Cabin in the Woods and the Fine Line of Meta-Movies

Hey, everyone. I'm going to spoil CABIN IN THE WOODS now. 

CABIN IN THE WOODS is an okay film with great ideas. I went in, taking everyone's advice, spoiler free, the only thing I knew being it was "genre bending" and brilliant. Since there was so much hype over it, I was expecting something exciting, thrilling, and unique. When the film was over I realized that it wasn't necessarily genre-bending, but just a deconstruction of a genre that had a certain "fuck you, audience" edge. I loved the idea. That aspect of the film is brilliant, but still, I couldn't help but disagree with everyone I had read. I didn't find it exciting or thrilling at all and I actually found myself bored at times. So I left the theater really confused. Why didn't I like CABIN IN THE WOODS that much having absolutely loved the idea behind it?

After thinking about it for a few days, I finally understand why and how I was so blah about the film: It's relying too much on its idea to give the film any weight and because of that, it's almost impossible to really experience the film. It's so distancing that, instead of experiencing the film as it plays, we're only thinking about the film.

I feel you, Charlie.

Part of this is because CABIN IN THE WOODS is such a meta-movie. Meta-movies are meant for thinking about the film, admittedly, but that doesn't make experiencing it as well mutually exclusive. Take Jonze and Kaufman's ADAPTATION, another meta-movie. While we watch it, we are constantly thinking about the film (what is fact, what is fiction), but we are still engaged with Charile Kaufman's character. We're able to relate to his struggle for artistic integrity, and when the film does become the typical, thoughtless blockbuster Kaufman has tried to avoid throughout the whole film, we get a sense of  his catharsis while realizing the point the film is making (For the record, I think it's asking us to choose which part of the film we find more interesting). We're able to feel what Kaufman is feeling. We're experiencing it and we care even though the distance that comes from all things meta is present.

CABIN IN THE WOODS, on the other hand, is all about distance. And when it wants us to be engaged, its unable to show up. It's impotent.

"What? No!"

Take the parts in the film when we actively see the two puppeteers manipulate the cabin and the people in it. When Thor is gassed and says "I think we should split up," you aren't yelling at him going, "No! Don't do that! That's stupid, Thor," and worrying about his well-being. You're going, "Oh I get it. They have to split up because that is a bad idea and ultimately that will cause some of the deaths that everyone wants to see because this is a horror movie." Or how about when Thor and his Dumb Blonde girlfriend go out in the redneck-family-zombie infested woods and are manipulated into having sex, you aren't going, "Get out of there, Thor and Thor's girlfriend! There is a horde of redneck-family-zombies in the same woods you are having sex!" Instead, you're going, "Oh, right. This is the typical environment with the typical stereotyped characters in the typical situation that's in typical horror movies." You aren't worried about any of the characters because you don't care. All you're thinking about is the idea behind the actions.

But CABIN IN THE WOODS seems like it wants you to care about what's going on. The horror scenes are played out like any other horror scene, but just don't connect. One of the more confusing scenes is when the group goes down to the basement and start messing with all of the trinkets down there. The Dumb Blonde is about to put on a necklace, the Stoner is turning a music box, Thor is about to blow in a conch... The music is chilling, the camera moves in close to the objects, everything is slowed down... I guess we're supposed to be scared and tense here, but we don't know what any of these objects mean. The film is telling us that these things are important, but we don't know why and it isn't until the (pseudo) Virgin reads the diary and the redneck-family-zombies come out of the ground that these objects mean anything, but at that point, the scene is over and has become a missed opportunity. It's just limp.

"I WISH THIS MOVIE WAS BETTER!"

That said, there is one place in the film where we're able to think about the film and experience it. When the two puppeteers (I don't know what else to call them) realize that the cave hasn't collapsed leaving an opening for the characters to leave, it's exciting. It's one of the only times where there's tension. The interesting thing (and the point) is that in this scene we are actually rooting for the "bad guys" to collapse the cave. We want those twenty-somethings to be trapped. Here, the film is actually saying something about the horror genre while also letting us experience the film. We can think about it and experience it. This is where CABIN IN THE WOODS gets it right.

So it's a shame that the rest of the execution of its idea really keeps CABIN IN THE WOODS from becoming something really great. It's also a shame that it relies too heavily on it's idea to propel the action. But still, the idea behind it is fantastic, and there is still some fun to be had in the third act (I'm waiting for the first unicorn horror film to be made).

Take Shelter (And Why It's My Favorite Film of 2011)

(I would have written more, but I decided not to get too specific, in case someone is interested in watching this.)

Plenty of films delve into the world of mental illness.  There's A Beautiful Mind, which is about accomplishing great things even with the biggest of obstacles in your way. There's Fight Club, which depicts someone whose illness ultimately redefines who they are. There's Awakenings, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Rain Man, Punch-Drunk Love, Pi, Me, Myself, and Irene, and plenty others. None of these, though, are really for people with mental illnesses. These films are about the mental illness itself and ultimately are for those who are interested in what having a mental illness is like.  To see through the eyes of someone who is suffering to better understand them. (For those really interested in feeling what it is like to suffer through depression, look no further than Lars von Trier's Antichrist and Melancholia  because holy crap.)

Take Shelter isn't like those films, though. This is ultimately a film for those who suffer through mental illness, and that is why it's such a great, unique film.

Take Shelter is about Curtis (played by the subtle, yet wonderful Michael Shannon), a construction worker with a loving family including a deaf daughter, who starts having nightmares with the largest and most ominous storm cloud you have ever seen as the back drop. These nightmares are not horror stories, terrifying and fearful, but filled with dread and anxious waiting, just like the film itself, which is slow paced and brooding. Very quickly, these nightmares seem to merge into his waking life. (In one dream he is attacked by his own dog and his arm is ripped to shreds. From the time he wakes up until he gets off work he can still  feel the pain in his arm.) We eventually learn that his family has had a history with paranoid schizophrenia, and Curtis starts to believe he has inherited the disease.

A storm is coming for Curtis (both symbolically and physically), a storm to end the world, and what does he do as a response? Keep his worries to himself and start to rebuild the storm shelter (again, symbolically and physically) in his back yard (which is only one of the actions that can only be described as logically illogical and that affect his family in a negative way).

The synopsis makes it seem like Take Shelter should belong in the list above, however, much of the film is ambiguous concerning Curtis's illness (Is he ill? Will his vision of an apocalyptic storm come true?), and the film never directly answers any questions the audience might have. However, like I said, this film isn't about the illness. It's about people who aren't sure how to deal with their illness. It's about how to cope with it and where to put your "shelter" or support. It's about getting better. It is not a coincidence that the film's title is in the form of a command.

Hint

What makes this film great is that it doesn't treat mental illness as a study. It's not about the symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia. It's not about what a person with paranoid schizophrenia is like. Instead, there's a message here. A message for those in Curtis's position. As for Curtis himself? His problems aren't going to go away, but that doesn't mean he can't find a way to make it manageable with a little help

The Illusionist: An Exercise in Grief

I love The Illusionist and here is why:

Sylvian Chomet's The Illusionist (2010) isn't your grandpa complaining about "kids these days" or reminiscing about "the good ol' days" (there are some elements of that, though). It's your grandpa on his death bed in his home he bought in his 20's and hasn't left since, wondering where it all went--Is it really the end now? Where do I go from here? Was it worth it?--as tears roll down his wrinkled face and into his mouth not noticing the taste of salt. Then he dies, tears still wet. It's a peaceful death at least.



The Illusionist is about a magician in late 50's Paris who's career has run out of steam. No one wants to seem him perform his tricks anymore because they'd rather go see the next big rock and roll band. He meets a drunk, Scottish man, and he performs in his homeland, a more primitive and low-tech place. There, the magician meets a naive girl (she believes the magic he performs is real) who travels with him back to Paris. There, the magician, along with many other characters including a clown, a ventriloquist, and trapeze artists, do their best to get by with their respective careers, but with no luck. Their passions have become lost art at this point in time. Society has moved on, leaving them behind. All of this is contrasted with the girl, who grows up before the magicians eyes, getting dressed up, going on dates, and moving along with society.

There's an immense sense of loss of the past throughout The Illusionist and I couldn't help but notice that the film, like any other person dealing with a tragic loss, goes through the five stages of grief. And, oh, look, here are the examples that I noticed:



Denial - The denial stage comes early in the film when the magician is invited to the Scottish village after a poor show with a tough crowd. Since the village has not caught up with the technology of the rest of society, the people love the magicians act and find his tricks fascinating. As I mentioned before, he finds one Scottish girl who is so enthralled with is magic that she believes it to be real. Because of his time in the village, the magician now has a false sense of security. He may be struggling, but he's going to be okay. I mean, look at how those people applauded him after his tricks! Him! There's still interest in his work. He's going to be fine. It's only when things aren't quite as they seem when you stop denying and become bitter.

Anger - It is in the anger stage where The Illusionist shows it's get-off-my-lawn side by showing contempt for the new and emerging practices in culture.  For example, back in Paris, when the girl is watching one of those new TVs at a shop window, the magician scoffs and walks away, too good for this new technology. Also, the film shows a new rock and roll boy band (with a fan base of annoyingly screaming girls) as flamboyant, selfish, and ridiculous. Finally, in the Scottish village a light bulb has been installed for the first time  in the local pub and (in one the film's most satirical bits) the room's lush and warm lantern light is replaced with a cold and small whimper of light to everyone's applause. The Illusionist is showing signs of bitterness. What's so great about those new things? Why is everyone so interested in them? Especially when the old ways are clearly so much better? It's this curiosity that leads to...

Bargaining - It's important that The Illusionist is 2D animation. In this way, the film itself is in the same position as the magician. While, admittedly, 2D animation isn't a completely dead and lost art, it has definitely become the minority in animated films. Even movies that are made based on old animated cartoons (Yogi Bear, Alvin and the Chipmunks, The Smurfs) have computer generated characters. You might think that's normal considering the rest of these films are live action and CG looks better with that, but think about how Space Jam would have looked if it were made today with a CG Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck. (Chaos reigns...). Back to The Illusionist...There is one shot that doesn't fit with the rest of the film. For about an hour and ten minutes we see beautiful painted backgrounds with precise stylized animation, and then there is a shot that sweeps the city of Paris...and it's all in CG and it comes at a time when the magician has just about given up. In a film that seems to revere 2D animation, why would it all of a sudden use a shot of a full computer generated city? Because it's bargaining. Well it'll try this new thing out. Why not? Maybe it can survive for just a little bit longer. It's only when it doesn't work (and it doesn't; the CG looks awful), bargaining leads to...

Depression - You can infer from the first paragraph that The Illusionist is crazy devastating at times. Everyone and their careers at one point hit rock bottom. The clown, after a gang of kids beat him up in the streets tries, to hang himself at one point as his wacky theme music plays on his record player. The ventriloquist ends up selling his doll (which price keeps dropping and dropping until it becomes worthless) and drunkenly stumbles into alleyways, presumably his new home. The magician ends up leaving his new friend from the village as he comes to realize that...





Acceptance - ..."magicians do not exist." This is the message, his last words, as he leaves her and gets on the train to wherever.  On the train there is another small girl who is drawing in a journal. She keeps dropping her short and stubby red pencil and at one point after another slip, the pencil rolls under the magician and she is unable to find it. Realizing he has a pencil the same color, and longer even, he starts to set up a trick for her. We know he is going to make it look like he has made her pencil grow a few extra inches. We know that the girl is going to be thrilled, enthralled, fascinated. Maybe the magician won't ever really give up his passion. However, the girl pulls at the pencil and it is the same short, stubby pencil she has known. This is one of the most heartbreaking moments in the film. A moment of true sadness and acceptance.

The Illusionist is an elegy for things past and gone or on their way out. Things simpler. Things longed for. And it does so the same way a real person would. It has become its own person. It exists outside its many frames. This film is proof that films have feelings, too, you know.