'The Avengers': Marvel's Prototypical Super-Franchise

Photo: Digital Trends

I'm sure that Marvel and Paramount are ecstatic (and relieved) that their $300 million-budgeted cash cow experiment was able to churn out a whopping and unprecedented $207 million at the box office in its very first weekend. Let's face it, this is the first movie of it's kind; a conglomeration of highly successful and marketable superhero franchises -- a super-franchise, really. It could've pulled in a mere $130 million (about the same as Iron Man 2) over the weekend and the studio heads would've been satisfied, I suspect, because given that the same audience that shows up in droves for the Iron Man movies -- Marvel's most marketable superhero franchise, thanks in large part to the recent emergence of R.D.J.'s unrivaled star power -- is presumably the same audience that shows up for Thor, Captain America, The Incredible Hulk, etc. (i.e., less profitable Marvel franchises), wouldn't it seem reasonable to assume that the fate of The Avengers would ride significantly on the brand equity of its charismatic and narrative centerpiece, Tony Stark?

As it was, The Avengers managed to surpass box-office juggernauts such as 2011's Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part Two (by about $37 million) and 2008's The Dark Knight (by nearly $50 million) to claim the top spot on the list of highest domestic weekend openings, ever. And it wasn't even close. It also just surpassed $700 million worldwide (as of 5/08), which puts it, oh, about $80 million above what Iron Man 2 was able to earn durings it entire theatrical run. It's unprecedented, and given the luxury of hindsight (I'm assuming at this point that the film will earn at least $450 million domestically... and that's pretty conservative) I'd say it's not only a fortuitous experiment, but also likely the way of the future, at least as far as Hollywood superhero franchising goes. (Mark my words: that Justice League movie will inevitably get made, despite any opposition from Christian Bale, Christopher Nolan, or whoever else.)

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2011 IN REVIEW: 'The Ides of March'

Photo: Very Aware

The Ides of March is purely a showcase in acting and storytelling. It doesn't shine any relevatory light on political corruption, nor does it try to speak to any greater truths about politics. We know where it's going, and we have a sense of how it's going to get there. But while the film may fall short of expectations as far as ambition goes, it never fails to captivate.

The script, co-written by George Clooney and Grant Heslov, is tight, gripping, and at times, pretty challenging; it's brought to life by a stellar ensemble cast (Clooney, Gosling, P.S. Hoffman, Giamatti, Tomei) and also Clooney's disciplined, aesthetically-sound directorial touch. But what's most impressive about Ides isn't any singular performance (they're all pretty great, though) or key scenes, or moments of catharsis; it's the manner in which the whole story unfolds -- the crescendo of corrupt political dealings that eventually desensitizes and dehumanizes a young, ethical, hard-working, un-tainted political advisor.

We, as the audience, are able to identify with the protagonist (Gosling) because our foreignness with the story-at-hand runs parallel with his own naivety. As the curtain slowly opens, revealing the transparency of all the key players, it truly becomes a test of moral fiber -- one that's experienced by both the protagonist and the viewing audience. The tone becomes overtly bitter and cynical as act three rolls around, because, as we learn, that's just the nature of the beast; you can't win if you don't play the game.

Again, this film doesn't really aim to enlighten. It's core audience is sophisticated enough to suspect -- or at least have been pre-disposed to -- many of the indictments presented here, but yet, is it entertaining? Check. Absorbing? Check. Hard-hitting? Check. At the end of the day, The Ides of March  doesn't really expose anything about ourselves or our country that hasn't already been presented; it'll have to settle for being a maturely crafted, wholly engaging, high-end, studio-churned political drama. It's intelligent and riveting enough to warrant serious thought, or at the very least, repeat viewings -- and for that, it's one of the better mainstream films of 2011.

The Films of Sidney Lumet: '12 Angry Men'

Photo: Maunet

Synopsis:
A dissenting juror in a murder trial slowly manages to convince the others that the case is not as obviously clear as it seemed in court.

1957's 12 Angry Men was Sidney Lumet's first foray into feature film directing, and what a way to begin. Heralded as an american classic, it's also a seminal film from the 1950s and maybe even Lumet's most universally praised and recognized work. It's also a film driven exclusively by the dialogue of twelve men in one small setting; aside from a few moments outside of the courthouse in the beginning and end of the film, the overwhelming majority takes place within a single jury room.

In 12 Angry Men, the path to justice is dissected, exposing all of its challenges and inhibitions. It also gradually showcases each jury member's personal prejudices, preconceptions and unwitting biases. Lumet's subtle camerawork slowly induces a sense of claustrophobia, creating a type of energy that comes from tension, body language and personality conflict. It's as talky as you would expect a film of it's nature to be, but it's superbly written, with great performances and equally great camerawork to keep the mood tense and the suspense potent.

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The Films Of Sidney Lumet: 'Prince Of The City'

Photo: Paul Davis On Crime

Synopsis:
A New York City narcotics detective reluctantly agrees to cooperate with a special commission investigating police corruption. However, he soon discovers that he's in over his head, and nobody can be trusted.

Released in 1981 and starring a young (and relatively unknown) Treat Williams, Prince of the City is one of Lumet's most overlooked and underrated gems and a film that's been cast in the shadow of Serpico, a less challenging but ultimately more iconic film from the era; both were directed by Lumet, and both contain striking similarities thematically, but Prince of the City offers a more stirring, profound portrait of crime and punishment.

Based on the real-life story of a New York City police officer and adapted from Robert Daley's 1978 book of the same name, Prince of the City is a quintessential crime drama that helped set the template for modernized television cop dramas (Homicide, Law & Order, etc.). Of course, with the perpetual banality that exists within that sub-genre, it's hardly a thing to boast; for this reason, the film hasn't aged incredibly well, but there's still plenty to enjoy.

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The Films of Brian De Palma: 'Sisters'

Photo: Montreal Film Journal

Synopsis:
The Staten Island apartment of lovely model Danielle becomes the scene of a grisly murder that is witnessed by her neighbor, Grace, a reporter. But the police don't believe her story, so it's up to Grace to solve the murder mystery on her own.

It's impossible to talk about Sisters without first acknowledging it's Hitchcockian roots. De Palma, of course, was probably the most significant purveyor (or imitator, depending on your viewpoint) of the style that Hitchcock mastered. At the very least, this is true of De Palma's early works, and particularly the likes of Sisters, Obsession (1976), Carrie (1976), Blow Out (1981) and Body Double (1984). In some of these, De Palma's obsession with the craft of Hitchcock often triggered perverse narrative environments, compulsively frantic characters, and also more overt dabblings in the sociopolitcal realm.

Released in 1973, Sisters was De Palma's first distinguished foray into Hitchcockian horror-thriller-mystery territory; it's essentially his postmodern prototype. He wastes no time in setting the tone, with longtime Hitchcock collaborator Bernard Hermann on board to compose the score that's featured extensively over the ominous title sequence. Hermann's score is unsettling and abrasive and altogether chilling, and it works as well here as it did for it's use in Hitchcock classics such as Vertigo and Psycho.

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In Retrospect: 'Sullivan's Travels'

Photo: Movie Goods

Synopsis:
A director of escapist films goes on the road as a hobo to learn about life... which gives him a rude awakening.

Of all of the films that have inwardly examined Hollywood and the filmmaking process, few have shown the exuberant wit of Preston Sturges' 1941 screwball dramedy Sullivan's Travels. Aside from obvious parallels to the satirical 18th century novel Gulliver's Travels, Sturges' satire provides subtext that's weighty and sends a confusing, if not misunderstood message about comedy, Hollywood, pretentiousness, class disparity, etc. What follows is an attempt to piece together some of Sturges' strongest convictions within a work that's masked with screwball fluff.

Sullivan's Travels begins with the protagonist, John Sullivan, telling his studio boss that he's tired of making shallow, lifeless goofball comedies that lack any substance or cultural value; what he longs to do is explore the plight of the lower class and the impoverished. He wants to hold a mirror up to real life and make a real statement about the sorrows of humanity. Much to the dismay of his studio boss and a few close companions, he makes a boldly ambitious decision to take the road in full hobo disguise and experience the pathos of vagrancy himself.

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