YER CHANGIN' THAT HORSE'S LAAHFE!

After the jump I’ve got the first full-length, theatrical trailer for the Steven Spielberg-directed War Horse, opening just in time for Christmas. With a script by Lee Hall and Richard Curtis, who have credits on Billy Elliot and Love Actually between them, it looks like either the epic Oscar-bait crowd-pleaser all the dorks on the internet think it is, or the most hilariously bloated act of unintentional self-parody the world has ever seen. The title cards read:

…Tested by battle

…Touched by kindness

…This January

Hope Survives.

MOVE OVER, MARINE BIOLOGIST HARRY CONNICK JR.! THERE’S A NEW DOLPHIN IN TOWN, AND HIS NAME IS WAR HORSE!
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Lost co-creator and Cowboys and Aliens co-writer Damon Lindelof recently wrote a wrote a gushy homage to Raiders of the Lost Ark in honor of its 30th Anniversary, which was published in LA Times’ Hero Complex with the headline, ‘Lindelof’s love letter to a perfect movie.’ It certainly has a just-one-of-the-fans! charm, but… it’s also a piece about a film directed by the guy who produced Lindelof’s last project.

Here’s a few excerpts:

Although it’s easy to reduce “Raiders” to a “popcorn” movie — a piece of escapist adventure with fantastic action — very rarely is it appreciated for its pure innovative genius.  This is something people seemed to be well aware of back in 1981 (it was nominated for a best picture Oscar), but over time, the legacy of “Raiders” seems to neglect just how incredibly revolutionary it was as a film.

I could go on for pages about just the little things. Like the sound you make when Indy punches someone in the face. Or that Marion’s superpower is drinking. And don’t even get me started on the coat hanger. Where did that Nazi even get that thing? Did he special-order it? “I need somezing that vill terrify people when I take it out, but then give them a false zense of relief when I reveal it is simply somezing on vich to hang my coat.” Seriously. The best. But I know you’ve probably heard it all before and therefore, I’ll stick to the big stuff. First and foremost…

I love you because Indiana Jones is a nerd. Granted, a highly capable nerd who knows how to ride horses and fight real good, but still, at his core, Indy is an academic who’s motivated purely by his desire to find and retrieve really cool stuff so he can put it in a museum where other nerds can appreciate it. Also, he wears glasses and gets nervous when hot female students write the words “Love You” on their eyelids. Do you have any idea how much commitment is involved in writing “Love You” on your eyelids?  It’s really hard!  Not that I’ve ever done it… [...]

And while we’re on the subject of Dr. Jones, here’s another thing I love about him.  He’s actually scared of stuff.  This doesn’t seem like something that should be celebrated, but it’s actually quite rare for the hero of a movie to be scared of anything.  Do you know what Green Lantern is afraid of?  Fear. He is afraid of being afraid. Does that even make sense? Here’s what makes sense to be afraid of — Hissing Cobras and Gigantic Bald Nazis with mustaches trying to kill you. And it was perfectly OK for me to be scared of them because Indy was too.

And while we’re on the subject of Dr. Jones, here’s another thing I love about him.  He’s actually scared of stuff.  This doesn’t seem like something that should be celebrated, but it’s actually quite rare for the hero of a movie to be scared of anything.  Do you know what Green Lantern is afraid of?  Fear. He is afraid of being afraid. Does that even make sense? Here’s what makes sense to be afraid of — Hissing Cobras and Gigantic Bald Nazis with mustaches trying to kill you. And it was perfectly OK for me to be scared of them because Indy was too.

And so, we now arrive at your ending. This, more than anything else, is why my love for you is an undying one. Because we all know how movies like you are supposed to end. The hero fights off a bunch of evildoers, saves the girl, gets the thingamabob away from the bad guys before they can do any harm with it and then say something kinda cool before he rides off into the sunset.

But this, sweet Raiders, is not what you did.

Your big climax is not affected by Indiana Jones at all.  He’s tied to a pole with Marion the whole time, completely helpless as Belloq and his Nazi pals open the Ark. And while most heroes would perform some incredible act of selfless bravery, what does Indy do? He shouts at Marion to not even look at whatever is coming out of the very thing he has coveted for your entire duration.

In a world where movies and TV shows often end in ways that are sometimes unsatisfying bordering on outrage-inducing (yeah, yeah, I know), your ending, darling Raiders, is absolutely, exquisitely perfect.

I know I’m being a hater here. I’m sorry. It’s a nicely-written article (kudos especially for the veiled, self-deprecating Lost reference at the end there) and I share Lindelof’s great love and nostalgia for Raiders of the Lost Ark. But for as much as he gets his ass kissed, Spielberg might as well ride around town in a buttless litter carried by JJ Abrams and Kurtzman/Orci. Spielberg toadying is practically a cottage industry. “Rarely appreciated?” Are you f*cking serious? We already had two movies, one good and one terrible (Attack the Block and Super 8), that were basically love letters to 80s Spielberg (to say nothing of Paul), not to mention Captain America ripping off the ending of Raiders of the Lost Ark almost shot-for-shot. And that’s just this year! We get it, the people making movies now reeeeally like Spielberg. That’s certainly a testament to his importance, but given how many movies he made and how many people saw them, it’s also little like saying McDonald’s made the most influential hamburger. A nerd hero! Imagine that! Jeez, no one ever does that anymore! Lindelof’s piece is the movie equivalent of one of Tom Friedman’s “We have to reduce our dependance on foreign oil!” editorials.

Uggghhh. I’m sorry, I know he’s right. Don’t mind me. I’ll just be in the back trying to write “No Sh*t” on my eyelids.

Visual pitch for my movie, Cowboys & Aliens & Velociraptors & Predator

MOVIES OPENING THIS WEEK: Cowboys and Aliens, Attack the Block (in select cities), Crazy Stupid Love, The Smurfs. If you don’t want to go through the trouble of reading all the rest of this, let’s put it this way: Attack the Block is the one you want to see, at least until The Guard comes out.

COWBOYS AND ALIENS: Jon Favreau takes a break from Iron Man to film Bourne in the desert with James Bond and Indiana Jones. It has other things boys like as well, like aliens, ‘splosions, and Olivia Wilde. No dinosaurs though. Weak, dude.

RottenTomatoes: 44%

Gratuitous Review Quotes:

Actually, the ampersand in the title is a tad misleading, since the genres never fuse into an extraterrestrial horse opera. A more accurate label would be Cowboys, Then Aliens, Then Cowboys Again, Then a Big Mess of Aliens. There’s no whole, just parts. -Rick Groen, GlobeandMail

Cowboys & Aliens has fun moments, but it’s a plodding entertainment because it mostly tastes like leftovers. -Owen Glieberman, Entertainment Weekly

The movie gets by on the strength of agreeable talent who enjoy playing along and can endure the horse manure and space goo being shovelled. -Pete Howell, Toronto Star

Armchair Assessment: Yeah, it’s pretty stupid.

FUN FACT: Spielberg has produced three movies so far this year (four, if you count I Am Number Four, which came from his company, Dreamworks), all of them about alien invasion (Super 8, Transformers 3, Cowboys & Aliens). Maybe he knows things.

NEXT PAGE: Attack the Block

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“Hi! Uh… Can I take a picture of your boobs, I mean vagina, I mean costume?” -Comic Con in a nutshell

Whoa, it’s empty in here on weekends. That’s right, don’t adjust your monitor, I’m posting on a Saturday. I promise I won’t make a habit of it. It’s just that I’ve got so many photos from Comic-Con that I had to get a head start. Don’t worry, this is only the beginning. I’ll be back Monday with even more awesome cosplay and LARPing and pictures surreptitiously taken of girls’ butts. Haha, just kidding. …Or AM I?

People wonder if Comic-Con is just a giant convention where they’ve convinced people to pay to watch advertisements and trailers for films that will be online five minutes later. That’s a big part of it, the part that’s like a more-elaborate theater lobby, where you walk around looking at posters and glorified dioramas without actually seeing a movie. But the other part, the cool part, is the regular folk in their costumes (not the promo girls like in the banner pic, though they’re nice to look at). It’s pretty hard to be a cynical, jaded dick when you see how happy and earnest and adorable people are to be showing off their home-made costumes on the one day of the year where it’s encouraged. People will stop whatever they’re doing just to pose for a picture with a stranger, and seem to enjoy every minute of it. Just when I start to hate all the hype and marketing and people stepping on my feet, they always make me smile. Oh, and those girls in the banner pic were the Sushi Girls, whatever that means. And yes, they both had bikini-line tattoos. They did NOT enjoy it when I asked if they were scratch and sniff.

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After the jump, we’ve got the first full trailer for The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn, a collaboration between Steven Spielberg (directing), Peter Jackson, and digital effects company WETA. I guess the big question is whether a team of writers that includes Hot Fuzz/Scott Pilgrim‘s Edgar Wright, Attack the Block director Joe Cornish, and British TV writer Steven Moffat can reverse Spielberg’s recent descent into suckitude (there is no excuse for Indiana Jones 4). It’s hard to say from the trailer, but if you keep your eyes peeled at the 57-second mark, you can catch my all-time favorite reaction shot, the classic, dog-covering-his-eyes-with-his-paws shot.  YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING, NOT EVEN THE DOG CAN BEAR TO LOOK AT YOU! It seems to say.  If my life were a movie, I imagine the director cutting to that after my every sexual encounter.

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