Viggo Mortensen in Everybody Has a Plan

Man of Steel is a self-con­scious­ly epic re-imag­in­ing of the Super­man sto­ry, first told in print in the 1930s and most recent­ly reboot­ed on screen by Bryan Singer as Super­man Returns just pri­or to the com­mence­ment of my review­ing career in 2006. It’s remark­able both for the scale of the pro­duc­tion, the stakes for pro­duc­ers DC and Warn­er Bros, and for the degree to which I dis­liked it. Usu­al­ly, I don’t get too riled up about block­buster com­ic book fan­ta­sy pic­tures — they are either more enter­tain­ing or less — but this one got under my skin so much I was actu­al­ly quite angry by the time the clos­ing cred­its final­ly rolled.

Man of Steel posterI don’t have room here (because there are actu­al good films I’d rather talk about) to tear the Man of Steel apart but I will float a few thoughts that have been both­er­ing me recent­ly about block­buster movies gen­er­al­ly: It seems to me that the huge amounts of com­put­ing horse­pow­er that direc­tors have at their fin­ger­tips nowa­days is being used, for the most part, to destroy.

[pul­lquote]Man of Steel delights in destruc­tion, reel­ing off 9/11 trau­ma-trig­ger­ing moments with reck­less abandon.[/pullquote]I’m get­ting very tired of watch­ing build­ings, streets and even entire cities razed dig­i­tal­ly to the ground with­out a sec­ond thought for the (admit­ted­ly still dig­i­tal) peo­ple inhab­it­ing them. This is an arms race and some­how direc­tors (like MoS’s Zack Sny­der) have decid­ed that every new tent­pole needs to use even more imag­i­na­tion to destroy even more stuff and kill even more peo­ple who will go unmourned by the heroes sup­pos­ed­ly there to pro­tect them.

Back in 1990, Bruce Willis (as John McClane in Die Hard II) raced across a freez­ing run­way car­ry­ing hand­made torch­es to try and pre­vent an air­lin­er full of pas­sen­gers from crash­ing — the result of the vil­lain’s chill­ing recal­i­bra­tion of the air­port radar. After he had failed, you could see the tor­ment on Willis’s face and it affect­ed the char­ac­ter’s behav­iour through the rest of the film. It kind of broke him and you can argue that he has nev­er been the same ‘hap­py-go-lucky’ John McClane since.

This year, in G.I. Joe: Retal­i­a­tion, the vil­lain (played by Jonathan Pryce) hijacks a nuclear weapon and uses it to destroy Lon­don. All of it. And at the end, instead of remem­ber­ing the eight mil­lion peo­ple who were sac­ri­ficed, the team stand around pat­ting each oth­er on the back and giv­ing each oth­er medals! Even Spock in Star Trek Into Dark­ness has the decen­cy to be pas­sive-aggres­sive about the loss of his entire plan­et, but we don’t dwell on it and quick­ly move on.

Man of Steel delights in destruc­tion, reel­ing off 9/11 trau­ma-trig­ger­ing moments with reck­less aban­don. I’m not sure it’s the wan­ton dig­i­tal destruc­tion that I’m so offend­ed by, rather than the lack of grief. In The Avengers, for exam­ple, we feel more strong­ly for Iron Man’s close brush with mor­tal­i­ty (and vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty) than for all the hon­est cit­i­zens who per­ished and the mil­lions of oth­ers who lost their homes and their jobs.

There has to be anoth­er way and — if you’ll allow me to be unfash­ion­able for a moment — we already have a mod­el. In the most suc­cess­ful film of all time, the great­est amount of com­put­ing pow­er ever devot­ed to a motion pic­ture was pressed into ser­vice to cre­ate a world, to invent a civil­i­sa­tion and then to pro­duce a sto­ry about pro­tect­ing that civil­i­sa­tion from us. And audi­ences respond­ed to it in record num­bers. Being pos­i­tive, who’d a thunk it?

Everybody Has a Plan poster

Two films that do deserve your atten­tion will be a lit­tle hard­er to find than the Caped Cru­sad­er, above, but are worth seek­ing out. In Every­body Has a Plan, we get two Vig­go Mortensens going out of their way to prove the exact oppo­site. Nobody knows what the Hell they are doing in this Argen­tin­ian thriller in which Vig­go gives his flu­ent Span­ish a run play­ing iden­ti­cal twins who have end­ed up on the oppo­site side of the tracks.

Agustín is a big city pae­di­a­tri­cian with a nice apart­ment and a beau­ti­ful wife intent on adopt­ing them a fam­i­ly. Broth­er Pedro stayed on the remote island where they grew up and now keeps bees and assists with the occa­sion­al kid­nap­ping. Suf­fer­ing from a ter­mi­nal dis­ease, Pedro makes his way to the big city look­ing for help. His unsat­is­fied broth­er busks him­self a plan which — as the say­ing goes — will change both of their lives for­ev­er. Every­body Has a Plan is a ter­rif­ic, atmos­pher­ic, thriller with Vig­go at his soul­ful best.

White Lies posterEx-patri­ate Mex­i­can direc­tor Dana Rot­berg has been tempt­ed back behind the cam­era by South Pacif­ic Pic­tures’ John Bar­nett and by Witi Ihi­maer­a’s novel­la “Med­i­cine Woman”. The result­ing fea­ture, now known as White Lies, is a slow burn­er of a female-dri­ven dra­ma that packs an emo­tion­al wal­lop. Muso Whir­i­mako Black plays Paraiti, a heal­er in 1920s Te Ure­w­era, scarred in more ways than one by the colo­nial forces’ destruc­tion of her vil­lage while she was a child.

Reluc­tant­ly enlist­ed to per­form a late abor­tion on the white woman from the big house (Anto­nia Preb­ble), she changes her mind and decides to save the baby — a baby whose arrival threat­ens to rock the care­ful­ly bal­anced rela­tion­ships between Preb­ble’s Rebec­ca, her maid (Rachel House) and the soon-to-return hus­band and mas­ter.

I want to be care­ful that I don’t reveal too much — even to those who have read Ihi­maer­a’s orig­i­nal sto­ry from which there is some diver­gence. Suf­fice to say that the long and intense birth scene is one of the most remark­able ever to fea­ture in a New Zealand film — pow­er­ful, mys­ti­cal, painful and redemp­tive; absent the usu­al cheap emo­tion­al short­cuts. It’s the pro­found cen­tre­piece of a film where the begin­ning and end don’t quite reach the same lev­el. I’m not sure why but it might have some­thing to do with the mul­ti-trans­lat­ed dia­logue (from Span­ish to a kind of stilt­ed colo­nial Eng­lish) feel­ing life­less com­pared to the beau­ti­ful images on screen.