Chapter Two:
Summer Scorcher 2009
By Brett Beach
September 30, 2010
BoxOfficeProphets.com
It’s less than 48 hours away from the fall equinox as I start typing this, and I am happy to say that it has been a fairly fulfilling summer “vacation” here at Chapter Two headquarters. Personal goals were realized, trips were taken, and I earned myself the opportunity to rewrite my history. Let’s take the first point first.
After a lifetime of excuses, I finally applied for and received a passport. Our federal government has deemed me to be travel-worthy. I guess this means those skeletons in my closet must be fairly well buried in clothes, sneakers, and accessories. Why the long wait? No particular reason, other than my own lame attempts at minor self-sabotage and deferral of pleasure. I never felt motivated to travel in my teens or spend a semester abroad while at Lewis and Clark College and as I approach my 35th birthday next year, I accept that I will always be more The Accidental Tourist than Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown or Before Sunrise. (The Monday after I applied, rates went up by $55 so my timing, as delayed as it inevitably was, still proved to be fortuitous)
Even now that I have the document safely ensconced in my sock drawer, I still don’t have any particular destination in mind. I have always harbored a hankering for New Zealand. This predates Lord of the Rings mania by at least a decade-and-a-half and stems from a report I did on the country in the fourth grade, in the days when looking up facts in an Encyclopedia Britannica was all the rage. I have visited Canada once (for Expo ‘86) and now that I would need my passport to get back into the United States from Canuckland, a second trip seems almost a necessity.
On the domestic travel front, my girlfriend and I took our son back to her hometown of Clovis, CA to have him baptized at her childhood Lutheran church. The pastor who performed the ceremony reminded me (in looks and vocal intonation) of an American cross between Eddie Izzard and latter-day Tim Curry. This, at least, helped to set me at ease. Finn, for his part remained calm and fairly quiet, save for one exquisitely timed belch during a brief pause in the proceedings. That’s my boy.
As for the redo on my past? I made the trek up to Seattle to take part in a contestant search for Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Nearly ten years after I earned my way on to the ABC nighttime edition, and got as close as humanly possible to the Hot Seat without an actual meeting of ass and cushion, I dared to broach a second chance. I flubbed the general knowledge test but qualified for the Netflix-sponsored Movie Week edition that airs around Oscar time.
I chatted nicely with one of the production staff in the interview that followed, got to do a brief on-camera Q & A, and two weeks later received word that I was in the contestant pool. So I possibly might be possibly chosen. Possibly. My eligibility is good for this season and the next two, so it’s all over but the waiting. I keep my cell phone charged up at all times. The funny thing is, with the revamp of the show this season, there is no Hot Seat anymore. And so it goes…
And so, it was an eventful and prolific summer on many fronts, but not for movie going. Loyal readers may recall my (nothing but the best) intentions put forth at the end of my last column to see Iron Man 2 and Sex and the City 2, and catch up with New Moon. None of those viewings happened. This is why I am boarding the Wayback Machine and flashing back to July 2009 by focusing on a pair of high profile releases from the beginning of the summer - at least on the Hollywood calendar - that had made their way into second-run theaters by this point.
I never tire of singing the praises of Portland’s discount movie theaters, namely because they have managed to keep their prices so incredibly low ($2 to $4) for nigh on ten years now, each while filling their own particular niche and (most of them) providing reasonably priced beer, nosh and candy. The one exception is the Avalon, which since it is an arcade, sticks strictly to the candy, and pop/corn. Where I once organized my movie habits around opening weekend, I now count down the time from when a film travels the first-run circuit to the moment it can be viewed with a tasty beverage, hot slice of ‘za, and a cookie or two for up to 80% less what I would have paid months earlier (90% if concession items are figured in.)
But last summer, neither the price nor the food was the major draw. It was the blast of AC and the promise of respite from a grueling and uncharacteristically extended heat wave in Portland. Six months prior, the winter of 2008-2009 saw Portland blanketed with the heaviest December and January snowfall dump in more than 50 years. When compared to Chicago, Washington, D.C. or New York City, the 24 inches received is perhaps scoff-worthy, but my back certainly didn’t think so as I kept shoveling out my friend’s sidewalk and driveway.
In contrast, the summer temps were record-setters across the board for my fair town. From late July into early August, we had ten consecutive days of 90 degrees and above with three of those hitting triple digits and two days at 106 degrees (one degree away from tying Portland’s hottest day ever). Overall, there were 24 days above 90 degrees, and they stretched all the way into September.
At the time, my girlfriend and I lived in the upper half - a flight of 20 stairs up - of a duplex. It was a very spacious affair, quite charming, but one with no air conditioning, and nearly a dozen windows that stretched from the pantry through the kitchen and in to the living room. Many of these glass monsters were more than happy to bring the afternoon sun blazing in on us. Curtains were helpful up to a point, but long after it had “cooled” down outside, it still felt like a blast furnace on the second floor. Oh, and she was pregnant on top of all that (whereas I was not, so I had that going in my favor.)
So on more than a few of those evenings, we opted to see a film. She graciously agreed to see both Angels & Demons and Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian despite having not seen The Da Vinci Code nor Night at the Museum. In the true spirit of would-be blockbusters conceived for the global market, however, it isn’t entirely necessary to have seen the first film to be able to understand (or even enjoy) the sequel. This is especially true for these two films in that the cast and crew remained remarkably consistent from the first film to the second, and the plots of the newer films are Xerox-copies of the storylines and plot beats of the earlier features. However, I found I responded a lot more positively to Angels & Demons and Smithsonian.
At the time, I allowed for the fact that the positive vibe might simply have been the pleasant effects of the cool air freezing my brain instead of the heat melting it out my ears. But in looking again at both sets of films, I find that my initial reaction holds true. What accounts for this critical uptick, particularly when both films could have cruised on autopilot and laughed once again to the bank? ? Slight - but crucial - shifts in tone, particularly in Angels & Demons; a key co-star playing his or her role with just a hint of a wink (Ewan McGregor and Amy Adams, take a bow); and a gratifying lack of self-importance. Big budgets don’t always have to feel like BIG BUDGETS! And now, a few brief words on the respective chapter ones.
In May 2006, The Da Vinci Code rode the coattails of its prior success as a novel and controversy over its “bloodline of Christ” plot (leading to condemnation from The Vatican) to an opening weekend of $77 million and final grosses of $217 million domestically and $540 million from the rest of the world. With a director/star combo (Ron Howard/Tom Hanks) as big as they come, The Da Vinci Code should have been splashy and fun entertainment. Instead, it strikes me as glum and remarkably static, quite a feat given that it takes place over 24 hours and involves racing from one European country to the next. The story relies on all manner of contrivances to propel its lead characters from one breathless, would-be cliffhanger to the next. This is fine if one only considers the contrivances in retrospect, less so if their implausibility is called out while watching the film.
Hanks is given remarkably little to do other than connect the dots of the conspiracy and react to the increasingly preposterous developments. I don’t consider the story offensive enough to be blasphemous. Indeed, with the revelation that the character played by Audrey Tautou is indeed the last living descendent of Jesus Christ, and has been marked for assassination by an orphaned albino hit man illicitly sanctioned by the church, my first thought was “Wow. Amelie is filled with the Christ love. Literally.” At its heart, The Da Vinci Code ultimately suffers from a seeming desire to remain implacably faithful to the source material and choosing to play down - Ian McKellan’s campy supporting turn aside - the ludicrousness of its events. At the time, a lot of critical tongues wagged about the state of Hanks’ hair, which generally strikes me as a petty road to tread. In this case, however, the dour sprawl of the two and a halfhour film (nearly three hours in the Blu-Ray extended cut that I have not seen) is given an apt metaphor in Robert Langdon’s sad and shaggy locks.
December of that same year saw the release of Night at the Museum. Also based on a popular (children’s) novel, it launched with a decent $30 million in the weekend before Christmas and then played like gangbusters thanks to the magic of what we at BOP term the “12 Days of Christmas” effect, earning $163 million by the end of that stretch and then tacking nearly another $100 million before it was out of theaters six months later. It undoubtedly made a lot more than it would have if released in, say, the summer (more on that shortly) but positive word-of-mouth added a lot to the coffers as well. Museum takes a great premise for the kids - what if a museum’s exhibits came to life at night? - and throws adults a dinosaur bone in the form of another of Ben Stiller’s patented turns as a well-meaning but awkward shlub (failed inventor turned security guard Larry Daley) at the center of the F/X storm. Museum is a pleasant diversion but it also feels like it’s chomping at the bits to be just a little more unrestrained and nutty. Given that Owen Wilson, Robin Williams, Steve Coogan, Paul Rudd, and Ricky Gervais are in the cast, restraint should not necessarily be the operative word.
I wouldn’t have thought that Angels & Demons would find a way to succeed where The Da Vinci Code faltered, especially since it shares the same lead actor, director, screenwriter, cinematographer, composer, and editors (to name but a few) and is based on the first novel in the series of Langdon adventures by author Dan Brown. Heck, there is even another freelance hit man who once again handles the dirty work for his squeamish superiors before being spectacularly offed. Instead of treating this as a prequel or even really a continuation of the first film (outside of a few offhand references to an earlier “adventure”), Hanks, Howard, et al plunge full steam ahead just as they did in the first film, making this at heart a sequel to what was a sequel to begin with. (Based on the evidence in the films, I could tell you almost no cold hard facts about Langdon, but a lot about his character.)
Langdon is once again summoned for help on a symbol-laden case that ultimately amounts to a whirlwind tour of Rome’s finest architectural creations crossed with Extremely Violent Deaths of Those in the Running to be the Next Pope. Most of Angels & Demons takes place over a four-hour period. With an incrementally tighter time frame than the first film, even the lulls in action don’t feel listless. What does emerge subtly in between the uncovering of clues and epic gunplay in church pews is a portrait of a spiritual skeptic who finds himself on the verge of a slightly different answer to the question “Do you believe in God?” than he has ever allowed himself to consider. The familiar Hanks persona - intelligent, self-lacerating, and slightly glib - is allowed more breathing room here than the first time around and it makes Langdon more engaging. It also helps that he seems more physically engaged in the action and the denouement.
But still, Langdon once again takes a back seat for the penultimate climax, five minutes of soaring insanity, so expertly delivered, that I half -hoped the film might just end there (alas, there are 20 more minutes.) Without belaboring a buildup, this scene involves a recently branded - as in hot metal on flesh - man of the cloth, played by Ewan McGregor, piloting a helicopter up into the heavens with a mass of unstable anti-matter in a container by his side. The payoff to this suicidal act of hubris is a stunning panorama of the apocalypse-as-rebirth and the unforgettable image of McGregor parachuting back down to Earth, as if banished from entering the pearly gates forever. McGregor magnificently underplays his role throughout - is he a villain, a devout religious figure, or a forward thinker too progressive for his own good? - yet he can’t entirely hide the twinkle in his eye in the process.
With the controversy that helped propel The Da Vinci Code absent this time around (The Vatican even weighed in favorably on the film’s entertainment value though they did not allow production to take place in Vatican City) Angels & Demons opened with two-thirds of the first film’s take ($45 million) and wound up at about the same ratio for its $133 million final domestic total. International receipts were down equivalently as well.
Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian is a regrettably lackluster and clunky moniker for a sequel that outshines its predecessor for the first two-thirds of its running time. In theory, it should be a poster child for perfunctory and needless sequels. To prove this point, it is the final 30 minutes - when it finally comes time to conventionally wrap up the plot via a frantic pitched battle between the good guys and the bad guys - that the film tips its hand and reveals the limitations of its formula by settling for the Bigger and Louder is Better theory of action climaxes. Until then, Smithsonian seems invigorated with its new setting, more willing to allow its comedic cast to go off on ridiculous (though PG-appropriate) tangents and a lot more relaxed than a $150 million dollar feature has any right to be.
After being granted permission as the first feature film to tie into the Smithsonian extensively and with their blessing, director Shawn Levy and writers Thomas Lennon & Ben Garant allowed their imaginations carte blanche to consider what if all the items therein - including paintings, merchandising, and pop culture icons - became animate? Levy smartly keeps a lot of the mayhem in the background early on or tosses off some characters and moments that wouldn’t have worked if shoehorned in more prominently (a good example is the brief cameo by a Degas ballerina.) Gervais, Wilson, Williams, and Coogan all return and have more amusing “bits of business” in their roles even though total on-screen time is reduced. Stiller’s tussle with fellow security guard Jonah Hill would be cringe-inducing and grind the film to a halt if not for the deft comic timing on both their parts.
Still, in this man’s, man’s, man’s, man’s world, it is Amy Adams who accounts for a fair portion of the film’s joie de vivre with her slang-spewing, breathless, (and no doubt revisionist) take on aviator Amelia Earhart, who sees a chance for some adventure and intrigue with Larry and comes along for the ride. Adams has the market cornered on wide-eyed innocence, but always finds subtle variations within to keep from too easily being pegged as a one-note actress. Her Amelia is equal parts bravado and brains and Adams finds a way to push this self-assurance towards larger-than-life comic territory without slipping into caricature. Plus, I could listen to her say “moxie” and “jimmy-jacked” for hours on end.
Without the two weeks of December and January holidays to help pump up its grosses, Smithsonian didn’t have much of a shot of matching the $250 million-plus number put up by the first film. It did parlay its Memorial Day weekend four-day total of $70 million into an okay final total of $177 million. My guess is the proposed part three will get bumped back to the Christmas season.
It is now five hours into the official start of fall as I wind up this week’s column. This week’s Chapter Twos were originally viewed back to back on July 28, 2009 at the Avalon Theater inside the Wunderland Arcade in SE Portland. This is Brett Beach signing off and saying, “It’s good to be back.”
Next column: Peter Falk plays himself playing an angel (for the second time), Willem Dafoe plays Emit Flesti. Lou Reed and Mikhail Gorbachev appear as themselves. Just your typical Hollywood sequel, in other words.