The Hobbit: How Three Films Might Threaten Our Film Culture (and Wallets)

In case the hype machine hasn't told you yet, The Hobbit is the stuff that happens before The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien intended The Hobbit to be a children's book, as opposed to The Lord of the Rings. I've read a chunk of The Hobbit, and it indeed has much better pacing than The Fellowship of the Ring.

Once upon a time, a shrewd man named Peter Jackson thought this children's book could only fit into two films. He has since announced that it can fit into three films. 

Jackson's announcement brings up a question: what the hell happened?

Specifically, what happened to one book getting one movie? What happened to getting our money's worth? What happened to writing, an activity that requires one to remove unnecessary words, sentences, and events?

I believe it all started with the two films made out of the last Harry Potter book. Not to be outdone, the second part of a two-film adaptation of Twilight's final book, Breaking Dawn, will be released later this year.

You know what Peter Jackson has to say about that?

"Hey, fuck you guys. The last Harry Potter and Twilight books were hundreds of pages shorter than Gone with the Wind, but you thought you could make more money by adapting them into two movies that, when combined, were longer than the Gone with the Wind movie? Fuck you guys. I can take a 300-page children's book and turn it into three films. I'm good at telling stories. Fuck you guys."

OK, OK. Peter Jackson would never say or think that. He seems like a pretty nice guy. He probably honestly believes The Hobbit needs three movies. This doesn't change the fact, however, that what he's doing is not good for our film culture, assuming we play along with the business plan.

We shouldn't pay more money to see one story. We shouldn't encourage Hollywood to make even longer franchises. We should spend our money on good movies. I was gonna write another sentence with some curse words, but I guess this'll do.

The Dark Knight Rises: When Hype and Tragedy Intersect

The events surrounding Christopher Nolan's final Batman movie are hard to swallow and disentangle. Last weekend my desire to see The Dark Knight Rises was lost. After I heard about the horrible murders in Colorado that Friday morning, I couldn't work, and the last thing on my mind was whether the movie was going to be good.

I was already disgusted with the hype surrounding The Dark Knight Rises. Batman fans attacked critics who gave the movie a negative review, even though these fans hadn't seen the movie. The attacks escalated to death threats. Then Christopher Nolan, a supposed artist, gave his savvy, all-business take on the extreme reactions: "I think the fans are very passionate about these characters the way a lot of people are very passionate. Batman's been around for over 70 years and there's a reason for that. He has a huge appeal, so I think you know people certainly respond to the character." Perhaps one could defend Nolan, as this writer did, but I wouldn't. Even if Nolan hadn't heard about the death threats, his comments are not those of an artist but of a peddler. Regardless of how much someone loves a character, that doesn't give the person who hasn't even seen the movie the right to attack a critic for a negative review. It's shitty, immoral discourse, and Nolan, as a supposed artist, should not excuse or encourage it. None of us should. 

Enter James Holmes, a maniac who killed 12 people and injured dozens more (estimates vary by news source) in a Colorado theater. This man claimed that he was inspired by the Joker from Nolan's second Batman film, The Dark Knight. When Holmes appeared in court, he was in a strange daze, not unlike Heath Ledger's Joker when the character is taken into a police station for questioning. Regardless of whether you would draw a causal relationship between the film and Holmes' violence (I can't), it seems the man was a fan of Nolan's movie.

Christopher Nolan issued a statement to express his sadness about the murders. Even though we all expected him to do this, I have no doubt he was sincere. At the same time, it saddens me it took this tragedy to get Nolan to speak out against deranged fandom. I certainly can't equate Holmes to the people who lashed out at the critics, even those who made death threats. But I am still disappointed in Nolan's delayed moral response to mania. 

It's time to change our film culture and challenge businessmen like Nolan to do better. There's nothing wrong with being excited about a character on the big screen, but if the movie isn't good, you don't have to like it. If someone else says the movie isn't good, you don't have to be outraged. I'm not pointing a finger at any specific reader, but a big chunk of our overall film culture is more about hype than quality. 

It's time to ask moral questions about films, as Americans did in the 1960s and 1970s. James Holmes' appreciation of the Joker was obviously not the correct moral response. The fact is that he's not the only person who loves Nolan's Joker in the wrong way (I say with shame that I was one of those people initially). True, most fans like this won't kill people. But why does this strange appreciation occur? Does it have anything to do with a film that doesn't let a superhero be, well, a hero? The Dark Knight is a bleak film with no clear moral point. Does the sequel to this kind of material deserve our hype and excitement? 

Our culture needs more moral clarity, not more bleakness. Satirical Facebook tributes and comments about the attractiveness of James Holmes are examples of our culture's lack of moral restraint. Even if all of these comments about Holmes being cute or being a hero are meant to be funny, they display a remarkable lack of understanding about what transpired in Colorado. People are dead, you fucking morons. Mourn them like any upstanding person should do. And as Facebook defends its users' freedom of speech, I must ask the Facebook Team a question: if the victims were your family members and friends, would the tributes to James Holmes be allowed? Hell no, they wouldn't.

What is up with the darkness surrounding Nolan's last two Batman films? Heath Ledger might have died even if he hadn't locked himself in a hotel room for weeks to become the Joker, and James Holmes might have killed people in a theater even if he hadn't seen The Dark Knight, and fans had threatened the lives of critics for negative reviews of movies before The Dark Knight Rises. So while it would be hard to argue that Nolan's films caused people to lose their fucking minds, it's possible these blockbusters aren't cheering us up the way the original Star Wars trilogy did.

Will any of Nolan's next films address these cultural issues? Will many of us expect any of his next films to do so? God I hope so. 

This article is dedicated to the memory of those who were killed in Aurora, to the families who suffered these losses, and to the people who were injured. Might the rest of us strive to make this world a better place.

The Newsroom: Preaching to a Choir

I watched the first episode of The Newsroom with my wife last night. The best part of the experience was when we laughed at Sam Waterson going off on the most annoying character of the show: "I'm a Marine, Don! I will beat the shit out of you, I don't care how many protein bars you eat!" I found myself clinging to the hope that Waterson would beat the shit out of somebody, maybe everybody, involved in the show.

The beginning of The Newsroom starts out well enough. Creator Aaron Sorkin does a good job of showing how political debate in the United States goes stupid. Actor Jeff Daniels is in the middle of this stupid debate. When probed by a student and moderator about what makes America the greatest country in the world, Daniels goes on a rant about how America isn't that great. He cites a lot of depressing statistics and fires at liberals and conservatives. His rant (as unenlightening as it is) then turns embarrassingly sentimental - the sappy dialogue and music brought to mind the "Lesson for the Day" denouements of sitcoms like Family Matters.

The self-importance and lack of intellect that creator Aaron Sorkin displays here is outstanding. It's easy to suggest America is or isn't the greatest country in the world. But here's the truth: any question about the greatest country in the world is idiotic. Who has lived in every country in the world? Who knows everything about every country in the world? These are questions that Sorkin should've raised, but instead I am reminded of Steve Urkel.

Sorkin fumbles again when the BP oil spill comes up. He uses incredible coincidences involving the college roommate and big sister of a character just to be smug about the disaster. I think any reasonable human being knows the oil spill was a travesty, but anyone who disagrees would either a) never watch The Newsroom anyway or b) scoff at Sorkin's smugness.

As a cultural statement, The Newsroom will inspire those who worship the United States to continue their blind faith and know-it-all people to masturbate to depressing statistics. Based on the pilot, it is an irresponsible and, worse, insipid show. We are better off catching another pair of knockers on Game of Thrones.

'Black Swan': Darren Aronofsky's Fake Masterpiece

“Watch the way she moves. Imprecise but … effortless. She’s not faking it.” This is how ballet director Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) describes one of his dancers in Darren Aronofsky’s 2010 film, "Black Swan." If only Leroy’s quote could apply to Aronofsky. With incredible precision, Aronofsky has convinced many critics and fans that "Black Swan" is a work of art. In reality, the film is a sorry and unoriginal horror exercise.   

One of the more absurd bits of praise for "Black Swan" is that it compares well to Roman Polanski’s "Repulsion" (for examples, see here and here).  While both "Black Swan" and "Repulsion" concern a woman with a crumbling mind, and while both films have cinematography that effectively conveys anxiety, Aronofsky cheapens psychology, as well as art, by having protagonist Nina Sayers kill herself in the pursuit of her dream as a lead ballerina in Tchaikovsky’s "Swan Lake." Polanski, a survivor of the Holocaust, doesn’t confuse nightmares with the pursuit of dreams.

On a more obvious level, Aronofsky isn’t subtle or tasteful like Polanski. He doesn’t trust his audience’s intelligence like Polanski, who used a seemingly innocent family picture to suggest sexual abuse in "Repulsion." But that by itself doesn't allow one to understand the artistic distance between the two directors. Because there is no subtlety in "Black Swan" (right down to its superficial connection to Tchaikovsky’s "Swan Lake"), we must look at something in the film that approaches Repulsion stylistically: the use of visual effects.

A comparison of visual effects reveals Aronofsky as a hack and Polanski as a genius. Aronofsky primarily uses visual effects to illustrate Nina Sayers’ transformation into an artist, even though her transformation is preposterous from a conceptual standpoint. People don't quickly become artists through masturbation, drinking, and lesbianism (though I support all three activities in their proper places). Her transformation is also silly from a visual standpoint. We see Sayers morph into a black swan gradually with effects that recall David Cronenberg’s "The Fly." However, the similarity with Cronenberg ends there. Aronofsky’s effects are only there as a road map for the audience – you know, in case we’re too dumb to “get it.” This condescending approach culminates when Sayers, on stage during her great final performance, becomes a glossy black swan. This effect has little power besides awkwardness. One gets none of the dread that Cronenberg elicits with the final stage of Jeff Goldblum’s transformation in "The Fly," and wonder isn't at play, either, given that the effect is obviously an effect. In this way, Aronofosky is no better than George Lucas or James Cameron. In contrast, Polanski primarily uses visual effects in "Repulsion" to illustrate the mental deterioration of his protagonist. His effects show us what his protagonist thinks she is seeing: cracks in the walls (multiplying over time) and hands reaching out of walls to fondle her. Polanski didn't have Aronofsky’s budget, but his simplicity is effective and doesn't assume anything about the audience.

To be fair, Aronofsky attempts to show us what Sayers thinks she is seeing in "Black Swan." But whereas Polanski is honest and clear about his protagonist’s hallucinations, Aronofsky reveals Sayers’ self-destruction in a clichéd plot twist. Neither you nor Sayers really knows what’s happening until she realizes she is killing herself rather than murdering someone for gain. This sudden awareness is a cheap twist that appeared in "Fight Club," "Secret Window," "High Tension," and "The Machinist," to name a few recent examples. Ironically, Aronofsky was more straightforward with "The Fountain," a film with three interlocking stories.

If the ending of "Black Swan" is uninspired due to a conventional plot twist, the overall content of "Black Swan" is monotonous due to Aronofsky’s previous film, "The Wrestler." The protagonists of both films are obsessive artists who end up dying for their art (some would say "The Wrestler’s" ending is ambiguous, but in reality it’s tasteful rather than vague). The difference between the two films lies in their levels of futility. At least Mickey Rourke’s Robin Ramzinski bonds with his fellow wrestlers and appears to have fun wrestling. Natalie Portman’s Nina Sayers doesn't even seem to enjoy ballet. She's been in the ballet company longer than anyone (according to her mother), yet she has virtually no friends or support. She is abused and hurt in almost every situation. Her most pleasurable moment, the lesbianism scene, is revealed to be a fantasy. It's almost as if Aronofsky takes the emotional heaviness of "The Wrestler" and attempts to satirize it in the style of Martin Scorsese’s "After Hours." Indeed, I found it hard not to laugh during some scenes because Sayers rarely catches a break.

Is exploitation what Aronofsky wanted? You get the sense he wanted to say something more profound, but Nina Sayers is no Jesus Christ or Santiago. Her sensationalized plight illustrates nothing meaningful about the human condition. Sayers has her heart set on the lead role in "Swan Lake," but unlike Tchaikovsky’s original ballet, Aronofsky’s version isn't ultimately concerned with eternal love; "Black Swan" is concerned with death by art. Is this the same director who warned us about drug addiction in "Requiem for a Dream" and explored the intellectual and emotional sides of mourning in "The Fountain"? With "Black Swan," Aronofsky demonstrates that he has, if anything, become a more immature filmmaker.  

All the same, "Black Swan" gives one the impression that Aronofsky thinks of himself as a master. His reactionary words to critic Armond White - who dared to write a negative review of "Black Swan"! - at the 2011 New York Film Critics Awards are more evidence of his sense of entitlement (see here). Despite his pride, Aronofsky wants our approval, but he couldn’t wait for the real thing. When the screen goes white in "Black Swan," you can still hear the applause of Sayers’ audience as the words “Directed by Darren Aronofsky” appear.

Yep, he’s faking it.

'Paranormal Activity': The Anti-Cinema of Mockumentary Horror

"The Blair Witch Project" wasn't the first mockumentary horror film, but it started a revolution. Numerous documentary style and found footage horror movies have been made since the 1999 blockbuster, including hits like "Paranormal Activity" and "Cloverfield." The goal of these films is to heighten the horror by making events seem more real.

Last week my girlfriend Lacey and I had different reactions to "Paranormal Activity," which has spawned two follow-ups since its 2007 release ("Paranormal Activity 3" recently broke box office records). She was engaged during the film and very frightened afterward, but I thought I had just watched a silly television show. It was my first mockumentary horror film experience (I had only watched scenes from "The Blair Witch Project").

Our reactions stemmed from different beliefs and experiences. Lacey believes in the supernatural due to unexplained experiences she had more than a decade ago, so she is the ideal audience for director/writer Oren Peli. This is even clearer when you consider that she can handle non-mockumentary ghost movies like "Poltergeist" and "Insidious." For her, the faux documentary brings her closer to the real terror she felt many years ago.

Unfortunately, I am not the ideal audience for Peli. I don't believe in the supernatural because I've never seen anything out of the ordinary (though for one year I lived in a house that was said to be haunted). But that by itself doesn't explain why I wasn't captivated by Peli's approach. For example, even though I wasn't scared during "Poltergeist" or its half-assed imitator "Insidious," they interested me. On the other hand, "Paranormal Activity" didn't have my attention until its deadly ending. The reason is simple: I believe in cinema, and "Paranormal Activity" is not cinema.

******

One year after the mockumentary horror film exploded onto the scene with "The Blair Witch Project," reality television made its stamp on American television with "Survivor" and "Big Brother." This one-two illustrates a significant cultural phenomenon. Since 1999, more and more people have wanted films and television to be more real. For them, it makes viewing more entertaining and exciting.

Although "mockumentary" is most often used to describe comedies that satirize culture - films like "This Is Spinal Tap" and "Bruno" - I find the term even more suitable for this new wave of horror movies and reality television. These things mock reality in the most technical sense. During the first season of the hit television series "Survivor," I remember people getting off on the real interactions between the contestants. Hell, I remember getting off on the second season in Australia myself, mainly because it had this real crazy guy who killed a pig and smeared its blood on his face. But this man probably wouldn't have killed a pig and made such a spectacle if not for the show. Of course, we must consider the possibility that the whole thing was staged. But fuck it, right? It was the presentation and inclusion of no-name people that made "Survivor" more real for viewers. (I say "more real" instead of "more realistic" because the former is associated with the belief or perception that something is actually happening. "Realism," on the other hand, refers to art that depicts subjects as empirical reflections of reality.)

This is not to say everyone who watches reality television takes it seriously as drama. From my own observations, many people are more likely to laugh at reality television's subjects. It's cheap entertainment. But the phenomenon started from the idea that, yes, we are watching something that is more real than a sitcom or drama. And for what it's worth, reality television is more real than any silly-ass sitcom.

But the mockumentary horror film is taken as seriously (if not more so) as it was when "The Blair Witch Project" made millions. Some people who scoff at "The Blair Witch Project" are affected by the "Paranormal Activity" films. I think the main reason for this is that "Paranormal Activity" allows one to see everything more clearly; "The Blair Witch Project" is notorious for its shaky camera. In this way, "The Blair Witch Project" is pure anti-cinema.

There's that word again. What does cinema mean? For me, it means the work of many wonderful filmmakers and the standards they set. D.W. Griffith, John Ford, Akira Kurosawa, Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, Federico Fellini, Francios Truffaut, Steven Spielberg, and Werner Herzog (who knows a thing or two about blurring the line between feature film and documentary), to name a few. Cinema represents the idea that film can do anything and make us feel a wide range of emotions by appealing to our most immediate sense: sight. The term also sets what we know as film apart from any other medium (please note the following is an incomplete list): literature, music, painting, and, oh yeah, television.

Critic Pauline Kael once remarked about the detrimental influence of television on film in her essential piece of film criticism, "Trash, Art, and the Movies": "Television is a very noisy medium and viewers listen, while getting used to a poor quality of visual reproduction, to the absence of visual detail, to visual obviousness and overemphasis on simple compositions, and to atrociously simplified and distorted color systems. The shifting camera styles, the movement, and the fast cutting of a film like 'Finian’s Rainbow'—one of the better big productions—are like the 'visuals' of TV commercials, a disguise for static material, expressive of nothing so much as the need to keep you from getting bored and leaving. Men are now beginning their careers as directors by working on commercials—which, if one cares to speculate on it, may be almost a one-sentence résumé of the future of American motion pictures."

Kael's comments can be applied to "The Blair Witch Project." Indeed, the story and thematic content of the film are so bare that the producers needed a shaky camera to keep people's attention. "[A]bsence of visual detail" and "static material" is "The Blair Witch Project" in a nutshell. We could even speculate that the main reason people distiguish it from television is that it was marketed and released as a theatrical movie.

So where does that leave "Paranormal Activity"? Well, I have to give it credit to an extent. It did set a higher standard for mockumentary horror films. For one thing, it's not "very noisy" or lacking "visual detail" in a sense. The noises in "Paranormal Activity" are doled out slowly, and as mentioned before, the film doesn't suffer from a shaky camera. I can see why the film spellbinds people. Its camera, unlike the cameras in normal feature films, is an object in the purest sense. In many scenes, the camera doesn't show you anything but what's happening in a bedroom while a couple sleeps (or tries to sleep), and we know it's not going to move unless something we're seeing tampers with it. The film gives the illusion that we're forced to watch malevolent forces unfold in real time. Whereas in a traditional horror movie, the camera is magic, separate from the scene - we trust the director to show us what we need to see.

However, I wasn't spellbound by the mockumentary approach. "Paranormal Activity" has an unoriginal, paper-thin story with characters who don't say or do anything interesting. The film didn't seem to comment on anything culturally relevant (though Slate critic Dana Stevens theorized it was a metaphor for the credit crisis - interesting, but I disagree). The editing has no rhythm; the film is shot from an exceptionally normal perspective for the illusion of realness, with choppiness to boot. But the biggest problem was how the film killed suspense. During the bedroom scenes, you can see the camera's clock in the low right-hand corner. The "scene" fast-forwards as the clock numbers roll. The scene resumes when the clock stops rolling, letting you know when to expect ghostly activity. The technique is a converse of the instant replay, which drove the film's relationship to television even further home for me.

******

Last night Lacey and I watched "Paranormal Activity 2." Admittedly, it held my attention more than the first because it had more action, characters, and camera perspectives (the father sets up security cameras in the house), but I was struck by the fact that it had a different director. Peli is replaced by Tod Williams, but you can't tell a difference in directorial style. This uniformness reminded me of how television shows change directors while retaining the same stylistic elements. Mockumentary horror films appeal to individual beliefs and experiences while rejecting the individuality of cinema as a personal artform.

I could discuss the numerous cinematic limitations of "Paranormal Activity" and its kind for hours, but the reality is that the horror film and audience expectations have changed. I just hold to the hope that if this new wave of horror movies continues to take over, we, as a filmmaking and filmgoing culture, will not forget the past - that we will learn about it and from it.

'Ironclad' starts strong but becomes tedious, hypocritical

In a way, it's impressive “Ironclad” (2011) is mediocre instead of plain shitty. The film had an almost completely different cast before financing got tricky, and there are 18 executive producers in its credits. So when the squire Guy says "We held" after a tough victory, you can imagine the creative team saying the same thing.

The story of “Ironclad's” production is inspiring, but director/writer Jonathan English only makes a halfway decent historical action film. The plot concerns a Templar knight, Thomas Marshal (James Purefoy), who helps lead an effort to stop King John (an entertaining Paul Giamatti) from killing the barons who forced him to sign the Magna Carta. Marshal and Baron William de Albany (the great Brian Cox) form a group similar to that of Akira Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai" and fortify Rochester Castle, King John's main target. Meanwhile, Lady Isabel (Kate Mara) is unsatisfied with her husband, the constable of Rochester. The last part sticks out because it's a pointless subplot that destroys the morality of the film.

English directs a good film for an hour or so. He emphasizes action, but the bits of dialogue are often meaningful. The best parts involve Marshal and the squire Guy. During one exchange, Marshal tells Guy it is not noble to kill. Guy asks, "Not even when it's done for freedom?" Marshal replies, "Not even when it is done for God." This line shows honor that wasn't present in Mel Gibson's “Braveheart.” Later, when Guy broods after his first kill, Marshal consoles him: "Faith, Guy. Only the weak believe that what they do in battle is who they are as men." This line counters the cynicism in Clint Eastwood's “Unforgiven,” in which William Munny doesn't share anything as insightful with the Schofield Kid.

The action in “Ironclad” is interesting at first. Although the setting and parts of the battles recall Peter Jackson’s “The Two Towers,” English’s visual style is more intense and visceral. The weapons in “Ironclad” don’t neatly slice and chop flesh and bone. One of the seven heroes, Jedediah Coteral, even uses a severed arm as a weapon. You almost find yourself believing so few men can defend Rochester Castle. That is, until the portcullis is raised under the heroes' noses and everything goes to shit. Then you have a select few survivors doing the improbable. The main problem is not believability, however. The last action scenes simply do not raise your pulse like those in Takashi Miike's “13 Assassins,” John Woo's “The Killer,” or Sam Peckinpah's “The Wild Bunch.” The outcome is predictable, but the greater flaw is that “Ironclad” offers nothing noteworthy after King John sets a bunch of pigs on fire to take out the castle's keep. Shouldn't our heroes do something as electrifying?

English compromises the morality he sets up in “Ironclad.” Marshal makes a good hero of few words, but his honor is lost when he gives into the advances of Lady Isabel (a name very close to Jezebel, the infamous woman in The Bible). Marshal resists Isabel several times because he has taken a sacred vow not to have sex. Isabel eventually convinces him he should not deny his desires. Nevermind that she's married. Nevermind that the heroes of the movie are fighting because King John failed to live up to his word. The sad thing is Purefoy and Mara have chemistry and lose it after their characters have sex (the funny thing is not even an adolescent would defend the sex – no tits!). English wastes an opportunity to illustrate the honor of Marshal and instead suggests vows aren't important, that one should do whatever one wants, just like King John, Marshal, and Isabel. Not to mention Isabel has no characterization other than her tingling vagina. But at least it’s understandable when Marshal fucks Isabel. In an earlier scene, he leaves the castle to get food … without telling anyone. Marshal says all the right things to Guy, but his decisions outside of battle are questionable. “Ironclad” pretends this moral discrepancy doesn’t exist.

English should be commended for seeing his film through production hell, but if he wants to be successful in crafting action art, he must come up with something more heroic than the second half of “Ironclad.” Even though the good guys win, their victory is hollow.

Genre and Politics in '13 Assassins'

It’s rather cool that “13 Assassins” is reminiscent of both “Seven Samurai” and “The Wild Bunch,” further reinforcing the connection between the samurai and western. Moral codes. Honor. Sentimentality. There’s a scene in “13 Assassins” of samurai being forced away by the sight of guns – a historical point with much to say about our postmodern culture that was created by numerous technological advances. Out with the old, in with the new. Not only does the scene invoke Kurosawa and Peckinpah, but it trumps the argument that the action film can’t be for thinkers.

But what makes “13 Assassins” electrifying is the stamp of Takashi Miike, an incredibly prolific director (about 40 movies since 2000!) who ignores the line between the highbrow and lowbrow. For the most part, “13 Assassins” is impressive from a technical standpoint, but Miike throws in CGI bulls on fire, an effect that really looks like shit. If I had seen such a thing in any other historical epic, you would likely be reading a mini-rant now. But in this case I remember that Miike has directed many direct-to-video productions. His lack of taste, if anything, has made the world of film more interesting and funny.

I don’t want to mislead you, though. “13 Assassins” is one of Miike’s most accessible films. The humor is sharp rather than demented. While the film is very violent, the level of violence is comparable to movies like “Saving Private Ryan.” As in “Seven Samurai,” the good guys are introduced one by one; this formula, for whatever reason, is always fun.

As agreeable as the film is to general audiences, I couldn’t help but notice subversive elements. With films like “Ichi the Killer” and “Izo,” Miike is as satirical as he is fond of genre. In “13 Assassins,” the samurai poses are very obvious (and thus awesome), but the coolness is countered by some of the deaths that follow. I found myself relishing the genre glory but losing the high moments later. Early on, images of an amputated victim approach the territory of “Audition,” Miike’s horror masterpiece.

In interviews Miike has deflected the idea that his work has social commentary. Nonetheless, “13 Assassins” touches on a few political morals. For example, the major question is whether a samurai should stay loyal to his master if the latter is corrupt and murderous. Obviously, the 13 assassins say no, and we root for them. But what are we doing in our actual lives? Are we blindly following an inhumane Military Industrial Complex and/or leader, or is our political reality not so bleak?

In “13 Assassins,” a bandit/hunter named Kiga is found in a cage and freed. Although he is of samurai lineage, he rejects samurai tradition (i.e., he fights with sticks and stones and doesn't appear to be someone willing to commit ritual suicide). He joins the cause as the thirteenth assassin but is flippant about the carnage that ensues. In a way, Kiga represents postmodern culture. Rather by direct or indirect participation, we make up a political entity that fights other political entities, but many of us are often disconnected from the traditions and sacrifices involved (even as voters). But like Kiga, we find meaning in our personal lives. But would we appreciate life more from a different perspective? Lord Naritsugu, the antagonist of the film, provides an answer with his rumination on war: “With death comes gratitude for life.” The veterans I know might agree.