I was twelve years old the first time someone I liked died. It was my favorite comedian at the time, Mitch Hedberg, and I honestly can’t remember how I felt at that exact moment. I remember in the following days there was a sense of confusion--how could he have died? I didn’t know he was sick, I didn’t know about his addiction, how could he be gone? I never saw him live, never got to send him fanmail, never got to tell him “you’re my favorite”--and a lot of surprise, but no sense of loss. I remember thinking that it sucked, but I never cried for him. I was just surprised.
Fast forward about nine years or so, to August 11, 2014.
This I’ll never forget. A punch to the gut. An actual, sickening sense of loss, the feeling that something had been taken away. The feeling that the world had actually changed. How could the death of one man change the entire world? I remember saying “This isn’t real, this isn’t happening, he can’t be dead, he just can’t.” I didn’t believe it at first. I thought it was a cruel joke by a few bored news outlets.
But then it was confirmed. And that night, I cried myself to sleep over a man I’d never met. Because now I knew I’d never have the chance.
I never knew Robin Williams personally. Neither did the millions of fans who mourned him when he died. We didn’t meet him, didn’t know him, weren’t on a first-name basis. But it didn’t make our grief any less “real,” because we knew the Robin Williams that he wanted us to know. I talked to my friends the day after he died, and we all had a personal story relating to something that he had done, some movie he’d been in, that had changed our lives in some way.
For me, it was RV. I saw that movie with my dad, my permanent “bad-movie partner,” and we both loved that film more than either of us thought we would. It was a bonding experience for us, and it came at a time when most girls were scorning their dads for being “too embarrassing” to hang out with. The father-daughter relationship demonstrated in that film cemented what I already knew: that it was okay, really okay, normal even, to love your dad and still not know how to talk to him. But for my dad and I, movie quotes are our “language,” we speak it to each other and we speak it fluently: a quick Back to the Future reference when something goes wrong (“This damn thing doesn’t work at all!”), a bit of Replacements snark when accusing each other of tomfoolery (“A good Christian boy like you would never do nothing like that!”), a little bit of Disney here (“Not yet, Baloo!”), a little Steve Martin there (“Don’t forget to fasten your condom--seatbelt, I meant seatbelt!”). And of course RV was added to the legion of quotable movies. I first saw RV in 2006 and to this day I still answer the phone when my dad calls with a rapid-fire “Yo, my mobile homeboy, what’s trippin’ in the wood?” It’s a little thing, it really is. But it was something that had an impact, however minor. And it still means something to me.
And it’s silly, it’s really silly, but I love to think that wherever Williams is now, he can hear it when those of us who loved his work quote him. I love to think that wherever he is, he knows he’s loved, he knows he’s remembered, he knows he’s missed. I really truly believe that he does. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, maybe it’s faith, but I feel like he hears us, and he knows we miss him, and he knows we still care.
My selfish reaction when an actor I love dies always falls squarely into the “bitter filmmaker” category. When Christopher Lee died, I got teary-eyed thinking of all the movies I will never make with him. I’ll joke about it sometimes; I told my best friend once, “If Ian McKellan dies before I get to work with him, I will have words with God when I get to heaven.” I joke about it because I’m not sure what else to say. Because I know it happens. Celebrities aren’t immune to death. No one is. And what do you say, how do you react, when your favorite actor or singer or comic’s death reminds you of your own mortality?
The hardest part about losing a celebrity idol is that you don’t have license to mourn them the way you do when someone you personally knew dies. If your favorite teacher dies and you cry over their death, people understand. They say comforting (or theoretically comforting) things and bring you food and send you sympathy cards and reassuringly cuddle you as they remind you that the person is in a better place now and they’re watching over you and don’t worry, they loved you too. But when your favorite celebrity dies…it’s almost like you aren’t allowed to be sad, because people will side-eye you when you cry for them. “But you didn’t know them. I mean, yeah, they did some great work, and they’re cool and all, but…” Or they say, “Stop it. You’re being selfish. Think about how their family must feel,” implying that you have no right to be upset because you weren’t married to or related to that person. Or, my personal favorite, the implication that the person somehow deserved it. As in, “Well, Michael Jackson was great, but he was on drugs when he died.” Like he got what was coming to him, and I should feel forewarned instead of sad. And then you feel sad and guilty and alienated because there’s no protocol in place there. It’s almost like the five stages of grief are presumed to not apply here simply because the person being mourned happened to be in a few issues of People magazine.
My boyfriend’s favorite wrestler (well, one of them, I should say) died today. Now, I will warn you all, what I know about “Rowdy” Roddy Piper could probably fit on a mosquito’s toenail, because my only exposure to him was Comic-Con related. Ian made me watch a few of his matches before we went, because he wanted me to have some context, but being a total novice in the world of pro wrestling--again, thanks to Ian; I only started going to matches when he asked me to come with him--I legit had no idea who the hell the guy was. All I knew was that he wore a kilt (which I thought was kind of hot, but don’t tell my boyfriend I said that or he’ll think I want him to wear one too), that he was extremely good at his job, and that he was anti-bullying. Well, that was good enough for me. So when Ian asked if I wanted to come with when he went up to talk to Piper at Motor City Comic-Con my reaction was something along the lines of “well, why the hell not.”
Now, I’ve had a bad experience here and there with being completely, thoroughly let down by someone I really looked up to. At the tender age of fourteen I discovered that my favorite singer, Tyson Ritter, tended to act like a horny frat boy when on tour, and I was irrationally devastated. So, come Comic-Con, I was as nervous for Ian as I was for myself, because I was half-afraid that my favorites wouldn’t live up to my image of them (I was terrified of meeting Billy Boyd...turns out I didn’t need to be...but that’s a story for another post) and half-afraid that Roddy Piper would be a let-down for Ian. Because yes, I’m that kind of sensitive that means I can’t stand seeing other people in pain. Yeah, yeah, I know. Moving on.
Anyway, I needn’t have worried, because Piper was unbelievably kind to Ian. I’ll never forget that. First the guy called me beautiful (and if/when I post stills of myself on-set, you’ll see why that was such a shock) and implied that Ian had done well for himself by getting me as a girlfriend, then he threw in a comment about how “cool” my boyfriend seemed (reminder: we were at Comic-Con, a.k.a. Nerd Heaven; conventional definitions of “cool” seemed irrational here). I don’t remember much else of what was said, I just remember how unbelievably happy Ian was, how thrilled he was to meet his favorite, and how patient Piper was with the whole thing. Like how many people had that guy had to talk to that day? And yet he made damn sure to treat Ian like he was the only other person in the room. Didn’t rush us through the line or make the “yeah, whatever” face. Listened to Ian’s stammered thanks for supporting an anti-bullying group. Noticed our insecurities and complimented us in a way that would minimize them. Noticed me, despite my half-serious efforts to hide behind Ian (I was a little scared to meet a legit pro wrestler, okay?). Now, again I say, I didn’t know this guy--but based on one short meeting, and all the information that Ian piled on me in the weeks before Comic-Con, he seemed like a hell of a nice guy.
So how do I react, now that he’s gone? What the hell can I possibly say to my boyfriend that will ease his pain over the passing of someone he admired? What could those few friends of mine who didn’t think Robin Williams hung the moon have said to me when he died, other than “I’m sorry?” Because “I’m sorry” doesn’t seem like enough, but to say more feels contrived. And the fear of saying the wrong thing is very real, because one wrong word and you sound about as sensitive as Nurse Ratched. I remember feeling so frustrated when one of my friends jokingly said “You just had a crush on him, didn’t you?” when another comedian I liked passed a few years ago. It was infuriating. It completely dismissed my pain at losing someone whose art meant so much to me.
But what did I expect her to say? What can you say when someone’s--idol? I don’t like the word “idol,” I really don’t, it’s taken on such an awful meaning over the years (American Idol...ugh!), but it seems appropriate here--is taken away? It’s not like you knew the person, but on another level you did, and what the hell can someone say to you that will be comforting but not patronizing? How do you mourn someone who felt like a best friend to you, despite the fact that they never knew you existed?
All I know is that we did know them. I knew Robin Williams and Christopher Lee exactly the way they wanted me to know them: as Mrs. Doubtfire or Saruman; as a crazy OB-GYN or wacky Genie or beloved teacher, as a Bond villain or vampire or intergalactic dictator. I knew them as they wanted me to know them, and I will never stop loving the characters that they brought to life or being incredibly thankful to them for bringing those characters to life in the first place.
Ian, my love, I know that nothing I say now can make it hurt less that someone you admired is gone forever. But here’s what I believe: I believe that those few minutes you talked with him were invaluable. I believe that he knew, even just for those few minutes, how much he meant to you. And I think that wherever he is now, he knows that he is loved and missed and remembered. And don’t let anyone belittle your connection to him, or call your feelings for him “superficial” or laugh it off as hero-worship or say dumb things like “but you didn’t know him, how can you mourn him?” They’re wrong. You did know him, you knew him the way he wanted you to know him, and because of you, because of all the people who knew him and loved him and put his picture on their walls and read his book and asked him for an autograph at Comic-Con, he will never be forgotten.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Pixels'
So basically, I’m a fangirl. I will go see any movie--don’t really give a damn what it’s about--as long as it has one of the following qualities: 1) it was made by a director I like, 2) it has an actor in it that I like (bonus points if there’s multiple favorite actors), 3) it was written by a screenwriter I like, or 4) it was based on a book by an author I like. (It doesn’t matter whether I’ve actually read the book. Yeah, yeah. I know.)
So, Pixels had a lot of strikes against it--it’s CGI-heavy, which I usually hate; it has Adam Sandler, who I absolutely despise; it was written by a screenwriter whose movies I generally don’t like; and the reviews were absolutely terrible, which shouldn’t influence me but it usually does. BUT. It involved Pac-Man (which I absolutely love) and, more importantly, was directed by one of my all-time favorite directors, Chris Columbus. To make matters even more complicated I knew that one of my favorite actors, Peter Dinklage--and if you don’t know who that is, I beg you to go and watch The Station Agent, it is a work of art and your life won’t be complete until you watch it--had a prominent role.
So I decided, what the hell, I’ll see Pixels. Why not? Could be great or awful. I’m just enough of a Columbus fangirl to find out. I only hoped it wouldn’t live up to those awful reviews.
And, to my immense delight, it did not live up to those awful reviews. Not even close.
Okay, I’ll admit, the script is…well, it’s about as good as I expected it to be. It’s choked with a lot of throwaway jokes and heavy with nostalgia about the “good old days” before video games became violent and “realistic.” If you’re like me, and the thought of playing Walking Dead instead of Super Mario makes you want to puke, you’ll like it; if you call everyone who says Pac-Man is better than Call of Duty is a gaming snob, then you probably won’t appreciate it. I tried not to watch it from a political angle, but with all the critics calling it misogynist, it was hard not to. And yet I couldn’t find much in the way of political message here, unless Sandler & Co thought it highly important that we all understand the danger of aliens thinking our video games are a declaration of war. Gotta wonder where all the people who are crying “It’s just like Gamergate!” are coming from, because I sure as hell didn’t get that vibe from the movie at all.
Now, I’ll admit, there are some places where the plot is a stretch. “There’s no career for a gamer.” Really? Uh, okay, could this guy not have designed new video games, opened his own arcade, or if he was really ambitious become a Disney Imagineer? Hell, couldn’t he have made a career of collecting, trading and selling vintage games or game machines, if he really couldn’t think of any other possible game-related career? That part was a stretch to me. Especially given that his BFF, whose childhood claim to fame was stealing quarters from little girls’ lemonade stands, grew up to be the President of the United States. Okay, we’ll just pretend that was in the realm of possibility.
And yet to quibble about realism when the plot of the movie revolves around an alien invasion is kind of pointless, when you think about it. The reasoning behind the entire story of Pixels is soft sci-fi at its finest. We’re not meant to question why the aliens took what was clearly a time capsule and read it as a declaration of war. We’re not meant to question the “light guns” that fight off those aliens. And we’re definitely not meant to question how Dinklage’s character could possibly have used cheat codes in a real-life situation. No, if you’re sitting there marking every continuity error, scientific impossibility and minor anachronism, you are definitely watching Pixels the wrong way. The effects are impressive, the humor is surprisingly clean, and of course Q*bert is about as cute as it’s possible to be. With all of that, it’s fairly easy to overlook the plot holes. Just don’t think about it too hard.
The finest moments of Pixels are when the movie points out its own weirdness. Now, I’ll admit I’m a sucker for self-aware movies--I’m a Mel Brooks fan, what did you expect?--so my favorite parts could be (and, judging from some of the reviews I’ve seen, definitely were) someone else’s biggest irritation. So be it. But I thought the scene where Sam goes over to install Matty’s new TV and ends up drinking wine with Violet in the closet was one of the best in the film. We expect them to kiss and fall in love at first sight because that’s how movies work, but they don’t, and it’s a moment that’s as funny and heartfelt as it is cringe-worthy. Later on, one of the good-guy aliens (you’d have to watch the film to understand) transforms into Lady Lisa, the longtime crush of one of the game nerds. “Am I the only one who’s weirded out by this?” Sam questions, while everyone else goes “Aww.” No, you’re not the only one, Adam Sandler. We’re all a little weirded out right now. But that’s okay, we’re supposed to be.
For all the movie’s flaws, the characterization is damn good. Critics are trashing the film for misogyny, but I personally thought that Violet was very well-written and well-acted. We all remember what I said about perfect female characters, and I am very happy to report that Lieutenant Colonel Violet Van Patten is the absolute opposite of perfect. Physically attractive she may be--and unbelievably smart, to boot--but she too is prone to hissy fits and juvenile snark, just like Sandler’s Sam Brenner. The “nerd team” of video game expert fighters is about as stereotyped as you could expect, from the insecure leader to the weirdo in love with his favorite game character, but somehow the script still manages to make them lovable in their own way. I read a lot about misogyny, lack of female gamers and Gamergate in the reviews, but I have to say I never felt threatened as a female viewer. Yes, I’d have loved to see more women as gamers in the film, but--minor spoiler alert--Violet has enough badass moments to make up for it; after all, she does invent the light guns that are the only defense against the aliens.
So that brings me to the outlandish reaction to Pixels. The accusations of sexism were what really got my goat, because upon watching the movie I found nothing outrageous about it. It all ties back into what I said about the Perfection Curse that we slap onto our female characters and call it “equality” for “strong female characters.” We as a society demand more female representation, and then complain when those characters don’t live up to our expectations. “We want more women in the films!” we cry, and then hastily add, “but if those women aren’t exactly the way we want them, you are sexist and we hate you!” Hence, our reactions to Black Widow, Katniss Everdeen and Violet Van Patten. We demanded them, now we throw them back when they aren’t just what we wanted.
Ladies and gentlemen, don’t take this the wrong way, but give me a freaking break.
I’m not going to say Pixels was fantastic, because it wasn’t. It’s a great “popcorn” movie--the kind you watch with your best friends on a Saturday night or pop into your DVD player when you’re ready for a nice hit of nostalgia--but I won’t defend it as Oscar-worthy or say it changed my entire perspective on Sandler. But I think the reaction to it says a lot about us as a society of movie-watchers. We are ready and waiting to rake anything that doesn’t live up to our exacting expectations through the coals, and then complain that filmmakers don’t “try hard enough.” And to someone who’s primed to go into the film industry…holy shit, that is scary.
So, Pixels had a lot of strikes against it--it’s CGI-heavy, which I usually hate; it has Adam Sandler, who I absolutely despise; it was written by a screenwriter whose movies I generally don’t like; and the reviews were absolutely terrible, which shouldn’t influence me but it usually does. BUT. It involved Pac-Man (which I absolutely love) and, more importantly, was directed by one of my all-time favorite directors, Chris Columbus. To make matters even more complicated I knew that one of my favorite actors, Peter Dinklage--and if you don’t know who that is, I beg you to go and watch The Station Agent, it is a work of art and your life won’t be complete until you watch it--had a prominent role.
So I decided, what the hell, I’ll see Pixels. Why not? Could be great or awful. I’m just enough of a Columbus fangirl to find out. I only hoped it wouldn’t live up to those awful reviews.
And, to my immense delight, it did not live up to those awful reviews. Not even close.
Okay, I’ll admit, the script is…well, it’s about as good as I expected it to be. It’s choked with a lot of throwaway jokes and heavy with nostalgia about the “good old days” before video games became violent and “realistic.” If you’re like me, and the thought of playing Walking Dead instead of Super Mario makes you want to puke, you’ll like it; if you call everyone who says Pac-Man is better than Call of Duty is a gaming snob, then you probably won’t appreciate it. I tried not to watch it from a political angle, but with all the critics calling it misogynist, it was hard not to. And yet I couldn’t find much in the way of political message here, unless Sandler & Co thought it highly important that we all understand the danger of aliens thinking our video games are a declaration of war. Gotta wonder where all the people who are crying “It’s just like Gamergate!” are coming from, because I sure as hell didn’t get that vibe from the movie at all.
Now, I’ll admit, there are some places where the plot is a stretch. “There’s no career for a gamer.” Really? Uh, okay, could this guy not have designed new video games, opened his own arcade, or if he was really ambitious become a Disney Imagineer? Hell, couldn’t he have made a career of collecting, trading and selling vintage games or game machines, if he really couldn’t think of any other possible game-related career? That part was a stretch to me. Especially given that his BFF, whose childhood claim to fame was stealing quarters from little girls’ lemonade stands, grew up to be the President of the United States. Okay, we’ll just pretend that was in the realm of possibility.
And yet to quibble about realism when the plot of the movie revolves around an alien invasion is kind of pointless, when you think about it. The reasoning behind the entire story of Pixels is soft sci-fi at its finest. We’re not meant to question why the aliens took what was clearly a time capsule and read it as a declaration of war. We’re not meant to question the “light guns” that fight off those aliens. And we’re definitely not meant to question how Dinklage’s character could possibly have used cheat codes in a real-life situation. No, if you’re sitting there marking every continuity error, scientific impossibility and minor anachronism, you are definitely watching Pixels the wrong way. The effects are impressive, the humor is surprisingly clean, and of course Q*bert is about as cute as it’s possible to be. With all of that, it’s fairly easy to overlook the plot holes. Just don’t think about it too hard.
The finest moments of Pixels are when the movie points out its own weirdness. Now, I’ll admit I’m a sucker for self-aware movies--I’m a Mel Brooks fan, what did you expect?--so my favorite parts could be (and, judging from some of the reviews I’ve seen, definitely were) someone else’s biggest irritation. So be it. But I thought the scene where Sam goes over to install Matty’s new TV and ends up drinking wine with Violet in the closet was one of the best in the film. We expect them to kiss and fall in love at first sight because that’s how movies work, but they don’t, and it’s a moment that’s as funny and heartfelt as it is cringe-worthy. Later on, one of the good-guy aliens (you’d have to watch the film to understand) transforms into Lady Lisa, the longtime crush of one of the game nerds. “Am I the only one who’s weirded out by this?” Sam questions, while everyone else goes “Aww.” No, you’re not the only one, Adam Sandler. We’re all a little weirded out right now. But that’s okay, we’re supposed to be.
For all the movie’s flaws, the characterization is damn good. Critics are trashing the film for misogyny, but I personally thought that Violet was very well-written and well-acted. We all remember what I said about perfect female characters, and I am very happy to report that Lieutenant Colonel Violet Van Patten is the absolute opposite of perfect. Physically attractive she may be--and unbelievably smart, to boot--but she too is prone to hissy fits and juvenile snark, just like Sandler’s Sam Brenner. The “nerd team” of video game expert fighters is about as stereotyped as you could expect, from the insecure leader to the weirdo in love with his favorite game character, but somehow the script still manages to make them lovable in their own way. I read a lot about misogyny, lack of female gamers and Gamergate in the reviews, but I have to say I never felt threatened as a female viewer. Yes, I’d have loved to see more women as gamers in the film, but--minor spoiler alert--Violet has enough badass moments to make up for it; after all, she does invent the light guns that are the only defense against the aliens.
So that brings me to the outlandish reaction to Pixels. The accusations of sexism were what really got my goat, because upon watching the movie I found nothing outrageous about it. It all ties back into what I said about the Perfection Curse that we slap onto our female characters and call it “equality” for “strong female characters.” We as a society demand more female representation, and then complain when those characters don’t live up to our expectations. “We want more women in the films!” we cry, and then hastily add, “but if those women aren’t exactly the way we want them, you are sexist and we hate you!” Hence, our reactions to Black Widow, Katniss Everdeen and Violet Van Patten. We demanded them, now we throw them back when they aren’t just what we wanted.
Ladies and gentlemen, don’t take this the wrong way, but give me a freaking break.
I’m not going to say Pixels was fantastic, because it wasn’t. It’s a great “popcorn” movie--the kind you watch with your best friends on a Saturday night or pop into your DVD player when you’re ready for a nice hit of nostalgia--but I won’t defend it as Oscar-worthy or say it changed my entire perspective on Sandler. But I think the reaction to it says a lot about us as a society of movie-watchers. We are ready and waiting to rake anything that doesn’t live up to our exacting expectations through the coals, and then complain that filmmakers don’t “try hard enough.” And to someone who’s primed to go into the film industry…holy shit, that is scary.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
The genre judgement conundrum
Okay, I’ll admit it: sometimes I don’t practice what I preach. I’ll write here all night and all day about not judging a movie before you see it, watching a variety of movies instead of sticking to your favorites, seeing movies outside your preferred genres, giving movies a chance even if they don’t get good reviews…but I confess, there are a lot of movies where I take one look at the trailer (or a DVD cover) and go, “Nope. Not a chance.” I have my pet peeves within a film, and if I know going in that the film I’m watching has those issues, it’s practically guaranteed I won’t like it.
I can’t stand gore or torture porn. If you ask me to watch Evil Dead or Saw I will run away. I don’t like supernatural horror, mainly because it scares the hell out of me, but also because those movies have a tendency to rely on archetypes and jump scares instead of fleshing out a real story. I don’t like R-rated comedies where 90% of the jokes revolve around sex, controlled substances, or petty crime. Oh, and don’t even ask me to consider knockoff parodies like the Scary Movie series--there is no chance in hell. I hate those cheap comedies most of all, because all I can think about when I watch them is, if only I had those resources…God, what I could do instead of making crap like this.
So when I found myself putting Ted into my DVD player, all I could do was stand there, disgusted, and ask myself, what in God’s name am I doing.
Let me back up here and explain that back in May, Ian took me to Motor City Comic-Con and it was pretty much the best date of my life. I got to sit in on a panel with a Supernatural writer, meet some of my favorite actors, and oh yeah, meet and talk to Billy Boyd--thanks to Ian, who surprised me by not only taking me to the con, but getting me a photo op with my favorite Hobbit. So, to thank him, I offered to let him pick the next ten movies we saw together. So far I’ve loved all of the ones we’ve seen (up to yesterday we’d watched treasures like The Truman Show and Angels in the Outfield) but when he came over the other day he handed me a DVD that I desperately wanted to throw in the trash can.
I hate, hate, hate movies like Ted. They are full of raunchy, cheap jokes that rely on shock value and foul language instead of actual humor. The acting is usually half-assed at best, unless a weirdly good actor randomly ends up in an otherwise-shitty movie. One of the reasons I get so pissed off when people like Ethan Hawke compare all mainstream films to “hamburgers and hot dogs” is because it means they’re lumping in truly brilliant blockbusters, like Back to the Future and Jurassic Park, to crap like This Is The End and Epic Movie. These films are, in my mind, truly empty entertainment. I can’t remember the last time I watched one of those movies and came away thinking, “Y’know, I’m glad I watched that.” I’d sooner watch any of the junk featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000 than put myself through Superbad, Bridesmaids or The Hangover.
So you can imagine it took a fair bit of convincing to get me to watch Ted. Ian had to repeat over and over that it was really cute, that the jokes weren’t all centered around sex, that it was one of Seth MacFarlane’s better projects, and that the acting was actually pretty decent. I tried to guilt him out of it, reminding him that my ex had once forced me into seeing Scary Movie 5 and it gave me nightmares and I hated porn jokes and can’t we please watch, I don’t know, Nightmare on Elm Street instead? But he reminded me of my promise and I finally gave in and watched Ted.
Now, I won’t say I loved it. I didn’t. It was decent, but it’s not going to be on any of my top ten lists. And I can see why it wasn’t an Oscar favorite. I can’t say I’m suddenly interested in watching another handful of similar comedies. I’m not about to run out and see the sequel, and God knows it’s not going to turn me into a MacFarlane fan.
But…
But for all its flaws, Ted is actually pretty damn cute. It’s raunchy, yes--for anyone who hasn’t seen it, allow me to drop a little spoiler: the teddy bear gets laid--but there’s enough wit in the humor to offset some of the more tasteless potty humor. Okay, maybe it’s still about as stupid as you’d expect (at one point I told Ian “if they make one more fart joke I’ll throw something") but there are some pretty good lines, there’s some nice banter here and there, the celebrity cameos are well-timed, and the romance between Mark Wahlberg and Mila Kunis’s characters is actually fairly believable. Not only that, but there are some moments that would make any Tumblr warrior proud: a gay love story is casually tossed in and treated like it’s no big deal, and at one point Wahlberg’s character sarcastically says that if he’s assaulted it’s his fault for “asking for it.” Little things like that keep the movie from collapsing into pure, unadulterated piles of yuck, but underneath all of the both PC and non-PC humor, the whole thing is actually…sweet. Surprisingly sweet, in fact, given that the film is about a foul-mouthed twentysomething teddy bear and his childish human BFF.
Like I said, I’m not about to run out and rent all three of the Hangover movies. And no power on this earth will make me see the rest of the Scary Movie franchise. And, please, someone shoot me on the spot if I ever think about making a movie with that many fart jokes. But watching Ted--and actually enjoying Ted--gave me a new perspective. I’ve been sulking furiously over every last indieWIRE article that makes fun of Jurassic World or insinuates that blockbusters are empty brain candy, only to turn right around and call a whole other genre “brain candy” without even watching the majority of the films in that category. And that, as I’m sure any sane person would tell me, is not fair.
No, Ted isn’t a masterpiece. But it’s still a movie that took time and energy and, yes, a lot of money to make. Someone had to come up with the idea, however cringe-worthy, of letting a cute, fuzzy teddy bear have sex with Norah Jones. (And can we just take a minute to admire the guts it took for that woman to take on a film role where she fondly reminisces about getting it on with a frickin’ stuffed animal? I’m not sure I would’ve done that.) Someone had to write, direct, film, edit, and distribute this thing. Just like all my favorites, Ted was the product of a group of very dedicated people who didn’t give a shit about anything except the fact that they had a story to tell.
And whether you liked the film or not, you’ve got to at least give it some credit for that reason alone. At least, I have to. Because I can’t call myself a bad-movie champion, and give the critics hell for judging a movie based on its genre, and then refuse to give movies like Ted a chance.
I can’t stand gore or torture porn. If you ask me to watch Evil Dead or Saw I will run away. I don’t like supernatural horror, mainly because it scares the hell out of me, but also because those movies have a tendency to rely on archetypes and jump scares instead of fleshing out a real story. I don’t like R-rated comedies where 90% of the jokes revolve around sex, controlled substances, or petty crime. Oh, and don’t even ask me to consider knockoff parodies like the Scary Movie series--there is no chance in hell. I hate those cheap comedies most of all, because all I can think about when I watch them is, if only I had those resources…God, what I could do instead of making crap like this.
So when I found myself putting Ted into my DVD player, all I could do was stand there, disgusted, and ask myself, what in God’s name am I doing.
Let me back up here and explain that back in May, Ian took me to Motor City Comic-Con and it was pretty much the best date of my life. I got to sit in on a panel with a Supernatural writer, meet some of my favorite actors, and oh yeah, meet and talk to Billy Boyd--thanks to Ian, who surprised me by not only taking me to the con, but getting me a photo op with my favorite Hobbit. So, to thank him, I offered to let him pick the next ten movies we saw together. So far I’ve loved all of the ones we’ve seen (up to yesterday we’d watched treasures like The Truman Show and Angels in the Outfield) but when he came over the other day he handed me a DVD that I desperately wanted to throw in the trash can.
I hate, hate, hate movies like Ted. They are full of raunchy, cheap jokes that rely on shock value and foul language instead of actual humor. The acting is usually half-assed at best, unless a weirdly good actor randomly ends up in an otherwise-shitty movie. One of the reasons I get so pissed off when people like Ethan Hawke compare all mainstream films to “hamburgers and hot dogs” is because it means they’re lumping in truly brilliant blockbusters, like Back to the Future and Jurassic Park, to crap like This Is The End and Epic Movie. These films are, in my mind, truly empty entertainment. I can’t remember the last time I watched one of those movies and came away thinking, “Y’know, I’m glad I watched that.” I’d sooner watch any of the junk featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000 than put myself through Superbad, Bridesmaids or The Hangover.
So you can imagine it took a fair bit of convincing to get me to watch Ted. Ian had to repeat over and over that it was really cute, that the jokes weren’t all centered around sex, that it was one of Seth MacFarlane’s better projects, and that the acting was actually pretty decent. I tried to guilt him out of it, reminding him that my ex had once forced me into seeing Scary Movie 5 and it gave me nightmares and I hated porn jokes and can’t we please watch, I don’t know, Nightmare on Elm Street instead? But he reminded me of my promise and I finally gave in and watched Ted.
Now, I won’t say I loved it. I didn’t. It was decent, but it’s not going to be on any of my top ten lists. And I can see why it wasn’t an Oscar favorite. I can’t say I’m suddenly interested in watching another handful of similar comedies. I’m not about to run out and see the sequel, and God knows it’s not going to turn me into a MacFarlane fan.
But…
But for all its flaws, Ted is actually pretty damn cute. It’s raunchy, yes--for anyone who hasn’t seen it, allow me to drop a little spoiler: the teddy bear gets laid--but there’s enough wit in the humor to offset some of the more tasteless potty humor. Okay, maybe it’s still about as stupid as you’d expect (at one point I told Ian “if they make one more fart joke I’ll throw something") but there are some pretty good lines, there’s some nice banter here and there, the celebrity cameos are well-timed, and the romance between Mark Wahlberg and Mila Kunis’s characters is actually fairly believable. Not only that, but there are some moments that would make any Tumblr warrior proud: a gay love story is casually tossed in and treated like it’s no big deal, and at one point Wahlberg’s character sarcastically says that if he’s assaulted it’s his fault for “asking for it.” Little things like that keep the movie from collapsing into pure, unadulterated piles of yuck, but underneath all of the both PC and non-PC humor, the whole thing is actually…sweet. Surprisingly sweet, in fact, given that the film is about a foul-mouthed twentysomething teddy bear and his childish human BFF.
Like I said, I’m not about to run out and rent all three of the Hangover movies. And no power on this earth will make me see the rest of the Scary Movie franchise. And, please, someone shoot me on the spot if I ever think about making a movie with that many fart jokes. But watching Ted--and actually enjoying Ted--gave me a new perspective. I’ve been sulking furiously over every last indieWIRE article that makes fun of Jurassic World or insinuates that blockbusters are empty brain candy, only to turn right around and call a whole other genre “brain candy” without even watching the majority of the films in that category. And that, as I’m sure any sane person would tell me, is not fair.
No, Ted isn’t a masterpiece. But it’s still a movie that took time and energy and, yes, a lot of money to make. Someone had to come up with the idea, however cringe-worthy, of letting a cute, fuzzy teddy bear have sex with Norah Jones. (And can we just take a minute to admire the guts it took for that woman to take on a film role where she fondly reminisces about getting it on with a frickin’ stuffed animal? I’m not sure I would’ve done that.) Someone had to write, direct, film, edit, and distribute this thing. Just like all my favorites, Ted was the product of a group of very dedicated people who didn’t give a shit about anything except the fact that they had a story to tell.
And whether you liked the film or not, you’ve got to at least give it some credit for that reason alone. At least, I have to. Because I can’t call myself a bad-movie champion, and give the critics hell for judging a movie based on its genre, and then refuse to give movies like Ted a chance.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)