Serenity

It's perhaps somewhat appropriate that I wrap up my 7-month Whedon binge with the film that got me into the man in the first place. I never saw Serenity in the theaters; I even remember regarding the commercials as promoting some sort of Star Wars knockoff -- it didn't help that it came out the same year that George Lucas finished destroying his own legacy. No, I didn't watch it until it hit DVD, and a friend brought a copy to some sleepover in late '05. I had know idea who or what a Firefly was, I didn't know that Joss Whedon was the fella that made that Buffy the Vampire Slayer I made such a point of ignoring; I just sat down and watched the thing.

What I got was one of the most original, hilarious, and heartbreaking science fiction films I'd seen in years. The entire two hours was chock full of action, wit and those little moments that make everything so much better -- be it a conversation or even just a fleeting change of body language. Even though Serenity picks up where the show left off, it made me care enough about these character that I was moved when tragedy befell them. Which it did. A lot.

Serenity opens with a flashback, depicting Simon Tam's rescue of his sister, River, from whatever indoctrination center is experimenting on her. The scene ends to reveal it was all a hologram playback, viewed by a mysterious Alliance assassin known only as The Operative (Chiwetel Ejiofor). He kills the men in charge for allowing such a prized possession to escape, and sets about hunting down the modified psychic.

So, he seeks out Malcolm Reynolds' beloved rust bucket, run by the same kooky crew, minus a few hands who have settled elsewhere in the interim between the show's events and this narrative. He even takes River on a job, now aware of her ability to read minds, over her brother's loud protests. It is on this heist that we see our first Reavers on-screen -- either here or the T.V. show -- terrifying creatures who rape and eat anyone they capture alive. They give Mal and co. a thrilling chase, yet we still get some choice lines in the middle of the harrowing ordeal.

For the rest of the movie, Mal must contend with Reavers, The Operative, and even River, whom we discover can be triggered into becoming an incredible fighter with the right subliminal code. For a film based on such a sprawling series, Serenity wastes no time getting down to the nitty-gritty, moving from witty, interactive early scenes into some nice political satire in short order. Inara and Shepherd Book reemerge as The Operative chases down any lead to lure Mal out of hiding, though sadly their parts were cut down in editing. As The Operative attempts to... extract information from those unlucky enough to cross paths with him, we seem him come to stand for the Alliance he blindly follows: he says he believes he is helping to create "a world without sin," yet he is perfectly willing to cast aside his humanity to achieve it.

As Mal leads the ship into the depths of Reaver space to discover just what secret The Operative is trying to bury with River, the assassin's mission comes to match a terrible piece of the Alliance's past that serves as an intriguing attack on Big Brother-esque governments, examining the idea that an attempt to create utopia through force and bloodshed with never succeed. Whedon has to pack an entire season's -- and maybe even more; in the commentary, Joss mentions that the discovery of the Reaver planet about 2/3 into the film marked the end of the planned second season -- worth of theme and exposition into a film, yet he never lets his directorial debut feel like a retread of the show.

Whedon, of course, has directed a number of episodes of each of his series, and in those episodes he displayed an ability to get the very best out of his actors and to balance humor and bleak drama better than almost any "real" director you'd care to mention. Even if does, as he put it, "amp" it up for the big screen, he never loses track of his characters, to the point that, in some ways, this is as good an introduction to the series as the series works to establish the film. Under his direction, Fillion and the rest look like they've always been movie stars, even though Ejiofor is the only one who regularly appears in major features. He even pulls off his low budget, imbuing the frankly iffy special effects with such energy that you're too exhilarated to care. Then again, the giant space battle near the end is a true sight to behold, with so many ships piled into the screen you'd swear someone was magnificently overcompensating. Really, every single frame burns with the excitement of a man who knows that, by all accounts, he shouldn't be making this movie, and that's what makes Serenity such a perenially-rewarding journey.

The only real flaws of the movie are that, by nature of running length and an attempt for universal appeal, the Western element is somewhat lost, and we just can't spend the kind of time with these characters that T.V. allows. But Whedon turns the project into a deftly-constructed space opera, just about the most entertaining since the original Star Wars films. For all its political and social undertones, the movie is about faith: not in God, but in humanity. As dark as Whedon's scripts can be, he has a fundamental understanding of human emotions and interaction, and that sensibility makes Serenity a joy every bit as much as the action sequences. The only science fiction film this decade that I think can best it is the superb Children of Men (also starring Chiewetel Ejiofor).

After I saw this for the first time, I went out and grabbed Firefly a few months later and was blown away. I didn't get around to Buffy and Angel for years -- owing to my general avoidance of horror -- but I watched this crew tool around the 'Verse so many times I more than made up for it. When I finally got around to Joss' other work, I couldn't believe what I'd denied myself. Now, as his latest series gets off to a rocky yet ultimately rewarding start, I can't help but regard Serenity even more fondly than when it first rocked my world. Without it, I might never have come to discover the man who has since become far and away my favorite writer in entertainment. So if that colors my perspective, makes me subjective, even fanboyish, I don't care; Serenity surpasses every possible expectation you can place on the spinoff feature film of a canceled T.V. series, and I'm living proof that it's as capable of winning over new fans as any one of his excellent programs.

Short Cuts

Sometimes I think people overstate Altman's state of affairs in the 80s. First of all, "Popeye" didn't flop, and regardless of whatever box office business his films did after that, it's not like he was a commercial titan in the first place. Nevertheless, everyone can agree that Altman returned to making classics with 1992's biting satire The Player, but it was this follow-up that confirmed one of the best late-career resurgences in cinema.

Consisting of 22 major players and 10 distinct and interweaving storylines, Short Cuts may not be Altman's best film (I gotta give it up for Nashville and McCabe & Mrs. Miller), it's certainly his most daring. If The Player examined the ins-and-outs of Hollywood, Short Cuts pulls the camera back a bit to capture all of Los Angeles, and he uses this larger frame to delve into the modern state of America. Here, community has given way to individuality too self-absorbed and detached to produce anything of worth, and even the ties that remain are weakened by dysfunctionality.

To tackle all of the films threads would utterly drain all the entertainment I take from this film, so here's a recap: waitress Doreen Piggot (Lily Tomlin) accidentally hits a young boy with her car, and the boy's parents (Bruce Davison and Andie MacDowell) must deal with his comatose state for most of the film. Meanwhile, two marriages crumble from infidelity, one comes under strain due to the wife's occupation as a phone sex operator, and another, the most stable, survives on the husband's (Robert Downey, Jr.) sadism. Also, three fisherman spot a dead woman in the water on their trip but decide to continue fishing before altering the police. Yes, this is a recap.

It'd be easy--hell, almost understandable--if Altman lost his way amongst the disconnect of the original Raymond Carter stories, but not only does he make the stories work, he ties them together in ways that manage to be both tangential and vitally important. Jerry Kaiser (Chris Penn) cleans the pool of the Finnigans (the parents of the struck child), then he goes home to his phone sex operator wife (Jennifer Jason Leigh). Both are friends with Downey's character Bill and his wife Honey (Lili Taylor), the daughter of Doreen and her husband Earl (Tom Waits). All tiny, insignificant little threads, but they combine to make a much fuller story.

All of these individual stories confirm Altman's predictions in Nashville: with that film the director noticed the growing self-denial and personal isolationism of Americans, what with the constant pontificating of empty words no one really paid attention to and the immediate denial of the ending tragedy. Here, at last, is the final outcome of that mentality: some have labelled the film as misogynistic because its various abused women stay with their men, but it's because everybody's so wrapped up in themselves that interpersonal conflicts come second to internal ones.

There's something about Altman's direction that I just love: he gives us all these characters, but there's never anything episodic about his visual style. Even though the cuts between stories and characters are more jarring and sudden here than in Nashville and McCabe, Altman moves between characters with grace, and often tackles more than one story at the same time using overlapped dialogue that confuses as it enlightens. This style of visual narrative is much of the reason why I think Altman is one of the best directors ever and a true original.

The use of music in Short Cuts also adds a dimension to the proceedings. This is my second time viewing the film, and this time I paid attention to the music after flipping through Michael Wilmington's essay for the Criterion booklet. A mixture of somber classical music and upbeat jazz variations, they do what all great scores must: capture the mood. Of course, Altman's working with a soundtrack, and he has to capture moods within moods, so the fact that he and his music department pulls it off is nothing short of amazing. The classical music plays over moments of despair--indeed, the suicidal cellist (Lori Singer) is the only person who confronts her despair head-on instead of burying it under obliviousness or drugs--while the jazz songs, which all belie severity under their swinging tempos, characterize those who mask their pain.

All in all, this is a late-stage masterpiece from a man who had been dismissed by most in the business as a has-been. For a film with almost no character evolution, it gets out unbelievable levels of pathos, and it uses characters that would be one-dimensional in any other film to paint a complex portrait of personal interaction and the despair of the human condition. It's absolutely essential.