Tyler Cowen makes the strongest possible case for treating the movie as something more than an interesting gimmick:
I thought this was a remarkable cinematic event. But you need to know that the characters are supposed to be vacuous and annoying, and that the opening scene is supposed to be obnoxious and superficial. The heroism is supposed to be thin. (The whiney NYT review I read is, in retrospect, an embarrassment.) And that the movie is supposed to make you feel physically nauseated. You are in fact witnessing a disaster. Most of all this is a movie about how the young'uns have no tools for moral discourse and that all they can do is utter banalities and take endless pictures of each other and record their lives for no apparent purpose. I can't recall any other movie that so completely devastates its intended demographic.
My review, forthcoming in the next NR, takes a similar tack to that whiney NYT review Cowen mentions. I'd like to think that the filmmakers had the sort of Waugh-esque agenda in mind that he describes, but I don't think the film bears his reading out. (Mild spoilers follow.)
For one thing, the film does have a classic heroic arc. Cowen calls it “thin,” but the only thing that’s thin are the characters who enact it; the actual decision to cross a monster-ravaged midtown to save the woman you love is anything but. And Cloverfield plays the love story that sets the heroic arc in motion perfectly straight: One of the film's more effective flourishes is to cross-cut the unfolding horror with scenes of the romantic leads at Coney Island, enjoying their last happy day together (the tape is supposedly being recorded over an older video), and I don't think there's any hint that we're supposed to treat these glimpses of their too-briefly-shared Arcadia as anything but poignant in a very straightforward way. Which is how the whole film plays, to my mind - as a very straightforward, even old-fashioned disaster movie in which an enormous monster attacks Manhattan and everyone learns valuable lessons about the importance of friendship and love just before they get gobbled up. (As Anthony Lane notes: "... when, precisely, does [the monster] first announce his presence? Not when someone is pouring a drink or telling a joke but just as Rob’s brother rounds off a maudlin speech: 'It’s about moments, man. Forget the world, you’ve got to hang on to the people you love most.' And, boom: cue the catastrophe.")
There's nothing wrong with a conventional monster-movie storyline, particularly if you're working with a gimmicky format. But the fact that J.J. Abrams and Matt Reeves didn't manage - or didn't bother - to flesh out their conventional narrative with even mildly engaging characters or dialogue shouldn't be treated as proof that they're engaged in some scabrous satire of contemporary twentysomething life. Vile Bodies this ain't.
I think I agree with you that this movie follows a conventional monster movie arc, but more is definitely going on here. The movie is a Godzilla for Generation Y. No God, No science, no power, not even love saves people. I got sucked into this movie by the Chthulu/Lovecraft references, but his monsters and nightmares tended to end with a researcher or scientist saying the right words and doing the right things. Nothing stops this monster.
The question the movie presented to me was, how did the military get this tape? Why is it in the military's hands, not a news crew or somebody else's? If the DOD has it, does that mean that they killed the monster? the tape could not have survived a nuclear attack, so noone nuked New York. I don't see how humanity wins this one.
While the lovers have an arc, I am not sure if it is a valuable one. There is no declaration of love, or even a kiss. This is Checkov's King Kong...no values survive. I think that does make this a remarkable film, though not necessarily a good one. It's nihilism is the gene it shares with Blair Witch.
I think a little of Alien and Aliens, both of which feature an unstoppable force, but also a clear feminist moral. I don't see a moral in this story.
I wonder if you could make the argument that the main character (Rob?) doesn't really love Beth. Instead, he doesn't want to leave his tribe. His tribe of young party people celebrate themselves as if their lives were one big Round Table.
It is dangerous to assume that open questions are left open intentionally, and not through writer's laziness. This film leaves us with some good questions.
How does the military get the film?
Why do the other three accompany Rob in?
Why don't they run?
(Assume they are millenials who can do anything with a little pluck)
Why go into the subways?
Why didn't Rob call his Mom when his brother died?
Why don't they call anyone else when it is clear that they are in trouble?
I want to think that this movie makes a point about tribal thinking. Just because you lead the tribe, doesn't mean that you are either wise or all powerful. But these kids only have the tribe. (I don't know if the text supports that.)
Posted by Barr | January 22, 2008 8:14 PM