Theme Park Thoughts: Harry Potter & The Forbidden Journey

For a while now I've been trying to get some of my more vocal friends to contribute to the site, mainly due to my terrible back log of content that can never find its way from the "in progress" queue to the desired finished state as fast as I would like. A recent discussion with one of my best friends, Blizz, was sparked by a frequent topic of ours -- theme parks. In particular, the rants and narrative analysis I wanted to do on some of their attractions as part of the Theme Park Thoughts series. Luckily, Blizz's affinity for completed works far outweighs my own, and he has graciously allowed me to share his phenomenal narrative-based rant on a ride we both consider to be one of the best attractions of all-time: Harry Potter & The Forbidden Journey. Enjoy.

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by Blizz

Originally written: June 3rd, 2012

Let me be clear, Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey is one of the best rides I’ve ever been on. It also follows one of the most moronic plotlines ever conceived.

You could ask me why I’m freely choosing to pick on a ride that I actually think is one of the best attractions in the world, when I could just as easily take pot shots at some defenseless idiot of a ride, like Curse of DarKastle at Busch Gardens Williamsburg.  And I still might.  But it’s the fact that Forbidden Journey is so well-known and so beloved that makes its complete and utter disregard for the story it’s telling all the more inexplicable.

This review is my last-ditch attempt to understand why J.K. Rowling was such a stickler for details with every aspect of the Wizarding World…except when it came to its marquee attraction.  Maybe she was stuck in a daydream (presumably one vividly depicting all the fun people wouldn’t have on Pottermore), or maybe she figured whatever team was working on this could…I don’t know…do it themselves?

Whatever it was, something went wrong.

But enough intro, let’s get to the ride.

Prior to riding, we get a tour of many parts of the castle – we start first in the dungeons, then move into the greenhouse, and finally reach Dumbledore’s office, where the headmaster at last introduces us to our roles in this little adventure.  We’re muggles, apparently – the first ever to tour the castle.

And here, from the very first premise of the ride itself, my bullshit meters start going crazy.

If you think about what we’re being told here for even the slightest amount of time, your mind will explode with so many questions that this plot (already) deserves to be scrapped.  We’re talking the-Wizarding-World-has-experienced-society-shattering-changes-and-someone-better-tell-me-what-the-hell-they-are-before-my-brain-hemmorages type problems.

Doesn’t anyone remember the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy?  You know, the law exists to ensure that the Wizarding World is safely hidden from the muggle world.  I know I sound like a huge fanboy here, citing wizard-law, but really, this is isn’t a technicality.  It’s more like the fundamental basis of the Harry Potter universe.  The wizarding world is a secret.  Period.

There are big penalties for even the slightest infraction of this law – in a lot of cases, people’s wands are confiscated, which is kind of like removing your ability to be a contributing member of society.

So just what the fuck has happened that we’re suddenly giving everyday muggles tours of wizarding schools?  Was there great societal upheaval?  Has the Ministry of Magic completely collapsed now that anarchy reigns?  Does that mean Cornelius Fudge is rotting in Azkaban?  Are there riots in major muggle cities now that 7 billion people now know that there’s a sizable population that can do everything from erase their memories to turn them into tea kettles on a whim?  Is no one going to let me know if the resulting wide-spread mania is resulting in calls for World War III?

So, since it’s physically fucking impossible to even begin to sort out this alternate universe that Universal’s created, I’m going to have to go with the cleanest solution I can conjure up.  There’s no societal upheaval, there are no huge changes to the way the Wizarding World operates in the books and movies.  And that means...Dumbledore is a lunatic.

And I really think that’s a bold choice on the part of both Universal and J.K. Rowling.  You’d expect that they’d take the easy route and just have a completely sane Dumbledore give us a simple plotline.  Instead we get all this interesting subtext!  And let’s face it, no other ride sports a preshow where you’re literally unsure of whether or not the authority figure is too nuts to make it to the safety instructions before he blows his brains out in front of everyone.  You’ve got to hand it to the guy, this is the biggest screw-you to the man ever conceived.  You know, if the man was everyone you know and love.

Well I guess there WERE a few times where he KIND OF screwed everyone over...

And considering the conga line you’re walking in, it looks like Dumbledore’s not just making an exception to the rule.  He’s got the Ford fucking assembly line going here, mass producing treason. What an asshole.

Finally, feeling crushed and dumbfounded, we’re allowed to make our way into the next preshow, where Harry, Ron, and Hermione sneak in to tell us that we’re headed straight for a boring lecture telling us all about Wizarding history which, after the complete catastrophe that was the last preshow, I’d actually be pretty damn interested in.  But the trio assure me I’ll have a more fun if I follow them and go get burned alive, smashed, and eaten – I mean…go watch a game of Quidditch.

I haven’t even the slightest idea why Harry wants to be a part of Dumbledore’s batshit plan to watch the world burn, and I certainly can’t figure out why he’d risk the likely inhuman punishment that surely follows from derailing the first ever tour of Hogwarts just so guests can watch him play sports.  Does that make Harry strangely a narcissistic jackass?  I mean…possibly.  Still, considering there were no universe-shattering revelations in this scene, I leave feeling like I got off scot free.

So we wander aimlessly around random rooms in the castle, because son-of-a-bitch Harry told us to meet him in the Room of Requirement (you know, that hidden magical room that only a few people know about?), but neglected to give us any directions to get there.  Thanks, Harry.  As I’m forced to remember all too often, I’m a muggle, meaning that my experience in navigating foreign castles with shifting staircases is pretty close to nil.

As a result, we go completely out of our way and  stumble through the Gryffindor Common Room before finally doubling back to find the Room of Req.  There we find some magic benches that Hermione has enchanted to fly.  She smiles and says a spell I don’t recognize, and then the theme music whisks us off into the ride.

Suddenly we’re at the top of the astronomy tower.  As if to confirm that this isn’t going to be the shortest ride ever, Ron conveniently points out the obvious:  “Hermione did it!  They’re flying!”

We head out towards the Quidditch pitch until Hagrid stops us by the bridge, holding up some large broken shackles.  “Haven’t seen the dragon, have yeh?”

So…I guess Hagrid’s breaking the law again, and got another dragon, this time a full grown one, which he’s been keeping in secret on school premises.  I find this a little hard to believe, since he couldn’t keep a baby secret for more than 5 minutes after it hatched.  At least this blind spot is consistent with Hagrid’s character, but I’m also sure I heard one of the paintings say “Did you hear?  Hagrid’s lost the dragon again,” on my way through the queue line.  So, does everyone know about clearly illegal animal freely roaming the grounds?  Did all the third years pool their money together to buy a Hungarian Horntail as a class pet?  For reference, this thing is thirty feet tall and wants to murder everything in sight.

 Just to be sure, everyone's ok with this murder-machine living right next door, right?

We’re chased around by this fire-breathing ball of death until we fall face first into the Forbidden Forest.  Flashes of lightning tell us that it’s time to be afraid.  I briefly ponder how all these flashes can penetrate the thick layers upon layers of leaves that block out all sunlight (especially when I didn’t see any lightning in the actual sky ten seconds ago). Maybe the forest generates its own internal weather patterns that only exist below the canopy?  But I digress, and the ride reminds me that I have bigger problems by promptly spitting in my face.

For once, that’s actually not me being dramatic – a spider the size of a Toyota Tundra bursts out of the forest and spits in my face.  The other spiders in the forest start following suit, and pretty soon I’m just living out a nightmare I probably have every five nights anyway.

This is leaving me pretty nervous over the status of our heroes.  Harry and Ron are nowhere to be found.  Were they burned off-screen by the dragon while we weren’t looking?  Were they torn apart by these aracontulas while I was blinded by spider-spit?  Surely they wouldn’t leave us for dead…it’s their fault we’re in this mess anyway, so just where the hell are they?

Luckily, Hermione’s here (…huh?) to lead us out of the forest.  Yeah…she’s there…standing right in the middle of this spider-lair making not even the slightest attempt to conceal herself.  That’s ok, though, since the spiders are crawling all around her, ignoring her presence completely.  How did she even know we were here, considering we were all the way across school grounds when we ran into trouble?  More perplexing:  How did she even get here?  She then calmly delivers the biggest understatement she can manage:  “The forest isn’t safe!”

So anyway, we escape the woods, dodge the Whomping Willow, and head to the Quidditch Pitch.  Though, considering our escorts have probably been dismembered over the course of the last two scenes, I’m not really sure why we we’re still going.

We get there and…son of a bitch…

Harry’s perfectly unscathed.  And what’s worse, over the last three or four scenes, it’s immediately apparent that he’s been ignoring our imminent death to play sports.  As if to rub it all in, he turns back to us and says:  “Where’ve you been?”

Where’ve I been!?  Where’ve YOU been, you dick?

No wonder.

Is this the same Harry Potter I read about?  This guy reminds me more of a complete sociopath than anything else.  Seriously, there’s no way that Harry simply didn’t notice we were gone.  There’s no way he didn’t notice that that disappearance coincided EXACTLY with the moment we were attacked by a vicious dragon.  The only explanation is that he intentionally left us behind because we were holding him up on his way to his precious Quidditch match.  Holy Christ, what happened to that “saving people” thing? 

He says, “The snitch, follow me!”  The ride says we should, but I have a suspicion that we’re all only doing this because we want to catch this guy and wring his neck.

We really only have time to hear Draco Malfoy spout some generic trash-talking line about Harry’s mother before the plot, once and for all, collapses completely.

And it happens with one line.

“Dementors!”

Thanks, Ron.

This one word leaves me feeling so insulted on so many levels, that I feel I need to freeze our progression right here, right now.

I’m going to start by noting that the dialogue in this ride has almost completely fallen apart at this point.  There are almost no lines that last more than three words, and we’re inhabiting some sort of weird, Scooby-Doo type universe where all the characters only exist to state the skull-numbingly obvious.

“The Dragon!” --  “Dementors!” -- “They’re flying!” along with about twenty variations of the phrase “Look out!” comprise the entirety of the script.  I know it’s a ride, not a movie, but seriously – it’s not too hard to put actual characters into a ride, instead of a collection of sounding boards.  Here, let’s use an example from my personal favorite dark ride, The Amazing Adventures of Spiderman.

ORIGINAL VERSION

J. Jonah:  My SCOOP! My beautiful SCOOP…!

[Doc Ock misses Spiderman and hits a theater sign with his levitation cannon.]

Spiderman:  Woa!  Doc, your aim’s worse than your haircut!

Ock:  Well it’s good enough for your sitting-duck friends! [Blasts the SCOOP.] Have a nice trip!

[SCOOP rises up into the NYC skyline.]

Spiderman:  Hey, wait for me!  You’re not insured for this!

HP-altered Version

J. Jonah:  It isn’t safe out there!

[Ock misses theater sign]

Spiderman:  Woa!  You missed.

Ock:  I can still catch your friends. [Hits SCOOP.] I got you!

[SCOOP rises]

Spiderman:  You’re flying!

[Spiderman watches SCOOP rise, but neglects to follow.  He takes out his camera to take pictures for Bugle, realizing that it’s both inconvenient to pursue it and that he needs some shots to get his paycheck tomorrow.  Oh, Mary Jane’s calling.  He’ll catch up with the plot later.]

You see what happens when you take a pretty good scene and strip it down to a narration?  And on top of it, add characters acting completely out of character?  It sounds stupid as hell, doesn’t it?

Ok, now let’s get to the bigger issue here.  Dementors.  Their presence and the reaction to it is so insane and baffling that they deserve a few paragraphs of commentary, just to themselves.

First off, everyone knows muggles can’t see dementors right?  Like, that’s the one creature that JKR went out of her way to mention was invisible to non-magic folk.  And this ride already took such pains to call us muggles…I’m just left dumbfounded.

Why the fuck are they here?  They have no reason to be.  There are no dark wizards on the loose.  Even if they were acting rogue, how did they get onto the school grounds?  Did Dumbledore think it was a good idea to let them in on the same day that he let muggles into the school for the first time?  Is he trying to kill us?  This is starting to look increasingly likely, and I’m forced to wonder why the most logical solution for every plothole so far has been that Dumbledore is a cackling maniac.

You really ARE a scumbag...

And why is no one reacting to this?  A horde of SOUL-SUCKING MONSTERS has descended onto the playing field and is KILLING ATHLETES RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SPECTATORS.  If your response is anything below the level of “HOLY SHIT” then you have some serious issues.  The most we hear is “Dementors!” and maybe an “Oh no!”?

What kind of screwed up alternate Hogwarts did we fall into?  There’s no connection between any of the events that have transpired so far.  Want proof?  Tell me, if this plotline was presented to you ENTIRELY IN REVERSE, would it make any less sense?

No, of course not, because this whole thing is one big montage.  It’s like we’re riding Jimmy Neutron’s Nicktoon Blast or something.

Ok, now that I’ve got this all off my chest…let’s continue.  Somehow we fall into what I believe is the Chamber of Secrets and have to dodge the dementors we shouldn’t be able to see but can anyway.  Harry’s gone missing again.  No surprises there.  Finally, when things finally look their bleakest, Harry’s forced to finally do a good deed and save us all by Expecto Patronum-ing all the dementors.

“Follow me!” he says.  Then, suddenly, the tunnel starts caving in, for what reason I don’t know.  In any case, this is the script’s last chance to make an impression on me and it does a marvelous job, as Harry shouts out such memorable lines as “It’s caving in!” and “Watch out!” And who could forget the part when he said “We have to get out, quick!”  Pure gold, all of it.

So after escaping Wild Arctic’s finale, we immediately fly to the great hall, where Harry’s being held up by the entire Gryffindor team, snitch-in-hand.  “Thanks everybody!  You were brilliant!”

I mean, I guess I was pretty—Hey wait.  Wait.  When did you catch that snitch Harry,  huh?  I don’t think you caught it in the game – it was interrupted by dementors.  The only time you could’ve gotten it was…oh no.  You piece of crap.

The only explanation is that Harry went back to get it while we were in the Chamber running from dementors.  Seriously?  He abandoned us AGAIN for sports?  What kind of a person does that?  Oh my GOD this is insane.

This is the ONLY argument for not killing him right now, on the spot.

Dumbledore says I’m welcome back “anytime,” but it’s Harry’s betrayal I’m still reeling from when my feet touch the ground again.  Wow.

So what’s the end result?  Well, contrary to everything you’ve read, this is, as I stated from the beginning, actually one of the best rides in the world.  It’s succeeds with flying colors in every area EXCEPT the plot, so I should to acknowledge it’s better than just about every other dark ride on the planet (ahem, except Spidey).  But I mean…come on.  How hard is it really to think up a plot that isn’t so completely at odds with common sense, when you have the author on board?

Oh well.  I guess there’s nothing more I can do.  Nothing, I suppose, besides frantically re-reading the entire Potter series, starting with the assumption that Harry really is in love with his own celebrity, while Dumbledore spends the majority of his time plotting unique and grisly ends for each of the supporting characters.  I expect interesting results.

TITANIC: 100 Year-Anniversary -- A Retrospect on James Cameron’s Blockbuster

by XdarksparkX

Originally written: April 7 – 14, 2012

James Cameron’s Titanic changed my life.  At least, to a degree.  I know that seems like a wrought cliché in 2012, but in this instance it rings true 110%.  It’s what got me interested in the history of the infamous ship, and its what made me an enthusiast of the ill-fated story and subsequent wreck that it claims.  It was one of the key films in my life that managed to illicit such a prominent emotional response from (the then 9-year-old) me that something within said “This is what I want to do with my life: I want to tell stories that move people like this.”
 

Which is funny considering that I frequently state that I am very under whelmed by the first two and a half hours of the film.
 

I could go into a tirade right now, or my usual foaming-at-the-mouth “stark ranting mad” persona here, but I won’t.  That’s not what this particular write up is about.  I feel like I finally “get” what Cameron was truly attempting to pull out of his audience with this film.  Yes the story he wrote was very basic and utilitarian, and some the characters were one-dimensional, but subsequent recent viewings due to the fast-approaching 100th Anniversary have given me a deeper insight than I had previously claimed in understanding what Cameron was attempting as a whole—particularly with the slow burn of the film.  The ship only lasted 4 days, so illustrating as much of those four days as possible helps drive home the emotional gut check when the inevitable tragedy befalls the “unsinkable” ship.  That’s fairly obvious to some.  Yet there was something more…
 

There was something Cameron captured, something that I haven’t been able to quantify or describe properly, so this is my attempt.  What I do know, is that it’s something that has little to do with the slightly superfluous love-story between Rose and Jack.
 

Let it be stated early in this piece, I believe Titanic is classified as a good movie in spite of the 140 minute love story that proceeds the disaster, not because of it.  Titanic isn’t really about star-crossed lovers meeting on an ill-fated ocean liner.  It’s a much deeper human interest story whose emotional depths stretches as far down as the 12,500 feet where the remains of Harland and Wolff’s epitome of early 1900’s luxury now resides in the North Atlantic ocean.  In fact, all you would have to do is tell me the setup (poor boy / rich girl fall for each other), and then proceed to show me the beginning of the end, and personally I would be just as invested as I was with the final cut.  The love story is basically compartmentalized by the scene where Rose jumps from the lifeboat back on the ship.  That scene is so powerful due to what we know is going to befall the ship, the referential line of “you jump, I jump” only has its emotional power slightly boosted by its previous mention.
 

Now, obviously there are scenes that give us exposition behind Rose’s life catalyst known as Jack Dawson, since the story is really using first and second person narrative when Rose is recollecting back to the ship.  This exposition is obviously there to make him an endearing character (9-year-old me thought he was a pretty badass dude, all things considered), so I can’t say that it’s entirely a wash.  Still, I stand by my stance that there was something much deeper and more horrific that Cameron was able to illustrate beyond just the sudden birth and swift death of a classic romance.

...Like what happens when you get water in your Panavision film camera.

There are two scenes that are forever burned into my memory. The first is the unbelievably tragic montage to the haunting rendition of Nearer My God To Thee by the ship’s band, with the mother putting her children to sleep before the coming embrace of fate takes them away, and the old couple holding each other as the water rushes in around their bed.  That latter image is probably the only film image that can consistently get me choked up, no matter how much I brace and prepare my mind for it, it always gets me.  It was during this scene, that the light bulb clicked I got what Cameron captured.  It was the horrible, depressing truth of it all. The fact that some of these scenarios likely played out on that ship, stories which we will never know because those who lived them took up their final residence upon the seabed of the North Atlantic a century ago.
 

The second scene was something that further drove this point home, but with far more haunting imagery.  Back in 1998, for the first time in my life, I felt a cold, horrified chill fall over me.  I had watched Scream a year before (my first “real” horror movie), but this was something that truly and completely terrified my soul:  Officer Lowe deciding to go back and save people, only to realize he waited too long when he sees the corpse of a mother and her infant amidst the frozen wasteland.  He then calls to the black,  “Is there anyone alive out there? Can anyone hear me?”  The power in this (again, something that I just realized during recent viewings) was that almost every character we see meet a tragic end was introduced to us at one point or another throughout the ship’s lifespan of the film. It was only when I realized that the woman with the baby was the same one who asked Captain Smith: “Captain, where should I go? Please?” only to get no response, that I literally jumped back as if the Reaper himself had spawned from my television.  Cameron had basically planted these minor characters in your subconscious, so that when he revisited them after the wreck had claimed their bodies, you unknowingly had an emotional connection to seeing their corpses. He managed to somehow throw the despicable fact that we as humans don’t tend to truly “see” people until it’s too late right back into our faces, and haunt our very being while doing so.
 

However, at the very least, Cameron didn’t completely waste those initial 140 minutes.  He used it in an attempt to further our emotional connection to the characters, no matter how seldom that effect might have been in the long run for some of us, it made the movie what it was for others.
 

Of course I can’t write about Titanic without mentioning the infamous “floating door” scene.  I’ve heard some people defend this scene by stating that the reason Rose didn’t insist that Jack simply climb on top of her were the “social norms” and gender roles that were of the time period.  The only problem with this logic is the fact that Rose’s character has spent the majority of the past 165 minutes attempting to buck those trends, and Jack’s entire purpose within the narrative is to further that rebellious attitude.  So how can she look the man who’s been helping her embrace this and NOT once think ‘screw social conventions, this is about life and death’?  It’s not like she was unaware at how frigidly cold the waters of the Atlantic were that night, she had been in there just as he was.  Cameron’s explanation is that it was not a matter of space, but of buoyancy. If they had tried to balance it out, the door would’ve been pushed down enough where they both would’ve been exposed to the waters enough to the point where neither could survive.  The problem with this explanation is that it leaves a remaining logical fallacy, which comes from the fact that Jack was a bit too perceptive in realizing that it would act as Cameron stated after only one attempt at getting on the door, which came from overloading the same side of the object and watching it naturally tilt over.  I understand the basis of Cameron’s subtext of “women and children first” even until the end, and the duality between the men in her life, as Jack graciously gets Rose on the door and chooses to stay in the icy tomb of an ocean while we are just 20 minutes removed from watching her ex-fiancé beat people with an oar to stave them off from swamping his lifeboat.  Still, the scene just doesn’t sit right with me.

"So Leo, this is where you're gonna die. Now, despite science telling us corpses float (like the ones all around you), all of the heterosexual men who will have to hear about how dreamy you are for the next two years are going to pull you down. It's a symbolic troll-face moment. There won't be a dry feminine eye in the house, and I will proceed to wipe my ass with Charmin Ultra culled from diamonds from here on out. Everybody good with that?  No?  Too bad, let's shoot it!"

I do realize now that there is a deeper subtext that had to take place with Jack’s death, and why I am now at least slightly more forgiving of the scene than I was over the past 15 years.  He needed to die to further the gut punch of the fact that every one of the “forgettable people” (Jack, Fabrizo, Tommy, etc) in the film perish during the sinking, without word or legacy to carry on their memory, save for Rose.  It’s not only to show Rose as someone who was not oblivious to the plight of others (as she had lived it with them, while most of her peers sat in the lifeboats built for 40 but carrying only TWELVE GODDAMN PASSENGERS! *ahem* Sorry, nerd rage moment there), but also as a commentary on the fact that they were the people we connected with.  The good of these characters and the realization that they would “exist only in memory” when they passed, while the people we grew to loathe, despise, or just not care for (Cal and Rose’s mother Ruth) would pass on some frame of remembrance and historic mention simply by their position in life.  I don’t think it’s as much about Rich=Bad; Poor=Good (though it’s very easy to take that away from it given how the character archetypes played out), but more of the fact that the cold truth of our world is that some of the best people will be forgotten in favor of those in more lucrative social standings.

Despite both actresses who played Rose claiming to believe different, Cameron stated, “I want people to decide for themselves whether or not Old Rose died in her sleep, or is simply dreaming.”  It’s interesting that he said that because upon close examination of the final scene, 9-year-old me got chills when I realized that everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE who died the night of the sinking is present in the Grand Staircase when she reunites with Jack.  Fabrizo, Tommy, and Mr. Andrews are obvious selections.  As are lesser ones like Trudy (Rose’s stewardess aboard the ship) and John Jacob Astor.  However, upon further viewings, there are characters in which Rose had little to no actually physical interaction with (that we saw at least) that make an appearance.  Captain Smith, Officer Murdoch, Cora (the little girl Jack was originally dancing with at the lower class party he takes Rose to) and her father, and even bandleader Wallace Hartley and his troupe.  All of whom we can safely assume perished on that horrific night, all of whom are present.  This is primarily what leads me to come to the conclusion that Cameron’s intention was that she really did pass away that night, an old lady warm in her bed, just as Jack had envisioned for her.

Film School: Psycho (1998) vs. Psycho (1960)

by XdarksparkX

Originally written for COM311 - "The Early History Of Film": 

November 20, 2011

Usually when a director makes the specific choice to sign on to remake a film that already exists,  it’s often because he or she has a message that can be retold in a similar package.  The current climate of the Hollywood machine grants them much better odds of getting said message out through a remake rather than an entirely original film.  According to Hollywood, originality doesn’t sell like a film that explicitly channels the title and specific plot of a previously established story.

That being said, I still cannot fathom why I have to preface the term “Psycho” with “The Original” in a grumbling, almost venomous tone when referencing it within the context of cinematic history.  In this world, perfection is a simple illusion of the human mind when it is attributed to a medium that does not have a set number of feats attainable.  For instance, you can be “perfect” in Guitar Hero, because there are a finite and specific number of notes per song.  However it is metaphysically impossible to find honest, definition-bound perfection within the context of a property that exists with infinite possibilities, such as in film, music or life.  With that said, Hitchcock’s 1960 classic Psycho grazed the most attainable tips of perfection when it came to putting Robert Bloch’s novel onto a visual medium.  The way that Hitchcock presented the story worked in every single way.  One could argue that you cannot truly “improve” upon it because everything was done with not only a deep, thoughtful, and calculated precision, but because the artistic flares that one would consider things to “fix” are what make the experience so memorable.

So then why in the Hell of H.P. Lovecraft did a remake find its way into theaters in the winter chill of December, 1998?  Sure, if Universal was just that adamant about remaking Psycho, then who could blame Gus Van Sant for jumping at the chance?  That’s not my gripe -- my gripe is the fact that he was afforded the opportunity to take a revered classic that was being remade for the pure profit potential and not screw it up, only to be blatantly afraid of screwing it up and ironically screw it up by doing nothing with it and taking the dense way out.  Van Sant got away with simply looking at Hitchcock’s masterpiece, saying “this is how he did it, so that’s how we’ll do it” and calling it a day.  The saying that you can’t improve upon perfection (or in this case, near-perfection I suppose) still holds true, however how much of an oblivious moron do you have to be to willing put yourself up for comparison against near-perfection by attempting to do a shot-for-shot mimeograph of the original?  You might as well bring a knife to a gun fight and become surprised when you find a bullet lodged in your face.

It seems like Van Sant didn’t even try to think about the small idiosyncrasies as to why Hitchcock did what he did.  For example, a lot of Hitchcock’s Hollywood films were in Technicolor, so many of them that one could say Hitch was enamored with the process. So why is it then that he chose to do Psycho in black-and-white?  Personally, I feel it’s because of the ironic nature of having a film with limited spectral range that aligns with the common perceptions of Good and Evil, while the characters within the film are so morally ambiguous.  Marion isn’t exactly a bad person, but she isn’t a saint either.  We come to find out that Norman is just flat out insane, so while convenient as it may be to label him ‘evil’, that’s not exactly accurate.  The black-and-white coloring choice shows us just what we need to see, while at the same time commentating on the fact that what we’re seeing is simply the contrasts in between light and dark; everything that lies within is simply the tinted white and the deepest gray.

The killer in the wig about this to me is that both films were based on the novel.  So rather than isolate himself from the Hitchcock film, read the novel, and come up with his own interpretations of the events (updated to a late-90s setting), Van Sant chose to create a blatant reflection of the original film.  Make your film stand on its own, Gus.  Experiment with other camera angles, tinker with different lighting setups for certain scenes.  Get freaking creative, for crying out loud.  Borrow bits and pieces that you just felt Hitchcock did so masterfully that they deserve to be rehashed, but not the entire 105 minutes of the freaking film.

This is without even getting into the characters.  The fact that casting director Howard Feuer actually got a legitimate check for presenting Vince Vaughn’s headshot to Van Sant absolutely boggles my mind.  Now, I’m not one of those people who feels that  actors should be locked away in their genre of preference and have the key violently thrown away, however Vaughn had to have been near the top of the list for “Worst Potential Selections To Play Norman Bates”, and someone simply mislabeled the lists and handed Gus the wrong one.  I refuse to believe that his casting was intentional lest it was the last resort when all other potentials declined.  With Anthony Perkins, he brought an amazingly believable innocence to Norman.  He felt like someone who was isolated, but not someone who was completely bat-shit insane.  To this day, when I watch the original I still have to remind myself that he is the guy who acts as if his dead mother is still alive in order to fulfill the most warped and deranged sense of a moral compass.  The second Vince Vaughn steps on screen, an air of unease follows in his wake and permeates the audience.  His stiff, awkward delivery doesn’t help calm the fact that the “warning” lights in our brains are going off like Robot from Lost In Space just sensed that the Velociraptors have escaped from their containment area in Jurassic Park, and is proceeding to cycle his infamous “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” sound bite as the perimeter fence alarms blare all over Isla Nublar.  His awkward, forced chuckles lack any sort of intended adolescent introversion and instead violently scream “guy with a dark secret and something horrible to hide”.

Anne Heche I don’t have as much of a problem with, mainly because Marion Crane is arguably what Hitch would call a “MacGuffin” -- a plot device that exists for the sole purpose of moving the story where it needs to go -- so that the story can reach it’s true central character: Norman Bates.  However, in the sparse time she was on-screen there was one time where a display of cringe-worthy “acting” came into play.  During the scenes where Marion is driving away from Phoenix, I was always under the guise that the conversations we heard weren’t just those that were actually happening, but ones that she herself was playing out in her head.  However, while these conversations go on, Heche gives us little more than a wide-eyed “deer in the headlights” look as the conversations further incriminating her play in her head.  There’s no nervousness, or tension that we see from her expressions, she simply stares off into the camera like she’s about to have an eye exam.  I don’t recall Janet Leigh doing much with this either, but you could at least feel the apprehension from the character knowing that what she’s doing wasn’t right.

I think the principle problem with Marion’s character is that we don’t care about her, and Van Sant did nothing in an attempt to change this.  Even if in the original she was a very bland and simple MacGuffin, at least with the remake attempt to veil this and make her an interesting MacGuffin.  It’s only after she dies that we sit back and realize that we didn’t care about her at all; the horror we feel is that of pure shock that we supposedly just witnessed an overprotective mother commit murder because her son simply talked to this woman.  We never knew Marion’s true motivations for laundering the money, or where she’s even going with said money.  No exposition, nothing.  So why not take your remake and attempt to get the audience to connect at least a little with Marion, Gus?  Why not attempt to get us to the point that when she’s murdered, we at least feel something as opposed to nothing?

Now, whether or not the blame for these performances -- primarily Vince Vaughn’s -- and their lack of actual emotional depth falls on the actors or Van Sant is questionable.  If those of us who haven’t committed ourselves after viewing them remember correctly, the Star Wars prequel films were able to claim Natalie Portman as Padme, the primary female protagonist and eventual mother of Luke and Leia.  The same Natalie Portman that came off awkward and stiff in those films is the same one who was absolutely mesmerizing and won an Oscar for her performance as the lead in Black Swan.  Given the fact that -- through his track record -- we already know Lucas couldn’t properly direct actors even if his precious morning coffee and comfy chair in front of the monitors were in jeopardy, we can safely blame that bit of performance farce on him.  However, who do we blame this particular farce on?  Honestly, I want to blame both.   In Vaughn’s case, he clearly had very little in the way of an actual grasp on the character and his basic psychology, and therefore turned in a completely non-committal performance.  He toes the line of everything we already know of Norman and what we will come to know of him, and it ends up feeling completely… wrong.  Perkins committed to exactly what was required to know about Norman at that point in the film, which in turn made the final twist all the more shocking.  He was awkward due to years lacking actual human connection, and was strongly protective of his mother as she was the only thing he ever had;  it was much easier to accept that Vaughn turned out to be Norma that it was to accept that it was Perkins, because Vaughn let off a constant vibe of someone that hid a dark secret.  Van Sant on the other hand gets the blame only because within every other facet of the movie he was so desperate to mimic Hitchcock that he forgot to add creativity, and this could’ve very well been one of those moments where he simply pointed to the original performances as reference material and called it a day.

I think that the glaring difference between the films is simply a lack of vision, creative spark, or motivation to make a decent film when it comes to the Van Sant version.  There was a glaring lack of focus that resonates throughout the entire film.  They changed the year the film takes place to 1998, and while they change the monetary values to reflect this, everything else in the film has the distinct impression that it was pulled right from the worn pages of a 1950s Sears catalog.  There’s a mention of a Vinyl Records store, why?  Vinyl was all but dead by 1998 -- Hell, freaking cassette tapes were clinging to life support at that point.  Why not say that Marion’s sister worked at The Wall or something?  I don’t know if that’s the right answer to the problem, but just something that resonated closer with the 1998 music scene than freaking vinyl records.  Marion’s boss says something along the lines of “A cash transaction of this size -- highly unusual”.  Who spoke that way in 1998?  It’s amazing to me that the filmmakers claim that they had an actual focus on “updating” the film in the DVD commentary and yet completely missed so many glaring references to a different period.  I’m not going to even go into the astonishment I have for the fact that for all the things the 1998 version blatantly copied from the original, they specifically chose not to use the original Psycho house that is currently located on the Universal Studios Hollywood backlot.  Oh, was that just a bit too much blatant plagiarism for you, Gus? You ripped off everything else, including a majority of your shots, you might as well have taken the house down in the Titanic with you!  Ugh, where the hell did I put the Advil?

In the films, Norman Bates says “We just keep lighting the lights and following formalities”, and in an almost philosophical irony, that is exactly what the remake came out to be -- nothing more than a pathetic, expensive, blasé exercise in filmmaking in which the director had no deep creative spark or passion for what he was putting forth onto the celluloid.  The 1998 Psycho should be the textbook example of everything you shouldn’t do when it comes to the art of filmmaking.  Have a vision that you can call your own.  Have infectious passion for what you’re doing.  Embrace outrageous creative ideas. Take chances and make mistakes in the wake of that creativity.  Just f’n give a damn.

Film School: Technological Evolution's Impact On Storytelling

by XdarksparkX

Originally written for COM 312 - "The Modern History of Film"

March 27, 2011

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980), Jurassic Park (1993), and Avatar (2009).  These three films have one major thing in common: they are each considered great leaps in terms of cinematic visual effects for their time.  Empire improved upon the fantastic practical effects from it’s predecessor, A New Hope and managed to use matte paintings, miniature models, puppetry and stop motion animation to their fullest extents; Jurassic Park used gigantic audio-animatronics aided with subtle amounts of computer-generated imagery (or CGI) to bring back creatures thought to be extinct 65 million years ago; and Avatar showed the true technological capabilities of pure CGI and performance capture in the 21st century by creating a highly emotional and believable alien race who inhabited a fantastical alien world.  But were any of these leaps required in order to properly sell and enhance the story arcs in these films, or were they simply a case of the filmmakers being nitpicky in how their film was presented?

James Cameron was originally supposed to begin pre-production on Avatar immediately after the release of Titanic in 1997, however after numerous production tests he found that “technology was not where he wanted to be to realize his vision”.  While one could argue that he was right, one could also argue that after seeing the finished product of Avatar, it wasn’t a lack of technological advancements as much as it was Cameron’s own refusal to relent.  I believe the story of Avatar could have been told in the early 2000s with creative workarounds and a desire to make the story simply work.  For instance, was it important that the Na’vi be 10 feel tall (a design choice that surely helped sell Cameron on using CG when they would be interacting with humans)?  In the context of the story, no, their height holds no bearing on whether or not the story itself works or fails.  So the real question becomes, was it necessary to not only completely computer generate the Na’vi, but to spend 237 million dollars (The Wrap, 2009)—the fifth most expensive budget nominally as of this writing (The Numbers, 2011)—in order to tell this story?  While an epic fantasy movie like Zack Snyder’s Sucker Punch, which deals with outrageous imagery like giant Samurai’s and Dragons populating a dream world, manages to only claim an estimated 82 million dollar budget (Los Angeles Times, 2011).  Snyder’s previous film, an adaptation of the acclaimed graphic novel Watchmen in 2009, consisted of a completely computer-generated Doctor Manhattan.  While this was one character as opposed to an entire race, a convincing fully realized CG character using performance capture was still fit into a 138 million dollar budgetary constraint (that had to deal with Snyder being adamant about building sets rather than using vast amounts of chroma key compositing like he did with 300).  Avatar’s budget numbers don’t even included the money spent for on developing the “necessary” performance capture and 3D camera technology that were funded separately (Vanity Fair, 2009).  So what does all this mean?

Its possible that Cameron was simply blasé with his budget, because when Twentieth Century Fox was hesitant to take the monetary risk on Avatar, he himself went ahead and put forth the money into developing the 3D camera technology he wanted (BussinessWeek, 2010).  By using his own funds to develop the tech, perhaps he had the wiggle room within his production cost wallet to experiment with said technology and attempt new filmmaking ideas and concepts, rather than to do something he knew would work for possibly less.  All of this could point to the reason why a lot of critics, myself included, found the story of Avatar to be the weak link of the film at times.  When I finally got around to seeing it, I just thought that the effects weren’t so much for the story as much as they were for Cameron.  In a sense, Avatar was a tech-demo—Cameron’s way of showing just how powerful the technology we have available is.  The visuals of the film are gorgeous, however in this regard I feel that visuals and storytelling in film have a relationship akin to that of game play and graphics in the video game industry—just because your game is pretty, doesn’t mean it’s great if the controls don’t work.

29 years before Avatar started bludgeoning box office records three times over, Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back came around, and got its story across by making due with what it had, what was feasibly obtainable, and what could be created in 1980.  It’s budget of 18 million (roughly 47 million when adjusted for inflation) held up enough to get the visual effects to the point of believability, and some could argue that’s all that’s needed.  Sure, as Luke’s little mount known as a Tauntaun gallops across the frozen plains of Hoth in the opening sequence, we know it’s unnaturally stiff and therefore not actually real in the context the movie is telling us it is. But perhaps, because of the fact that the creature was an actual miniature that existed within this world, our level of acceptance stretches farther because random anomalies like unnatural lighting glitches don’t exist.  Perhaps we’re also already engrossed in what the film is selling due to the physicality that model brings, and therefore the slight that arises isn’t enough to jar us out of the moment the film is putting us in.

The reason for pointing out Empire as opposed to its predecessor A New Hope (which holds many more similarities to Avatar production wise), is that it while A New Hope contained the formation of Industrial Light & Magic (who would go on to be one of if not the biggest effects house in the world), it was the Hoth battle scene at the beginning of Empire that I really wanted to touch on.  Yes, it may be more time consuming to do stop-motion animation (or in this case, “Go-Motion”, ILM’s own version of stop-motion animation developed in conjunction with Phil Tippett), but in the end those stiff and slightly awkward movements only fit to make the Imperial AT-AT walkers look all the more realized.  As seen with the many “special editions” Lucasfilm has churned out of the original Star Wars trilogy with “updated effects”, newer isn’t always better, and the story itself does not suffer if one watches the theatrical cuts of the original trilogy—difficult as they may be to actually obtain—with the original practical effects intact.  I personally feel that the newer effect almost cheapen the films, rather than enhance them as Lucas intended.

The reason for this being that when you have practical effects, the viewer knows that its something tangible, something with weight that existed on the set.  The lighting is the same, the shadows are the same, the colors and textures are the same as the human actors and everything else on the set, because it’s actually present.  When Mark Hamill speaks to Yoda, he has not only the puppet and its movements for visual reference, but Frank Oz’s own performance to play off of.  When interacting with a pure CG character, seldom is there a time where there isn’t at least a partial disconnect due to the awkward nature of having nothing in essence to work with.  Perhaps this coincidentally explains why Cameron wanted so much of Avatar to be CG.  By making the Na’vi themselves CG, it makes them seem more at home with their CG-laden homeworld of Pandora and the other indigenous creatures it claims.  In that regard, I understand his thought process through the technology/story connection, but I don’t know if it completely sells me on it, because in scenes where the humans and Na’vi are interacting (like during the climax when Neytiri holds Jake’s asphyxiating body in her arms) there is something just… off that just doesn’t make what I’m watching believably real.

All that said, surely it would seem impossible to make anything CG seem tangible within a film—to get the viewer to believe 100% that whatever they are witnessing isn’t so much a fable as much as it is a documentary of fantastical proportions, while never allowing their minds to really slip into the uncanny valley.  However, in 1993, a thunderous boom echoed out, and Steven Spielberg shut down the perimeter fences and unleashed Jurassic Park upon the world.

Originally, Jurassic Park was set to use “Go-Motion” for the dinosaurs during long shots, and Stan Winston’s animatronics for the close-ups.  However, after the Go Motion test animatics and various attempts at motion blurs proved unsatisfactory to Spielberg, two animators began working on a CG T-Rex skeletal walk cycle, and upon review were approved to do more.  The first full CG animatic they showed Spielberg and Tippett was of the T-Rex hunting a herd of Gallimimus.  The exchange between Spielberg and Tippett after witnessing this feat—“You’re out of the job”; “Don’t you mean extinct?”—found its way into the film, and was ironically the beginning of the end of the practical effects era.

However, perhaps it shouldn’t have been.  For while the advent of CGI in this regard was huge and the primary focus of the praise of the film’s effects, maybe the true praise should’ve been put on the seamless transitioning of the CG dinosaurs and Stan Winston’s fully realized animatronics.  When the Rex smashes through the tour cars roof in an attempt get to Lex and Tim, that was something that could have never feasibly worked on a emotional and psychological level if done with CGI.  The close proximity that the Rex was required to get within pertaining to the children meant that you would have something tangible (the actors) attempting to cater to something intangible (the Rex)—they wouldn’t have been reacting from what the Rex was doing, they would’ve been telling the Rex what to do wherever they moved the shattered plate of glass.  Certain emotions can’t be faked either, like the one of lingering terror that exists in the back of one’s mind when they realize that a giant mechanical T-Rex head is barreling down upon them with the potential horsepower of ten muscle cars.

One of the most iconic scenes in the film comes after the Rex escapes from its pen, and its foot steps right behind an unsuspecting Alan Grant as he tries to free the children from the now overturned tour SUV.  Aside from the shot being beautifully constructed, it’s another instance where no matter what tactics they would’ve tried, it would not have been had the same power and haze of reality if it had been achieved through CGI.  That was real weight from that animatronic skeleton pressing down into that mud, “real” latex skin that folded just right upon its placement.  Tangible, believable… real.

I think the problem faced today is that the current powerhouses of SFX like ILM and WETA are being overworked.  CGI has become such a crutch in the industry that these effects houses are constantly on a time crunch to get anywhere from 200 to 300+ VFX shots finished, approved, polished and finalized.  All before a deadline of say roughly 90 days.  An example of this: say you pull 10 CG artists off the floors of ILM today and 10 from the team that worked on Jurassic Park in 1992.  Today, because films are requiring so many Visual Effects shots to be completed, those 10 artists are probably working primarily on an entire scene by themselves.  Whereas in ‘92 with Jurassic, one person could (hypothetically) meticulously work on the animation of the T-Rex when it breaks out of it’s enclosure, while someone else is specifically working on the rain refraction on the skin, making sure that every drop falls and disperses as it should according to real world properties and that the determined light source is accurately reflected through this as well.  This is just my own theory, however it is obvious that as SFX houses have been spread thinner, the finer details that were seen in Jurassic Park have been lost due to sheer volume of work and time in which to complete said work.

In conclusion, I think that the best storytelling tool is a moderation of both practical effects and computer generated imagery.  CGI has become a crutch, when at its original rise to popularity it was meant to be a tool—a simple technological puzzle piece to aid in bringing a director’s vision to life.  While Avatar is a huge selling point for the true potential of CGI in this day and age, I feel that Jurassic Park showed the power of moderation in a perfect way, and that practical effects don’t nearly deserve the shunning that they’ve received from the Hollywood machine of today.  Not to mention, given the fact that the highly touted stance is that CGI is cheaper than practical effects, if you were to adjust older movies that use extensive practical effects for inflation, few would even come close to the budgets of the blockbusters today.  So how much cheaper is CGI really?

Perhaps it’s a joke—a metaphorical knock-knock with an unknown punch line.  How many licks does it take to get to the center of the money pop?  The world may never know…

_____________________________________
Patten, Dominic. The Wrap,
http://www.thewrap.com/movies/article/avatars-true-cost-and-consequences-11206 (2009).

The Numbers,
http://www.the-numbers.com/movies/records/budgets.php (2011).

Los Angeles Times, 

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/entertainmentnewsbuzz/2011/03/movie-projector-diary-of-a-wimpy-kid-rodrick-rules-sucker-punch.html (2011).

Vanity Fair,
http://www.vanityfair.com/online/oscars/2009/12/how-much-did-avatar-really-cost.html (2009).

BusinessWeek,
http://www.businessweek.com/magazine/content/10_05/b4165048396178.htm (2010).

SAW 3D: What Became Of The 2010 "Scream Queen"?

So two months ago I finally got around to watching SAW 3D (aka The Final Chapter) thanks to an EPIX weekend-long channel preview on FiOS. The main thing I wanted to see was the type of role Gabrielle West—winner of the second season of Scream Queens in which the grand prize landed her the role—had in the film, since they actually gave the previous winner a pretty intriguing side-character. So, lets see the role that Gabby secured.

WARNING: Gratuitous Over-The-Top Violence Ahead



…That’s it? You trained her up, you spouted all this bullshit about “how versatile of an actor you have to be to win this competition” and THAT’S what she does? Scream, cry and plead before her head gets a permanent tread-mark run through it? Are you serious?


“…What a fucking waste of my goddamn time.”

The killer is, not only did the original SQ winner Tanedra Howard do more in her first appearance in the series, she makes a recurring appearance in the VERY NEXT scene. That’s… that’s just laughable! Tanedra has more to do in this film than Gabby West! Breakout role my ass, Gabby just became Saw cannon fodder.

To me, I almost feel like this is a statement on how the judges overrated Gabby on the show. I mean, lets be honest, you couldn’t exactly cast Jessica Ortiz as the girlfriend of a skinhead, but I don’t get why they weren’t competing for the role of Sydney, who’s at the Jigsaw Trap Survivor Support Group in the same scene immediately after Gabby’s that Tanedra makes her appearance in.



That was a small role that required everything Homa had trained the girls on, and could’ve very well been considered a small breakout role. I also think it would’ve been a clever little wink to the fans of the show to have Tanedra and Gabby’s characters interact with each other, especially given the fact that Tanedra’s character calls Sydney right out on the carpet for not truly having to sacrifice anything in order to escape her trap. A character who has to recount the trap she had endured, complete with short flashback, seems like it should’ve been the most obvious choice for the role of the second VH1 Scream Queen. Nope, instead what I joked would happen with Tanedra happens in the second go-round with Gabby—pure body count ammunition.

Perhaps Tanedra, and her prominence in this film, is the reason I find this so funny. I said (many times) in my coverage of SQ2 that Gabby was terribly overrated by the judges, and that she really had a hard time quickly channeling the required emotions while also being on top of the technical aspects of the scene. Perhaps the filmmakers of Saw 3D picked up on this as well and as such gave her such a terribly weak role when they made sure to give the winner of the first SQ a follow up role. It just seems like a complete and total waste of the time of everyone involved with SQ2 to give the winner of the competition such a throw-away role. What a damn shame.

Who Greenlit This Shit? Edition II - "Final Destination 5"

by XdarksparkX
Originally Written: August 7th, 2011

Normally I don’t completely rip into a movie and call it a complete waste of time before it’s released unless drastic measures call for it. However, I’ve been having these thoughts about the Final Destination series as a whole for a few years now, and after watching the trailer for Final Destination 5 for the third time, I think I’m finally able to construct my thoughts into more than just nonsensical expressions and gestures of rage:

Without seeing a single frame of the final cut, I know for a fact that this film will be complete crap.

The Final Destination series has been on the down and out since the first sequel was released back in 2003. FD2 was okay for a sequel, but the filmmakers completely missed the essence of what made the original FD an awesome film. The fact that through logic, Alex was able to figure out a pattern of the order the people who got off the plane could die in, and that when he inevitably failed to save most of them from the grim fates that befell them, there was very little in the way of supernatural instigation—most of the deaths were a freak one-off deal that was sometimes over emphasized (Ms. Lewton’s death) to show that no one, Alex or other, had any actual control over the events. No one ever stated that Alex’s pattern was definite fact, it was merely his own cockamamie theory that just happened to come true at every turn—it only became accepted because it continually turned out to be right.

With the subsequent sequels, something changed. Gone was the creative drive that powered the first film, instead it became a part of the infamous Hollywood cash cow. Everything taken in the first suddenly became the considered “rules” for the series, making it terribly trite and predictable. Just look at the grandiose opening “accidents”, which became a staple of the series. In the original, Alex had a dream about a horrible accident taking place where the plane he was on took off and suddenly exploded. Not only does this work because he falls asleep when he gets on the plane (an arguable point of how he fell asleep that quickly, but still it’s a much more valid setup that what succeeded it), but they had previously established that he has a terrible fear of flying. This is why the “premonition” made perfect sense in FD1—it could’ve been real, it could’ve been his overactive phobia tainting his imagination, but the second that plane bursts into flames after Alex and friends get kicked off the plane, it becomes invaluable knowledge to the survivors that cannot be argued.

With the subsequent films that followed, the filmmakers literally just pick a random point where they can switch to the “premonition state” under the table without the audience knowing. Then, after the overdone gruesome “accident” (which starts to become laughable when you realize that they need to have to visionary die last in the premonition, in order to be able to tell the other survivors the “predetermined order” that they will die in), they do that “super zoom out of the eye” shot back to the aforementioned random point just before the “accident.” No dream, no nothing… these people are literally touched by a random bout of psychic powers for absolutely no reason what-so-ever. It begs the question, if Death is just going to get pissy when it‘s over-elaborate plans are thwarted, why doesn’t it just flip the script and kill the person who HAD the premonition first? Good luck finding out if anything’s amiss now!

You may have noticed that when referring to the opening deaths, I refer to them as ‘accidents’ with intentional quotes around the word. This is because the events that begin the first act in the subsequent sequels aren’t so much believable accidents as much as they are nonsensical apparatuses with as much over-complication as a classic Rube Goldberg device. These aren’t accidents, these are the events that unfold when some vague metaphysical force plays a game of goddamn Mouse Trap. I let FD2 off the hook slightly in this, as the human control of a motor vehicle allows a margin of error in judgment and reaction time to make that accident an actual… well, accident. However, from 3 onward, the opening scenes are so unbelievably convoluted, all while attempting to achieve the simplest means—death.

I don’t even know if I should really get into the logical fallacies of the latter opening sequences; I could easily write a 20 page diatribe about how the Roller Coaster accident in FD3 was complete bullshit that goes against every single law of basic coaster design mechanics, but I won’t. Just for shits and giggles though, here’s a list off the top of my head of logical and mechanical failures from that sequence:

• The Devil’s Flight’s shoulder restraints bounce up and down when released. Any coaster that EVER did this would not pass State Certification for Amusement Ride Operation.
  
• There is no backup restraint for the shoulder harnesses. No seatbelt, no belt that attaches to the harnesses, nothing. When that one valve fails, everything goes to hell. On every modern coaster there is always a failsafe on the restraints, even if that means doubling up the exact same mechanism so that if one fails, the other is the backup. The odds of both of them failing is astronomical. Not to mention, that one valve apparently held the restraints for the ENTIRE train. Nope. The trains are locked usually by car, but sometimes in sections depending on the maker. Either way, one failure like what was shown would not cause the entire train’s restraints to unlock.
  
• We are to believe that a camera, dropped by a foolish rider, wrapped around the track and was the leading cause for wrecking the train’s wheel assembly. HA! Are you kidding? That camera would’ve been absolutely wrecked—the worst thing that would happen is the train would lose momentum and valley (stall) at a low point where it lacks the inertia to climb the hill in front of it. Those wheels are attached to a train that weighs a probable ton without inertia or riders—fully operating, it would chew that camera up with barely the bat of an eyelash.
  
• Speaking of the wheels, there are three wheels on a coaster car’s wheel assemblies: the road wheel (rides on top of the track), guide wheel (rides on the side of the track), and up-stock wheel (rides underneath the track). In the film, these wheels and their specific states fluctuate randomly depending on what the scene called for. For instance, the remains of the coaster train goes into the loop and stalls at the top; flipped upside down. This means that the up-stock wheels are still intact, if they weren’t the train would’ve fallen once it lost enough momentum and crashed into the track below. However, the train instead rolls back and hits a piece of track that had been completely jarred out of place (don’t get me started on how this happened), before the suddenly halted momentum causes the front end of the train to fly completely off the rails and spiral towards the ground.
  
• As more of a side note, the Ride Operators are possibly the most idiotic people to ever walk the face of the Earth. After Wendy flips out they let her and the rest of her section get off, however both her boyfriend (my boy Jesse Moss) and Ryan Merriman’s girlfriend (Carrie) are in the front row and therefore still locked in their seats. (Wait, so they unlock sections of the train at the loading platform, but that one valve controls the entire train’s locking mechanism!? WHAT THE FUCK!?) Then, when Jesse’s character and Carrie are looking the Attendant dead in the eye asking to be let out, they get completely ignored and the guy says to the operator “you’re all clear! Start the ride!” NO. NO, NO, NO! If someone asks to get off, and are legitimately serious and not messing around, YOU HAVE TO LET THEM OUT. All of those Ops should have never been anywhere near an operator’s panel or ride attendant job position.
  

There are MANY more points that I could dissect if I actually took the time to look the scene up and wasn’t going from purely from memory of the big points that stuck out, but the point is made just the same. To sum up, they might as well have had someone get thrown in front of the car, and then attempt to avoid being hit by doing a Scooby-Doo esque “spinning of the wheels” startup before running in front of it within the same vein as a Looney Tunes cartoon. THAT would’ve been within the realm of reality they were working in.

…Does it show that I was a Ride Operator at Six Flags for three years?

Now, I’ve heard fan boys of the series attempt to proclaim “it’s only a movie” when I’ve brought these points up, but to argue that point is to completely whiff on the purpose of the series and it’s brand of horror/suspense. If I as a viewer am fully and completely conscious of the fact that I’m just watching bland characters die in ridiculous ways, then the entire existence of the movie within the guise of being apart of the Horror genre is pointless. I don’t think about how dangerous the objects we use every day without a second thought are, but rather I spend my time laughing at the fact that they expect me to buy into this with any legitimate emotional investment.

And the openings only got worse from there.

FD4’s tries to make us believe that stock car raceways only have rusted chain-link fencing between the track and the spectators, along with serious cracks and fractures in the seating area at a point of primary structural support. FD5 then attempts to make us believe a suspension bridge has COMPLETELY failed and caused the roadway it holds up to crumble like a soggy Oreo cookie. The openings became more about Michael Bay inspired “insipid flashiness” than about logistical and psychological horror.

At least in the FD5 trailer, it seems like they don’t just randomly come across the information of a similarly crazy incident where people survived because someone predicted it minutes beforehand on the internet or something like previous films (who thinks to Google that anyway?) Instead, the cryptic coroner of the series named “Bludworth” (Tony Todd) is at the site of the mass funeral for those who died on the bridge and says to the protagonist and co. that he’s seen this before: the freak accident, the random survivors… and death hunting them down one-by-one. It’s better, but that’s like saying it’s better to get hit by bird poop than step in dog shit.

The worst part is, the Mouse Trap shenanigans that the openings contain don’t just happen in the opening scene in the later films. Oh no, these unbelievably improbable chain reactions actually start to bleed into the subsequent “accidents” that Death uses to correct the wrongs and right the fates of those who avoided his cold embrace in the opening. It gets to the point where they are willing to throw anything—including basic logic and every single one of the laws of physics known to man—out the goddamn window just to get a “cool” death scene. It gets even worse when they start knowing that people expect it to the point where they use chain reactions just to have them result in a near-miss / “close call” moment. Great, yeah that’s it, pander to the absurdity that you so proudly flaunt as a “series staple”. I should punch each and every one of you bastards in the soul.

Since this is supposed to be about 5 (and has turned into a much broader reaching rant), I’m going to try and keep this rant about these within the realm of what I saw in the trailer.

• Floor to ceiling windows that are in high rises and multi-story office buildings are NOT shatterproof nor massively thick. This is a common misconception. Having them posses those traits in the name of safety would just be laughable, because there’s zero chance that someone would EVER slip and fall into them. Besides, if a window washer sees something going wrong, they need to be able to make an immediate breach and entry. Window Washers: Saving the day, one window at a time.
• “I see that it’s been quite a while since your consultation for this laser eye treatment…what made you decide to take the leap today?”
  “A lot is going on in my life, I don’t want to miss anything.” *starts violently shivering after sitting in the chair* Jesus, then get fucking CONTACTS! My God, if you’re flipping out like this why are you doing it in the first place!? Oh wait, because then we can’t have an incompetent doctor leave you alone with your eyelids pried open and a high powered laser aimed directly at your retina!
• Death by falling on Acupuncture needles? 1000 Ways To Die already did it.
• A sheet metal screw can come loose from a ceiling bound air-conditioning unit in a gymnasium and fall with the most ridiculous precision onto a balance beam, landing flawlessly on it’s head without reacting to the fact that it’s momentum was suddenly and forcefully halted. Physics: “screwing” Netwon and his supposed laws whenever the hell it feels like it.

And just as a bonus lesson courtesy of FD3, remember children, an engine does not need to be hooked up to your truck for you to be able to actually drive it. It can simply rest under the hood as if it was conveniently placed in a trunk, which allows it to fly completely out from under the hood when a runaway van rear-ends you, sending the engine fan right into the unsuspecting head of the douchebag in the convertible in front of you in the drive thru line at McDonalds. Oh, and the douchebag’s car won’t move either, because as we previously established… physics isn’t an absolute or anything. It takes more plays off than Randy Moss when Death is the QB.

As if all of this wasn’t fail-tastic enough, in the 5th film Bludworth informs the survivors that because they aren’t supposed to be here, the only way to appease death is to kill someone else in their place. Wait, why didn’t you tell the kids in the first one that? What, is this a new development in the way Death operates? Did you read about revisions to the “How To Handle Those Who Escape Plans of A Horrific Fate” section of the Grim Reaper Rulebook in the newest edition of Afterlife Quarterly? What happened to the “only new life can defeat death” crap you spun to AJ Cook and her cohorts in FD2? Jesus man, are you ever consistent? Stop acting like the information you present is an absolute rule when it changes every five seconds! Your “rules” are more sporadic than the presence of physics in these movies!

[Sigh] … You know, for a film series called “Final Destination”—where the main subject of interest in the plot is death—they sure seem to have a hard time actually getting to that very destination and letting this series just fucking die in a ditch already. I wish Hollywood’s obsession with formulaic crap would reach it’s Final Destination. [Cue rimshot; subsequent tomato throwing] Thank you, I’ll be here all week!