|
|
|
|
|
No Paradise
(Rant: August 2005) Michael Bay, the director who made his mark churning out
thunderous hacks for Jerry Bruckheimer (The Rock, Armageddon
and Pearl Harbor), has finally made a cerebral thriller that¡¯s on par
with let¡¯s say, Minority Report, and far better than (let¡¯s say) War
of the Worlds, but no one is heading to the theater to see it. The
Island, revolving around the issue of human cloning in the near future
(where embryos can be accelerated to adulthood in a matter of months), cost
122 million to put together and in its first three weeks of general release
has grossed only 75 million, and worse, it¡¯s fallen out of the top 10 and all
but disappeared from the theaters. It¡¯s unlikely to break even; a black mark
on Bay¡¯s career that until now has been nothing but box office gold.
Critics have given The Island decent to glowing reviews.
So where did things break down? Did Bay¡¯s usual base find the notion of having
to think too much for their thrills repugnant, was Ewan McGregor (who plays a
clone on the run along with the nubile Scarlett Johansson) miscast as a
hunky, summertime hero or was the nature of the material too close to the
ongoing stem cell and cloning debates? And what of those (the art house
crowd) who had routinely avoided Bay¡¯s pictures, but might have been
intrigued by the film¡¯s premise, was Bay¡¯s name enough to hold them at home?
Perhaps the futuristic concept was too reminiscent of such cheesy 70¡¯s hits
like Logan¡¯s Run, or maybe yet, the film was simply released at the
wrong juncture in the annual summer barrage¡ªtoo close to muscle of War of
the Worlds and not anticipating that Wedding Crashers would be a
long sustaining draw? (Cinderella Man really took it on the chin when
it was released earlier this summer and not the fall, when pics that are born
of Oscar lineage usually make their bread and butter.)
The answer is parts of all the above, combined with the fact
that box office totals are way off the benchmark the industry has become
accustom to. Less and less people are filling theaters. A large part of that
is because every summer the cineplex is polluted by a derby of vapid
repackaged hash (sequels, remakes and derivations) designed by marketers and
bottom-liners, not artists¡ªwhich is how Bay cut his teeth¡ªand audiences have become wise. On top of that there¡¯s pirating
(although I am at a lost as to why someone would want to watch a shit copy of
Star Wars on a PC, than in a surround sound, wide screen heater), home
entertainment and the growing notion that the consumer isn¡¯t getting what
they¡¯re paying for¡ªat ten bucks a pop.
While
Hollywood continues to struggle with declining public interest (the purported
trend will be to add bars, fine dinning and shopping to make going to the
cinema more of a complete experience) film¡¯s like Bay¡¯s The Island
will be caught on the precipice between booming success and sudden failure.
It¡¯s too bad too, because Bay¡¯s film delivers the summertime goods with a
provocative subtext. It¡¯s a combination that should mean money in the bank
and conversation ripples at the water cooler. It¡¯s Bay¡¯s finest film to date,
and it¡¯s a bona fide disaster. - TBM |
|
|
|
|
|