Shrieking horrors!
Thursday, November 13th, 2003 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seraiJust when you think the level of cinematic suck could not possible be furthered, someone comes along and raises (lowers?) the bar yet again.
DREAMCATCHER
Yeah, that Stephen King thing. I know, I know. I was even warned away by a good friend of mine. But I was in the mood for wrapping myself up nice and warm and taking in a horror flick, one I hadn't seen yet.
I should have listened to Badger.
Should I go on? Maybe I should stop. Ah, what the hell.
Man, this movie is impressive. I mean that sincerely. I didn't think a movie could suck like that. We're talking awfulness of a calibre that hasn't been seen onscreen since...hmm...well, I'm sure I'll think of something eventually.
The thing is, as it goes along the film takes on the irresistible aura of a really bad car accident - I found it impossible to stop watching, simply because I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Now, I happen to like Stephen King, but the problem with adapting his stories is that the story is rarely the reason his books are compelling. His talent is in creating characters and delineating their relationships. To this day, the back corners of my mind are haunted by The Shining's Jack Torrance and his horrible, tragic, worshipful view of his father, a violent alcoholic of the truly blood-chilling kind. ("Elevator, Daddy, elevator!", and the image of his mother's bloodstained glasses lodged in the mashed potatoes.) But trying to bring these sorts of complex and interesting relationships to the screen can be incredibly difficult, at times impossible.
If the people in Dreamcatcher are that well-drawn (I haven't read it), it sure doesn't show in this film. For one thing, there's an intense and detailed backstory to the hideous goings-on, a pathetically cut-down version of which screenwriters William Goldman and Lawrence Kasdan (who should bloody well know better!!) try to shoehorn into the film. So we get a minefield of injokes and taglines relating to the backstory between the four main characters, none of which is comprehensible to the audience, and all of which sound ditzy beyond belief. King's characters tend to exhibit all sorts of idiosyncratic verbal styles, which can work when the reader has the leisure of getting to know them. On film, however, these guys just come off annoying. I won’t even go into the character of Duditz, the childhood influence who set all of this in motion, and who made me want to institute a Death Penalty For the Irreparably Irritating. (Note to G&K: The flashback involving a bizarre combination of jock bullies, savant-style autism, and a fresh dog-turd doesn't help, guys - really, you should have just scrapped the whole backstory.)
Which brings us to the acting. I don't think I've seen a more bewildered group of actors in all my years of watching cinema. Thomas Jane, Jason Lee, and their compatriots try awfully hard to sound like real people, but good gods. Even Lee, a guy quite capable of pulling off intricate dialogue, cannot squeeze any believability out of lines like "This fuckeroo is turning into a fuckerall!"
And watching Morgan Freeman mouthing dialogue clearly written for a loudmouthed, redfaced-Irish-cop type is not to be believed. Never would I have thought Freeman capable of a bad performance. Until now. You haven't lived until you've heard him wrestle with the line, "What about the Shit Weasels?" It'd be enough to make my heart shrivel up, if I weren't laughing so damn hard.
Which brings us to the story. It's basically Alien in a snowstorm, except that next to this bloodbath, the Ridley Scott classic looks like the epitome of quiet good taste. Suffice it to say that the patented Stephen King MonsterTM announces its presence when a Typhoid Marty starts letting off belches and farts from his alarmingly distended and suspiciously active beer belly.
It goes downhill from there.
Combine all this – dreadful writing, confused acting, blood and gore and bowel movements that literally chew your head off...well, you get the idea. The only reason to see this mess is its unintentional humor. If you’re an MST3K fan, you’re in for a treat, because this ranks up there with Bikini Girls in the Vortex of Doom for MSTability. Rent it for a party - it’ll be a night to remember.
Tomorrow (if I've recovered): the skin-crawling horror that is Hollywood Homicide
DREAMCATCHER
Yeah, that Stephen King thing. I know, I know. I was even warned away by a good friend of mine. But I was in the mood for wrapping myself up nice and warm and taking in a horror flick, one I hadn't seen yet.
I should have listened to Badger.
Should I go on? Maybe I should stop. Ah, what the hell.
Man, this movie is impressive. I mean that sincerely. I didn't think a movie could suck like that. We're talking awfulness of a calibre that hasn't been seen onscreen since...hmm...well, I'm sure I'll think of something eventually.
The thing is, as it goes along the film takes on the irresistible aura of a really bad car accident - I found it impossible to stop watching, simply because I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Now, I happen to like Stephen King, but the problem with adapting his stories is that the story is rarely the reason his books are compelling. His talent is in creating characters and delineating their relationships. To this day, the back corners of my mind are haunted by The Shining's Jack Torrance and his horrible, tragic, worshipful view of his father, a violent alcoholic of the truly blood-chilling kind. ("Elevator, Daddy, elevator!", and the image of his mother's bloodstained glasses lodged in the mashed potatoes.) But trying to bring these sorts of complex and interesting relationships to the screen can be incredibly difficult, at times impossible.
If the people in Dreamcatcher are that well-drawn (I haven't read it), it sure doesn't show in this film. For one thing, there's an intense and detailed backstory to the hideous goings-on, a pathetically cut-down version of which screenwriters William Goldman and Lawrence Kasdan (who should bloody well know better!!) try to shoehorn into the film. So we get a minefield of injokes and taglines relating to the backstory between the four main characters, none of which is comprehensible to the audience, and all of which sound ditzy beyond belief. King's characters tend to exhibit all sorts of idiosyncratic verbal styles, which can work when the reader has the leisure of getting to know them. On film, however, these guys just come off annoying. I won’t even go into the character of Duditz, the childhood influence who set all of this in motion, and who made me want to institute a Death Penalty For the Irreparably Irritating. (Note to G&K: The flashback involving a bizarre combination of jock bullies, savant-style autism, and a fresh dog-turd doesn't help, guys - really, you should have just scrapped the whole backstory.)
Which brings us to the acting. I don't think I've seen a more bewildered group of actors in all my years of watching cinema. Thomas Jane, Jason Lee, and their compatriots try awfully hard to sound like real people, but good gods. Even Lee, a guy quite capable of pulling off intricate dialogue, cannot squeeze any believability out of lines like "This fuckeroo is turning into a fuckerall!"
And watching Morgan Freeman mouthing dialogue clearly written for a loudmouthed, redfaced-Irish-cop type is not to be believed. Never would I have thought Freeman capable of a bad performance. Until now. You haven't lived until you've heard him wrestle with the line, "What about the Shit Weasels?" It'd be enough to make my heart shrivel up, if I weren't laughing so damn hard.
Which brings us to the story. It's basically Alien in a snowstorm, except that next to this bloodbath, the Ridley Scott classic looks like the epitome of quiet good taste. Suffice it to say that the patented Stephen King MonsterTM announces its presence when a Typhoid Marty starts letting off belches and farts from his alarmingly distended and suspiciously active beer belly.
It goes downhill from there.
Combine all this – dreadful writing, confused acting, blood and gore and bowel movements that literally chew your head off...well, you get the idea. The only reason to see this mess is its unintentional humor. If you’re an MST3K fan, you’re in for a treat, because this ranks up there with Bikini Girls in the Vortex of Doom for MSTability. Rent it for a party - it’ll be a night to remember.
Tomorrow (if I've recovered): the skin-crawling horror that is Hollywood Homicide
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no subject
Date: Thursday, November 13th, 2003 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, November 14th, 2003 12:56 am (UTC)What squeaked me most (hate to be crass but no choice here) was I couldn't stop thinking about the guy who was attacked while pissing. Did they not give us the impress the critter bit his dick off? So how come he didn't bleed to death and writhe is pain? From that point on the movie was mote because I couldn't think beyond the .....
no subject
Date: Friday, November 14th, 2003 08:01 pm (UTC)I actually wanted to see this at the theatre, but never got around to it. Maybe it was the VERY lame Josh Hartnett/Harrison Ford banter at the MTV Awards. I still have a masochistic desire to rent it.
Is this your subtle way of saying "Don't!"?