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Geez,
I have to do all the acting: Chiklis in Fantastic
Four.
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Super
Dumb Fun
By
Shawn Stone
Fantastic
Four
Directed
by Tim Story
The beauty of Fantastic Four is that it doesn’t make
you think. This is a special kind of celluloid-induced stupid,
however, not the usual garden-variety, intelligence-insulting,
summer-blockbuster brainlessness. Fantastic Four is
pleasingly subversive; it actually preempts thought. It does
this on a couple of levels, too.
First there’s the story, which is typical comic-book hooey.
A team of scientists gets caught in some type of cosmic space
storm that alters their DNA, and they subsequently develop
superpowers that passeth all understanding. The filmmakers—director
Tim Story, with screenwriters Michael France and Mark Frost—know
this isn’t exactly Arthur C. Clarke, and they acknowledge
so in a funny scene between scientific genius Reed Richards
(Ioan Gruffudd) and teen dork Johnny Storm (Chris Evans).
When Richards says that exhaustive tests will be needed to
determine what happened, Johnny—now transformed into the Human
Torch—shoots flame out of his fingertips. The genius relents.
Now, before all you fanboys get huffy, I know that Stan Lee
knew this was hooey when he cooked it up with Jack
Kirby 40 years ago, and that Marvel comics were about character
and story as much as superpowers and heroic deeds. But in
many Hollywood adaptations of comic heroes, this kind of stuff
is treated with a degree of seriousness Cecil B. De Mille
couldn’t muster for the Bible. Credit Story and company for
not emphasizing the wrong things.
Second, there’s the casting. Pretty people are more appropriate
for summer fun than talented people, so the less-talented
pretty people are not asked to do anything complicated. This
is why the really good actor (Michael Chiklis, as Ben Grimm,
aka the Thing) is the only one entrusted with semi-serious
emotional scenes. And, since this is supposed to be family
fun (and not another Sin City), going too heavy on
the “ogling Jessica Alba” factor would be inappropriate. So,
while the physically alluring Ms. Alba (Sue Storm, aka the
Invisible Girl) is never costumed in anything too demure,
the filmmakers don’t go the sleazy route either, making the
obligatory invisible-chick-turns-visible gags more funny and
embarrassing than salacious.
Given that they cleverly stop you from thinking too heavily
about the plot, or the acting, or even the sexy actress, what
do they encourage you to do? Laugh at the jokes and watch
the freaks blow stuff up real good. What better recipe is
there for breezy summer cinema?
Soggy,
Not Scary
Dark
Water
Directed
by Walter Salles
Dark
Water is a remake of a Jap anese film that shares its
pedigree (author, screenplay, and director) with the Ringu
horror films (and their American remakes). But as directed
by Walter Salles (Central Station), who takes the dank
and brooding route, this Dark Water is not horrifying
in the least—in fact, it barely qualifies as creepy. It is
distressing, and admirably textured, but these attributes
alone can’t carry a movie, especially one whose central elements—dual
little girls, and various permutations of impure water—have
recently become overly familiar. Star Jennifer Connelly, however,
can carry a movie, and as a loving but fragile young mother
she certainly gets some extra mileage out of the played-out
screenplay.
Connelly’s Dahlia is newly separated from her cheating husband
(Dougray Scott) and facing a nasty custody battle over their
5-year-old daughter, Ceci (Ariel Gade). Unemployed and new
to New York City, Dahlia finds an affordable apartment in
an institutional-looking complex on Roosevelt Island. Ceci
reacts to the island with claustrophobia, and she’s justifiably
appalled at their new home, which is one coat of paint away
from squalor. It also has serious plumbing issues, which stem
from either the apartment above or the rooftop water tower.
Neither the slick rental agent (John C. Reilly) nor the off-putting
handyman (Pete Postlethwaite) are much inclined to help. Stressed
by their awful environment, Ceci falls under the influence
of an invisible friend named Natasha while Dahlia experiences
flashbacks from her traumatic childhood. Her only support
is a lawyer of dubious distinction and even more dubious motives
(Tim Roth). Reilly and Roth are both remarkable in small roles,
but Postlethwaite hams it up mercilessly, perhaps to compensate
for his character being a plot contrivance.
Though there’s an ephemeral subplot about the mysterious disappearance
of the upstairs tenants—a Russian couple and their 5-year-old
daughter—Dark Water is more effective at mining the
financial and emotional horrors of divorce on women with children,
and using them to deepen the unease of slightly out-of-the-ordinary
situations such as a strangely malfunctioning washing machine
in the basement, or the taunts of bored teenagers. Because
the pressures of coping with her new life seem much more sinister
and intriguing than the apartment’s resident evil (and its
affinity for faulty plumbing), the resolution of the film’s
mystery comes off as merely perfunctory. Despite Connelly’s
hypnotic performance and Salle’s impeccable sense of atmospherics,
Dark Water is a total washout.
—Ann
Morrow
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