Superlative Slaughter

I know the pain of high school is one of pop culture's most fertile wells, but I still don't quite get the obsession. I was a chubby, nerdy, flute playing drama club participating badminton playing National Honor Society treasurer who loved horror movies and yet I can't point to one moment where I felt targeted by the cheerleaders and quarterbacks. On the flip side, I don't ever recall setting up the kind of prank that would break a teenager's psyche and send such an outcast down a deadly spiral of vengeance.

Perhaps that's a good thing, since it means I'll never end up in a slasher.

Quick Plot: A gaggle of mostly attractive 28-year-olds are assembling for their ten-year high school reunion. Hosting the pre-gaming is Ryan, a professional hockey player who was just released from his contract by the NY Rangers. When his girlfriend Ashley arrives at his empty coastal mansion to cheer him up, she ends up murdered in a method that brings her high school superlative to life: most likely to end up with her name in lights.

Though Ryan is missing, the rest of his pals obliviously assemble to drink beer, play in a hot tub, and spend a lot of time using poker as a metaphor. Millennials truly are the worst.

As the night goes on, our gang of extremely attractive (and Perez Hilton) victims-to-be discover someone--most likely the outcast whom they bullied into oblivion--is on the hunt, taking each one down with some sort of cute wordplay on their senior year fame.

Most Likely to Die is essentially a 21st century take on Slaughter High. Considering nearly 80% of slashers get their start from a bullied weirdo delivering comeuppance, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that in concept and in the case of this film, execution. It's perfectly fine.

That's not necessarily the glowing endorsement I was hoping to have. Headed by Glee's secret weapon Heather Morris, the cast is (with one obvious exception) better than average, and we even get Jake Busey in the role of, well, essentially, Gary Busey. The violence finds a good balance between wackiness and realistic pain, and the pacing is done in just the right way.

But, well, I don't know. There's something lacking in Most Likely to Die, some spark or special tone to really make it pop.  As a mindless and slickly done slasher with some humor, it's absolutely solid entertainment. As a movie I'll remember two years from now, it's absolutely a movie I'll check Letterboxd to confirm that I watched.

High/Low Point Tie
On one hand, Perez Hilton is the worst thing in this movie. On the other, his lady screams are so perfectly shrill that they genuinely brighten the entire scene. We're calling this one a stalemate

Lessons Learned
You do not get laid by leading your girlfriend into opening a closet with precariously stacked items just waiting to tumble on her little blond head

The cure for a gushing stab wound is boiled water

Seriously, don't bully the awkward kid in high school. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?

Rent/Bury/Buy

If you're looking for a light-spirited throwback slasher, Most Likely to Die is more than adequate to pass the time. I can't quite put my finger on what's missing here, but it didn't charm me the way I was hoping. My pickiness aside, this is a perfectly fine modern horror film that may awaken your nostalgia for that tried and true subgenre of nerd vengeance. 

So I Finally Saw the Bratz Movie

Next to Paula Abdul, I am fairly certain that I, Emily Elizabeth Intravia, have invested more time and energy in Bratz: The Movie than any other mere mortal who has not gone on to receive a reward from it, monetary or otherwise. It all began when the first Netflix disc arrived with the radius drawn out as one giant crack. Bad luck, I thought, perhaps to be blamed on a careless mailman. I immediately requested a replacement, for it wasn’t the Bratz’s (Bratz’? Bratz’z? they never taught that sort of punctuation in college) fault that DVDs are a flimsy invention, and I had already vowed to watch the adventures of the live action version of a lawsuit-pending Barbie knockoff product line for The Shortening. True, the movie has nothing to actually do with dolls or the vertically challenged, but considering its inspiration—a multimillion dollar fashion toy empire coveted by children and hated by adults—it seemed like a good February fit. 

The gods of film did not agree.

Disc 2 arrived. As I removed it from its sleeve, I was reminded of any teenage character in a film with a penchant for self-mutilation. The DVD surface resembled a horribly scarred stab victim, crisscrossed with what I imagine were key marks or fingernail imprints. Somebody did not want me to watch this movie.

Here’s what I learned about myself from my Bratz experience: if I ever end up in a haunted house filled with a helpful ghost who tries, night after night, to convince me to leave before my soul is taken, I am as good as damned. I heed no warnings. I do not back away from evil. I listen to no one.

I requested a third disc. And it arrived. Unscathed.

Now armed with the knowledge that DVDs of Bratz: The Movie are an endangered species with a 33% survival rate, I decided it was my duty to thoroughly explore this special edition for future generations. Hence, rather than approach the film as one typically would, I turned on the director commentary track—yes, there is a director commentary track for the Bratz movie—and dove in.

Quick Plot: It’s the first day of high school for four over-accessorized clear-skinned teenagers who instantly vow to be friends forever, even though their interests in extracurricular activities don’t match. See, Cloe (answer you’re seeking: I don’t know if she’s aware that she spells her name wrong) is blond and a soccer star. Sasha is a black cheerleader. Jade is Asian and therefore, pressured by her mother to be the top Mathlete, violinist, and chemistry student. Then there’s Yasmin, whose thing is sometimes journalism, sometimes music, and when at home, being Spanish.

Oh, because you’re wondering, this is Yasmin:

Dios mio, amiright chicas?

At Carry Nation High, the class president/token blond villain Meredith enforces a rigid code of socialization, where jocks only play with jocks, Mathletes only math with other Mathletes, and Kids Who Dress Like Dinosaurs only dress like dinosaurs with Kids Who Dress Like Dinosaurs. It’s a cruel system akin to centuries of racial segregation, and when our perky freshmen heroines threaten the status quo, a movie plot is born.

I knew I was in for something terribly special/specially terrible when I chose to watch a movie based on a product that makes Barbie look Gertrude Stein. I knew this even more when the opening credits rolled with three magical words, the likes of which I haven’t seen since a certain Briard showed off his martial arts skills:

“And Jon Voight”

Midnight Cowboy. Coming Home. Deliverance. Bratz: The Movie.

The beauty of the American right to free choice is not lost on this man.

Voight plays a filthy rich high school principal constantly berated by his spoiled daughter Meredith and probably very uncomfortable in facial and ear prosthetics. Why does Jon Voight wear a fake nose and set of ears? Director Sean McNamara does not explain this (and yes, we can all probably figure it out on our own), although he does praise the Oscar winner for bringing his own ideas to his character and rewrites to the script. I don’t know about you, but this bit of trivia puts me in a confusing place: on one hand, it’s nice to know Voight doesn’t phone in performances, even when, you know, PLAYING A SUPPORTING ROLE IN THE BRATZ MOVIE. On the other, it’s almost sadder to know that someone with the talent of Jon Voight actually cared about this film. It takes the easy excuse of ‘he just needed a paycheck’ or ‘he was high on goofballs’ or ‘the director was dangling a Butterfinger just out of his reach’ out of the equation, making Jon Voight a true enigma for our time to ponder.

Less mysterious, but still noteworthy are a few other faces that stop by. Olympic silver medalist figure skater Sasha Cohen plays an unmemorable cheerleader. Tom Hanks’ Twitter star son Chet does, according to the director, his very own kung fu moves as a science nerd. Future Glee star Kevin McHale performs some slick boyband moves. Kadeem Hardison plays a divorced dad, Lanie Kazan is a Spanish/Jewish bubbie, and an elephant steals the show playing an elephant.

I am too good a person to insult any of the young actresses shouting “BFF!” over, and over, and over and over and over and over (and over) again. As pretty teenagers wearing tacky jewelry go, the girls are on par with any Babysitters Club caliber performance. A DVD extra includes a behind-the-scenes look at casting, where one producer notes “We were looking for girls who are not terribly defined.” I imagine this translates into “not TOO ethnic,” leaving us with one sorta Asian, a green eyed African American, and a hilariously strawberry blond Latina who confirms her background by knowing all the words to La Cucaracha and living in the kind of household that has a mariachi band stationed in the kitchen on a weekday morning.

No, I’m serious. Estoy seriouso!

“A lot of shoes were worn in this movie,” director McNamara notes on his solo commentary track. This comes only twenty minutes or so after he compares one of his shots to Hitchcock with a stunningly sincere sense of enthusiasm. A longtime Disney and Nickelodeon employee, McNamara has nothing but glowing compliments for his movie and cast, and by the end of the film, it’s almost hard to resist his Corky St. Claire confidence.  

High Notes

In perfect honesty, there are some positive messages to glean from Bratz: The Movie. The young actresses are thankfully less scantily clad than their doll namesakes (because to be otherwise is illegal at their age), and the characters do make valiant efforts to maintain good relationships with their friends and family. So while the results are laughable, I won’t fault the heart of the film. Just its skill.

Low Notes

Any film that features product placement for MTV’s My Super Sweet Sixteen has a hot seat reserved in hell

In a perfect world, and I say this knowing there’s a full-size recliner for me reserved in hell, the actresses playing Bratz would have gone through extensive head implants to better match their plastic counterparts

Lessons Learned

Real friends cancel their ski trips when their pals need a hand

Juggling is not talent show worthy

Divorce isn’t that bad, so long as you have two incredibly wealthy parents

Words that rhyme with brattitude include platitude, latitude, gratitude, and attitude

As Glee already taught me, high school is different today than in the late ‘90s when I was there: for the 21st century youth, it is no longer acceptable to participate in more than one extracurricular activity. Consider it the new 1-Child Act

Rent/Bury/Buy

Did Bratz: The Movie live up to my expectations? Certainly, but I never said I had good taste. This is as ridiculous as any entertainment based on skanky dolls ever was, made all the more so when you turn on Sean McNamara’s earnest commentary track. The DVD is embarrassingly rich in special features, with mini-specials on casting the leads, choreographing the music, and giving tips on how you—yes, YOU!—can dress just like your favorite Brat(z). Those with a soft spot for just-how-bad-can-this-be? will find plenty to enjoy here. Those with standards need not apply.

Don't Stop Stock Footaging

I’m going to let Netflix take care of this:

“Using a risky transplant operation, Dr. Hewlitt (Justine Bateman) restores the vision of newly blinded Aaron (Cory Monteith) by replacing his eyes with those of an injured wolf's. Now, Aaron can see in the dark, and his dangerous wolflike behavior only increases with time. Part wolf as well, museum curator Lydia (Tinsel Korey) decides to help Aaron, but Dr. Hewlitt's colleagues are convinced the man-wolf is dangerous and resolve to hunt him down.”

RIGHT?!

Quick Plot: In gloriously foggy stock footage, wolves hunt bison across a beautiful prairie.

I'm going to pause right now to say something of vital importance: I hope you really like watching stock footage of wolves. Because if you choose to watch Hybrid, you are essentially choosing to watch about 58 minutes worth of, you know, stock footage of wolves.

Still with me? You're brave. Brave, like a WOLF.

After what feels like 9 hours worth of wolves running freely as credits roll, we meet a biologist (played by the lesser Bateman Justine) explaining to two dozen local doctors that she's heading military experiments on transplanting animal body parts into humans. The "confidentially recruited" 24 local doctors are asked to help find possible participants for such an experiment but to be really quiet about it. Somehow, the fact that every single doctor from the nation of Canada knows about this "secret" and therefore it's no longer a "secret" is never acknowledged.

We'll forgive this, because while Dr. Not Jason Bateman is describing her work, we get the pleasure of seeing a chimpanzee with Siberian husky eyes. It's cute.

Moving on...

Finn Hudson--er, "Aaron" but it's oodles more fun to refer to every character Corey Monteith ever plays as "Finn Hudson" so we shall--works as an operator at some sort of plant. Or something. I thought he was a security guard who spends his work days playing video games, but I'm apparently just not as smart as this movie. Or maybe I’m just lost because for a good 8 minutes, there was no insertion of stock wolf footage. Now I’ve forgotten what movie I’m even watching.

Pull it together Emily! Be one with your spirit animal!

(sigh) That's better

A fire breaks out at the plant security video game land where Finn works. Ever the hero, Finn races through flames to save the idiot whose chainsmoking habits started the explosion in the first place. I guess that’s supposed to tell us that his character is  noble (like a WOLF), and we’ll have to accept it since it’s the only—and I really do mean only—thing we ever learn about Finn Aaron Hudson.

Meanwhile, over in the local Native AmeriCanadian reservation, teacher Lydia (although the Netflix description says museum curator, but who’s counting?) drives home to discover a dying—you guessed it--wolf. She promptly drives it to the vet, who even more promptly passes it on to the local military biological research facility (EVERY town has one of those) where the overenthusiastic doctor from the intro does some radical surgery. Before you can say Don’t Stop Believing, Finn Hudson wakes up with beady yellow wolf eyes.

Sometimes the universe is very generous. Sometimes the world seems to say, “Emily, I haven’t been nice to you lately and I want to make up for it with a gift. It’s nothing extravagant or expensive—heck, this being SyFy, it probably cost less than a trip to Super Cuts with a Groupon—but it’s just a little something that I think you’ll appreciate. Something to say, ‘don’t feel lost and alone. I care.’”

Oh Universe! You’re making me tear up here!

See, Corey Monteith doesn’t just get wolf eyes (and therefore, wolf night vision). He gets misaligned wolf eyes that seems to keep one pupil located south and the other pointing to the sky. He doesn’t just start having wolf feelings; he begins to FEEL what wolves FEEL, mostly in stock footage form. His appetite changes towards the rarer meat side, making him become, dare I say it, HUNGRY LIKE A WOLF (a song which, hey! was even covered on Glee).

Best of all, Aaron/Finn catches the newest symptom of 21^st century werewolfishness: an allergy to shirts.

Perhaps it’s the presence of Twilight franchise actress Tinsel Korey, but by the end of the 90 minute Hybrid, Corey Monteith gives Taylor Launtner a run for his residuals in the Who Wears a Shirt Less contest that every young male actor dreams of winning.

Except unlike the buff and brown Launtner, Monteith sports a farmer’s tan and runs like a kid who ducked out of gym class his whole life with falsified claims of asthma.

And run he does! Hilariously! And a lot. Almost as much as those stock footage wolf actors run, but in more of a gentle jog kind of manner. It’s fairly wonderful.

So to break down: Hybrid is essentially a hybrid film of four ingredients:

1-65% stock footage of wolves. Did I mention the stock footage of wolves?

2-25% long shots of Corey Monteith’s awkward 5K training

3-7% bland dialogue by Lydia about the importance of heritage and landzzzzzzzzzzz

2%-other stuff of little importance (although watching a nurse at the research lab discover adorable loose chimpanzees and react as if fleeing from Leatherface is kind of amusing)

4- 1% stock footage from the buffalo’s point of view

Of all this action, 80% is scored to what must have been public domain Native Ameri-Canadian tribal drum and flute music, with the remaining 20% playing out to a very conspicuous, very bad rap reggae something. There’s a love scene, which is about as sexy as flossing your teeth after eating a lot of broccoli. A bar brawl that makes me sad to see so much wasted beer. A last act introduction of villainous soldiers that just leaves you missing that comforting stock footage rather than, one hour and ten minutes into a 90 minute film, having to decipher one camouflage clad character from the next.

We have no real reason to ever care about Wolfboy, because we know absolutely nothing about him prior to his transplant. His romance with Lydia is as stiff as Finn’s scenes with Lea Michelle’s Rachel, only worse because we don’t even get the bonus of choreography. And of course, when all else fails, director Yelena Lanskaya simply cuts to the same reel of wolf film, all scored to the same generic tribal tunes. It’s terrible, and yet, it’s exactly what I wanted from a SyFy movie about wolf eyes.

High Notes

Well um, see, the thing is that…uh…wow! Look over there! I see WOLVES!

Low Notes

Aside from the fact that the film is just not good at any real point, the third act soldier hunt—which literally spends about 10 minutes with brand new characters we can’t tell apart—is just a painfully sluggish way to bring down an already sluggish film

Lessons Learned, Canada Style

So let’s say you’re a world class biologist conducting groundbreaking research for the Canadian military. Where might you go when an experiment goes wrong? Why, hop on that Interweb and hit up LycanthropyResources.Com of course! Modern science at its best

During the process of making love, it is customary that the man removes his shirt while the woman remains fully clothed at all times

In Canada, young men read magazines from back to front

When in need of content to pad out the running length of your film, there are two handy tricks one might try: 1) STOCK FOOTAGE OF WOLVES! and of course, the far less obvious 2) Have your lead character have a spiritual experience that is essentially a montage of the entire film that ran before it, complete with—wait for it—STOCK FOOTAGE OF WOLVES

Rent/Bury/Buy

Thankfully, Hybrid is streaming on Instant Watch and does not require any monetary effort to view. Bad movie fans will enjoy its awfulness, but be aware that this is bad in a ‘so dull it’s good’ way (which makes it more interesting than Basic Instinct 2, if that makes sense on your cinema scale). Considering this is part of SyFy’s “Maneater” series (the same brand that bred the similarly terrible yet on some random level amusing Blood Monkey), you should know whether it will bring you enjoyment or not. Basically, if you like wolves, this was made for you. If you want to see Corey Monteith stumble through dialogue with even more clumsiness than he does on Glee, this is for you. If you want to see a really awkward white dude run like a really awkward white dude, then by all means, queue up Hybrid. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Monday March Musical Madness: Fame 2009

In case you didn’t know, I think Alan Parker’s 1980 sorta musical Fame is a genuine great film about young artists. When I make a statement like that, I often catch an eye roll or sarcastic comment about how it’s a silly ‘80s dance movie and ancestor to High School Musical.

Then I call my lawyer to get me off yet another murder charge.

Look, I’m not comparing an epic tale of teenage performers to Schindler’s List or Starship Troopers. But I am defending its reputation, which too often gets lumped with lighter later season Glee-type bubble gum fare. Fame is not. There’s abortion, attempted suicide, failure, dream crushing, teen exploitation, illiteracy, and ultimately, no fairy tale rich and famous contracts. It paints a stark but loving portrait of what it’s like to be gifted and driven but plopped in an environment overcrowded with people that might be MORE gifted and MORE driven than you ever thought yourself capable of.

In 2009, the remake warlords released an updated Fame for the 21st century audience. Critical and audience response wasn’t kind, but the sirens of instant watch called and hence, here we go:

Quick Plot: A gaggle of dancers, musicians, and actors line up to audition for entry into the High School of Performing Arts. Like its predecessor, Fame starts with an amusing montage displaying the range of talent on the streets of New York, from one kid’s adorably awful Taxi Driver impersonation to a classic pianist’s easy mastery of a difficult piece.  Once the placard reads “Freshman Year,” we settle on our cast:

Malik, an intense aspiring actor whose hard knocks childhood has closed him off from tapping into his true potential

Joy, a peppy actress who flunks out of school because of her job on Sesame Street 

(no, really)

Alice, the rich dance star who dates bad boys but not in an exciting way

Jenny, the mousy actress who’s boring but white and therefore our apparent lead 

Denise, a secret vocal powerhouse whose strict parents want her to focus on the classical piano

Kevin, a ballet dancer from Iowa who might not be cut out for the big leagues

Neil, a filmmaker-in-training learning that the industry is full of crooks

Marco, a musician whose experimental style mildly ruffles teacher Kelsey Grammar but then never really seems to go anywhere

And a few more pretty fresh faces who I forgot about.

You might have already guessed it, but therein lies the biggest issue of Fame, a film that actually started promisingly before descending into a messy collage of pretty but bland people I just didn’t care about. The decision to approach the film as a true ensemble piece is admirable, but there are simply so many storylines going on that not a single one has the time to become any more than a one-line stereotype. This ain’t Contagion being directed by Stephen Soderbergh. It’s Fame being directed by the guy that mashed together the messy Glee 3D concert movie.

It’s a shame. While none of the kids register along the lines of Paul McCrane’s character actor star-making performance in the original, there’s still clear talent in the new cast. Collins Pennie’s Malik has something of interest behind sparse screentime, while the ridiculously long-named Anna Maria Perez de Tagle has a likable peppiness as the dropout Joy. What’s worse is that *some* of the stories have genuine potential but not a single one gets paid off.

Take for example the character of Kevin, a fresh-faced dancer whose mother runs a Midwest ballet school. Teacher Bebe Neuwirth (fine, as always) is hard on him, recognizing his talent and effort but not ignoring the fact that his solo technique won’t get him work in the competitive world of professional dance. In one of the film’s best and easily most honest scenes, Newirth denies Kevin a recommendation because she simply doesn’t believe he should pursue dancing as a career. This is really the only storyline that follows the same beats as the original film, and yet when Kevin inches toward a moving subway train, the depth and punch of attempted suicide just feels forced. This might be the best story IN Fame, but because it’s spread out in snippets and pushed aside for the dullest romance in recent teen cinema history, how are we supposed to take it seriously?

So about that dull teen romance: it stinks. For some reason, Fame seems to think that it needs to ultimately focus on a pretty white ingénue. Kay Panabaker plays Jenny as a boring young girl who starts dating a slightly less boring young man, has an uncomfortable encounter in a casting trailer that almost insults Irene Cara’s heartbreaking nude audition gone wrong, then sort of gets back together with now really boring boyfriend in time to sing (terribly) at graduation. We never actually see her give anything near a great performance that makes us think “yes, let’s see her shine!” Sure, Maureen Teefy’s Doris wasn’t the most likable onscreen presence in 1980, but she had genuine pluck and a real journey that let us see her grow from freshman to senior year. Jenny is a surface-level character who somehow steals the most screentime and in the end, the film is all the worse for it.

I could go on. I could, so I guess I just WILL.

Remember how in the original, we had a snooty ballerina in an abortion clinic after fooling around with a straight-from-the-streets bad boy? Here we have Alice, who dances well and has rich parents so she must take an interest in a minority student from the other side of Central Park. So she points him out to her parents at dinner, says he’s dangerous and she likes it, then goes offscreen for a good hour, and in the final wrapup of the characters, she breaks up with him to take a role in a water ballet show. Now I’m not saying that we NEEDED another abortion, but were we supposed to be invested in a relationship that barely gave us its lovers IN THE SAME SCENE?

Much like Glee, Fame’s cast is (for the most part) musically talented but underserved. As Denise, Naturi Naughton possesses a pretty incredible voice that does surprising justice to Cara’s Oscar-nominated Out Here On My Own. But the story insists on making her character a dull wallflower who sings modern rap with her pals while following her parents’ more traditional dream path to Carnegie Hall. This conflict is perfectly fine for the film, but it’s handled terribly. For one thing, we don’t ever really care about her partners’ stake in the group so when a big name producer tells them he’s only interested in her, are we really supposed to be sad? Especially since Denise has thus far shown no actual stage presence to be believable as the next Mariah Carey?

You get my point.

At an oddly chosen 100 minutes, Fame simply bit off more than it could chew. There are too many characters with terrible division of screentime between them. Director Kevin Tancharoen can stage a fine musical performance or montage, but he clearly doesn’t have a grasp on Allison Burnett’s wannabe epic script. This is a film that clearly came from good intentions but had absolutely no idea how to make them a reality.

High Points

As I say for the similarly flawed beyond possible repair Smash, it’s always nice to see a film embrace and exploit its NYC setting to the extreme

Michael "Brianna Barksdale” Hyatt alert! Wire fans rejoice!

Low Points

Aforementioned confusion of the film’s script and character weight. Seriously, are we aware that Panabaker’s ABC Family Channel-level romance got more attention than a suicidal dancer AND character dropping out of HIGH SCHOOL TO BE ON SESAME STREET???

Odd Point

Part of what made the original Fame such a groundbreaking film was its portrayal of a realistic gay teenager learning in his most awkward years who he was. This Fame has no acknowledged gay characters, though I think most audiences (self included) would certainly assume things here and there. On one hand, maybe it’s a positive sign that a character can just be gay in a teen film without it being an issue. On the other, are we missing a prime opportunity to explore that in a mainstream film? I dunno, I just work here.

Lessons Learned

Bach was a stubby little German guy who wore a wig and died 1000 years ago

If you want your child to graduate high school, do not even THINK of signing release forms 

for her to be employed by PBS

The theater is not a place for cowards (just narcissists)

Rent/Bury/Buy

For the first forty minutes or so of Fame, I was genuinely excited and eager to rebuff the critical sentiment that it was a dud. Then the film decided to do everything wrong. I’m fully aware that a 1980 movie about teenagers might show some signs of aging, and yet I truly believe Parker’s 32 year old film remains far more relevant to today’s youth than this oddly patched together yawn. If you NEED to watch a talented teens movie with more current slang, at least start with the earnest Center Stage (I’m not kidding!) or the giddily wonderful Step Up sequels (skip the first one, please). 2009’s Fame is a not dreadful watch for a random lazy day, but don’t tune in expecting any of the heart so rich in the original. It’s there, and that is that.