Diversion 2.0 Thirty Day Movie Challenge -- Day 6

Day 6 – A Movie from Your Childhood

As an (alleged) adult, my entire life has been shaped by decisions made in my youth. Big ones, little ones, all contributing to who I am today—if I had known how significantly, say, my preferred brand of breakfast cereal would impact my perspective on world economics (Cocoa Pebbles, you mean, mean b@%#$), I probably wouldn’t have left the house. Few events have shaped my current self than my preferred movies, and today we’ll be examining one of these classics from days of yore.

The Adventures of Milo and Otis (1989)

I decided to forgo a Disney movie, partly because I’m already doing a whole series about them, but mostly because Disney was a part of nearly everyone’s childhood, so I thought I’d branch out and do something a little more… exclusive. I’ve only run into a few people who have also seen The Adventures of Milo and Otis, and every time I do, I feel as if we’re part of some sort of secret society (“No way, I was a Free Masons member growing up too!”). If watching a movie about English-narrated animals makes you feel tantamount to joining the Stonecutters, that’s a good sign of a movie’s feeling of… exclusivity.

The Adventures of Milo and Otis is the story of a cat, a dog, and their eponymous adventures, as narrated by Dudley Moore. Milo, the cat, is a mischievous bottle of spunky energy, while Otis, the dog, is the responsible straight-man (-dog?) of the pair. Milo and Otis spend their days enjoying time on the farm where they live, when one day Milo is carried away by the nearby river, leaving Otis to try to find him. The two go on several adventures before eventually meeting again, only to split up when Milo finds a mate (Otis finds one too), before the two and their families finally reunite and head back to the farm.

Along the way, Milo and Otis meet a whole slew of other animals, like this pig.

I’m underselling the charm of the project. Made in a time well before the advent of CGI-enabled lip synching (hell, even before Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey), there’s a certain je ne sais quoi about The Adventures of Milo and Otis that I find absolutely captivating. For one, there is a sense of gentleness to the film I find immensely appealing—absent is the usual ass and crap humor found in many horrid movies masquerading as children’s entertainment, and there is nary an abrasive, obnoxious moment to be found. Instead, the entertainment comes from the characters, the narrative, and Moore’s wonderful, whimsical delivery throughout. So unforced is the movie’s attempt to provide entertainment, I am almost positive the movie would flop in 2011 if given a wide release, if it was even greenlit at all.

What I find more remarkable about The Adventures of Milo and Otis now than as a child is the sheer amount of work that must have gone into actually making the movie. Whatever training was given to these animals (and there are a ton of them), it must have been something else, because Milo, Otis, and the entire cast behave exactly like Moore’s anthropomorphized narration— bears and raccoons squabble over fish, dogs and cats play hide-and-seek, and Milo saves a baby pig from certain aerial doom. Come to think of it, the editing tricks used to make the animals appear to be engaged in dialogue, as well as small bits like Otis pulling Milo out of a pit with a rope, are rather ingenious.

Aye, sea turtles.

Milo and Otis is an American recut of a 1986 Japanese film called Koneko Monogatari (“Kitten’s Story”), edited down from roughly 40 hours of footage shot over four years. Perhaps this is why Milo and Otis has such a distinct flavor; not only is it bereft of wa-acky bits, but it takes completely seriously its storybook notion of talking, conversing animals, as well as the relational aspects that come with it. It’s almost a character study as much as it is a Talking Animal movie, with both Milo and Otis having distinct arcs and developmental journeys. Rare is it to find a film in 2011 with such well-developed and -respected characters, let alone from a localized adaptation of a Japanese movie about chatting barnyard wildlife.

The Adventures of Milo and Otis is a film I find just as charming now as I did when I first watched it as a child. It has some elements that have aged a bit poorly (“Walk Outside” has aged poorly since my initial viewings), but the overall product is still satisfying, and I’d recommend it to anyone who hasn’t seen it yet.

Diversion 2.0 Thirty Day Movie Challenge -- Day 5

Day 5 – A Movie That Disappointed You Terribly

Sometimes, our expectations can run away with us, setting up scenarios that, frankly, cannot possibly be lived up to by reality. Whether it’s a test you know you should have gotten a better grade on, a joke that some pretty girl was supposed to laugh at, or the culinary quality of a Hungry Man microwaveable dinner, reality can bite the big one. Today’s entry is yet another instance where the set-up in my head was so much better than the follow-through.

The Land of Faraway (1987)

“The Land of Faraway?” you may be asking. “What the deuce is that? And how could you possibly be disappointed by it?” I’ll do my best to explain, as this one is entirely my fault. The movie makes absolutely no promises that it shouldn’t, and would not be on this list at all, save one stroke-induced assumption that I will get to later.

The Land of Faraway begins in Stockholm, Sweden, where we meet a young boy named Bosse (Nicholas Pickard), who, in true Harry Potter fashion, has no parents, and is raised by his mistreating aunt and uncle. One night, Bosse decides to run away, and through an unlikely series of events, he obtains a genie, an emissary from The Land of Faraway. At Bosse’s behest, the genie takes him to The Land (via the genie’s beard), where he learns that his real name is Mio, and his AWOL father actually rules the joint. Life would be idyllic, but rumors get around that the evil knight Kato (Christopher Lee) has been kidnapping children and turning them into birds, so it’s up to Mio and his best friend Jum-Jum (Christian Bale, Jordyn you saucy wench) to save the children and The Land of Faraway (or, as my friend Nicole calls it, “The Land of Right F@$#ing Here”).

What a strange, strange movie. Apparently The Land of Faraway is an adaptation of a Swedish children’s novel by Astrid Lindgren (author of Pippi Longstocking), and was produced by companies from Sweden, Norway, and the Soviet Union, with a score composed by two former-members of ABBA. Its peculiarities don’t stop at the production history, though, and even for a movie rendition of a fantasy book, it’s doggone strange.

If you must somehow track down this movie, do so to watch Count Dooku and Batman fight each other.

For one thing, it takes absolutely, deathly serious every single fantastical element of its story. This ranges from standard-issue fantasy tropes (prophecies, invisibility cloaks, etc.) to the oddly WTF (Kato’s mission is to replace the abducted children’s hearts with stone, they keep referring to their damn hometown as “The Land of” bloody “Faraway,” etc). Christopher Lee’s large, scenery-chewing acting helps the notion that this should be a goofy, escapist tale, but the solemnity given off by this film make the whole affair seem weird.

Adding to the weirdness is the unbeckoned homoerotic air that permeates the whole movie. Mio and Jum-Jum (pronounced “yum yum”) are rather close friends throughout the film, holding each other’s waists while on horseback, finding each other by playing their pan flutes, and (unless I’m very much mistaken) generally holding hands the whole time. They’re both kids, so touching boundaries are generally more innocent than, say, if they were both in their thirties, but it just feels kinda icky. Perhaps it’s my American, rap music-endorsed homophobia, but Mio and Jum-Jum’s constant compulsion to touch (coupled with the aforementioned super-cerealness) gives The Land of Faraway an odd (and very underage) romantic undertone.

So why the hell did I rent this clearly junk-sounding fantasy film? As a laugh, mostly. My good friend Jordyn and I decided one day to crawl our local specialty video store, which includes many movies only on VHS, for a few flicks to get us through the weekend. While perusing through the shelf for the likes of Heavyweights and Man of the House, I came across a VHS case that looked (I’ll post it again for effect) like this:

What the hell is that anyway?! In my excitable, probably rum-addled brain, I thought it looked like this:

Yes, dear readers, for some reason, I thought that The Land of Faraway was going to be the most epic, metal experience ever put to film. Nonsensical fantasy-sounding name? Check. Epic-looking main character, steed-mounted and sword in hand? Check. Splash page-style over-busy cover art? Check, and double-check. I wasn’t deluding myself into thinking it was good, mind, but I thought it was going to be an over-the-top, metal-flavored 80’s cheese-fest. Movies like this certainly exist, but for some reason, I thought The Land of Faraway was going to be one big Dio music video. I was sorely mistaken.

I’ve since learned my lesson about hyping movies that I’ve never even heard of, and this situation has only happened one other time since (I once rented a movie, Acceptance, that I thought was a direct-to-DVD sequel to Accepted—it instead turned out to be a Lifetime Original Movie. Kill). I eventually did find a goofy, 80’s fantasy movie, but until then, I had to live with my own embarrassingly overzealous expectations for The Land of Faraway.

Diversion 2.0 Thirty Day Movie Challenge -- Day 4

Day 4 – A Movie That Pleasantly Surprised You

There often comes a time, in this American life, when we do things that we don’t want to do. It’s part of growing up, and it bites, but it’s 100% necessary. Sometimes, the event in question spirals out of control, proving correct your initial impulse to avoid that option like the plague (e.g., school dances you felt obligated to attend). Other times, your willingness to try unappealing crap rewards you positively, and today’s post is about a time I was mercifully delivered from an awful experience.

Hot Tub Time Machine

Back in college, I was reviewing movies for the school paper for credit. Deadline for the March issue was during the week that Hot Tub Time Machine was released, and I was assigned to review it, mainly because the title suggested that it was going to be yet another post-Hangover tits ’n’ beer ’n’ puke college humor comedy, and therefore of interest to our readers. I have a deep disaffection for tits ‘n’ beer ‘n’ puke college humor comedies, and I anticipated seeing this film the way one generally anticipates having a root canal. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found that I actually liked it.

Hot Tub Time Machine starts with three friends at various stages of discontent in their lives—Nick (Craig Ferguson), a former musician who instead runs a pet salon; Adam (John Cusack), a go-nowhere whose beau has left him and taken the TV; and Lou (Rob Corddry), a sarcastic alcoholic whom Nick describes as “the asshole of the group, but he’s our asshole.” The trio fondly remember their glory days at Kodiak Valley ski resort, though, where they lived out the happiest and sloppy-drunkest days of their lives, and after a car mishap with Lou that looks like a suicide attempt (“Guys, if I’d wanted to kill myself, I would’ve killed myself, and I would’ve been awesome at it: shotgun to the dick.”), they all decide to hit up their old haunt for a weekend of revelry. Adam also brings his nephew Jacob (Clark Duke), if only because four is about right for movies like this.

Only, the place isn’t quite as hopping as they remember. The hotel is dilapidated, most of the businesses are closed down, and they’re waited on by Phil (Crispin Glover), a surly, one-armed bellboy who kicks, stomps, and scoots their bags to the room, then sticks out his only hand for a tip. They do manage to find a hot tub, and after a night of drinking and tub thumpin’, the quartet wakes up in 1986 (“We’re in the 80’s,” Nick shouts. “How am I supposed to get a job?!”).

A sure barometer of what time period you're in: "What color is Michael Jackson?!"

It’s here that the movie tips its hand, and we see what kind of experience we’re actually in for. Up until this point, Hot Tub Time Machine has been a pretty standard gross-out experience, with crap-and-puke jokes, intense alcohol-consumption, and sailor-frequent swearing present and accounted for. Once they’re back in time, though, the film transforms itself into an offbeat, nostalgia comedy. Sure, the drinking, swears, and tits don’t really let up (the gross-out tones down, though), but the movie’s sense of humor starts to shine through, as well as its affection for the days of Cyndi Lauper and Alf (the moment before the group finds out they’ve gone back in time contains the best montage of everything stereotypically 80’s).

My favorite part about Hot Tub Time Machine is how self-aware its humor is. Many of the jokes involve the characters commenting on or making fun of someone else’s dialogue.

“In what part of the asshole handbook does it say you can abandon your friends and just do what you want?!” yells Rob.

“Actually, that would probably be in the asshole handbook,” says Adam.

“Yeah, like guidelines for being an asshole,” agrees Nick.

“Alright, you’re right, my bad, point taken,” concedes Rob.

Stuff like that. It’s wonderfully goofy, and unique to many modern comedies in 2011 (to my knowledge, at least).

Once back in time, Crispin Glover has two arms. A quick bit of math should tell that, sooner or later, something's gotta give.

I also like how Hot Tub Time Machine makes continual references to pop culture. Not just 80’s staples like legwarmers and “Where’s The Beef” T-shirts, but movies as well, like how Nick explains time travel to everyone in terms of The Terminator, or how the movie’s main antagonist is obsessed with Red Dawn. There’s even a few modern digs, like when Jacob explains the butterfly effect to the group, only to have Rob affirm what a “f@$#ing great” movie it is; it’s funny not because Rob mentions the movie The Butterfly Effect, but because Hot Tub Time Machine knows what a mediocre film The Butterfly Effect is. Stuff like that happens all the time.

Lastly, I really dig the 80’s nostalgia the film so clearly wears on its sleeve. Everyone involved in the production clearly loves 80’s, and it’s hard not to get caught up in the rose-colored-glasses-gazing with the rest of the cast. It’s not as subtle as Hot Rod, but the fuzzy feelings shown for Poison and side ponytails are positively heartwarming.

I didn’t even love Hot Tub Time Machine after I first saw it in theaters, but I’ve watched it numerous times since I bought it on Blu-ray in September, and I’ve decided to add it to may favorite movie list. Not bad for a movie I was dragged to kicking and screaming.

Diversion 2.0 Thirty Day Movie Challenge -- Day 3

Day 3 – A Movie You Watch With Friends

When I was younger, I spent most of my time hanging out at my friends’ house, rather than them coming over to mine, a habit which persists even to this day. As such, any time folks come over to my apartment/room/whatever, I see it as a Big Deal. Even when it’s not actually a big deal, it’s a Big Deal to me. I like to have something on as background noise, if only to distract myself from the sensation of “OMG I’m playing host for these people!”, and today’s entry has been far and away the most successful out of movies I use for this purpose.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl

I don’t think I personally know anyone who doesn’t like this movie. I mean, surely someone out there doesn’t care for the tale of Captain Jack Sparrow, and the film isn’t without its flaws, but out of all of the movies I own, this is the one I feel most confident that everyone will enjoy at any given moment.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, for those who somehow missed the initial entry to one of the most profitable new movie franchises of the past decade, is a swashbuckling, high-seas adventure about cursed gold, true love, and what happens when you mix rum, heat stroke, and David Bowie-levels of eyeliner. The plot chiefly concerns Elizabeth Swan (Kiera Knightly), daughter to the governor of Port Royal (Jonathan Pryce), and lowly blacksmith’s assistant Will Turner (Orlando Bloom, who somehow pulled off the Harrison Ford trick of avoiding exclusive identification for his work in one epic trilogy by following it immediately with another epic trilogy). Will and Elizabeth are in deep, goopy-eyed love with each other, but, what with British class struggles being what they are, they’re unable to truly make a connection. That is, until pirates raid Port Royal for a very specific piece of treasure, and kidnap Elizabeth for their own nefarious ends (though not so nefarious that they endanger the Disney reputation for family-appropriate content). Desperate to find Elizabeth, Will infiltrates the Port Royal prison for the help of a pirate who can help him track down the ship with black sails: the (quasi-)infamous Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp).

From there, Curse of the Black Pearl’s borderline-labyrinthine narrative really starts to pick up steam. Characters are introduced, histories are discussed, the cast troops from one end of the Caribbean to the other, and then back again, and many myriad extras die in true Bruckheimer-produced fashion. If I have one complaint about Curse of the Black Pearl, it’s the plot, which makes a great deal of effort to accomplish very little—its busyness is exhausting, and does little to help the momentum of the film.

Fortunately, Curse of the Black Pearl is often best-enjoyed on a moment-to-moment basis. Much of Depp’s modern popularity and awareness is often attributed to this movie, and he deserves every word of praise awarded to him for his performance; his speech pattern, small flourishes, and general sense that he could drunkenly keel over at any moment make him a delight to watch. The supporting characters add to the eclectic, colorful feel as well. Geoffrey Rush chews the scenery as Captain Barbosa, Sparrow’s mutinous former-second-in-command, charismatically playing the part of a traditional “Arrr matey”-style pirate; Mr. Gibbs (Kevin McNally) does something similar for the good guys, but to a lesser extent. Jack Davenport’s Commodore Norrington is relegated to the role of straight man for the rest of the characters, but even he appears to be having fun, wringing his character for wry, British sarcasm as best he can. Hell, even the two bumbling pirate lackeys, Pintel and Ragetti (Lee Arenberg and Mackenzie Crook), who practically wear nametags that say “Hello, My Name is Comic Relief,” are well-characterized. The only two dull spots in the film are Knightly and Bloom, but only because of the soppy, romance-laden nature of their characters.

Curse of the Black Pearl is the perfect Summer Movie. Its deft blend of comedy, action, romance, and special effects all but guarantees that everyone will find at least one thing to be entertained by, and Jerry Bruckheimer’s uncanny sense of what audience members (who he often characterizes as “Mom and Pop in Oklahoma”) will respond to ensures that the whole thing goes down smoothly, even at its bloated two-and-a-half-hour runtime. The bright blues and gorgeous Caribbean settings make the film a treat to look at, especially in today’s orange-and-teal-saturated blockbuster landscape. Most importantly, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl is a heap of fun—it doesn’t take itself seriously, unlike its sequels, and everyone onset seems to be having a gas putting this project together. It’s escapist cinema as it was meant to be, and a staple for parties at my house.

Diversion 2.0 Thirty Day Movie Challenge -- Day 2

Day 2: A Movie You Hate (Or Just Plain Really, Really Don't Like)

As a general rule, I try to avoid watching movies that I have a fairly good idea I will not like. This way, I save money and, more importantly, time, because an awful movie is an hour and a half of my life I will never get back. However, there are certain occasions when I will rent an ostensibly terrible movie to see exactly how bad it is. Sometimes I get lucky and am pleasantly surprised, and others I should have been careful what I wished for. Today’s entry is about the latter.

I Love You, Beth Cooper (2009)

Rest assured that I did not pay to see this movie, but gah the hour that I did spend watching it still weighs heavily on my heart (I ducked out halfway through to buy groceries, and was immensely disappointed when I returned and it wasn’t over yet). Beth Cooper is coming-of-age high school comedy about a socially inept young man named Denis Cooverman (Paul Rust). Denis, like most nerdy kids in movies like this, fosters an unrequited affection for the school popular girl, the eponymous Beth Cooper (Hayden Panettiere), and, during his valedictorian speech, confesses his love for dear ol’ Beth in front of the whole graduating body. The rest of the film concerns the wa-acky hijinks between Denis and his friend Rich Munsch (Jack T. Carpenter) as they buy alcohol underage, duck Beth’s toolbox boyfriend, Kevin (Shawn Roberts), and do other, stupid crap that could only happen in a movie about what Chris Columbus thinks happens to high schoolers on graduation day (avoid a herd of stampeding cattle, crash a Hummer through the wall of a house, etc).

Based on the novel of the same name by former The Simpsons writer Larry Doyle, I Love You, Beth Cooper is a nigh-unendurable slog through umpteen, outdated high school clichés, miserable, unfunny sight gag “humor,” and flat, unlikable characters (with one small exception). I’m a bit at a loss; I’ve enjoyed Chris Columbus’ previous work on the Home Alone series and the first two Harry Potter movies, but the entire project feels like a parody of high school comedies, akin more to Not Another Teen Movie, but without the benefit of lines like “You’ll lose the bet, but you’ll learn a valuable lesson.” Columbus’s cartoony, slapstick approach to filmmaking may have worked for a movie about Macaulay Culkin repelling the likes of Daniel Stern and Joe Pesci, but it falls incredibly short when shoehorned into a teen comedy from 2009. Warwick Davis-short.

Yep, there they all are. The costuming should tell you everything you'll ever need to know about any of these characters.

The acting doesn’t fare much better. Hayden Panettiere flounders in her attempts to play a rebellious girl who doesn’t give a flying f@$# about anything, while poor Paul Rust is stuck doing his best Michael Cera impression for the entirety of the film. Beth’s group of Plastics-esque wing women (Lauren London and Lauren Storm) aren’t given much to do other than “pout and look hot,” while Kevin and his gaggle of cronies flex their muscles, pop their collars, and generally act like they’re treating the entire film as an audition for Crabbe and Goyle. The one (1) bright spot of the whole picture is Jack T. Carpenter as Rich, who uses his character’s closeted-gayness to provide the film with some bloody energy and charisma, and the film’s best scene comes from a montage involving Rich near the two-thirds mark.

Honestly, I’m making I Love You, Beth Cooper sound like an average, everyday bad movie, when, in fact, it’s as if someone took the University scenes from Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen and made an entire film out of them. The entire production seems hateful towards its audience, and the awful story, insipid dialogue, and turgid feel of the whole goings-on is terrible enough to qualify as a natural disaster. The effort it takes to stoop as low as it does from minute to minute is Herculean, and I might actually be proud of Columbus for squeezing off such a colossal turd, if only I didn’t want to beat him about the face with a copy of Mean Girls for doing so.