learning new things, but it’s near the top of the list.

  • A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas (2011)

    A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas (2011)

    (In theaters, December 2011) I’m not sure there’s a more conceptually offensive film out there in theaters at this end of 2011: Whether you’re talking about characters who enjoy the stoner lifestyle, a toddler doing cocaine, graphically-portrayed phalluses, Santa Claus getting shot in the face, nude nuns, angels performing sexual favours on a cracked version of Neil Patrick Harris or a murderous waffle-making robot, a straight-up description of the film’s content reads like a decadent horror show at the end of civilization.  And yet, the series’ considerable irreverent charm is intact, and a solid core of moral value underlies the entire film: the story daringly picks up six years later with a grown-up Harold and a arrested-development Kumar, then throws them together in order to come up with a relatively mainstream-friendly conclusion.  In-between, though, there’s plenty of refreshing hijinks, quasi-experimental segments (just wait for the Claymation stuff, or the 3D-tableau “plan”) and meta-fictional laughs about the actor’s other careers/roles, 3D gags (I almost regret not seeing this one in 3D) and more irreverence than you’d think possible.  It’s still a silly comedy for people who like silly comedies, but it’s hilarious, fast-paced, sweet without being cloying and a perfectly self-aware third installment in a series –for one thing, it doesn’t seem as if it’s simply coasting on recycling its previous gags.  Both Kal Penn and John Cho are great in the title role, with Neil Patrick Harris once again stealing the show and Danny Trejo joining the cast as a pitch-perfect father-in-law.  If you’re a fan of the series, don’t miss it.

  • Margin Call (2011)

    Margin Call (2011)

    (In theaters, December 2011) Obviously inspired by the financial crisis of September 2008, Margin Call is a rare thriller in which conversations, analysis and boardroom meetings take the lead over car chases, explosions and gunfights.  It starts with a mass layoff at an unnamed Wall Street trading firm and a dire warning from one fired analyst to his still-employed protégé: “Be careful.”  Before long, our intrepid boy wonder has discovered that the firm is about to go bankrupt, and the news spread upward in a series of meeting with ever-more-important people.  Strategies are discussed, blame is tentatively assigned, speeches are made, decisions are taken and, eventually, a terrible no-return strategy is adopted.  The film isn’t as good as it could be: Margin Call’s low-budget and first-time director shows in the static cinematography, tepid pacing, overlong shots and lack of a fully satisfying conclusion.  But the achievement here is considerable, starting from the terrific cast assembled here: Kevin Spacey gives a far more humane take on his usual screen personae; Paul Bettany is terrific as a high-flying trader who realizes the danger of his current situation; Jeremy Irons makes an impression as a point-one-percenter with gravitas; Stanley Tucci is wonderful as usual as an engineer turned financial analyst; and so is Zachary Quinto (looking a lot like a prettier Ewan McGregor in Rogue Trader) as the pivotal character who flags the crisis.  The dialogue is sharp, the dramatic dilemmas are unusual, the characters are well-developed and the themes are current at a time where an increasing number of Americans are openly questioning the social usefulness of the business described here.  While the dialogue-heavy piece won’t appeal to everyone, Margin Call  is a clever and efficient film that fully exploits the limits of its budget to deliver a striking result.

  • Reno 911!: Miami (2007)

    Reno 911!: Miami (2007)

    (On DVD, November 2011) The problem with some movies based on TV shows is that if you haven’t seen the TV show… good luck.  In this case, it took me a while to understand the basic core assumptions of the film (something that the deliberately over-the-top opening sequence doesn’t help) and then be disappointed that it was so sloppy.  Language, violence and sexual references are all used indiscriminately in Reno 911!: Miami, and the result is definitively hit-and-miss.  The low budget mockumentary aesthetics occasionally lead to interesting choices (such as having confrontation scenes all play within one long shot from a distance, or the uncut hotel room sequence), but most of it just recalls low-budget TV show cinematography.  The humor isn’t necessarily accessible for those who haven’t seen the original TV show, although there are a few good gags here and there.  The succession of big-name cameos can be interesting (Dwayne Johnson’s appearance even leads to an “alternate ending” elsewhere on the DVD where the film ends after twenty minutes) and the Miami locations are used effectively.  But the film, even at 80 minutes, feels overlong: The main story too-effectively wraps up after slightly more than an hour, leading to an extended epilogue that saps the film’s energy.  It’ll do if all you’re looking for is a police comedy… but Reno 911!: Miami is amongst the dumbest of them.

  • An Unusual Angle, Greg Egan

    An Unusual Angle, Greg Egan

    Norstrilia Press, 1983, 200 pages, ISBN 0-909106-12-6 

    Authors who publish at a very young age (that is; before they’re ready) should be aware that anything they’ve written remains in their bibliography forever.  I’m not a big fan of holding earlier works against authors who later went on to write more polished works (everyone is allowed a few youthful indiscretions, and mine happen to be available elsewhere on this web site), but it’s certainly interesting to go and have a look at early works and draw links with what followed.

    Ask around, for instance, and most Science-Fiction fans will tell you that Australian hard-SF superstar Greg Egan’s first novel was 1992’s Quarantine, published after Egan made a name for himself as a writer of fine short stories.  The truth, as more knowledgeable bibliographers know, is that Egan’s real first novel publication dates back to 1983’s An Unusual Angle, a novel that straddles the line between psychological drama and deniable fantasy.  Egan having being born in 1961, it would mean that the novel would have been written and published in his early twenties.

    From the plot summary, we can guess that this is a novel by a writer barely out of school: It’s about a young man going through Australian high school and commenting on the inanity of what surrounds him.  Our narrator tells us that he has a camera in his skull, but that he can’t get the film out.  Much of the novel allows for some artistic discretion as to whether this is a literary device, a delusion or the truth.  (The final chapter, if taken literally, settles the question more conclusively.)

    The point of the conceit is to allow Egan to describe four years of high school with a strongly detached narrator and movie-based metaphors.  Our narrator is brighter than anyone else around him, and seems passionate about film.  He describes school assemblies on a shot-per-shot basis, with occasional flights of fancy disavowed a few lines later.  Strongly isolated in his own head, the narrator has few (if any) friends, certainly nothing as conventional as a girlfriend and actually seems to despise both everyone and everything that’s not from him.  The cumulative impact of such an attitude against the world is toxic; the narrator becomes obnoxious, as the narrative can’t seem to find any joy in the world.  (And I say this as someone who often regarded high school in much the same “I’m bored; when does the real world begin?” attitude as our narrator here –twenty years of perspective works wonders at being embarrassed at our younger selves.)

    Here and there, mind you, we can find glimmers of Egan’s later motifs and techniques.  Our narrator is unusually quick to explain the world in scientific concepts that wouldn’t be out of place in much of Egan’s later fiction.  The way he explains the camera in his skull is the kind of exotic biology that would pop up in his latter short stories.  Furthermore, the impulsion to dismiss much of the imposed events of the ordinary world and seek excitement in outlandish fantasies is common to many hard-SF readers, regardless of their age.

    All of these quirks and hints make An Unusual Angle an unusually interesting read, especially for those who have read nearly everything else by Egan.  Even by SF standards, Egan often stands alone (his hard-SF novels often earn the distinction to be too hard for even dedicated hard-SF readers) and this sense of exceptionality permeates his first novel from beginning to end.  While Egan hasn’t disavowed this novel, he may regard it as non-essential work: a trawl through his extensive web site reveals only two mentions of An Unusual Angle: Once within his official bibliography, and another within an interview discussion of early publishing efforts.  So let us regard this first novel as a curio, and celebrate Quarantine as the real start of his body of work.

  • Tower Heist (2011)

    Tower Heist (2011)

    (In theaters, November 2011) Brett Ratner has never been accused of being an elitist director, and his latest Tower Heist is populist in more ways than one.  A rob-the-rich comic thriller with the luck of being released just as the United States are developing their first wealth-equality protest movement in a long time, Tower Heist is just as mainstream-minded in the way it unfolds.  The happy coincidence of showing up alongside various “Occupy” movements may not be an unqualified plus: The antagonist of the piece is sufficiently arrogant, cruel and unrepentant to qualify as a terrible human being without even invoking the populist rhetoric.  Nonetheless, this is still a story about working-class ordinary people taking justice against rich people who stole from them –no matter how we may try to treat this as a standalone story, it does find a special resonance in a post-Madoff, post-financial crisis, post-recession American society.  Fortunately, the film is entertaining enough on its own merits to avoid depending solely on current events: Ben Stiller is just fine as the savvy leader of the bunch trying to take away millions of dollars that Alan Alda’s super-rich character has stolen from their pension funds.  Eddie Murphy is in rare form as an unrepentant criminal asked to use his skills for a slightly-greater goal.  Supporting players such as Matthew Broderick, Gabourey Sidibe and Téa Leoni all get a few moments to shine.  As for the rest of Tower Heist, it’s a slick big-budget heist film: clean cinematography, steady forward rhythm and a suitably hair-raising action climax set against a festive backdrop.  Only the coda has the power to annoy in its insistence that the poor stealing from the rich must face the consequences of bucking the system.  Still, the movie itself is entertaining enough, and the populist message is matched by its tone.  Don’t expect anything out of the ordinary and you should like it.

  • In Time (2011)

    In Time (2011)

    (In theaters, November 2011)  I’m glad to see that writer/director Andrew Niccol is back on-screen after a lengthy hiatus following the memorable Lord of War: With high-concept science-fiction thriller In Time, he recalls his even-more-memorable Gattaca in delivering an intriguing retro-futuristic allegory.  In Time’s premise makes no sense, but it’s bluntly delivered within moments of the opening credits: All humans are genetically engineered so that they live “freely” until 25; after that, you have to purchase your own life… to immortality if you have enough time.  Never mind how that happened; In Time picks up in a distant future where the system has been operational for centuries and where people never stop to question the artificial nature of the entire construct.  That is, until a young day-to-day worker (played with some energy by Justin Timberlake) gets an unexpected gift of centuries and decides to go against the system following the death of his mom.  There isn’t that much more plot to the movie than a slide into Bonnie and Clyde territory during the second half, but like Niccol’s own Gattaca and S1m0ne, In Time works far better as a fable than an attempt at realism.  The stylised visual design of the film (which mixes influences from the forties to the seventies in a Los Angeles that feels out of time) is a clue that this is not meant to be take entirely at face value.  Indeed, it’s a happy accident of release timing that In Time arrives in theaters during the first significant wealth-equality movement in a long time.  “Occupy Wall Street” and “We are the 99%” happens to coincide strongly with the film’s populist leanings, and its make the film feel more satisfying in consequence.  From a science-fictional perspective, In Time makes little sense either in conception or execution.  It does, however, manage to extract quite a bit of mileage out of its premise, and feels like another decent SF movie in a year where (witnessing films such as Source Code, Limitless and The Adjustment Bureau) the genre has been blessed with a few competent outings.  I suspect that many non-SF-fans will feel that In Time is a bit too cold and intellectual (a constant in Niccol’s films so far) to be truly satisfying, and they have a point: Still, it’s a decent, thought-provoking film –and let’s hope that Niccol’s next project won’t take another six years to arrive on-screen.

  • The Three Musketeers (2011)

    The Three Musketeers (2011)

    (In theaters, November 2011) Since Alexandre Dumas’ Les Trois Mousquetaires endures as a perennial adventure novel, it makes sense that every generation would seek to adapt it to its own liking.  In 2011, this means an action-adventure film heavily influenced by steampunk tropes, blending cheerfully anachronistic machines with swordfights and derring-do.  It won’t work if you’re predisposed against big dumb action B-movies.  But if you do enjoy big dumb action B-movies, then this is a fine example of the form.  Director Paul W.S. Anderson is a competent visual stylist, and his instinct for action sequence is better than most of his contemporaries.  Holding back the quick-cutting out of concern for audiences watching this film shot in 3D, Anderson gives a good kinetic kick to The Three Musketeers and does justice to the fast-paced script.  (Which is surprisingly faithful to the plot beats of the original novel, action movie theatrics being considered.)  A number of capable actors hold their own in iconic role, whether it’s Anderson-favourite Milla Jovovich as Milady de Winter, Matthew Macfadyen as the deep-voiced Athos, and Christoph Waltz as the Cardinal Richelieu the film deserved.  A number of well-executed action beat enliven the picture, all the way to the swashbuckling finale in which two lighter-than-air warships battle it out over Paris.  Classic French literature has seldom felt so dynamic; there’s a definite Resident Evil tone to the film, all the way down to an epilogue that sets up the next installment.  I’m game for any sequel, but keep in mind that I’m an indulgent viewer when it comes to action pictures.  And before anyone asks, I am atoning for this good review of The Three Musketeers by finally reading the Dumas book.

  • The Wicker Man (2006)

    The Wicker Man (2006)

    (On DVD, October 2011) A bizarre blend of awful ideas and hilarious execution, The Wicker Man is, remarkably enough, just as bad and funny as its reputation suggests.  At times, it feels like the result of the fabled Hollywood idea-flattening process: Whatever creepy quality the premise might have held have been squashed by dumb artistic choices, glossy routine horror tropes and an increasingly unhinged script.  Nicolas Cage truly stars as a policeman investigating a disappearance on an isolated island: his borderline-psychotic performance is uniquely his, and the only sustained pleasure that the film has to offer.  The rest of the film is a mess of weak development, generic tropes, dumb character decisions and a drawn-out ending.  (As with a bunch of by-the-number horror movies, it also fails to explain why the villains go to such extremes in their plans.)  While I’m always happy to see Leelee Sobieski even in a small role, the rest of the film is dull except when it’s bad and intensely predictable throughout.  Ten of the last fifteen minutes are demented enough to be enjoyable, as Cage goes around punching and kicking women (once in a bear suit –I’m not making this up), scaring kids and waving a gun like a crazy man.  It’s hard not to feel sympathy for the antagonists when the protagonist is so obviously unpleasant and unable to muster even the most basic sense of fitting-in.  I’m not sure what writer/director Neil LaBute was thinking when he put together The Wicker Man, but the best thing about it may be the numerous YouTube videos lampooning the result.  (I’m particularly fond of Best Scenes From “The Wicker Man” and The Comedy Trailer)

  • The Rum Diary (2011)

    The Rum Diary (2011)

    (In theaters, October 2011) It’s a good thing that I’m a certified fan of Hunter S. Thompson’s work, because otherwise I’m sure I wouldn’t have enjoyed The Rum Diary as much.  It’s already a trying experience even for those who have absorbed Thompson’s life and work: Thompson’s bottom-of-the-drawer “first novel” was a triumph of atmosphere over plot, as it followed a young journalist as he made his way throughout 1960s Puerto Rico and lost much of his illusions.  Blending fiction with autobiography, The Rum Diary offered a more melancholic view of Thompson’s early years than you’d expect.  The movie version has a hard time trying to put a plot where the novel doesn’t have one, and the result is a bit of low-key comedy interspaced with more serious plotting about corruption and unbridled development.  Many of the anecdotes are amusing (although it speaks volume about the film’s pacing that the trailer has a far clearer sense of comedy), but the dramatic narrative of The Rum Diary peters off in a “nothing worked out, but we all learned a lot so… to be continued…” fishtail of a conclusion.  The film works best as an affectionate homage to Thompson himself, as it clearly feels like a romanced “birth of an author” narrative: If you don’t know what Thompson would go on to write after his own Puerto Rico transformative experience, then the ending of the film will be more frustrating than anything else.  Fortunately, Johnny Depp is wonderful as a young Thompson (it’s a performance clearly meant to lead into his own work in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas), while Amber Heard finally makes an impression in a paper-thin role.  As a drama for people who haven’t read Thompson, it’s a hit-and-miss film with a strong Puerto Rican atmosphere… but frankly, this one is for the fans.  And even they may feel that the two-hour film runs a bit long.

  • Johnny English Reborn (2011)

    Johnny English Reborn (2011)

    (In theaters, October 2011) Given how infrequently I have thought of the original Johnny English since its release in 2003, it’s safe to say that I wasn’t demanding a sequel nor expecting too much of it.  Unsurprisingly, this kind of low-expectations brinksmanship actually works in Johnny English Reborn’s favour, as the film is occasionally wittier and funnier than expected.  Part of what works is that this time around, English isn’t always a bumbling idiot: In-between the goofs and the pratfalls are flashes of competence and wit.  The best in-story example comes during a foot chase, in which a parkour expert is defeated by an exasperated protagonist as he goes around obstacles, opens doors and takes an elevator to catch his opponent.  At other times, English’s sidekick isn’t the kind of super-qualified overachiever that other bumbling comedy spies often get saddled with; we also get a car chase parody featuring a tricked-out wheelchair. That’s the kind of James Bond satire anyone could enjoy.  Unfortunately, they come sandwiched between moments seemingly designed for kids and other undemanding audiences: Johnny English Reborn goes broad and wide in its mugging for laughs, going from Rowan Atkinson’s Blackadderesque suave goatee to the clean-shaven buffoonery of Mr. Bean far too quickly.  The romance is barely sketched, and while former Bond-girl Rosamund Pike is cute enough, I would have enjoyed seeing Natalie Imbruglia again.  Still, Atkinson makes limp slapstick fly better than anyone else, and the film isn’t without a few scattered grins.  Being better than the original isn’t much, but it’s enough to raise the film into average mediocrity, albeit friendly to older kids.  Stay for the credits, though: Johnny English Reborn concludes with an absolutely charming comedy sequence in which Atkinson cooks in-sync with The Halls of the Mountain Kings: It’s the film’s finest moment.

  • The Thing (2011)

    The Thing (2011)

    (In theaters, October 2011) Did we really need a remake/prequel/rehash of The Thing?  Certainly not: while special effect today may be cheaper and easier than what John Carpenter had to work with, their impact is muted after thirty years of ever-gorier film horror.  There’s little of the first film’s sense of isolation, desperation and paralysing terror –something made worse by the film’s intention to ape the original only to end at the very beginning of its prequel.  The link is elegant, but it only drives home the recycled nature of this creatively bankrupt sequel that show what was best imagined.  It’s not a terrible film, mind you: It’s done with more care than you’d expect from a cheap B-grade horror movie these days.  Some sequences are almost interesting, and the integration of the horror with the science fiction isn’t badly done.  (What’s not so successful is the sense that the enemy, borrowing more from contagion than identifiable monster, is undefeatable no matter what the protagonist does.)  Still, most of The Thing’s virtues aren’t original (what it doesn’t steal from the original it borrows from the Alien series), and it becomes weaker the moment it tries something new: the test to determine who’s human and who isn’t doesn’t do much more than bring back the memory of the first film and distinguish between an inspired film and one that merely imitates one.  As an Antarctic thriller, it’s better than Whiteout or Alien versus Predator… but that’s really scraping the barrel of comparisons.  This year’s The Thing just feels like a useless film, one where the gore seems even more pointless than usual.  I wonder if a back-to-back viewing will enhance the experience of both, or simply highlight the derivative nature of this remake…

  • Slow Death by Rubber Duck, Rick Smith & Bruce Lourie

    Slow Death by Rubber Duck, Rick Smith & Bruce Lourie

    Vintage Canada, 2010 expanded reprint of 2009 original, 339 pages, C$19.95 pb, ISBN 978-0-307-39713-3

    One of the most depressing consequences of environmental awareness is the gradual understanding that it’s a never-ending battle.  You can remove the belching smokestacks, recycle the garbage dumps, stop dumping waste in the environment and stop clear-cutting forests, and the job still won’t be done.  In Slow Death by Rubber Duck, Rick Smith and Bruce Lourie eloquently demonstrate that even in our everyday life, there are still dangers from everyday products even though those products may be manufactured, shipped, sold and recycled more responsively than ever before.

    The analytical centerpiece of the book is the kind of analysis that can now be cheaply done to verify the levels of various toxic materials in our own blood.  Everyone today is tainted to some degree by heightened levels of products that don’t belong in our bodies.  We have all breathed dangerous metals, cuddled next to treated fabrics, used products made out of toxic products… and the cumulative effect of our daily lives shows in blood tests.  In eight chapters, the authors willingly subject themselves to common products to show how easy it is to poison ourselves.

    For instance, in the chapter “Rubber Duck Wars”, the authors seek out phthalate-containing products (phthalates being a handy industrial lubricant used in plastics and personal products, now thought to increase infertility risks) and willingly expose themselves to them.  Within days, before-and-after tests show how their levels of phthalates skyrocketed.  (The good news being that phthalates break down relatively quickly, meaning that returning to normal non-exposure quickly led to more normal toxin levels within a few weeks.  This is not the case with all contaminants.)

    Phthalates are an interesting case study given how, over the past decade, they were banned after consumer pressure.  Slow Death by Rubber Duck is a clever book in not only showing us the toxicity of ordinary products and the extent to which even normal exposure can quickly lead to elevated levels of blood toxins, but also in showing how concerted activism can have an impact.  One of the book’s best moments is found in Chapter Eight, “Mothers Know Best”, which shows how environmental groups were able to work with the Canadian Conservative government in order to announce a ban on the use of Bisphenol A (BPA) in products, and paving the way for other countries to do the same.  It’s this kind of result-based activism that steadily makes the world incrementally safer for everyone.

    Reading the book, there’s no doubt that regulation is the way to go for most of those environmental issues.  Smith and Lourie (plus Sarah Dopp, who gets third billing everywhere but on the cover) make a compelling (and recurring) case that many of these toxic products find their way in our environment thanks to industry marketing and pressures to solve minor problems with worse solutions.  We increasingly create our problems in response to relatively trivial concerns, and it takes us years to realize the error of our ways.  In the meantime, it is concerted action that leads governments (even by governments not known for environmental activism, as shown by positive Bush-administration actions) to take action and codify our understanding of biological science into industry guidelines.  Left to itself, the industry can’t really be counted upon to self-regulate –especially considering past examples such as the history of mercury use in dental filling and other hair-raising practices.

    Until regulations catch up to science, it’s really up to the individual citizen to start taking action.  Slow Death by Rubber Duck has a few recommendations to make in order to act as more responsible individuals.  The book ends on a series of recommendation that finally got me to stop cooking stuff in Tupperware, get rid of my old water bottles and trash the plastic shower curtain in favor of a fabric one.  Small things that amount to real changes, even while industries and government race to catch up to the latest science and tighten up manufacturing and importation standards.  Even-tempered, compelling to read and even funny at times, Slow Death by Rubber Duck has earned its national best-selling status.  Read the paperback edition for a new afterword describing the reaction to the book, and why the people complaining loudest about the book (the usual environmental deniers) may be the most compelling reason to read it.

  • Moneyball (2011)

    Moneyball (2011)

    (In theaters, October 2011) Something isn’t quite right with this Moneyball, but it took me a reading through the original book to finally understand why.  As a sports drama in which underdogs defeat their opponents through cleverness and unorthodox thinking, it does manage to boil down a complex and dry subject into a narrative that most people (including those without much baseball knowledge) will be able to follow and enjoy.  Brad Pitt is surprisingly good as the Oakland Athletics’s general manager Billy Beane trying to make the most out of the small budget he’s given –hiring oddball players and constantly running the numbers game is one way that the story plays out in the good old underdog sports drama narrative.  But sometimes, it does too neat a job: While Michael Lewis’ book makes it clear that the sabermetrisation of pro baseball was (and continues to be) a lengthy process in which the 2002 season was just another step, the film condenses decades of thinking into a single year, and heavily dramatizes the events in such a way that they lose their intended meaning.  Sabermetrics is about squeezing a few percentage points here and there, enough so that statistically, you end up with better results at the end of the year.  So what’s Moneyball’s most triumphant sequence?  The complete statistical anomaly of winning twenty games in a row (and that last one on a heroic shot), something that actually undermines the argument made by the picture.  Once that twentieth game is won, the film has nowhere to go: while the team makes it to the finals, they lose their season.  Other teams would take ideas similar to Beane’s and run with them.  The elements that make Lewis’ Moneyball an interesting book aren’t necessarily those that make for a sports drama and the film occasionally suffers from the contradiction.  Still, it’s churlish to criticise the film for fairly esoteric reasons: On most aspects, Moneyball is a solid sports drama with enough comic relief to make it work, and it’s hard to overestimate the work that has gone in transforming the non-fiction original book into something that feels like a classic baseball movie.  The container, however, may be part of the problem.