The AMC in Tyngsboro had Friday matinees starting at 10:30 a.m. (only four bucks before noon!), so I hotfooted out of the driveway of the farmstead while the morning was still fresh. A half hour later I was in the parking lot of the multiplex. The traffic on Middlesex Road had been even worse than before Christmas.
First up: a release left over from last week, the one I had been dreading most: Seven Pounds.
Have you seen this yet? Has the ending been spoiled for you yet? Do you not care if it is spoiled? I'm assuming you said yes to at least one of those questions, because I have to talk about the story itself.
There is a scene towards the end of the movie in which Will Smith is in a bathtub full of ice while being stung repeatedly by a deadly jellyfish. He is writhing in extreme pain and agony as he dies. This pretty much describes how I felt for two hours fidgeting back and forth in my seat as I watched this movie.
Not that discomfort is necessary bad in a movie. It can be a good thing, if that is what is intended. But my discomfort was due to the fact that this movie is as close to being unwatchable as anything I have seen in a long time.
I won't go into every detail about why it sucks, because frankly, I don't want to waste so much time typing. Just go ahead and read A. O. Scott's review in the New York Times. To wit:
Frankly, though, I don’t see how any review could really spoil what may be among the most transcendently, eye-poppingly, call-your-friend-ranting-in-the-middle-of-the-night-just-to-go-over-it-one-more-time crazily awful motion pictures ever made.
But I think it behooves me to discuss ways that the movie might have actually worked.
From a narrative point of view, the most glaring and hideous fault of the movie is that there is no particular reason why Smith's character has to kill himself when he does. Why was it necessary in the Aristotlean sense for him to take his life at that particular moment? Where was the urgency? There was, in fact, none.
What should have happened? The most important thing that should have happened in the movie, but didn't, was that Ben Thomas (Will Smith) should have been transformed by his falling in love with Emily Posa (Rosario Dawson). He should have begun to experience joy in life again. He would have begun to question his whole scheme of committing suicide and donating his organs to others in order to make amends for the car accident he caused.
He would have come to the point of realizing that he could help others better by living instead of dying. Perhaps blind Ezra (Woody Harrelson) could have had his sight healed by other means, or could have told Thomas that he preferred to stay as he is.
Just when we think that Thomas has decided to keep living, something would happen that would force him, with absolutely no other option, to follow through on his plan, probably to save Emily, because no other option was available to him.
None of that happened. Smith's character doesn't really experience anything. He isn't transformed by giving his house away. He isn't transformed by "falling in love." He isn't transformed by any of the people he meets. He is one of the most static protagonists that I have seen in a long time.
From a thematic point of view, the most cloying aspect of this film is its endorsement that we can and should judge the "worthiness" of others to receive life-changing gifts. This is very anticlassical, by the way, since in the old paradigm, it was assumed that only the Almighty can make such judgments. It was not for nothing that Oprah really loved this movie. Are you nauseated yet?
This was a stupid and horrible movie, living up to every negative thing I have heard about it. Another point of agreement between A.O. Scott and me: this movie is actually a horror movie, but doesn't realize it.
So there you have it, a ghastly horror tale masquerading as a feel-good holiday story about the power of giving to others. I can't think of a better metaphor for the United States of America at the end of 2008. Could this be the Movie of the Year?
No comments:
Post a Comment