Trailer Review: Bioshock Infinite

Normally I use this space to mock movie trailers and the movies they're trailering. But not today! This time I'm going to praise a game trailer. Two game trailers, actually.

Trailer the first:



Trailer the second:



I remember seeing a trailer for Bioshock Infinite about a year ago. It was your standard game trailer, showcasing the game's art and design. I thought it looked amazing. And then, just this morning I had the good fortune to catch two more recent ads. The trailers perfectly capture the look and feel of a (pseudo)history documentary series from the late '70s or early '80s.

The first in the series was particularly resonant for me because I finished reading Devil in the White City a couple of days ago, a book that details the building of the World's Fair. Having read the book, I could easily contextualize the trailer's content, which made the whole thing seem that much more real. I understand that most viewers won't have this same experience, but that doesn't lessen the trailer's genius or its impact. The historical context of the World's Fair, the blending of game art with historical photographs, blur the lines between fact and fiction. The mockumentary format helps to further the mystery of Columbia, inviting viewers to join narrator Alistair Bloom on a journey of discovery.

The second trailer, I think, surpasses the first, which is saying a lot. Here the mystery deepens as we learn a bit more about Columbian culture and history. Legend speaks of a great bird, but we know precious little about it is and what it does. Again, the mockumenary format draws us in, this time with more recent discoveries relating to Columbia's society and fate.

Trading on nostalgia, the way these trailers do is a tricky move. The style will appeal to older gamers but it runs the risk of alienating younger players unfamiliar with this kind of filmmaking. The skill involved in the trailers' production, however, may overcome the generation gap. The storytelling in the trailers is first-rate, suggesting the game itself will weave an epic tale of mystery and intrigue.

If only movie trailers were as good at telling stories and selling their films.

The Wizard

Remember that movie with Fred Savage's first on-screen kiss? Probably not. What about a Nintendo ad shaped like a film that coincided with the release of Super Mario 3? Not merely just the “best movie about the Nintendo game system,” The Wizard is a coming-of-age film set in the early days of gaming. It's a family adventure about love and friendship, overcoming adversity, and kicking ass at Double Dragon.


Fred Savage plays Corey Woods, older brother to Jimmy. Jimmy's apparent autism is actually the outward manifestation of severe emotional and psychological trauma. Jimmy's twin sister drowned while he watched helpless from shore, and he hasn't spoken a word since except to wistfully call out to California.

The film opens on Jimmy as he walks steadily westward, the vast expanse of the American Midwest laid out before him. “California,” he says by way of explanation to the Sheriff who rolls up, asking what he's doing. We soon learn this is Jimmy's MO, a behaviour which puts great stress on his family and which has finally landed him in an institution.

The Woods family isn't any better off without Jimmy. The parents are divorced, bitter acrimony filling the space between them. Eldest son, Nick, has little respect for either parent and retreats into video games a way to escape his unhappy life. He drinks, too. Mom is remarried, Dad is trying to hold it together. In the midst of all this family strife, Corey takes off. He busts out his little brother and the two embark on a wild adventure that will take them all the way to California. Corey believes that, for whatever reason, California will cure Jimmy.

It wont. But California does have other things to offer, a healing of a different kind. As with other road movies, The Wizard is more about the journey than the destination.

To read the rest of this review, please visit Screen Shaped Eyes.

Frankenweenie

The chatter around the theatre after the film's world premier at Fantastic Fest was that Tim Burton should to stick to animation; it's where he started and where he should return. The statement accurately reflects Burton's recent lackluster box office performance, but completely disregards his earlier successes. Ironically, Frankenweenie itself calls attention to Burton's earlier work, reveling in genre nostalgia.

Victor and his dog Sparky are best friends, but an unfortunate accident leaves Victor in mourning. After a particularly electrifying science lesson, Victor gets the idea to resurrect his dog, and the experiment is a huge success. Victor is less successful in keeping a lid on his newly undead pet. Soon enough Victor's classmates are all racing to bring their departed animal friends back to life in time for the science fair.

In classic Burton style, things go wildly out of control as everyone gets caught up in the excitement of pseudoscientific experimentation, and the film balances precariously on the edge of sanity. But the story manages to reign itself in just in time for a thrilling, emotional end.

To read the rest of this review, please visit Paracinema.

Madness

Or, This is why you can't have nice things.

In 2009 Kim Newman asked the question, Will horror eat itself? He was looking back on a near decade full of remakes, remarking upon a genre that has somehow stagnated despite a dramatically changed geopolitical and social landscape. Allegorical, metaphorical, and sometimes just plain in-your-face, the horror genre has tackled all kinds of social and political topics with varying degrees of success (I'm looking at you, If a Tree Falls). Newman's concern was that contemporary horror has failed to embrace this legacy of commentary while at the same time reveling in its history. Recent Hollywood horror has consistently consisted of remakes and the original films that make it into theatres aren't scary or interesting.

Part of the reason why horror is no longer horrifying has to do with the genre's re-imagining of its monsters and villains. Gone are the bloodthirsty vampires of yesterday, replaced with tormented souls whining about their immortality. Unspeakable evil now is now an emotional being with personal baggage. Instead of fantasy there is psychology, and physics instead of magic. Monsters used to represent our fears, either about the world or about ourselves. The de-monsterization of American horror suggests to me that we are either incapable of identifying what threatens us, or we simply don't want to face our fears.

The humanizing of horror villains has lead to a growing number of actual human antagonists in horror movies. Neo grindhouse and exploitation cinema has resulted in fewer straight-up monsters and more bad guys. I could interpret this to mean that contemporary horror does in fact reflect current political fears; in a century defined by terrorism, both home-grown and foreign, we don't or can't know whom to trust. Kim Newman takes a harder line with his reading of 21st century horror: whereas old horror movies taught us to to fear the Other, the new horror teach us that "other people are shit".

I could name a dozen movies that reflect this statement, but I only need one: Madness. Madness is a Swedish film made to look like--to be--an American horror movie. Set in Minnesota, Madness follows the story of two cheerleaders on their way to a cheerleading competition in Minneapolis. Along the way they pick up two guys, and the four of them are run off the road by hillbillies in a pickup truck. Eventually, inevitably, most of the cast dies a violent death.

It's the same story told in any number of horror movies produced in the mid-70s and later: innocense lost and lives cut short. Both old and new horror movies feature similar visual styles with newer films tapping into grindhouse aesthetics to deliver a movie awash in sex and violence. But contemporary horror lacks an important element that helped early slashers retain some dignity. Namely, redemption. Pick any film from the last century and in it you'll likely find (you might have to dig deep) a redemptive tale of pain and suffering. Final Girls from previous decades found strength through suffering, and survived their ordeals. Today's horror movie survivors may be strong-willed and brave but their suffering is meaningless; villains survive and good guys die.

That's not really a metaphor for anything. In most cases it's just bad writing.

Madness takes its cues from the American slasher. Hillbillies, which are distinct to American horror cinema, target two cheerleaders, another iconic American representation. Along for the ride are to young men, who are largely interchangeable, and whose sole interest in the cheerleaders is sexual. These guys aren't hero types, which aggressively pushes an already-expected Final Girl agenda. To Madness' credit, both a boy and girl survive, but whatever subversive commentary might have been achieved is immediately discredited by the make-out scene that ends the film. But because a lot of horror movies are also love stories, so too is Madness.

Madness is a looking glass, a mirror that reflects back on us all that's wrong with contemporary horror. The premise is hackneyed, the plot contrived. It's a movie you've already seen. Modern horror has, so far, offered little in the way of genre development and Madness, probably without meaning to, exemplifies the stagnation that plagues horror cinema. It's a problem born of nostalgia: Madness is mimicking films that are part of a trend that glorifies earlier horror tropes and aesthetics--they're dirty, violent, and unapologetic. There's nothing wrong with a new movie that wants to be like an old movie, but those old movies had closure and these new movies do not. Anyone will tell you, you need closure in order to get on.

And this is why we can't have nice things. We're unable to put the past behind us. The current cycle of remakes has resulted in nostalgia-driven film production but without the important redemptive plot lines that resonated with audiences of yore. The lack of closure in modern horror, coupled with more and more human monsters has led a glut of horror movies that show us a world filled with assholes we can't outrun.