I've always had a thing for the annual recipient for Sundance's Alfred P Sloan award. It's the only film festival award I know of that acknowledges the use of science in filmmaking. These films used to cater to a marginalized section of the film-going public that actually like to use their scientific-knowledge seeking frontal lobes when watching a film...and not have to worry about seeing aliens with ray-guns, explosions, or just lame excuses for special effects. Some of my favorites in this ever-growing sub-genre include Sleep Dealer
, House of Sand
, Grizzly Man
, and the all-mighty Grand Jury Prize winner, Primer
! However, as with many of the Sundance winners, I've been noticing an increasing sense of commercialization of these types of films. It started in 2009 with the charmingly inert Adam
, a Sloan winner that its distributor seemed to want to (and failed to) expand from the usual summer-release art-house ghetto of most Sundance winners.
Though I (like most) still haven't seen the Sloan winner from 2010, Obselidia, I figured it was a matter of time until a superficially scientifically-minded film came along that screamed "give me a career, damn it!" more than any artistic merit. A marketable feature length demo reel that instantly ranks as one of the worst films of the year. That time is now.
Mike Cahill's Another Earth
not only arrives with hot commercial buzz around the multi-talented and (until recently) ignored Brit Marling, but also Sundance award winning credibility that would suggest that this film is something more than sex appeal masquerading as philosophical and metaphysical debate. Sadly, it really isn't. Now, I understand that films nowadays have to be as appealing as possible to get an audience. And, granted, Brit Marling is a natural beauty with a real intelligence under her hood (and also seems to be gunning for the Jennifer Lawrence Award of Sundance Over-Achievers turned major stars). At the same time, I feel like I'm being taken for a ride (not a spoiler alert!) as I watch Another Earth. Unlike many brainy sci-fi festival films, this one isn't afraid to wear its comercial aspirations on its sleeve. I doubt even Lars Von Trier's upcoming Melancholia boasts this much commercialism in its strangely similar storyline (and that one's got Kirsten Dunst stripping off).
This artificial and manipulative excuse for grief counsuling has a hipster-friendly soundtrack by Fall on Your Sword,
mumblecore-friendly cinematography seemingly trying (and failing) to make Brit's character seem really downtrodden and deglamorized (ie. UNPRETTY!), an unerotic love scene with Tom Cruise's cousin, underage drunk driving that result in fatal car crashes out of 80s TV movies, life-altering social networking, lots of "meaningful" cross dissolves slippery philosophical waxing, nerdy sound manipulation seductions that somehow actually work, manipulative flashback shots, reversal of traditional gender representations, metaphoric and surprisingly non-threatening planets, a predictable and traditionally structured screenplay with only one melodramatic monologue for flavor, MINIMALISM, MINIMALISM, MINIMALISM, and a trendy ambiguous ending that really isn't that ambiguous and arguably could used as an excuse to make the lead actress finally look sexy. Did I mention that it has its leading lady is not afraid to show some skin to articulate her self-pity? Yes, it's THAT kind of indie film. Disciplined, lived-through, over-hyped, self-glorifying and, ultimately, dramatically underwhelming. The fact that Miss Brit has real talent is beyond the point.
As one gets through the film's rather laughable command of scientific language and concepts that have no basis in reality (for example, if a planet really was that close to our's, we would all DIE, like in Melancholia, not indulge in silly internet contests). This film is really about second chances. The type everyone deserves to have (esp. in showbiz), like Frenchie Davis' career, or, better yet, Brit Maring's! I must say the girl's got ingenue appeal, but she really should not be fashioning her own cliche-ridden indie star vehicles at this point in her career. The most poignant element in this film to me was not her character's willingness to do the right thing and redeem her selfish existence by giving her victim back his life back, but the fact that this film artist seems to feel her mere presence guarantees distribution and a built-in audience interested in watching a film that only pretends to have any scientific and artistic merit. Yes, instead of old-fashioned time traveling, this film seems to feel that metaphoric parallel worlds and social networking redeem the unforgivable. That's the way of the 2010s! Go indie!
You think THIS is going to make you indie douche bags famous?! HA!
My favorite moment in this whole mess is when Brit's character (who is always moping around her podunk town, no matter what mood she's in) is rolling around her bed, gazing into her intergalactic ticket. Yes, they actually made a prop ticket for the rocket ship that is only supposed to carry one commercial passenger. However, (real spoiler alert) no one ever seems to question why Brit is not the one who goes to Earth 2 after she gets lots of limited budget indepedent film media coverage. If it's this character's emotional journey we're really supposed to care about, they could have made her less of a droning indie film cliche; a talented but superficial model straining for street credit.
Hmmmm. Maybe it would be more dramatic to strip for the planet at night.
If films like this show how Hollywood underachievers can, finally, come into their own as commercially marketable commodities in a soft filmmaking economy, color me disenfranchised. Much like the twin planet hovering next to our own in the film, nothing in the film, from the characters, story, themes, or even emotional impact, ever achieves any sort of gravity....and just floats away from memory...one artificial pause by pause. There's a line of dialogue that sums up how I feel about this film: When Brit finds out that she has won the ALL MIGHTY space ship travelling contest by simply saying that she only deserves to win because she completely fucked up her own life and the life of a complete stranger years before and, therefore, has no other options in life than to WIN the chance to be expedited to another world (if only there was a contest like that for Casey Anthony), the millionaire scientist running the contest says to her on the phone, "There's a fine line between [going to prison and becoming a millionaire]. Much finer than you realize." This suggest that the struggle to succeed can be seen as a criminal act. The same goes to puesdo indie film fame whore/social climbers...like Brit Marling.
, House of Sand, Grizzly Man, and the all-mighty Grand Jury Prize winner, Primer! However, as with many of the Sundance winners, I've been noticing an increasing sense of commercialization of these types of films. It started in 2009 with the charmingly inert Adam, a Sloan winner that its distributor seemed to want to (and failed to) expand from the usual summer-release art-house ghetto of most Sundance winners.Though I (like most) still haven't seen the Sloan winner from 2010, Obselidia, I figured it was a matter of time until a superficially scientifically-minded film came along that screamed "give me a career, damn it!" more than any artistic merit. A marketable feature length demo reel that instantly ranks as one of the worst films of the year. That time is now.
Mike Cahill's Another Earth
not only arrives with hot commercial buzz around the multi-talented and (until recently) ignored Brit Marling, but also Sundance award winning credibility that would suggest that this film is something more than sex appeal masquerading as philosophical and metaphysical debate. Sadly, it really isn't. Now, I understand that films nowadays have to be as appealing as possible to get an audience. And, granted, Brit Marling is a natural beauty with a real intelligence under her hood (and also seems to be gunning for the Jennifer Lawrence Award of Sundance Over-Achievers turned major stars). At the same time, I feel like I'm being taken for a ride (not a spoiler alert!) as I watch Another Earth. Unlike many brainy sci-fi festival films, this one isn't afraid to wear its comercial aspirations on its sleeve. I doubt even Lars Von Trier's upcoming Melancholia boasts this much commercialism in its strangely similar storyline (and that one's got Kirsten Dunst stripping off).This artificial and manipulative excuse for grief counsuling has a hipster-friendly soundtrack by Fall on Your Sword,
mumblecore-friendly cinematography seemingly trying (and failing) to make Brit's character seem really downtrodden and deglamorized (ie. UNPRETTY!), an unerotic love scene with Tom Cruise's cousin, underage drunk driving that result in fatal car crashes out of 80s TV movies, life-altering social networking, lots of "meaningful" cross dissolves slippery philosophical waxing, nerdy sound manipulation seductions that somehow actually work, manipulative flashback shots, reversal of traditional gender representations, metaphoric and surprisingly non-threatening planets, a predictable and traditionally structured screenplay with only one melodramatic monologue for flavor, MINIMALISM, MINIMALISM, MINIMALISM, and a trendy ambiguous ending that really isn't that ambiguous and arguably could used as an excuse to make the lead actress finally look sexy. Did I mention that it has its leading lady is not afraid to show some skin to articulate her self-pity? Yes, it's THAT kind of indie film. Disciplined, lived-through, over-hyped, self-glorifying and, ultimately, dramatically underwhelming. The fact that Miss Brit has real talent is beyond the point.
As one gets through the film's rather laughable command of scientific language and concepts that have no basis in reality (for example, if a planet really was that close to our's, we would all DIE, like in Melancholia, not indulge in silly internet contests). This film is really about second chances. The type everyone deserves to have (esp. in showbiz), like Frenchie Davis' career, or, better yet, Brit Maring's! I must say the girl's got ingenue appeal, but she really should not be fashioning her own cliche-ridden indie star vehicles at this point in her career. The most poignant element in this film to me was not her character's willingness to do the right thing and redeem her selfish existence by giving her victim back his life back, but the fact that this film artist seems to feel her mere presence guarantees distribution and a built-in audience interested in watching a film that only pretends to have any scientific and artistic merit. Yes, instead of old-fashioned time traveling, this film seems to feel that metaphoric parallel worlds and social networking redeem the unforgivable. That's the way of the 2010s! Go indie!
My favorite moment in this whole mess is when Brit's character (who is always moping around her podunk town, no matter what mood she's in) is rolling around her bed, gazing into her intergalactic ticket. Yes, they actually made a prop ticket for the rocket ship that is only supposed to carry one commercial passenger. However, (real spoiler alert) no one ever seems to question why Brit is not the one who goes to Earth 2 after she gets lots of limited budget indepedent film media coverage. If it's this character's emotional journey we're really supposed to care about, they could have made her less of a droning indie film cliche; a talented but superficial model straining for street credit.
If films like this show how Hollywood underachievers can, finally, come into their own as commercially marketable commodities in a soft filmmaking economy, color me disenfranchised. Much like the twin planet hovering next to our own in the film, nothing in the film, from the characters, story, themes, or even emotional impact, ever achieves any sort of gravity....and just floats away from memory...one artificial pause by pause. There's a line of dialogue that sums up how I feel about this film: When Brit finds out that she has won the ALL MIGHTY space ship travelling contest by simply saying that she only deserves to win because she completely fucked up her own life and the life of a complete stranger years before and, therefore, has no other options in life than to WIN the chance to be expedited to another world (if only there was a contest like that for Casey Anthony), the millionaire scientist running the contest says to her on the phone, "There's a fine line between [going to prison and becoming a millionaire]. Much finer than you realize." This suggest that the struggle to succeed can be seen as a criminal act. The same goes to puesdo indie film fame whore/social climbers...like Brit Marling.
Or maybe I could just get naked right now. Maybe it'll get us an Independent Spirit Award. Hell, it worked at Sundance.
Taste the banality for yourself here:
