42
In addition to the absolutely obscene amount of films I've been watching lately (in my efforts to disprove the theory of film scholarship only coming to fruition laster in life, having watched many films leisurely rather than the 2 or 3 I'm watching a damn diggidy DAY) I've decided to start writing a review on every single film I watch. If nothing else, this ought to at least hone the tools I'm in possession of, and maybe it will grow some I don't yet know about. At any rate, I thought I'd post one of the recent ones, as most of the reviews I'm writing are about the films I get from Netflix or from the library at Awesome U, and are therefore my attempts as playing catch-up to the lexicon of film. Needless to say, older films that most people have never heard of. Not all, but a lot.
At any rate, I don't get to go out to the theaters much anymore (much to my and the Mrs.'s chagrin) so when I had the chance the other day to not only go see a theatrical release but then, of my own volition and under my own steam, write an analysis of it... well, it wouldn't have mattered what motivation I did or did not have. I was going to see this film one way or another. You'll understand.
It's been a while since I've reviewed any films here. I'm going to try and change that now that the semester's almost up. This is as good a re-immersion as any. Hope you like it.
...
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
O, to add to a dynasty, to translate an epoch. To undertake the tremendous responsibility in the creation of and paying homage to what has become not so much the work of the past but the property of the present. The public that adores and pays tribute to this seminal work, this is its true master. It’s true owner and servant. These are the idol worshippers of the 21st century, and to think to act in a way that might rouse their fury in a way nothing else could is either brave beyond understanding, or intensely stupid from a career perspective.
Ironically, what I found to be the funniest part of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (true to its satiric and comedic roots as the film is) was the part that immediately but momentarily caused me not only to regret showing up for the film, but dread the following two hours. Before the story gets started, before we even meet the main characters of Arthur Dent or Ford Prefect, names canonical to anyone who’s lived through the Douglas Adams novels, we are treated to a song presumably written specifically for the movie called, “So Long and Thanks for All the Fish,” which, as any Hitchhiker could tell you, is the last message the dolphins gave us humans before leaving the planet for good.
Visions of an attempted musical flashed through my head. The fright of the director’s sense of humor revolving so much around tongue-in-cheek musical numbers that one needed to be in the opening credits was palpable, and I froze in my chair thinking that, here it was. Here was another Lord of the Rings, here is the death of Star Wars in its latter two films reborn. I have come to bear witness to the death of another treasure of society, and all I can do is sit here and laugh.
It was only then I realized that, yes, I was in fact laughing. The concept of starting off a film version of Hitchhiker’s is almost sacrilege, and yet one could imagine Adams cackling maniacally over the concept. Not one to shy away from the ludicrous and, in the proper dosage, the kitschy, Adams may himself have added a note to the script calling for some manner of Broadway show tune. I could imagine him writing the lyrics, and, in a way, I like to. Adams, as most of us know, is gone from us now, but before he left he managed to pen his own last version of the screenplay that, with the post-morti help of Karey Kirkpatrick, is what we see on the screen today. The fact that Adams is gone is a tragic thing. I won’t bother explaining why.
It comforts me to know that Adams’ script, when he had finished with it, involved new characters and changes from the original. It seems to give me license to enjoy the film’s dalliances from the novel without angst toward the raping of a dead man’s contribution to history. But he’s the one who did it, so jolly good then. It also comforts me to see Garth Jennings (given the job of director from seemingly little else than a relatively auspicious career in commercials and a sterling referral from Spike Jonze) as a real fan of the novels, as he went out of his way, where he could, to remain faithful not just to the novel, but to the concept of the novel, and to what the readers of the novel ultimately and, in a Campbellian sense, unilaterally loved about it.
The actors themselves, I think, do a fine job. The only glaring problems were an awkwardly improvised feel to the first scene between Zaphod and Trillian (Sam Rockwell and Zooey Deschanel respectively) and the general lack of talent fuming from Mos Def, who luckily can attribute his fear of dropping a rapper’s image and lack of any true passion for the craft to being FROM ANOTHER PLANET! Everyone else nails it, and Bill Nighy actually brings a little more to the role of Slartibartfast than I would have attributed to him.
The visuals are fantastic and unrelenting in their faithfulness to the feel of the novels, the creatures we meet in our travels are not the muppetagerie of Lucas nor the austere realism of Speilberg, but an appropriate cross-section of a surreal population, the inhabitants of a universe of infinite possibilities, and just as many improbabilities. The integration of the Guide itself’s commentary is natural and not at all shoved down our throats (is, in fact, used artfully as a narrative device), and the fact that the filmmakers (and I hope you’ll forgive me this moment of quivering fan dementia) left in the entire sperm whale scene, bowl of petunias and all, is a testament to their devotion to the source material.
But, like I said to start with, the opening song is the funniest part of the film, both a blessing and a curse. Perhaps I’m jaded having grown up with and practically memorized the books, reading them now only as I watch reruns of Monty Python, but reading them now all the same. The film does a good job delivering the humor Adams was famous and infamous for, and even adds the obligatory level of its medium in an attractive way with its small flash vignettes within the Guide. However, in the end, we are relying on actors and filmmakers to spout the dialogue and narration in ways that many of us have already solidified in our minds, and while enjoyable, runs the real risk of not being wholly satisfying. For example, in my head, I never pronounced it Zay-fod, and I never pictured Mr. Prosser sans-furry-hat.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy ends up being a buoy, but it’s hardly the filmic equivalent of its legendary and revolutionary literary predecessor. Try as it might, the film simply cannot pull off what the book did, partly because the book already did it, yes, but mostly because choices were made in the interest of selling (as is always the case) rather than appreciative accuracy, and, while not crippling, were far from facilitating. Hitchhiker’s is a fine translation, a fine homage from a lesser artisan to a respected mentor, and a film that’s a lot of fun. So it’s not the best movie ever. It’s not the end of the world.
It's not a great film... mostly harmless.
At any rate, I don't get to go out to the theaters much anymore (much to my and the Mrs.'s chagrin) so when I had the chance the other day to not only go see a theatrical release but then, of my own volition and under my own steam, write an analysis of it... well, it wouldn't have mattered what motivation I did or did not have. I was going to see this film one way or another. You'll understand.
It's been a while since I've reviewed any films here. I'm going to try and change that now that the semester's almost up. This is as good a re-immersion as any. Hope you like it.
...
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
O, to add to a dynasty, to translate an epoch. To undertake the tremendous responsibility in the creation of and paying homage to what has become not so much the work of the past but the property of the present. The public that adores and pays tribute to this seminal work, this is its true master. It’s true owner and servant. These are the idol worshippers of the 21st century, and to think to act in a way that might rouse their fury in a way nothing else could is either brave beyond understanding, or intensely stupid from a career perspective.
Ironically, what I found to be the funniest part of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (true to its satiric and comedic roots as the film is) was the part that immediately but momentarily caused me not only to regret showing up for the film, but dread the following two hours. Before the story gets started, before we even meet the main characters of Arthur Dent or Ford Prefect, names canonical to anyone who’s lived through the Douglas Adams novels, we are treated to a song presumably written specifically for the movie called, “So Long and Thanks for All the Fish,” which, as any Hitchhiker could tell you, is the last message the dolphins gave us humans before leaving the planet for good.
Visions of an attempted musical flashed through my head. The fright of the director’s sense of humor revolving so much around tongue-in-cheek musical numbers that one needed to be in the opening credits was palpable, and I froze in my chair thinking that, here it was. Here was another Lord of the Rings, here is the death of Star Wars in its latter two films reborn. I have come to bear witness to the death of another treasure of society, and all I can do is sit here and laugh.
It was only then I realized that, yes, I was in fact laughing. The concept of starting off a film version of Hitchhiker’s is almost sacrilege, and yet one could imagine Adams cackling maniacally over the concept. Not one to shy away from the ludicrous and, in the proper dosage, the kitschy, Adams may himself have added a note to the script calling for some manner of Broadway show tune. I could imagine him writing the lyrics, and, in a way, I like to. Adams, as most of us know, is gone from us now, but before he left he managed to pen his own last version of the screenplay that, with the post-morti help of Karey Kirkpatrick, is what we see on the screen today. The fact that Adams is gone is a tragic thing. I won’t bother explaining why.
It comforts me to know that Adams’ script, when he had finished with it, involved new characters and changes from the original. It seems to give me license to enjoy the film’s dalliances from the novel without angst toward the raping of a dead man’s contribution to history. But he’s the one who did it, so jolly good then. It also comforts me to see Garth Jennings (given the job of director from seemingly little else than a relatively auspicious career in commercials and a sterling referral from Spike Jonze) as a real fan of the novels, as he went out of his way, where he could, to remain faithful not just to the novel, but to the concept of the novel, and to what the readers of the novel ultimately and, in a Campbellian sense, unilaterally loved about it.
The actors themselves, I think, do a fine job. The only glaring problems were an awkwardly improvised feel to the first scene between Zaphod and Trillian (Sam Rockwell and Zooey Deschanel respectively) and the general lack of talent fuming from Mos Def, who luckily can attribute his fear of dropping a rapper’s image and lack of any true passion for the craft to being FROM ANOTHER PLANET! Everyone else nails it, and Bill Nighy actually brings a little more to the role of Slartibartfast than I would have attributed to him.
The visuals are fantastic and unrelenting in their faithfulness to the feel of the novels, the creatures we meet in our travels are not the muppetagerie of Lucas nor the austere realism of Speilberg, but an appropriate cross-section of a surreal population, the inhabitants of a universe of infinite possibilities, and just as many improbabilities. The integration of the Guide itself’s commentary is natural and not at all shoved down our throats (is, in fact, used artfully as a narrative device), and the fact that the filmmakers (and I hope you’ll forgive me this moment of quivering fan dementia) left in the entire sperm whale scene, bowl of petunias and all, is a testament to their devotion to the source material.
But, like I said to start with, the opening song is the funniest part of the film, both a blessing and a curse. Perhaps I’m jaded having grown up with and practically memorized the books, reading them now only as I watch reruns of Monty Python, but reading them now all the same. The film does a good job delivering the humor Adams was famous and infamous for, and even adds the obligatory level of its medium in an attractive way with its small flash vignettes within the Guide. However, in the end, we are relying on actors and filmmakers to spout the dialogue and narration in ways that many of us have already solidified in our minds, and while enjoyable, runs the real risk of not being wholly satisfying. For example, in my head, I never pronounced it Zay-fod, and I never pictured Mr. Prosser sans-furry-hat.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy ends up being a buoy, but it’s hardly the filmic equivalent of its legendary and revolutionary literary predecessor. Try as it might, the film simply cannot pull off what the book did, partly because the book already did it, yes, but mostly because choices were made in the interest of selling (as is always the case) rather than appreciative accuracy, and, while not crippling, were far from facilitating. Hitchhiker’s is a fine translation, a fine homage from a lesser artisan to a respected mentor, and a film that’s a lot of fun. So it’s not the best movie ever. It’s not the end of the world.
It's not a great film... mostly harmless.
posted by DeadLanguage at 1:13 AM
1 Comments:
BUTT SAUCE!
Yes, Max... tis I the world famous Tyler H Blanchard...
Carry on.
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