What Makes A Classic?

“Classic – of the first or highest quality, class, or rank.”  Dictionary.com

What is a classic? 

Well, there was a time when the cable network, TNT, used to gloat about its “new classics” line-up.  This included movies like Back to the Future, Top Gun, Shawshank Redemption, even The Lord of the Rings trilogy.  Movies released within the last decade were given an honor that’s usually afforded to the likes of Casablanca and Citizen Kane.  Was it safe to decree any of these actual classics?  Has enough time passed to which we can comfortably seat Humphry Bogart next to the likes of Gollum?  One could argue most of these films have earned the brand, although some critics and other aficionados (snobs) wouldn’t dare utter the names of Don Corleone and “Iceman” in the same breath. 

Classic is a word used liberally.  We sometimes use to refer back to entertainment that dazzled us during an earlier time, but now are merely relics from another era.  Some are merely staples in our heart based on how we remember them – not what they really are.  

I had a reawakening to 80s cinema — my childhood — recently.  The Carolina Theatre in Durham held its annual Escapism Film Festival: a weeklong extravaganza filled with dozens of films that tickled my nostalgia.   I was given a theater seat to manhy childhood gems — and given a prime opportunity to reassess each with a fresh adult perspective.    

One of my first screening was for George Lucas’ 1988 fantasy, Willow.  Well, I rekindled the same discomfort I felt during my preteens: this film is no classic.  (Actually, it isn’t very good…period.)   Its age revealed the cracks underneath its ugly crevice; its surprisingly uninspired story and characters; its humor was lousy; its much-touted spectacle was no longer rousing.    

However, on this same day, I was privileged to revisit another fantasy, 1987’s more comedic (and much more cherished), The Princess Bride.  The audience turnout was unbelievable, roughly 500-600 in attendance for my screening alone.  There was audience members dressed as the romance leads Wesley and Buttercup as well as the loveable giant, Fezzik. 

In keeping with Escapism tradition, the show started with a theatrical trailer for another film that would have been released during the same year.  In this case, it was Dirty Dancing, a film I never loved, yet it remains a coveted gem for the female demographic.  The moment the preview revealed Patrick Swayze’s trademark flowing hair and buttoned-down shirt, you could feel the collected awe – the kind that sighs you’d hear whenever Taylor Lautner removed his shirt during a Twilight film.  To many, Dirty Dancing epitomizes the definition of classic. 

Then Princess Bride played and received constant wave of laughter and applause, starting when Peter Falk’s unnamed grandfather strolled in Fred Savage’s bedroom.  There was also the very faint sound that only comes when hundreds of people grin simultaneously.  There were the expected cheers, such as when Inigo uttered probably the longest quotable line in the history of cinema, “Hello.  My name is Inigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die!”  (OK, perhaps Roddy Piper’s “bubblegum” quote from They Live is longer.)

But the best response was saved for end during Falk’s exit when bestows his warm closing line – staring right into the audience, “As you wish…” It was an emotional moment.  We all felt its deeper meaning; three words that spoke volumes and reinvigorated our immortal love for a good old story — one that reaches out and touches our souls.   It echoed even more profoundly today than it did in 1987.  This…was a classic.   

Later, after I had posted my last blog on 2015’s theatrical lineup, I decided to revisit the Back to the Future films for pure nostalgia – and laugh at all the false promises (hover boards, flying cars…) 

1985’s Back to the Future.  A Classic?  For certain!

I firmly believe the first installment is a classic.  The films dated elements actually enhance the story, not deter it.  The references to 1985’s culture beautifully clash with our present world as does the strange world of 1955 where (or should I say when) our hero, Marty McFly, is accidentally sent.  The moments when Marty encounters his teenage parents is strange, unbelievably funny, and surprisingly touching.  There are the crowd-pleasing moments; the school bully getting knocked out or the last-second return to the future are all trademark 1980s cheeseball moments.  Yet, despite all this, I always felt that Back to the Future rewards us with multiple viewings and says a lot about relationships and the immortal, sometimes strange, turbulent bonds and traits shared between parents and children.  It reflected a kind of innocent poignancy that we’d see in any of Frank Capra’s films.  You know?   The classics. 

Of course, when Back to the Future hit theaters in 1985, it was a smash, destroying records and becoming the biggest hit of the year.  However, it only won a single technical Oscar win along and garnered three additional nominations.  It’s one major accolade was a screenplay nomination.  But the film was not in contention for Best Picture.  The actual nominees were Witness, Prizzi’s Honor, Kiss of the Spider Woman, The Color Purple and the winner Out of Africa. 

1985’s Kiss of a Spider Woman

Despite my affection for some of these films, I would choose Future above them all.  This comes after numerous revisits and heavy scrutiny.  It’s a crowd-pleaser, and certainly falls into the B-movie category.  But it’s also a well-told story, perfectly paced, wonderfully acted, and hellishly funny and intelligent.  And, after 25 years, it holds up.  We cherish it. 

There’s obviously a continuous line drawn between mass appeal and art.  But there’s been room afforded to movies so powerful that they break beyond the boundaries of being merely popcorn fodder.  I believe Future ranks along with Star Wars, Jaws, and Raider of the Lost Ark – all Best Picture nominees and AFI Top 100 winners – as a film the successfully succeeds in both – as well as Princess Bride.  

When I think of classic films, I always reflect on Roger Ebert who, during his latter years, when his voice had already been taken by cancer, was asked how he knows when a film is great.  Ebert merely tapped his fingers over his heart.  You just feel it.  It should be a movie that stays with you, allows you to ponder, and has the power to change you in some small fashion. 

I always believed that films should either dazzle our minds, our souls, our hearts.  Overall, I think Ebert was right — it all falls back on to the heart.  It’s hard to articulate, but I’ve always believed in a bond that connects the mind with the heart.  For example, I can watch 2001: A Space Odyssey and feel something that tells me it’s a masterpiece, even if it’s built firmly around ideas instead of emotions.  Somehow, the ideas trickle down into something that fixates into my emotional psyche. 

Yet, 2001 was originally a movie I hated!  It was slow, disjointed, and confusing.  However, as the months transpired since my initial viewing, I began to reflect on it, even obsess over it like I would over a puzzle.  A second viewing removed some of my preconceptions and barriers.  I was able to accept the ambiguity and merely ponder.  It was also a film that baffled critics and remained under-appreciated in its day.  However, it has cemented its status as a classic in ways similar to Bride or Future. 

Naturally, it’s all based on subjectivity.  The factors are so many, such as the point in time when you first experience something; whether you were an adult, a child, or weren’t alive to experience it at all.  This present period has become a surreal time for me.  I’ve reached an age that films I experienced are slowly being filtered between those that are aged, harmless or a timeless.  I’m also meeting members of the younger generation who have neither seen nor (gasp!) heard of films like The Princess Bride.  I plan on letting one of these poor souls borrow my bluray copy.  Introducing these movies from my era to the next is probably the purest lipnus test to determine what lifespan these films actually have.  Are these films genuinely classics that transcend time or is our fondness being clouded by our nostalgia?

I suppose that tunnel-vision pushes me to hold films like Superman: The Movie and The Secret of Nimh in higher esteem than they actually deserve.  I have a feeling that had I grown up with Dirty Dancing or Top Gun, I would share the sentiment with so many Generation Xers. 

However, I have denounced pieces of entertainment from my past that was once cherished.  For example, my Dukes of Hazard obsession no longer remains.  The cartoons by Hannah and Barbara, overall, were pretty awful in retrospect.  So, perhaps my fondness for certain childhood treasures is based on the films’ actual immortality.

I’m certainly not open to lauding every film from my youth as a classic.  There are so many films from the 80s that I watch and remember fondly but recognize as trifle amusement rides.  However, time has been kind to films like Ghostbusters, The Princess Bride, Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial.  I cannot deem the same for Best Picture winners like Gandhi or Driving Miss Daisy. 

1984’s Ghostbusters.  Great Film?  You Bet.  Art?  Doubtful.  Classic?

There’s the other side of the spectrum: a laundry list of legitimate classics that are considered “art” category which remains shunned by the masses who speak volumes about Back to the Future.  These are legitimate films that cater to cinephiles but remain ignored by casual viewers for defying conventional cinematic rules…or for being in black-and-white…or for daring to speak in foreign tongues and subjecting us to reading English subtitles…or for being so old that they don’t even speak at all!  Critics will champion this brand of movies as the true definition of classics and would readily decree that they stand shoulders above the crowd-pleasers I mentioned.

The debate lingers, but I’ll always support great movies, whether they speak another language — despite being in English — or appear, at least on the surface, to be entertainment rather than art.  “Three men hunting a killer shark.”  For most creative entertainers, it’s merely that, but director Steven Speilberg handled Jaws like a true artist. 

My tastes in film remain and personal definition of classics remain eclectic.  If the film touches me in some fashion, reaches into my soul and holds tight, it’s earned a place.  Popularity will never be the defining measure for greatness.  The Transformers films have grossed $1 billion worldwide and they’re crap.  I’ll leave it to another generation to determine those films’ legitimacy and replay value.  

I can only attest that the 600 who saw Princess Bride alongside yours truly genuinely shared something magical – even after all the years. 

Is it a classic?   

As you wish…

2015! Where We’re Going We Don’t Need…Those

It’s the year 2015!  Marty McFly, a teenage time-traveler arrives 30 years into the future and tours a strange version of his hometown of Hill Valley.  He spots flying cars, robot waiters, fax machines plugged into every room and a holographic preview for the upcoming film Jaws 19!  “The shark still looks fake,” Marty muses.  

Well, as we fast approach the actual 2015, promises of car flight are quickly being squandered — nevermind any promises of hover boards or self-drying jackets.  The writers of Back to the Future Part II couldn’t even foresee the most viable form of telecommunication: cell phones!   Nor could they have predicted such devises would become the most coveted item in the known universe!  (How many people read the news on Syrian crisis?  Now how many people opened news media the moment Apple announced the Iphone 5c?  I rest my case!)  In fact, the future is so incorrect, it even shows a stupid teenager grabbing for fruit from a futuristic kitchen tray, when, in reality, the kid probably grab something way less healthy — from a bowl.    

But a Jaws 19!?  Maybe the notion of successful film franchises reaching extreme installment numbers has become less of a joke and more of a sad reality.  Despite being two years away, the Internet (another unforeseen technological wonder.  Sorry fax machines!) has provided us with some semblance of a magic globe to prepare us for the coming future events.  There’s a string of announcements to help us prophesize the cinematic output of 2015, which will surely become the biggest summer in Hollywood history.  Naturally, they’re all established franchises. 

Let’s begin: 

Mission Impossible (TBA):  I defend Mr. Tom Cruise to this day.   Despite his recent stable of underperformers, I suspect Tom will be running victory laps the next time he scales laser sights (and sofa seat cushions) in his fifth secret mission.  MI4 was the best installment yet; its episodic structure allowed the franchise liberties to reinvent itself and incurred the same level stress-inducing tension across multiple continents.  It remains a passable franchise that will hopefully ride high off its rehabilitation delivered by Pixar director, Brad Bird for the last outing.

Fantastic Four (March):  The first two dreadful films left Fox with an uphill battle to climb.  A second attempt with only generate comparisons between this and the recent batch of successful team-based heroics,  which I doubt Fox can overcome.  A rebranded Fantastic Four is a desperate attempt by the studio to ignite a fresh franchise and possible larger universe shared with the X-Men, another saga facing its twilight years.  It simply five years too late.  Flame out!

Harry Potter spinoffs (TBA): I truly enjoyed this series, even if I always felt that it was essentially five films stretched out into eight: There’s new teacher who’s reveal to be a servant to Valdemort; Harry and crew mope around the library for hours and discuss their predicament; Valdemort takes four films to gestate from fetus to a noseless Ralph Fiennes and takes another four to be vanquished.  Now the saga is being elongated even further.  With the Potter group facing adulthood (both onscreen and off) there’s the obvious inclination to spring a new crop of films about the next generation.  But Potter’s world rested solely on the holy scriptures of J.K. Rowling.  Without her direct involvement — there’s promises she’ll churn out the screenplays, but I doubt she’ll have full authorship — there’s a danger that Potter’s successors will lack the same magic.  Plus, the saga needs time to foment.  Let’s enjoy the Muggle world for a little while longer.

Jurassic Park (Summer): I want a Jurassic Parkfilm that builds upon Steven Spielberg’s foundation that’s surrounded by 50 miles of electrical fence and the most aggressive carnivorous animals we’ve ever seen.  (Seriously, are raptors smart enough to open doors but dumb enough after already downing two humans, one of whom was Samuel L. Jackson?  Maybe they’d be satisfied if they got first dibs on Wayne Knight…) The Jurassic Park franchise had already run tired by the second film.  The villains were restricted to being single-minded angry predators who roared, destroyed and pursued.  The friendly herbivores were slowly demoted to brief money shots, which gave opportunities to parade John Williams’ fabulous musical theme.  An ideal Jurassic Park sequel would be a film in which the park actually opened and was greeted with thousands of tourists.  Obviously, we can expect mass carnage.  But perhaps the next installment will propel beyond the monster-around-the-corner gimmick.  It’s been 20 years and special effects are no longer dazzling enough to break records.  This installment capitalize on the a more original conception rather than the dull monster movies they ultimately became.  Otherwise, just keep these dinosaurs extinct. 

Star Wars (TBA): When the scroll reveals Episode VII, it will be ten years since the last Star Wars installment put a final ribbon on Lucas’ second trilogy outing into a galaxy far, far away.  But, unlike Harry Potter, this series’ newest trilogy might benefit without the involvement of its creator.  Although director  J.J. Abrams is not the second coming that so many “Lost” junkies decree, he’s a proven master at making fun, albeit disposable films.  The inevitably announcement of returning veterans Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher and a very cantankerous Harrison Ford may pose a double-edged lightsaber for the franchise.  However, Disney has maintained the integrity of its recently acquired properties (Marvel, Pixar) and could produce a saga that won’t necessarily reinvent, but might provide a respectable return to form and undo the damage left behind from the prequels.  It is a franchise I await with trepidation, but with a morsel of new hope. 

Avengers 2: Age of Vultron (May): I gotta concede that Marvel is not brushing aside its nerdy origins with a title like that.  Unlike Abrams’ Star Trek, Avengers aims to broaden its comic-book influence rather than its audience.  Given the original’s $1.5. billion intake worldwide, I’d argue that’s a safe tactic: You already got the world’s attention…just keep em happy!  Disney’s hold on Downey for two more installments was the wisest move: You can make do without Iron Man for a while, but you can’t live without him with Avengers.  The only obstacle may be the two more years we must wait, which will provide a series of tests on the longevity on its supporting players like the Cap’n and Thor. 

Finding Dory (June):  Pixar possesses the power to make me cry more than any other studio (or most life events for that matter).  But their feeble attempts to dip back into the ocean have caused me emotional turmoil in other ways.  All may turn ok for the Finding Nemo sequel with the return of original scribe/director Andrew Stanton, which may keep this fish from getting flushed straight down the toilet.  Meanwhile, Pixar’s most bankable sequel The Incredibles remains MIA and their original, daring concepts are being slowly swept away. 

Bond (November): One of cinema’s institutions remains licensed to kill after 50 years!  Bond’s most recent adventure was one of the best and the upcoming sequel’s plans to restore some of its classic Bond motifs is a welcome one — even though it leaves the skeptic in me wondering how long it will before Daniel Craig starts surfing giant tidal waves and absconding inside invisible vehicles.  Bringing Skyfall director Sam Mendes back for another adventure leaves me hopeful.  Now just give Bond a decent beverage preference (Heineken??).  I’m thirsty for some vodka martinis, shaken or stirred. 

Batman/Superman (July)/JLA?  Warners faces a dire franchise shortfall.  I cannot decree which decision is worse: Potter or DC?  Either option is a lame-duck, but Warner’s attempt to emulate the Marvel formula a losing battle.  I won’t bore you with my criticisms, which I admit grow as tiresome as Zack Snyder’s action sequences.    The studio’s questionable casting choices, its second-place finish, and lack of an original vision make DC’s crusade into the seemingly invulnerable comic-book craze may start to hit Kryptonite. 

Independence Day 2 (July): Will Smith’s recent box office faltering means that he’ll join the ranks of Harrison Ford, Stallone, Cruise, and Schwarzenegger with a return-to-roots career resuscitation.  But ID4, a film I truly loath, is overwhelming lauded by my friends and family for its seemingly innocent and fun ride.  If ID4 2 (or is it ID2, ID42??) sinks into dark, cynical territory (Man of Steel!) in keeping with the current movie trends, it will garner yawns and disdain.   Plus, Hollywood’s ramped world destruction model has worn audiences down in 2013.  The first film has demolished our favorite landmarks with director Roland Emmerich destroying the rest of them in his inferior follow-ups.  May the aliens’ ship stall before they try for a second invasion attempt! 

As long we’re discussing franchises, perhaps a Back to the Future Part 4 is within walking distance.  Despite the true 2015’s stark contrast from that which was prophesized back in 1989, there will still be movies, many of which are accompanied by a numeral. 

“The aliens still look fake!!”    

Bombs Away! Why Hollywood is Striking Out

I actually have a free ticket to see RIPD.  I thought about the benefits of going to see it: It would add another new review to the blog, it would offer a career assessment of both Ryan Reynolds (who can’t catch a break) and Jeff Bridges (who used to pass on films like these), my only investment would be car fuel and two hours of my life!  None of my motives had anything to do with wanting to see the film.  So, I stayed home, free admission and all.  With a $12 million opening weekend, so many filmgoers felt the same level of disinterest, or even disdain for Hollywood’s lack of imagination. 

I’ve been reading an absolutely fabulous book on the state of Hollywood, “Sleepless in Hollywood”, a first-hand account on the ongoing trend in American cinema in which the industry has become reliant on tent pole films  — movies that carry massive spectacle, minimum dialog, and stories simplistic enough to encompass a 30-second TV spot. 

Let’s evaluate where RIPD fails in regards to the latter.  First, the ad was devoid of genuine humor (Jeff Bridges’ sexy female supermodel disguise garnered chuckles rather than vehement interest).  There was a complete lack of imagination — the marketting opted to carbon-copy the approach that lured in the MIB crowd.  But that film worked because Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones’ chemistry broke through the seems of a limited 30-second spot.  It also managed, somehow, to tell audiences exactly what they were in for, whereas RIPD didn’t.  They’re dead, but they fighting…live monsters?  Dead ones? 

Weeks ago, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg prophesized a cinematic fallout; a moment when the industry will be plagued by too many expense blunders that it will simply cave in.  This year, almost every studio has suffered a collosal bomb: Lone Ranger (Disney), Pacific Rim (WB, Legendary Pictures), Red 2 (Lionsgate), Turbo (Dreamworks, Paramount).  These duds suffered such heavy financial blows that even the moderate success stories like Star Trek Into Darkness, The Hangover Part III, and Man of Steel may not accrue enough profit to supercede the losses.  Now RIPD, which was dumped in July, spells misery for Universal, who otherwise has had a tremendous year!

Each of these box office turds did not grab audience interest because they all feel like films we’ve seen before.  The folks who applauded Pacific Rim as original need a mental exam — it’s the same level of bombastic nonsense that we’ve experienced in three Transformers films.  The difference is: Pacific Rim is a superior product that just arrived too late to the party.  It also failed to convey its weird story within the allotted TV ads.  Turbo’s marketing lacked one singular moment that grabbed the kiddies.  You want to interest children: put in one giant laugh-out-loud moment that garners the collective sound of five-year-olds exclaiming “I want to see that!” 

This summer has been a disaster.  The ratio of competent, refreshing action, comedic fodder has reached a fraction so pety that we’re actually banking on the August doldrums to be the season savior.  The Spielberg/Lucas prophecy may be sooner than we think.  However, studios may heed the hard lessons of 2013 as an excuse to push aside any morsel of originality.  Maybe Pacific Rim will be considered an original when we’re subjected only to films that carry a title with Marvel, DC, Transformers, and Pirates. 

Forget originality!  We didn’t clamor to see The Conjuring not because it looked was going to reinvent the cinematic language.  Simply put: It looked fucking scary!  It suggested a singular emotional response and promised a huge wave of it!  Films will continue to be driven by marketing, but fewer films are being marketed properly.  Movies that chase so many demographics (Lone Ranger is a comedy!  It’s a bromance!  It’s a legitimate action film!  It’s based on a 80-year-old story that old people may remember!) tend to fail.  But because films have become so expensive, studios try to make up the balance by appeasing a diverse, expanded audience.  They push eclectic advertising down our throats to the point where we’re choking on the overloaded ingredients. 

But, the biggest marketing blunder is how studios continue to showcase spectacle over story.  Both Lone Ranger and Pacific Rim accrued budgets in the $200 million range.  The trailers and TV spots displayed the dollar signs, but not the heart or the characters or the specifics of the plot.  In a world filled with graphics and spectacle at our fingertips (anyone who owns an Iphone or Samsung Galaxy can attest) are growing bemused with films that promote pure explosions and effects which cause our eyes to bleed and our ears to ring. 

The films that continue to reign are based on established properties, yes, but those franchises carry something grander than a CGI/live human ratio.  Films like Iron Man and Pirates of the Caribbean were built on character; both spawned some resemblance to movie star.  Robert Downey Jr. and Johnny Depp remain the assets that made these movies millions.  The difference is that we don’t really care about anything else they make.  Depp bearing Native American garb doesn’t interest us in the same light as Jack Sparrow because we’re paying to see Sparrow, not Depp.  Downey has had some success outside of the Avengers stable (Sherlock Holmes).  His name carries weight, but that isn’t enough to convince audiences to produce enough interest to warrant a $250 million risk. 

So rather than chase scale and movie stars (cause there really aren’t left besides…maybe…Tom Cruise), Hollywood needs to look at its established franchises and what they actually established.  The Fast and Furious franchise got an adrenaline boost with the return of Vin Diesel, Paul Walker and the introduction of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. The brought back characters we liked.  It wasn’t the expanded car chases that brought rise with each installment. 

Spielberg may be right about the pending “doom”, but it won’t spell the demise, just a possible restructuring.  We can reflect back on Spielberg’s film that started the whole avalanche: Jaws!  There was a simple gimmick — man-eating shark.  But the film resonates not by special effects (the shark is hardly visible) or star-power (despite its awesome acting trio, none of these men were superstars).  It resided on the human elements that connected us to Tony Stark and Dominic Toretto.  The $200 million budget has become an unnecessary bonus feature.  Here’s hoping August’s forecast looks cooler. 

The moment Spielberg grew up (Part Two)

 

The best scene in Steven Spielberg’s Hook occurs early in the second act.  An adult Peter Pan reunites with the Lost Boys.  Because Peter (Robin Williams) has been absent for decades and resembles nothing like his younger persona–he’s middle-aged, overweight, is devoid of any confidence or spirit–no one believes it’s him.  The Lost Boys’ new leader, Rufio, draws a line to take sides.   Only one boy remains by Peter, staring curiously.  He reaches with his hands and begins to peel back Peter’s face like it were play dough.  Carefully, he presses his skin to remove the wrinkles and mold his expression into a bright smile.  Suddenly, the boy recognizes him. “Oh there you are, Peter!” the boy exclaims.  Soon, a few more boys flock to Peter’s side.  They believe again.     

I haven’t seen Steven Spielberg’s Hook is over a decade.  Back in 1991, I was excited to see it; even taken in by what actually worked in the film.  The $60 million summer adventure was guaranteed to break even based on the director’s reputation alone, even though Spielberg began to venture into more mature fare, swapping obligations to finishing George Lucas’ Indy opus with Oscar bait like The Color Purple (1985), Empire of the Sun (1987) and Always (1989).   But none of his adult-oriented fare could compete with Spielberg’s earlier successes.  At the start of the 90s, one could argue that Steven was done chasing dreams–that he had all but grown up.

In many ways, Hook is Spielberg’s second half to ET; the missing part in which the lovable alien circles back to Earth and witnesses Elliot slowly become disinterested in flowers that magically bloom back to life.  Instead, he starts eying girls and sports cars, leaving ET to search for sitting room next to the stuffed animals.  
Between 1982, when ET stormed all over pop culture, and 1991, when Hook did not, Spielberg became a father, divorced his first wife, Amy Irving, and got engaged to Kate Capshaw, who played Indiana Jones’ irritable love interest from Temple of Doom. In many ways, Spielberg went from Peter Pan to Peter Banning. 

Originally after ET, Spielberg originally wanted to make a faithful adaption to the original J.M. Barrie’s 1911 novel, Peter Pan.  In 1985, Spielberg explained “When I was eleven years old I actually directed the story during a school production. I have always felt like Peter Pan. I still feel like Peter Pan. It has been very hard for me to grow up, I’m a victim of the Peter Pan syndrome.”  That same year, Steven had his first child and conceded later “I didn’t want to go to London and have seven kids on wires in front of blue screens. I wanted to be home as a dad.”

Soon director Nick Castle (The Last Starfighter and also the actor behind the mask in the first Halloween) conjured the idea of telling a new story that asks “What if Peter Pan grew up?”  The story was sold to Tri Star with Castle also set to direct.  When Spielberg expressed interest, Castle was fired, but given his full directorial fee and a co-writer credit.  By the early 90s, Spielberg was no stranger to being the “hired gun”. He was essentially one for George Lucas’ Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Back in 1984, I believe Spielberg would have made a tremendous Peter Pan.  With Hook, however, there are moments that are suspiciously personal and others that are downright estranged.  There’s a beautiful score by John Williams that strives to inject an emotional nuance.  But the film stumbles, especially whenever kids are involved.  Close Encounters and ET taught us that Spielberg mastered the art of patience and understanding when working with child performers.  But Hook, which involves many child actors, remains fixated on the adult performances.  We’re presented an adult Peter, Captain Hook, a sexualized Tinker Bell.  When all of the players have made their grandiose entrances, it’s obvious that Spielberg was clearly infatuated by his cast and allows long-winded moments of Julia Roberts and Williams or Dustin Hoffman and Bob Hoskins to play longer than they should.  But the crucial elements are lost due to Steven’s utter disinterest in the children. 

Let’s examine Peter’s own kids.  The daughter is reserved to looking cute and screams a lot when she and her elder brother are captured by Hook, SME and company.  (How did Hook return to the normal world anyway?)  Peter’s son, Jack, hates his dad for being stuffy.  He sees Captain Hook as an ideal father because Hook can build him a baseball stadium (if you build it, he will come) and allows him to break clocks.  Inevitably, Jack only reinvigorates his love for his Dad after he sees him as Peter Pan and not as a father.  There are long moments when Jack (played by talented child star, Charlie Korsmo) merely stares with wide eyes while the Oscar winners chew the scenery. 

And then there are The Lost Boys.  When Peter first encounters them, they display no wonder or innocence.   They’re downright hateful street thugs complemented by Rufio, the newly invented leader whose hair looks even more outlandish than it did in 1991.  There’s never a moment when the fierce leader allows his guard to fall; when he becomes a genuine character and not a caricature.  Instead, the kids perform street basketball moves and other culturally-sound actions that can only come from long exposure periods to MTV.  Does Neverland get cable?

There’s also a confusing message that seems to come from Spielberg’s inner-child turmoils.  Peter inevitably rekindles his childhood memories and naivety by recalling his happy thoughts…of being a father.  His guide is Tinker Bell, who straddles a fine line between bubbly sweetness and a deep longing for romantic kinship with Peter.  The subplot has possibilities, but inevitably fizzles.   There’s a battle between childhood desires with adulthood contentment.  In many ways, it represents Spielberg’s own inability to toggle between his youthful and adult psyche.

This turmoil continued for Spielberg two years later.  He was handling  the B-movie action/adventure, Jurassic Park, but had has his heart set more on the extremely personal Schindler’s List.  Because of a conflicting schedule, Spielberg left the Jurassic post-production duties to his pal, George Lucas, while he invested his soul into his passion project.  Jurassic Park, despite its successes, is clearly Spielberg on cruise control.

For example, the film’s focuses on paleontogists Allen Grant and Ellie Salder, chaotician (and comic relief) Ian Malcolm, a lawyer and a billionaire.  Along for the ride are two kids.  But the children are merely fodder for the film’s thrills.  The focus is leaning toward the adults.  In 1982, Spielberg would have invested more interest in with the children.  And unlike extravaganzas like Jaws, Close Encounters and ET, the real star of the show was a special effect.   Of course, kids are disposable in Spielberg’s earlier works like Jaws and Close Encounters.  But star Richard Dreyfuss filled in as the Spielberg child persona; always chasing dreams and imagination, much to the chagrin of the adult contemporaries. He even presses his disengaged children to watch Pinocchio on the big screen, giddily excited when he sees the film is playing at the local cinema. 

After Jurassic Park reigned in the box office and Schindler captured Spielberg his long-coveted Oscar, he took a hiatus to be with his children (and help form his studio project, Dreamworks).  When Spielberg got behind the director’s chair again, he was lured into Jurassic Park’s sequel purely by a mountain of money (much to the dismay of his Dreamworks’ co-founders).  If Jurassic Park lacked some of Spielberg’s personal investment, it’s evident that his heart is completely absent here.  The second installment lacks the awe and wonder that peaked its head into the original.  There is one child this time: Ian’s adopted daughter.  She is, once again, merely functional as a passable victim for T-Rex’s and velociraptors, whose only characterization is her fondness for gymnastics, even during the most inopportune moments.

I lament about Spielberg’s loss of youth as if it were avoidable.  The fact is: it was inevitable.  What’s troubling is whenever Spielberg tries (and fails) to return to his younger form; embracing a franchise, or a genre, that was clearly the lovechild of his younger, naive self that no longer exists.  He routinely attempts to rekindle with the the types of films that made him an icon, rather than simply embrace the newer, mature course that lead him to two (possibly three) Oscars.

The most obvious is Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, which was machine-manufactured by Spielberg.  There’s no sense of the Spielberg of 1981.  For instance, the action (which is ridiculous, even for an Indiana Jones film) lacks any sense of tongue-in-cheek, nail-biting ferocity.  The first sequence has the aged Indiana scaling from wood block to wood block…from the point-of-view of the villains.  Seriously, if you re watch the film (on mute!) you may mistake the film as being about the protagonist Russians and that evil American.

It’s that kind of detachment that shows Spielberg’s utter loss of engagement with this kind of B-movie that made him a household name.  If you examine a film like Lincoln (faults and all), there’s a deeper, more connected approach.  Spielberg wants to make these films; whether its for more Oscar glory or some continued longing to make the world a better place.  Whatever.

When I think back on Hook, this is clearly the point when both Spielbergs come to a tumultuous impasse, with no final resolution between the two conflicting forces.  The film ends with Peter somehow re-establishing his sense of innocence and imagination, but leaves us wondering what fine line he’ll inevitably walk when the film ends.  “To live…to live will be an awfully big adventure”.  Bullshit!

Hook will never be remembered as a Spielberg classic.  It’s too capricious, too confused to establish any deeply rooted connection with its audience.  Since its release, Spielberg has all but denounced it.  It was clearly a product made by a man no longer in tune with awe and wonder.  For example, despite Steven’s reputation by getting through movie shoots unscathed and on schedule (a self-imposed discipline after the nightmarish Jaws production) he was unsuccessful with either on Hook. The sets look like areas that people stroll past at Disneyland before they get to the rides.  The actors all do a fine job taking turns stealing scenes.  But there’s something missing.  Something magical.  Yet, in a bizarre sense, it’s the most telling film of Spielberg’s career (other than ET).  He’s hoping the children will peel back the wrinkles behind the graying beard and find a giddy, young man ready for adventures.  But, as the boys noted in the film, Spielberg “you’ve grown up.  You promised never to grow up.”

The moment Spielberg grew up (Part One)

You remember when the adulterous, scheming John Edwards once identified our country as two Americas?  Well, here’s a tale of two Spielbergs.  The first: a naive dreamer who envisioned friendly aliens, adventure serials and fairy tales.  He instilled in his work the kind of dreams that nursed him through a childhood filled with bullies and the pains of his parent’s divorce.  That Spielberg is dead now.  The second: a man who looks to the stars…who stroll down a red carpet.

At 64, the auteur behind some of the most successful films from the last 35 years shows no signs of slowing.  For each Spielberg, there is a type of film that accompanies his line of work.  The first set dazzles with creative energy and imagination.  The second series are occasionally brilliant and fit along the bill of films that normally win awards.

The younger, simpler Spielberg has eroded away — kinda like the ending of Raiders where his youthful, brownish bearded face melts into nothingness.  Now, a film like E.T. is well beyond his reach.  It was evident to me during a behind-the-scenes documentary on the new Jaws bluray (Get it, if you haven’t already!)  A camera-man actually recorded Spielberg’s reaction to the Oscar nominations announcement.  Jaws got a plethora of Oscar nominations, including Best Picture.  But Steven was visibly hurt when his name wasn’t called for Best Director — and he was going to get it!

Since then, Spielberg has been hurling himself into the awards frenzy.  He was justly awarded for Schindler’s List.  You’d think that this single acknowledgment would suffice the most powerful creative entity in Hollywood.  But Spielberg went back to the hunt immediately.  His commercial side settled on Lost World, but his need for more accolades brought him into the world of Amistad and Saving Private Ryan.  That’s not to suggest that Spielberg’s mind and heart and soul weren’t invested.  But you got a glimpse of a hidden sense of want.  When he won again for Ryan, Spielberg went onstage and embarrassingly acknowledged “Am I allowed the say I really wanted this?”

Watching films like Warhorse and the recent Lincoln opened my eyes to a style to Spielberg that wasn’t obvious in his earlier films.  There’s also the obvious trends that started with The Color Purple, Empire of the Sun and reached a crescendo with Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan.  When you look at his work, in general, you can see how his seemingly broad number of masterworks can be divided into two singular categories.

 

Obviously, there’s the younger, childlike Steven who created B-movies like Jaws, The Indiana Jones trilogy and Jurassic Park.  Each film possesses a fun sense of showmanship  in which Spielberg attempts to dazzle our senses rather than our minds.  There are obvious arguments that he accomplishes both, especially in Jaws and Raiders.  Somehow, the man took stories that were usually reserved for weekly serials and comic books (long before Superman and The Dark Knight) and molded them into works of art.

The reason his films remain valid in the 21st century was his focus on character over spectacle.  Indiana Jones registers as a genuine human with emotions, fear (he hates snakes), severed girl-ties (Marion), and relatable survival instincts (why fight the scary sword fighter when he can just shoot him?).  There’s also the trio from Jaws that epitomize three layers of the human male, which Chief Brody being the core center between the dweebish thinking man and the half-crazed, working-class fisherman.  Spielberg takes moments to humanize them, whether it be during a drunken game of scar show-and-tale or a simple moment with Brody thinking over his mistake in not warning the community about the dangers.  Spielberg once said in an interview with James Lipton (no Will Ferrell impressions, please) that the crucial element of his stories is to allow the audience to feel connected, even during long pauses of simply witnessing the character think or process through the plot.

These simple elements help add a layer to his supposed B-pictures.  More importantly, these moments did not draw attention to themselves.  Spielberg trusted us.  In E.T. there are no verbal explanations for the E.T., his reason for being on Earth or his psychic connection to Elliot.  We simply witness and record the information and accept it.  

This rule seems to have gotten lost as of late.  The biggest culprit is Spielberg’s serious drama War Horse.  The first 30 minutes feel like you’re tied down and being spoon-fed sugar.  He shovels us close-ups of a pretty boy exchanging loving glances with an animal.  It’s one giant Hallmark card.  John Williams music swelled.  Everyone in the film smiled.  Yet, I felt little to nothing.  I was being manipulated–and I hated it as a result.

Somehow, Spielberg, in making more adult-themed, stories has begun to cater to his audience as if we were children.  Although he was never subtle, it’s obvious that Spielberg, like many other film-makers I could name, seem to fall in love with every shred of film in the can.  As a result, his films have gotten longer and longer; his characters have resounding monologues over what it all means.  Lincoln is already being propelled to be among his best films, yet there are obvious examples in which Spielberg could have kept himself in check.  And I’ve already said enough about the pitch-perfect ending that was hindered by five-minutes of overkill.

If you trace down the IMDB list of Spielberg’s films, you could argue that The Color Purple was a turning point for Spielberg.  It was a film as far away from his sensibilities as possible.  A strong film, no doubt, but it was Oscar bait.  Then came Empire of the Sun, a David Lean-inspired epic that would usually claim every accolade two decades earlier.  During the mid-to-late 80s, Spielberg strayed from the box office champions and aimed for more prestigious films.  Of course, he would abide to his promise to pal George Lucas and wrap up this Indiana Jones trilogy and maintain his commercial clout.

However, I’d argue that Spielberg’s true turning point was not the films he made, but how he began to make them.  The film the reflects this best…is Hook.  

In Part 2, I explain how…

Lincoln–Review

If there’s one major flaw in Lincoln: it’s the title! The film is, arguably, about the greatest United States President, yes; however, rather than revolve around Lincoln’s life as a whole—his demons, his personal quandaries, his mentally fragile wife, his son’s denouncement of privilege and desire to go to war, even the far-fetched (unfounded) rumors of Lincoln’s homosexuality—we focus fixedly on only his final months, including his hard-fought battle to end slavery once and for all with a 13th amendment. It’s a film about the struggles, benefits and detriments of a Democratic system—one which should be examined, carefully, by our current members of Congress. Yet, even within this limited scope, Spielberg captures Lincoln’s essence. I left the theater thinking I knew him. I teared up as I mourned his passing (spoiler!). I felt his premature death and his absence from the present save for his unflinching historical influence.

It’s a complement to Daniel Day-Lewis who embodies all the trademark characteristics we think of when we think of Lincoln and a few more we didn’t know: his high-pitched voice, his masterful “under-the-table” negotiations and manipulations. Lincoln was a masterful storyteller. His seemingly rambling fables were so commonplace that, at one point, the impatient Secretary of War, smelling a long-winded recantation, makes an early retreat. Yet, Day-Lewis exudes Lincoln’s gifts: his ability to capture to hearts and minds of any who would listen. His stories, which at first might feel completely irrelevant, suddenly become potent allegories with the power to influence the strongest of wills. Day-Lewis remains graceful in his pacing, speaking each sentence with pitch-perfect timing and confidence, never allowing our attention to waver, always keeping us spell-bound to know what he would say or do next. He’s mesmerizing to the point that you can understand why so many people were drawn to him. 

There are many scenes that establish Lincoln’s brilliance. There is a secret discussion between him and abolitionist Senator Thaddeus Stevens (quietly hidden in the cellar, naturally) where Lincoln shares Stevens’ (Tommy Lee Jones) desire for complete racial equality, but explains that the public will only embrace one small step at a time, starting with abolition as it was described in the 13th amendment. Anything more radically challenging would likely have undermined everything. 

To procure the Democratic votes needed for a 13th Amendment, Lincoln had his regime promote the law as a means of crippling the Confederacy and ending the Civil War, even though the war was on the verge of ending. During these Congressional debates, Lincoln held secret negotiations with Confederate V.P. Alexander Stevens (Jackie Earle Haley), who was prepared to surrender should slavery be retained in the South. Lincoln’s refusal to negotiate with the Confederacy before their surrender at Appomattox Court House meant a pro-longed war could that cost thousands more lives, including endangering the life of his own son Robert (Joseph Gordon-Levitt). The exploits of the Amendment battle include many supporting players including Lincoln’s allies in his quest like his loyal Secretary of State (David Strathaim) and adviser Francis Blair (Hal Halbrook).

This may be Spielberg’s greatest collection of talents and performances in his career. It’s almost impossible to think that Spielberg was going to give Lincoln to Liam Neeson—a fine actor—but not up to snuff with what Day-Lewis delivers. His Lincoln is quiet, reserved, calculating, and leads with a soft but unwavering touch. During quiet moments when Lincoln is pensive, it’s impossible not to be spell-bound by him.

Sally Field also fares well as Mary Todd, Lincoln’s emotionally fragile wife. There’s only so much for her to do other than berate her husband’s decisions to prolong the war and condoning their son’s (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) desires to enlist in the army. The family drama is sidelined for the politics, leaving the two to sit by the sidelines and bear witness to Abe’s history-making. The brief interludes between husband and wife seem like another story; one that should be reserved for a three-hour epic that could add some meat to Lincoln’s personal trials.

The real side-draw is Jones’s Senator Stevens, whose cantankerous verbal pokes at his Democratic opposition in the House of Representatives are some of the film’s highlights. His opposing views with Lincoln beg for debate, and he engages real-world ideas for how change can be introduced to society. Jones is even afforded his fair share of emotional satisfaction, including the film’s climax that adds a brand new layer to a Stevens, who, by all accounts, was even more radical than Lincoln ever was.

It’s a testament to Spielberg for making Lincoln and referencing many political arenas that are hot debate topics in today’s world—the idea of government’s role, the fine-line between change and appeasement, the holes in the political discourse. But, as Spielberg tends to do, he exudes a heavy-hand, foregoing subtlety with outright message hammering. It’s nowhere near as forced as Amistad or even Saving Private Ryan, but it’s evident that one repeated diatribe toward slavery’s evils could have been supplanted successfully with more meat to Lincoln’s personal trials.

Technically, this film is a marvel to behold with historically pristine sets, costumes and candlelit lighting. For a film devoid of action (save for a short Civil War opening battle), there’s a lot for the senses to ingest whether it be Lincoln’s offices or the details of the White House bedrooms. John Williams’ score is surprisingly strong and reserved. Spielberg allows it to come to life only during key moments. There are even speeches in which you expect Williams to sound the trumpets, but they keep it at bay. Thankfully.

Like many, I felt the film could have ended five minutes before it actually does. There’s something powerfully moving about seeing Lincoln stroll the White House hallway one final time–his solemn, instantly recognizable silhouette leaving behind a legacy with each step he takes. His final words to his staff bear more poignancy than any grandiose speech Spielberg could add as a final curtain call. By the penultimate scene, we’re already convinced that Lincoln was a great man, this was a great film (Spielberg’s finest in over a decade) and Daniel Day-Lewis deserves yet another Oscar.

Great Movies–E.T. The Extra Terrestrial (1982)

Last week I had a rare opportunity to experience E.T. for the first time on the big screen.  It was also my first viewing as an old married man–yet I was immediately transplanted back into the state of an earlier age.  It’s a rare family film that asks adults to return to the frame of mind of a child.  It asks children to simply be.

Only a handful of films have successfully achieved such a demand on its audience.  There’s Disney’s Pinocchio, where we hearken back to the vitality of being “a good boy” and The Wizard of Oz, which touches the unabated motto “there’s no place like home”.  In this case E.T. borrows the latter.  The “home” , in this case, is a faraway planet.  We never learn anything about it nor do any of the kids in the film ask about it.  It doesn’t matter.  The point is: it’s E.T.’s home and he misses it and wants to get back.  Every kid understands that.

The film’s first five minutes begin with zero dialog.  A spaceship rests in a desolate redwood forest.  One of the visitors ventures far away from his spaceship.  When a bevy of government “adults” approach, the starship escapes leaving E.T behind.  We don’t see the alien save for long shots and angles obscured in shadow and foliage.  But Spielberg constantly shows the world though E.T’s eyes.  We hear him breath and moan and grunt with insatiable curiosity.  When the humans approach, he screams in terror.  Again, kids get it.

What kids won’t understand is the adult government agents who pursue E.T.  Adults would guess that they hope to capture the alien and run countless experiments.  But their true intentions remain ominous and mysterious.  Spielberg adds distance by never showing the adults’ faces.  The camera remains low; at the level of E.T. and Elliot.  Other adults involved, including Elliot’s irate teacher and a visiting police officer are only shown from the torso down. Only Elliot’s stressed, but considerate mother (Dee Wallace) is revealed from the start.  Eventually, we also view the face of a head government agent, “keys” (Peter Coyote).  We only become connected to his character because he clearly understands Elliot’s innocent and humane compassion.

The attention to detail centers around the innocent mentalities of the three siblings who aid E.T.  The children performers contain some of the best acting of any young thespians in cinema history.  First, Spielberg allows them to act like kids.  When Elliot brings the alien into his room, he shows the him his toys, explains the basic concepts of Coca-Cola, fish and Star Wars figurines.  What kid wouldn’t do this?  When Elliot’s younger sister first meets E.T., she asks “Is he a boy or a girl?” and “Was he wearing any clothes?” 

There’s also the behaviors and dialog that the trio exchange: the constant teasing and harassment of the older brother, Elliot’s verbal counterattacks (“It was nothing like that, Penis-breath”), the brief ransom of Gertie’s doll to ensure she’s mum regarding E.T.’s presence, Elliot’s fake illness that involves holding the thermometer next to a heated lamp while smothering his forehead in a pillow.  When Elliot’s elder teenage brother, Michael, is outside the range of adult ears, he curses–because that’s what teens do. 

Henry Thomas, in only his second film role, carries most of the film; milking the special effect of his co-star–rummaging through a large scope of emotions: fear, curiosity, love, loss and finally the tearful heartbreak when he bids goodbye to his alien pal.  There’s also the equally compelling turn of Elliot’s younger sister, Gertie (Drew Barrymore) who adds a lovely nurturing side to her alien companion; giving him flowers and dressing him in woman’s drag the moment Elliot is out of the house.   

Spielberg described the initial conceptual design of E.T. as the face “only a mother could love”.  Yet, E.T.’s hairless, coarse skin, and bizarre neck that stretches to the point where he matches Elliot in height, is surprisingly enchanting.  The conception of E.T. was modeled after a amalgamation of Carl Sandburg, Albert Einstein, Ernest Hemingway and a pug dog.  The Mars company balked at the design and pulled out its M&Ms candy brand, causing Elliot to use Reese’s Pieces instead to lure E.T. into his house.  After E.T. premiered, the candy nearly doubled in sales.

My recent reviewing of E.T. was the original 1982 version.  The special effects still work without any of the digital tampering performed by Spielberg for the 2002 theatrical re-release and DVD.  There’s never one moment when E.T. doesn’t come across as alive.  The large screen brought many of the intricate details to life, such as the pulsating veins, his dilating eyes.  His voice was designed by a concoction of numerous contributors including actress Debra Winger and the brilliant sound effects design by Ben Burtt (The Star Wars saga).  E.T. remains one of the most dazzling creations in cinema.  There are moments when the proximity of the camera should reveal the gadgetry and effect, but all we see is a soul behind those large eyes.

E.T. works because our emotions never overtly manipulated.  Spielberg never pushes us.  Even John Williams’ soaring, brilliant music takes its time to reach an emotional apex.  The film begins with ominous music and E.T. draped in shadow and mystery.  Yet, somehow, Spielberg engages us to share Elliot’s feelings without overtly stating so.  Spielberg reuses some of his elements from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, in which no final verdict is offered to us, but we’re given time to ponder over the evidence. We don’t know anything about E.T., but, like Elliot, we’re entirely curious. There’s Elliot’s first “meeting” with E.T. which is frightening.  Their second encounter includes E.T. walking in fast paces directly at Elliot, whose fear and curiosity prevents him from running away.  In a simple gesture, E.T. hands over some Reese’s Pieces.  Again, kids get it.

As we learn more of E.T., we understand why Elliot becomes so taken by him.  E.T. even has the power to share his emotions.  Inevitably, the boy and his extraterrestrial friend escape the government in order to get E.T. back to his ship.  The climax involves a chase with boys on bicycles outmaneuvering the government cars.  The chases reaches a pinnacle when the bikes reach a dead-end involving a motor barricade and men bearing guns.  For the 2002 version, Spielberg digitally replaced guns with walkie talkies believing the weapons sent the wrong message.  He was wrong.  For the upcoming blu ray (coming on October 9th), only the 1982 film is available with the guns intact.  Watching the film again, the message of guns offers a bad taste.  All that mattered was that E.T. got home.  The arms only further vilifies the adult pursuers.  And when E.T. causes the bicycles to soar over the armed barricade, the audience during my screening roared into applause–even 30 years later.

E.T. remains one of the finest films ever made.  It represents Spielberg’s pinnacle in craft, sentimentality and genuine heart-string tugging.  Even after 30 years, its impact remains unpoisoned by a our more sardonic, cynical world.  There’s only a boy, who makes a friend and helps him go home.  When the credits rolled, a young boy exclaimed “I love this movie!”  With a tear rolling down my cheek, I couldn’t have said it better myself. 

Video Pick: Jaws (1975)

It seems appropriate that Jaws receives its long-awaited blu ray debut during the hot, sweltering season.  It was the film that defined the summer blockbuster; the light bulb epiphany for the directionless Hollywood.  For the next four decades (and counting)  studios would follow the formula established by the man-eating shark: catering to massive audiences in order to keep their revenue streams high.  The “event movie” was born!  Yet, Jaws remains the perfect blend of summer blockbuster appeasement and genuinely brilliant film-making craftsmanship that stands the test of time.

The new blu ray release is an event to be celebrated.  The presentation is a magnificent improvement in terms of both visual and audio departments.  For this release, surviving 35mm film elements were scanned, cleaned up and supervised by Steven Spielberg himself.  The dazzling results come as a slight surprise based on Universal’s mixed track record.  The film is just one of many “restorations” undertaken for the company’s 100th anniversary celebration.  Earlier blu ray releases such as Pillow Talk and The Sting were criticized for utilizing the Digital Noise Reduction (DNR) process which scrubs the film elements of grain, but compromises much of the image’s intricate details in the process.  In other words, to make the film appear “new”, the film had to lose a great deal of what should be gained from the blu ray format and the changes deviate from the film makers’ original conception. 

Having recently seen Jaws presented on the big screen in 35mm, I can attest that the blu ray retains the details and most of the film’s original grain and color spectrum.  The film was also unmarred by the “additional” changes that were made to the film’s original imperfections, which spurred controversy with film purists.  However, the final results should please all.  Not one frame has been given a CGI touch-up.  No additional computer-effects for Bruce, the shark.

The modifications were done at the behest of Spielberg on previous mistakes and issues that were undetectable to most viewers, if any at all.  For example, there were scenes Quint’s ship, the Orca, where the color timing was off between shots.  Certain shots were captured at different periods in the shooting and they didn’t properly match after being edited together.  Most folks–including myself–never noticed any error, but the color was retimed to match perfectly for the time in the film’s history.

Another change was the monster sound effect that was added as the shark’s dead remains sank to the bottom of the ocean.  The sound has been amplified slightly, but I still couldn’t detect any abnormal inadequacies in the mix.  It all looks and sounds like the Jaws we know and love, only better than most have ever experienced.  .

The blu ray maintains the excellent two-hour documentary that highlights numerous anecdotes on the film’s making, chronicling all of the obstacles Spielberg and company faced.  Spielberg, only 27 at the time, had only one film under his belt (The Sugarland Express), but managed to make the film he wanted, which meant shooting the technically daunting film in the harsh Atlantic Ocean, rather than opting for a controlled tank.  The mechanical shark never worked, which pressured Spielberg to resort to using indicators of the shark’s presence: the yellow barrels, for instance.  The effect allowed the audience to fill in the gaps and is a real lesson to today’s auteurs who have numerous tools at their disposal and little imagination.    

The blu ray also includes a newer 90-minute documentary that touches on some similar information, but also discusses the film’s legacy, including interviews with influenced filmmakers like Kevin Smith and M. Night Shyamalan. 

This is the ultimate Jaws package.  You should fully aware of the perfection that is the film itself.  It’s now safe to go back in the water!