You know, I didn’t plan for my inaugural article here at afterhours.ie to be a condemnatory rant not dissimilar to the ‘When I was your age, I’d been working for 45 years in the mines ’ tirades you often hear from people who were apparently born at age 50. But that’s what happened. I fully intended my first piece here to be a deeply insightful critique, an examination of the very fundamentals of the cinematic medium, an evaluation of the cinema as art paradigm, a breakdown of the form and content dichotomy. With a bit of luck, this article would possibly have concerned a film which probes, in a metaphysical sense, the notion of what it actually means to be human, what it means to be alive, who we are, and, more importantly, why we are, what is love, what is death, who lit this fire in us, what is this great evil, how’d it steal into the world, from what seed, what root did it…sorry. Anyway, sadly, no such film has been released, and no such article has been written. Instead, I’m stuck bitching and complaining like the bitter, bitter little man I tell girls I’m not. But so it goes. I blame Michael Bay. There’s no particular reason for this, it’s just good to blame Michael Bay for stuff. I mean, chances are that even as I write this, and even as you read it, he’s probably screwing something up somewhere anyway, so I’m not entirely off base here.

Anyhow, to the bitching.

In late 1999, I wrote an article for my college magazine entitled ‘We Gotta Wear Shades’ (that was the article’s name, not the magazine’s). The title was a reference to the 1986 Timbuk 3 song, ‘The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades’, and the reason I named the piece thusly was because of the fundamentally healthy state that the cinematic artform found itself in at the turn of the millennium. Artistically and creatively, 1999 had been one of cinema’s strongest years since the 1970’s, and with the early 21st century promising to continue the vogue of holistically significant films, it seemed as if cinema-as-art was actually holding its own in the age-old war against cinema-as-business. Box office earnings may have been down, but it didn’t matter when the quality of the work was so high. And by God, it was high. You may not remember 1999 (or last Saturday night for that matter), so allow me to refresh your memory with some of the cinematic masterpieces on offer that year. First and foremost is Terrence Malick’s sublime meditation on war and (human) nature, The Thin Red Line. Malick’s philosophical treatise marked the grand master’s return to cinema after a 20 year hiatus; more eagerly anticipated than the return of George Lucas and Stanley Kubrick combined, Malick’s re-emergence had aficionados of 70’s cinema everywhere salivating all over their copies of Easy Riders, Raging Bulls with the prospect that he may have retained even a modicum of his once unbounded talent. The film performed dismally at the box office (especially considering the heavy weight cast that included, amongst others, Sean Penn, John Travolta, Woody Harrelson, Adrian Brody, Ben Chaplin, Nick Nolte, George Clooney, John Cusack, John C. Reilly and Thomas Jane). However, despite its box office failure, the film put the more discerning of film critics into a cold sweat as they tried to grapple with its tantalisingly abstract beauty and intangible moral precept. The thinking man’s Saving Ryan’s Privates, The Thin Red Line wasn’t so much a war movie as it was a Heideggerian/Emersonian examination of man’s war with nature and with himself (and not a hint of the patriotic backslapping and ‘good-War’ mythos which oozed from Spielberg’s poorly written, self-important exercise in ego massage). Eschewing standard narrative devices and basic character development in favour of poetic voiceovers and meandering shots of untainted natural beauty, the film’s power lies in its ability to tap into the heart of darkness in us all, and ask why we kill, why we hate, why we love. It gives no answers, it simply asks the questions. And what questions they were. You go to the cinema to see a war movie (hopefully someone will loose a limb or something) and next thing you know the film you’re watching is asking you “Do you think that because you believe in goodness, your suffering will be any less? Do you think that because you are righteous, you will be saved?” And George Clooney hasn’t even appeared yet! What the hell? Where’s the explosions and stuff? Didn’t Michael Bay make this movie? The Thin Red Line was, and is, a film that defined what the medium of cinema is and what it can be. Wholly cinematic, the film couldn’t have been realised in any other artform (its relationship with the James Jones novel on which it is based is superficially arbitrary at best), and in that sense it truly is a perfect film. Furthermore, it survives the most stringent test of cinematic narrative – does it work with the sound off? Think about it. Cinema is a fundamentally visual medium; sound has really only been tacked on to the visual component of the artform. For years, films worked fine with no dialogue, no music, no sound effects. But contemporary films have forgotten the inherently visual aspect of their presentation. Now this is not necessarily a bad thing. But the point is that every once in a while, a film will come along that is simply so visually compelling and accomplished that the dialogue and music may enhance it, but they certainly don’t drive it, and such films achieve a rare height of visually imperative thematic coherence; films like Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, Michael Mann’s Ali, Andrew Dominick’s The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ and Apocalypto, Malick’s own Days of Heaven and The New World, Danny Boyle’s Sunshine, Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain. And standing proudly at the top of this list is Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line. So, taking all of that into consideration, The Thin Red Line is the best example of just how strong a year 1999 was, and that it was produced by a major studio (20th Century Fox), yet still managed to maintain its own unique sense of identity and directorial individuality is indicative of how prevalent directors who could be said to have ‘unique visions’ had become in Hollywood. For those of us who ascribe to the ‘auteur theory’, 1999 was a good year.

But there was more. Other important films released in 1999 include: Tom Twyker’s head spinning Lola rennt, which broke just about every narrative rule in the book (and every box office record in Germany) in a film which matched form and content with a panache that is rarely seen in the medium (just check out the mixing of 35mm film with 16mm film); Tony Kaye’s troubling and troubled tale of racism in working class America, American History X, which made a star out of Edward Norton, and showed more teeth than any other film of its ilk insofar as it actually had the balls to criticise some of the minority groups under attack in the narrative (how many films dealing with racism actually paint the victims of that racism as anything but helpless and harmless?); the Wachowski Brothers’ eye popping original, The Matrix, which redefined the action movie for the digital age, had Postmodernist scholars all over the world leaping in joy with subtle references to Jean Braudillard’s Simulacra and Simulation (apparently, Frederic Jameson collapsed with joy on the night of the premier), and made a megastar out of Keanu Reeves; Wes Anderson’s redefinition of black comedy, Rushmore, which finally proved it was hip to be square (apparently, Huey Lewis was seen running around screaming “I told you so” the night of the premier) and revived Bill Murray’s flagging career; Stanley Kubrick’s intriguing, not entirely successful swansong, Eyes Wide Shut, which showed that even after a 12 year absence, the master of the frame could still compose a calm yet meaningful and loaded image to shame many of today’s younger directors (I’m talking to you Michael ‘I must move the camera for no apparent reason in every single shot’ Bay); Atom Egoyan’s haunting tale of murder in middle England, Felicia’s Journey, created an alternative to the cartoon villainy of Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lector in Bob Hoskins’ tormented chef/serial killer/Oedipal sufferer; David Fincher’s generation defining opus and mockery/embrace of male machismo in it rawest of forms, Fight Club, was the seminal movie of the year, possibly of the decade, with its sharp social critique, wry sense of humour, and perfect casting in Brad Pitt (“We can’t all be movie stars” – who else could say that line?), it spoke to a generation of young men as no other film could manage, and it actually said some things that mattered; and David Lynch’s gentle and moving elegy to family ties, The Straight Story reminded us of what a sensitive filmmaker he can be when he foregoes all the rapes, orgies, murders, monsters and incest (not that we don’t love them too).

This is a very broad sampling of the many gems on offer in 1999. Luckily, 2000 promised to maintain the same high artistic standards (I know many of the above films were made in 1998, and some were released in America in 1998. Similarly, some of the films below were made and released in 1999, but my dating criterion is Irish release, and in that sense, the dates are accurate). So, to what had we to look forward? Martin Scorsese’s Bringing Out the Dead wouldn’t be warmly accepted by Scorsese fans, but his impression of Oliver Stone on speed had numerous critics citing it as an important turning point in his career, marking an entry into a more mature sensibility; Sam Mendes’ ironic examination of white middle-class America, American Beauty, had critics falling all over themselves to heap praise on it, and rightly so, as it was perhaps the most defining movie of the year (and take note Michael Bay, not a single camera move in sight, in sight, I tell ye); Frank Darabont’s adaptation of another of Stephen King’s novels, The Green Mile, didn’t do as well with either critics or audiences as their previous collaboration, The Shawshank Redemption, but for those of us who found the earlier offering just a tad too sugary sweet, The Green Mile gave us a considerably more hard-edged interpretation of prison life (and provided one of the most downbeat endings to a major Hollywood studio film ever); Michael Mann’s masterful The Insider didn’t do well at the box office, but it was a critical smash, and should have cleaned up at the Oscars. A film which should be studied by every aspiring filmmaker everywhere, The Insider represents one of cinema’s most aesthetically thematic mise en scènes, from the extraordinary opening shot, to the crossing of the 180o access in the Japanese restaurant, to the jerky handheld cameras, the film was about as aesthetically perfect as the artform can get – a master’s masterpiece, no doubt; Spike Jonze’s completely bonkers Being John Malkovich shouldn’t have worked, I guess it didn’t work, which is exactly what was so wonderful about it, a redefinition of comedy for the 21st century, pure and simple, absurd cinema for an absurd age; Ridley Scott’s overblown, preposterous and self-important celebration of all things warlike and phallic, Gladiator, which shamefully won Best Picture (and Best Actor), but despite the fact that it was so ridiculous in so many ways, it was without doubt the most thrilling film of the year, and singlehandedly renewed Hollywood’s desire for the ancient epic; finally, P.T. Anderson’s lengthy, complex and utterly mesmerising examination of sadness, despair, sexual frustration and Godlessness in urban America, Magnolia was a film which showed us that Anderson had the ability to both write and direct in such a way as to speak to our souls, that Tom Cruise could actually act, that maybe the Bible had some interesting stuff to say, and that Robert Altman had a worthy successor who wasn’t a Quentin Tarintino fanboy.

Every single one of the above films was, in some way or other, defining. Every single one of them raised the bar and pushed the artform in a new direction, setting new standards, and acting as yard sticks against which all successors must be measured. They challenged the cinematic status quo, whether in terms of content (Being John Malkovich or The Thin Red Line for example), form (The Insider or Lola rennt), generic markers (Rushmore or The Matrix), or all round cohesion and brilliance (Gladiator or Magnolia). As such, at the end of 1999, with half of them gone, and the other half still to come, the future seemed bright indeed. So bright in fact, I suggested that we gotta wear shades.

Now, a little under nine years later, the landscape is very different. Shades are no longer required. I joined this website several months ago as a film critic, and, as I mentioned before, this is my inaugural article. The reason for that hasn’t been because my dog won’t let me sit at my keyboard (although that has played a part), but, more mundanely, because cinema has been so bad this year there simply hasn’t been anything worth talking about in the last few months – I literally haven’t been interested enough in anything to actually go to the cinema to see or review it. To help me explain my chagrin, here’s a list of the films I have actually seen so far this year: I Am Legend (adaptation), Charlie Wilson’s War (true story), No Country for Old Men (adaptation), In the Valley of Elah (true story), AVP: Requiem (sequel), Cloverfield (original), Rambo (sequel), Vantage Point (original), There Will Be Blood (adaptation), [Rec] (original), The Orphanage (adaptation), Doomsday (original), The Outpost (original), The Escapist (original) and Gone Baby Gone (adaptation). Now, firstly, let me acknowledge that there are only six original titles here. Of these six, two absolutely sucked (Vantage Point and Doomsday), one was on very limited release ([Rec]), and two were low budget indie films seen by very few people (Outpost and The Escapist). Only one was a mainstream Hollywood release with a major advertising campaign behind it, and any chance of box office success.

Now, let’s look at some of the year’s films which I haven’t seen. A good place to go is the list of the year’s highest grossing movies: in descending order, Iron Man (adaptation), The Dark Knight (adaptation and sequel), Indiana Jones and the Insultingly Predictable Plot (sequel – readers may be picking up a slight anti-Spielberg vibe at this stage. Let’s just say, if I was on a desert island with only the films of Spielberg and Michael Bay for company, I’d quickly become an expert on how to dig a hole in an asteroid whilst hurtling through space), Kung Fu Panda (original), Hancock (original), WALL·E (original), Sex and the City (based on a TV show), Prince Caspian (adaptation and sequel) and The Incredible Hulk (adaptation/remake/sequel). Only three originals there. Two are cartoons and one is about a superhero (more on the superhero/lack of ‘realism’ thing later).

To move on, let’s look at some of the major studio releases slated for the next year or so: Constantine 2 (adaptation and sequel), Watchmen (adaptation), Superman: Man of Steel (adaptation and sequel), Wonder Woman (based on a TV show), The Flash (adaptation/remake), Justice League (adaptation), The Spirit (adaptation), Sin City 2 (adaptation and sequel), X-Men Origins (adaptation and prequel), Billy Batson (adaptation), Iron Man 2 (adaptation and sequel), Hercules: The Thracian Wars (adaptation), Captain America (adaptation),  Max Payne (adaptation), Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (sequel), Cloverfield 2 (sequel), The Day the Earth Stood Still (remake), A Nightmare on Elm Street (remake), Friday 13th (remake), The Birds (remake). Is it just me or is there a disturbing pattern emerging here?

By way of emphasis, compare these two lists with my two lists above: The Thin Red Line (adaptation, but only in the loosest of senses), Lola rennt (original), American History X (original), The Matrix (original), Rushmore (original), Eyes Wide Shut (original), Felicia’s Journey (original), Fight Club (adaptation), The Straight Story (true story), Bringing Out the Dead (original), American Beauty (original), The Green Mile (adaptation), The Insider (true story), Being John Malkovich (original), Gladiator (original) and Magnolia (original). The point seems worryingly obvious.

Hollywood has lost all sense of originality and is relying, almost exclusively, on sequels, remakes and adaptations (which usually employ vast quantities of bad CG at the expense of photorealistic material – but that’s a whole other article). Now, what really disturbs me about this is not that Hollywood is churning this stuff out; it’s that people are lapping it up. Let’s face it, for the major studios, art means nothing; it’s all about the mo nay (as Vince McMahon would say, before being blown up/crushed). And judging by that criterion, Hollywood is doing exactly what people want it to do. As mentioned before, box office earnings were down in 1999 and 2000, indeed, The Thin Red Line, American History X, Eyes Wide Shut, Felicia’s Journey, Fight Club, The Straight Story, Bringing Out the Dead, The Green Mile, The Insider, and Magnolia all lost money at the box office. In 2008, box office earnings are through the roof. In the list of the highest grossing movies of this year, the lowest earner is The Incredible Hulk, which made a paltry $132 million in domestic revenue alone (that’s not counting international box office, domestic and international DVD sales, domestic and international TV sales, and merchandising)! Indeed, as I write this, some are speculating that The Dark Knight is on course to replace Star Wars as the second highest grossing film of all time, and may even topple the mighty Titanic from the top stop (although to be fair, it has a loooooooooong way to go to knock The Blair Witch Project from the top of the all time most profitable list, at least there is some justice in the world). And this is all good as far as Hollywood is concerned. Critics may say a movie is superb. People may rave about. But if it doesn’t perform at the box office, it’s a failure (The Insider is a good example). On the other hand, if a film is universally panned by the critics and slated by audiences, but makes a heap of money, it’s perceived as a success (a perfect example is Michael Bay’s Pearl Harbor – the most abhorred film of 2001, but also the highest grossing film of 2001, therefore the most successful film of 2001).

So, what’s my point? Hollywood is out of ideas? Yes and no. We’ve all heard that before anyway. No doubt, Hollywood is out of ideas, but it seems that they’re out of ideas by choice – they’re employing writers to rehash previously written material, not to come up with interesting and relevant new stories. Generic hacks such as Alexandre Aja (The Hills Have Eyes and Piranha – both remakes), Marcus Nispel (Pathfinder and Friday 13th – both remakes), Zack Snyder (Dawn of the Dead – remake; 300 and Watchmen – both adaptations), Paul W.S. Anderson (Mortal Kombat, Resident Evil, AVP, Castlevania – all adaptations; DeathRace ­– remake) and Ireland’s own John Moore (The Omen – remake; Max Payne – adaptation), get millions of dollars flung at them to adapt comics (sorry, graphic novels, we can’t call them comics any more apparently), games and books, and to do remakes and sequels, whilst good aesthetically individual directors with something to actually say about the Human Race are having to scramble around to get funding, and usually only manage to secure it when they sign a big name actor to their project (don’t believe me? Look at the trouble Darren Aronofsky had getting The Fountain greenlit, until Brad Pitt signed on, and then look at the trouble he had after Brad Pitt dropped out; look at the problems Terrence Malick had with The New World until Colin Farrell agreed to star; look at the problems Michael Mann had with Collateral until Tom Cruise was signed). Hollywood is giving glorified music video directors like Nispel, Snyder and Moore massive amounts of cash to make CG dominated pseudo-cartoons, because these CG dominated pseudo-cartoons are making Hollywood massive amounts of cash. I mean look at how much money the horrendous Spiderman Trilogy made. Personally, I don’t understand how anyone with an IQ over 15 could like any of them, with their poorly drawn character delineations, predictable plots and terrible CG, but together they made close to $1 billon. The same can be said for the appalling Matrix sequels. And that worries me.

So here’s my point. Hollywood simply isn’t being forced to be original. Hollywood gives us a sequel, we go see it. They give us a remake, we go see it. They give us an adaptation, we rush to see it. Suddenly, if you’re someone who’s worked on a successful sequel/remake/adaptation, you’ve got something to brag about. I remember when the horrendous remake of The Hitcher came out, the poster proudly proclaimed ‘From the producers of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (remake) and The Amityville Horror (remake)’ – that’s nothing to be proud of (and the fact that one of these producers was Michael Bay has nothing to do with it). Taking, on the one hand, one of America’s finest horror/comedies, and on the other a perfect example of how to blend a true story into a wonderfully over-the-top Satanic horror film, and turning them into insipid, watered-down, pale imitations of their former selves is not something I’d be happy to have on my CV, let alone use it as a calling card. But, the point is that putting that blurb on the poster was designed to appeal to the many people who saw, and presumably enjoyed, those two cinematic travesties, people who might say, “I liked them, I’ll go see this too”. In that situation, you can’t really blame Hollywood for ending up in a creative quagmire. And as indicated above, this quagmire looks set to spread. Yep, the future ain’t so bright no more.

 You see, the thing is that Hollywood knows what’s it doing when it comes to milking every penny out of its audience. Adaptation of comics after adaptation of comics after sequel after remake after remake after sequel is a pattern which is generating huge earnings because people are going in massive numbers to see the films. Now, some of these movies may actually be quite good; I’m not saying that every adaptation and sequel sucks (although almost all remakes do), I’m simply saying that it would be nice to see the odd original production in there somewhere. It’s getting to the stage now where sequels, adaptations and remakes are not just dominating the industry, they are quite literally becoming the industry. I really do yearn for the glory days of early 1997 when David Fincher’s Se7en was released one week prior to Michael Mann’s Heat – both original (no, Heat is not a ‘remake’ of LA Takedown, don’t get me started on that one), both redefining films in their respective genres (the serial killer movie and the heist movie respectively) and both set (shock, horror, run for the hills) in the ‘real’ world with ‘real’ people doing comparatively ‘real’ things. No lycra in sight. No superheroes. No bad CG. Just simple stories about simple people living complex lives. And this is where the problem lies. Hollywood has forgotten how to tell such stories. And as far as I can see, they’re in no hurry to learn again.

And for that reason, I am suggesting we forget the shades, cause the future is pretty dark from where I’m sitting. So I’m going to find me a flashlight. Preferably a CG flashlight. Part 2. The remake. Adapted from the comic.