The Cabin in the Woods

Note: This review contains a spoiler for the film.  However, the spoiler has been fairly widely discussed by now, and is referenced in ads for the DVD and on the DVD menu.  The film also contains another twist which will not be revealed.

"The Cabin in the Woods" is very reminiscent of "Shaun of the Dead" and "Hot Fuzz."  It's a send-up of a genre that also functions as an example of the genre.  In this case, the film pokes fun at dumb horror movies while also functioning as its own dumb horror movie.

Early previews of the film made it seem like a very generic scary movie.  Five college students stay in the woods for a weekend, zombies appear, and nasty things happen.

As it turns out, though, their fate is being manipulated from a control room.  A team of engineers is working to ensure that these students die.

Writers Joss Whedon and Drew Pearson use this set-up to aptly parody the usual horror movie tropes, showing how gullible and dumb most of the victims are as well as how rote the scares tend to be.  But when they reveal the reason the young co-eds are being led to the slaughter, the film turns into its own ridiculous scare machine.

Whedon and Pearson are very clever.  And clearly, they've got a deep affection for scary movies, which is why they turn their film into one while displaying their awareness of how tacky they can be.  If you're a horror fanboy, this movie is right up your alley.

But movies should try to resonate with everyone, not just a subset of people who are in on the joke.  When I think about the most effective horror films I've seen--movies like "Psycho," "Rosemary's Baby," and "Jaws"--they tend to play on deep-seated fears that almost everyone can relate to: subjects like mental illness, miscarriage, or even something as simple as what's lurking in the water.  So many horror movies are predicated on pretty young things dumbly prancing to their doom.  The viewer can't take them seriously because she doesn't relate to them.  (Nor would she relate to "The Cabin in the Woods," once the twist is revealed.)

(On a more technical level, I think horror movies are much better off relying on suspense.  When they start throwing out dumb scares early on, you're reminded that you're watching a movie and lose your suspense of disbelief.)

After seeing "The Cabin in the Woods," I have to wonder what the future holds for horror.  The audience appears to know all the tricks of the genre, and the directors appear to know that they know those tricks.  Filmmakers would be much better served by ditching the ghouls and focusing on things we fear in real life.

Take This Waltz

Early in "Take This Waltz," the main character is chatting with the man with whom she is considering having an affair.  She says that when she's sad, she can usually figure out why.  But "sometimes, when I'm walking down the street, and a shaft of sunlight falls in a certain way on the pavement, I just want to cry."

Hold up.  Morrissey called and he wants his lyrics back.  What a suffocating line.

But wait a tick--there's something interesting going on here.  Our heroine is saying that sometimes she's sad for no reason.  And her paramour responds that maybe she just hasn't found the reason yet.

That intriguing question is what "Take This Waltz" explores.  And it provides a very thoughtful answer.  Unfortunately, as the above line indicates, sometimes it struggles with the delivery.

The aforementioned heroine meets her possible beau briefly on a trip to Nova Scotia.  Coincidentally, they sit next to each other on their plane ride back to Toronto.  Coincidentally, they happen to live on the same street.  Coincidentally, the three main characters all have lots of free time: the charming stranger pulls a rickshaw (which apparently earns him enough to rent a townhouse), while the wife has a very vaguely defined job in travel writing and the husband is writing a cookbook.

If you want the quirky ideosyncracies and contrivances that can plague indie films, look no further.  The wife has airport staff push her around in a wheelchair because she's afraid of missing her connecting flights--as if waiting on someone to help you would make that less likely.  (Also, symbolism: she doesn't like MISSED CONNECTIONS.)  Her husband's cookbook contains only recipes for chicken.  (More symbolism: HE'S BORING.)

While I can't overlook these missteps, I can forgive them because I admire the movie's larger purpose.  Ultimately, it doesn't really matter what happens in this film: whether the wife cheats, whether she leaves her husband, whether she's forgiven.  The story is just a vehicle for examining how we deal with sadness.  Is it a matter of changing our surroundings?  Or is there just no cure at all?

Lincoln

One of the turning points in "Lincoln" comes in a speech by Thaddeus Stevens on the floor of the House of Representatives.  Stevens is asked if he believes in equality for blacks in all things, or merely under the law.  He wants to insist that all races are equal.  But most Americans don't believe that, and would oppose the abolition of slavery if it meant blacks would be treated as truly equal to whites.  So he restrains himself.  He says he believes merely in equality under the law.  It may not be what he wants to say, but it advances the cause of abolition.

Director Steven Spielberg also faces a test in "Lincoln."  He loves uplift and spectacle, and he's a master at delivering them.  This is all well and good for, say, an Indiana Jones flick.  But for "Lincoln," a historical drama which aspires to seriousness, it's the path to cliche and banality.  "Amistad," his dull paean to the quest for freedom, is a perfect example of the possible pitfalls.

Thankfully, Spielberg is largely able to keep his showmanship in check here.  Focusing on the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment, "Lincoln" gives us the political meat-and-potatoes: the backroom deals, legal vagaries, and compromises in which Lincoln had to engage for the sake of the bill.  The film also dabbles in the mental instability of the Lincoln family through Lincoln's son's insistence on joining the army.  Spielberg realizes that it's not the why of the Thirteenth Amendment that matters--we all know that.  It's the how that is his value-added.

Of course, Spielberg can't always help himself from indulging in a little flag-waving nonsense.  The opening scene, in which Lincoln is bathed in an angelic glow as Union troops recite the Gettysburg address to him, is sheer ridiculousness.  There are some painfully cloying lines, as when the Speaker of the House declares "This is history" before casting his vote.  Finally, the ending of the movie lapses into generic biopic territory: we see the settlement at Appomattox and Lincoln on his deathbed.  It's a reenactment of history rather than an investigation, one any high schooler could give us.

Janusz Kaminski, the cinematographer on "Lincoln," said that because Abe was such an iconic figure, he had to be shot carefully: "You can't really show the man taking a dump, you know?"  This is exactly the wrong attitude to take towards a historical figure.  Lincoln shat, and it stank, just like it did for everybody else.  Part of the man's greatness was that he would admit this himself.  "Lincoln" mostly gets that key point right.