Up in the Air

Here's an idea! How about we have an emotionally isolated male protagonist. And then we give him a slightly emotional female sidekick who helps him come out of that isolation! And then, we pair him up with a woman who appears to be like him, and they form a relationship. And finally, between these two people, he changes. And then everybody feels good!

“Brilliant! Nobody's ever done that before!”

Abstracts:

• The idea of Ryan Bingham is really really interesting. However, he's only interesting in as much as he's following his own rules. The fundamental problem with the effectiveness of the movie is that it doesn't commit to being either a Character Study or a Drama—it lacks the intensity and focus of the former, and it lacks the structural emphasis and tightness of the latter. I myself would go with the latter. 

• Show more of Ryan doing his job. Ryan is someone who is emotionally uninteresting—it's why we don't really respond or care when he finds himself betrayed, as it's a betrayal to us as we've been led to believe he wouldn't allow something like this to happen to himself—and that's why the movie is largely emotionally uncompelling. He's only compelling when he's doing what he's good at—people always like seeing someone do something well. In this regard, he's similar to a villain (in that he does something seen as evil, but does it in such a slick and fascinating way that we implicitly forgive him). However, Ryan ultimately isn't that bright; what he has is a charm and charisma that he's born with, and not a totally intellectual strength: he only understands people (emotionally) to the extent that he needs to be better at his job. That's why he can manipulate J.K. Simmon's character, but doesn't apply it to his own life, i.e. living with that kind of empathy; he's shallow.

• But if the protagonist isn't the emotional center, who fills the role? Though it's slightly a cliché of emotional roles, the two women Ryan encounters would be it: The youthful, slightly pretentious idealist, and the opportunistic, femme-conqueror, who attempts a revision of her emotional life.

  • Anna Kendrick's character is said idealist. Her character would remain largely unchanged. However, unlike her escape to what might be “larger, better things” than killing employment for a living, something more ironic and in a sense devastating should happen to her: she doesn't get that better job. Because the mention of other would-be employer is like an emotional Chekovian gun than it is anything else, the decision on employment that resolves her arc could go either way. It would be brutal—especially to someone who is fundamentally soft, yet attempts to hide it behind the veneer of prepared, adult presence—but that's the point: Ryan is who he is so that what happens to her would never happen to him.

  • Vera Farmiga's character would undergo more significant revision: Instead of hiding a family and being the tantalizing but ultimately false foil for Ryan, she should be like a younger Ryan: she's far enough in with her/Ryan's system that she's living it, but not so far gone that all scales have fallen from her eyes. She's attracted to Ryan because she sees a more advanced (more solipsistic, in a way) version of herself in him. But she's not so divorced from her feelings that she can rationalize ignoring them, and she ultimately gives into Ryan, and attempts to make it something more, only to find out that he's a more consistent person that she isn't. It's almost a throwaway moment when Ryan finds out the truth about Farmiga's character in the original, but in the revision it would be deeper: We're so wonderfully charmed by how good Clooney is as Ryan Bingham, but we also genuinely feel for Vera Farmiga's character in that conversation where they both attempt to rectify who they are to each other. The stronger Irony would be to have her life rocked and shaken—when she finally finds herself and realizes why Ryan is why he is, and only then becomes another one of him.

• This movie is not a comedy. Lots of the so-called “comedy” gags aren't funny, mostly because of the cliché and smugness. Denby argues that Reitman is able to achieve a difficult thing in bringing a light touch to a darker subject. But the end result we have is nothing that tells us something new about the subject itself (the loss of a job—all we get are a series of interview, but no catharsis; no meaning, as we're not shown the deeper effects that it has on these people), and a “touch” that isn't that pleasant on sensation. The real humor in the movie is/would be in seeing Anna Kendrick's character truly learn about how the real world works (and how no Ivy Leage Valedictorianship can ever prepare someone for the deeper, harsher realities of it)—indeed that's where the movies best humor lies: “...apply themselves academically.” “... Go fuck yourself!”. Such a thing dovetails with another component to the humor of the picture and that is showing that Ryan's cynicism and detachment is appropriate: A smaller (but foreshadowing) moment of when her boyfriend leaves her: Ryan told her it would happen, and she didn't listen (i.e. the pre-breakup revelation conversation happens before the breakup really happens). Again, we're compelled by Ryan's consistency and wisdom, but we do feel bad for this woman even though she's made a sap.

• To make Ryan this stoic, this unrelenting might almost be unhuman. While the emphasis on the sentimental subplot of his sister's wedding would be diminished, Ryan would still be the person to talk the fiancee into going through with it. It would be the ultimate tribute to his understanding the nature of things and keeping them on an even keel. When he tells his older sister the nature of his pep-talks, he says it with assurance, instead of with sarcasm : “I teach people to avoid commitment.” And after he's able to convince the reluctant fiancee, the older sister asked him how: “I lied.” It's the moment we really find out that this man is that villain, but a truer, more consistent, and almost devilish personality: we almost don't like him because of what he does and who he is, but we're so enthralled with/by him and are too fascinated to be angry with him.

• The movie's ending would also require re-tooling. As mentioned it would have to be structurally tightened. But to what end? The strongest way for the movie to conclude (as I see it), would be for Ryan's boss to ultimately opt for the remote firing system. The Irony is several: despite Anna Kendrick's character realizing that she didn't fully understand what she was doing in proposing such a system; Ryan, sharp as he is, finds himself outmoded, and the fire-er would become the fired.
  

Specifics

• Vera Farmiga isn't able to match Clooney. She's a great presence when given the right character (The Depahtid), but I think she's ultimately miscast to stand with the strength of Clooney's character: she doesn't carry the weight of consequence like she does. Someone closer to Catherine Zeta-Jones would be a better match (as the kind of character I envision is closer to the type from the Coens' Intolerable Cruelty), but even still, she's a harder sell. I complain about the casting, but am hard pressed to think of another actress to take her place; it speaks of a more inherent problem with Hollywood: early middle-aged to late middle-aged women who aren't Meryl Streep. There are plenty of interesting women (both characters and presences), but Hollywood doesn't want them.

• More firings; more personal/in-flight social connections; more cynicism. All of them better serve Ryan to show him being his charming self, and the first and third because they also provide Anna Kendrick's character to prove or disprove her own naivete (and therefore create humor).

• Jason Bateman is a wonderful personality, but I think he's slightly miscast. I don't buy him as a the superior to Clooney, both because of age, but also because of his presence. Bateman is a little soft, a little nice, and a little passive. I envision the boss of Ryan Bingham a man who knows how to delegate and shape a sort of rawness about Bingham himself; his boss knows who Bingham really is (even if Bingham himself doesn't), and knows how to exploit this to its fullest extent to the firings. His boss would be the one to assign Natalie to learn the ropes, and would assign Bingham to show them to her.

• The cardboard couple is a cute idea, but a little saccharine. It borders on infuriating when it causes that most hated of waterside cliches to appear: when he falls in. CUT IT.

• Good Lord that extended dance/party sequence is annoying. It happens for no good reason, and has no serious consequence, and nothing within it is strong enough to justify including it. What the hell is it doing there?

• More plane-related photography. It's a shame most of the movie's best composition and construction is within the original teaser trailer (linked here), and the rest of the movie feels—to an extent—like visual fill. It only feels like fill inasmuch as it doesn't feel like it's unified by a full visual style, despite it being very pretty and intentional; they're smooth, colorful pieces of silk string, but none of them have been tied together.

Robin Hood

Abstracts:

• The film meanders too much about the gritty circumstances of Richard's Crusade (itself, a little too self-serious and bordering on the pretentious). It might be a good jumping point, but Robin needs to be out, free and in the lush green woods, and most notably be about him.
• Speaking of the pretentious, the idea that Robin Hood's genesis has this repressed, dovetailed individual rights, the Magna Carta, and self-inflated scale of the story is preposterous. I'm all for violation of historical accuracy, it's just that this sort of self-importance betrays the character: he's a charming thief, not a legendary Freedom-giver.
• Tony Lane said that “Robin is a character of the perpetual now,” and that's what Robin should be: the idea of an “origin story” for Robin Hood is preposterous. Perhaps he's doing his duty as a nobelman for the King, but the Robin we all know and love should be the Robin the audience first sees
• Where the hell is all the green? There are whole forests full of green—in fact, that's what we think of when we think of forests... and trees... and Robin Hood. Granted we don't want to get all The Adventures of Robin Hood on this movie (guys in spandex does not work), but really... Grimdark isn't the character. If anything, he should be quick of wit, and sarcastic and snide.
• Roger Ebert once said in his Quantum of Solace review that “James Bond is not an action hero!” and that very much applies to Robin Hood. In fact, James Bond and Robin Hood are variations of the same character: stealthy, suave men; fundamental method is infiltration/impersonation to allow assassination; both are fond of women.
• In keeping with Robin's not being an action hero, he shouldn't be stocky, beefy, and rough (i.e. he shouldn't be Russell Crowe). Robin should be thin, nimble, and slightly refined—not scruffy. He should have ninja-like powers of stealth, concealment, and acrobatics. Maybe not Doug Fairbanks or Errol Flynn, but they were on the right track with the facial hair. Jonas Armstrong could have good line delivery, but he was a little too emo to really work.
• This is probably just me, but I might have liked for the dialect to be a little closer to Middle English, and the significance of the name “Robin Hood” That, and if Scott and company are trying for the authentic feel, they should at least get the most prevalent non-visual thing.
• Though he's most known for leading a troop of Merry Men, I think that a Robin Hood who's res ipsa would be more interesting. He should be more of a nominal, reluctant leader of men, than he is their shining light of justice. Perhaps he should start out as this lone warrior, but then eventually show him as he comes to inherit this leadership. (That would at least be better than a straight origin story).
• Where the hell is the Sheriff of Nottingham? In a smaller-scaled (but possibly larger) Robin Hood, one needs this villain to give Robin the opportunity to be Robin. Instead of a weak King's lackey, he should be operating as though he himself had the King's impunity. Make him the wealthy man that Hood wants to rob (in addition to satisfying his ego).
• And speaking of the Sheriff of Nottingham, and note about casting: Matthew Macfadyen and Russell Crowe should have their roles reversed. Macfadyen is far closer to Robin Hood (though, Johnny Depp would have been slightly higher on my shortlist), and Russell Crowe would have been better as the Sheriff of Nottingham. Crowe could chew the scenery, be a brute, and beat things (i.e. things Russell Crowe usually does), without it betraying the movie.
• [EDIT]: A friend recommended Matthew Goode for Robin. He might work; I haven't seen him in anything (I have interest neither Watchmen nor Leap Year), but if his line delivery could be good--line delivery would be the most important requirement of presence for this new incarnation of Robin Hood.
  
• And about Marian: She'd be a noblewoman who starts off with a moral objection to the idea of this Robin Hood, but enough interest in the man and his skill, and enough skill to track him down. In a certain way, she'd be like Zhang Ziyi from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: a wealthy girl with ambitions elsewhere. This would also allow the nature of her relationship with Robin to be less concrete: they're obviously attracted to each other, but she's useful as well, and not necessarily as sexually interested as he is.
• Drop Godfrey. He's dull, and barely a character. He's just this kind of marauding force, but without a soul. Mark Strong would be better served as the second of Sheriff Nottingham or other variation of the man who does the fun-to-watch dirty work of the Sheriff.
• On the extended action/theft sequences: when Robin's doing his stealthy looting, it should feel like it came out of the Thief videogame series (which would have the added bonus of lending itself to a great videogame tie-in): it's not about beating people—or even rescuing people all that much—so much as it's about damage control: use any techniques to get the bounty, but not be caught. In short, make “all the lights [stop] working and the whole place seems a lot less wealthy.” However, there should be at least one good action quivery sequence because those are just fun.

Specifics:

• Make the King of France fat. His line “as it stands today, I could march into France with an army of cooks.” was great. Adapt that persona to the rest of the character (as he's of little serious structural importance anyway): he's fat, a somewhat funny man, and a little more casual about his invasion of England. In short, make him fun—practical.
• The hoodlums who raid Marian's grainhouse and their proto-Robin Hood nature should be exploited a little more. In a more mysterious, criminal (i.e. compelling) Robin Hood tale, in his youth he would have been one of them. Indeed, if he caught an arrow just out of the quiver lauched by one of his Merry Men, it'd be really cool.
• Cate Blanchett is too old. She's got the right kind of fire, but not the look: Marian should be a female Robin—where else would the companionship-cum-sexual tension come from?—and that requires her to be an equal in both looks and action. If Sally Hawkins could up her physicality, she might be it. Eva Green's got the hardness and edge against a strong male presence to be good (she might not have the line delivery). If she were younger, Olivia Williams would be a lock. But again it all depends: here, good couples chemistry might trump individual fits for each part. [Attached are some images of how their first meeting would play]
  
• Robin Hood would not carry a sword. He knows he needs to be agile, and he'd say “A sword is too heavy, but a knife is too perfect.” The use of they mythical sword known only as the “Plot Device” shouldn't be done.
• More Friar Tuck! Mark Addy is GOLD. And the more drinking he does, the better the movie.
• More green, more rustling through leaves, and more Little John. Robin's skillset attracts both admiration and lust—why can't I rob and do justice too? The chase, and how people find him is an integral part of how the Merry Men come together. That, and Kevin Durand is fun to watch.

Happy Gilmore

Twenty years ago, when asked what the best golf movie was, most moviegoers would have answered Caddyshack. But a while generation of kids unfamiliar with the names “Rodney Dangerfield” and “Bill Murray” would know answer that question with: Happy Gilmore.

To be up-front: I love this movie. But it's a bad movie. However, its initial idea isn't terrible. In addition to a fish-out-of-water, it's about a man who's persistently angry, both lashing out at and fueling his rage towards his physical outlets. However, the character ends up as merely the first incarnation of The Adam Sandler Character that he's been recycling in movies (many of which were also helmed by Dennis Dugan).

Happy Gilmore is as mentioned, an angry man. Gilmore is in a constant state of frustration because of his desire to play hockey, but his disproportional placements of effort/interest and talent. Eventually, he applies himself to golf for a contrived reason, and gradually finds success, with intermittent outbursts of his temper. It's these outbursts that were the biggest problem in Dugan's Happy Gilmore: this Happy Gilmore is—to quote Roger Ebert—a violent sociopath. What's worse is that the movie approves of his senseless violence and misconduct.

In the reincarnation, Happy would be no less angry or frustrated, but his actions would have more serious consequences. Instead of this lovable, uppity angry man, we'd get a cynical, jaded, and more inwardly-furious man; we both come to expect, and fear his outbursts. This Happy Gilmore isn't a glib retelling about a jerk who gets everything because he “believes in himself,” but rather it's about a man who hates what he has to do for a living.

Where the humor in the new Happy Gilmore would be much like they are in the original: the rubbing up between the real, disapproving world and with Gilmore's willfulness. This requires a re-emphasis on how he gets angry, and how he responds to it; when Happy first plays in a (semi-) professional golf context would show the limits to the man's anger on the golf course. It's what would really happen when you have this violent sociopath on a golf course whose predilection towards violence is informed by another sport (a concrete example might be O.J. Simpson). The movie would still be able to keep its great visual gags, such as the shots from the ball's point of view, or the discussion between Virginia and Doug Thompson in between Gilmore's censored cursing, without significantly tweaking the reasons behind them.

While it'd be a tougher part, Sandler could still work for the more inward Happy Gilmore. Punch Drunk Love illustrated that Sandler's private nature is a stronger screen presence than when's flamboyantly acting out, but the new Gilmore would be both. And much of this would be challenged by the two people of Julie Bowen's (more attractive, pre-nosejob) Virginia and Carl Weathers' Chubbs Peterson. Because of Bowen's strength as an actress, Virginia already has more dimension than the original screenplay really gave her, but a stronger character would be for her to be more career-focused and less interested in Happy for himself, but rather to be romantically playing him so she can use him for her own career advancement.

And instead of Carl Weathers as a sort of Magical Negro (aside: much as I dislike Spike Lee, this is a magnificent phrase he has here). Instead, Chubbs is a nice man with a great sense, but ultimately a has-been. A talented, smart has-been who's watched the only world he ever loved pass him by. Whether or not he should die is a different matter. His death has no real consequences (and happens for a contrived, unfunny reason), but in a sense it might make some thematic sense: He dies just before Happy becomes a success i.e. Chubbs can't even be close to the top of golf through proxy.... But then again, there's also something inherently uplifting in having someone finally get that which they've spent years searching for themselves—to do that specifically might require Chubbs to be more of a “traveling golfer” (without his becoming Baggar Vance, another Magical Negro), than a club pro.

Shooter McGavin would require recasting. McGavin is a spoiled, entitled golf snob who feels threatened by Gilmore because he covets his talent. However, in the original, nothing is done with the character despite the inherent irony that McGavin resents Gilmore for what he has, but never worked for, when McGavin himself has obviously never had to work for anything. McGavin has to have more of an implicit arrogance to himself—exude that entitlement from his presence. Someone like John Malkovich would be a better fit than the more boisterous, un-Connecticut-like presence of Christopher McDonald.

The other major, non-Gilmore source of funny in the movie is Ben Stiller's Orderly. While essentially a cartoon, he can still work, but to fit with the more realistic-sardonic tone of the film, he'd have to be more evil. Not evil evil, but funny evil. Without being too cliché, the character he'd most nearly resemble is Heath Ledger's Joker: wry almost to a fault, but too funny for the audience to be able to clearly see the prescient menace that he is to the elderly people. (Plus, keeping him unrealistic still allows for the great “Check out the name tag. You're in my world now, grandma.”)

The only character who would have to be totally dropped (requiring a major structural revision) would be the jerk (Joe Flaherty's “Jeering Fan”) who Shooter McGavin hires to bug Happy into incriminating himself. “You Dumbass!” doesn't fit with a more serious, comically dark Happy Gilmore, the reason primarily being: it's not funny. The character isn't funny. And at that, he wouldn't be tolerated in the golfing world anyway (wealthy people can always afford to remove those they don't like).

However, this character's excision has the deeper structural implications as he's more or less what's the force against which Happy is forced to overcome in the second and third acts. But while the actually scripted character doesn't work, the idea is natural and strong. Shooter would pay someone to sabotage Gilmore, but it shouldn't be someone to resorts to yelling, but making Happy act up in other ways: slipping some laxative in his drinks, and then sending him a note “time to go!” as an example. There are any number of progressively escalating things that this character could do to Gilmore that get him kicked off the tour, but it would have to culminate in something far more fiendish than hitting him with a car. Specifically, McGavin should use this individual to illustrate to Virginia that Happy's worth more to her and her career as a freak than as a golfer.

The Subway ad could be more than just a supplement to Grandma's house payment, but could be Virginia's realization that she can exploit Happy as a personal breadwinner. Circumstance in the movie would indicate that everybody would win: Happy gets enough money for Grandma, Virginia gets this new publicist's contract, McGavin gets rid of Gilmore, and everybody wins. In short: everything (including Happy) should be telling Happy that he's not a golfer. He has to realize that it's his odd God's gift of talent, and the sui generis energy and style that makes him a golfer (indeed, celebrity almost).

Welcome!

So nice you could join me!

In case you were wondering "what's the big idea?" well, I'm sorry to disappoint: I don't have one. Rather, like Kevin Smith, I'm fond of movies, and have a love-hate relationship with Hollywood. And speaking of whom, it's from a very funny movie called An Evening with Kevin Smith that I draw my title and my URL. I chose them because that's what the (smaller) idea of this blog is:

what I'd do differently if it was given to me, instead of the people who made it.

"What movies, then?" you may ask? Well, any I feel like writing about, I suppose. The idea for this blog was also taken in part from the wonderfully perceptive writing of Jack Monahan's Design Reboot. In addition to that, I also wanted to do something of this nature because of the nagging feeling from my (weak, weak) forays into movie criticism that it feels incomplete if watching a bad movie. Seeing the art in a good movie requires talent, but it always seems like seeing the weakness of a bad movie required only funny prose. My thought came be that I might ask myself "if I'm so good, what could I do to make this better?" (because, though it's given lots of flack, there are often some brilliant things in most movie failures).

However, I'm not writing about movie failures. Just about movies. Any movie I can think of.

I hope you enjoy your stay.

Oh, and my word, I almost forgot to introduce myself: My name is Matthias. Feel free to call me Matthias.