Pandorum

Genre: Horror, Sci-fi

Actors: Dennis Quaid, Ben Foster, Cam Gigandet, Antje Traue, Cung Le

Director: Christian Alvart

Well… I like it. I’ve read other reviews of the film and you get the perennial cry of “overused-plot”, (my favourite) “not schlocky enough” (Digital Spy) and “unoriginal”. There is truth to what is being said, of course. The exposition of the film made its intentions very clear and I hear the producer saying: “We’re not original. We’re here to scare the crap out of you, and if you’re astute, you’ll recognise the carbon-copy resemblance to Event Horizon (1997).” So there’s no point in arguing. Anyone with the intelligence of a ferret will know that this show won’t make it to the Oscars. But that’s why I like it, I guess. There’s no pretensions.

Pandorum (a very difficult word to remember when you want to ask your friends to the movies) is a psychological condition that is affected by paranoia mixed in with a little bit of schizophrenia and double-dosed with the cocktails of depression, personality disorder and a need to stab someone. The word technically doesn’t exist but hey, its sci-fi.

I’ll make the summary quick. The film plot is centred around officer Bower (Ben Foster) and Lieutenant Payton (Dennis Quaid) who wakes up from stasis and realises that they can’t remember a thing. Half-an-hour later Bower meets some super-human, cannibalistic creature making sashimi out of his friend’s testosterone-inducing testicals. Concurrently, while the monstrous danger is obvious, the ship’s battery called a reactor is also about to go kaput. Bower is convinced that if the reactor isn’t re-booted, then they’re all either doomed to the effects of pandorum or die like pigs in a pen. As the protagonist meanders through the ship he is later joined by two Kung-Fu fighting professionals: a female geneticist and a male ecologist (hmm…). While super tough and deadly monsters hound his wake, Lieutenant Payton is trying to deal with the onslaught of pandorum inside the control room which navigates Bower’s path to the reactor. Somewhere in the middle of the story, we are told that the ship is destined to find a new earth because the old one just popped (literally, and no one knows why). Finally, the reactor is reset and the film gives us a bit of a surprising twist that made 5 out of the 10 dollar ticket worth spending.

Maybe it’s been a long time since a show scared the crap out of me using good sound effects or maybe I just loved Event Horizon so much that I didn’t mind seeing an inferior version of it twelve years later. But the truth remains that it is a dumb-ass movie that makes cinema fun. I mean, no one’s really going to watch every film for life-changing experiences. I like to be totally superficial sometimes and just pretend that stupidity is awesome. So yeah, go watch it. There’s nice cinematography, pretty cool half-human cannibals, limited complexity that would entice Paris Hilton, and seat-jumping effects that would make Dolby proud.

The September Issue

Genre: Documentary
Director: R. J. Cutler

Warning: You are advised not to watch this film if you are an animal rights activist. You might be compelled to stab the cinema screen (or your excited neighbour) because Anna Wintour wears lots of fur coats (and she looks fabulous in it). And if you’re a big fan of healing stones and spiritual enlightenment, this film may not interest you either. Fashion is a “silly” business; completely shallow, materialistic, and it is $300-billion-dollars worth of superficial-ness. I would recommend that you spend your time and money watching a self-help DVD called “I am Nothingness”. But for those of you who are one-dimensionally passionate about a few pieces of clothing and proudly declare your identity as brand-whores, then this is D-film for inspiration and a chance to see who the queen bitch of the fashion world is.

The September Issue has interlaced a tapestry of trade-secrets and shares the insider’s world of fashion to those of us still trying to figure out if a Kimono is an animal. Contrary to popular stereotype, the fashion world is not littered with the senseless flits and flirts of highfalutin individuals but it is dominated by a group of people with a powerful understanding of business and marketing: it’s not the clothing that sells; it’s the aesthetic idea of the clothing that makes the buck. The September Issue explores the ingenuity and emotional friction between Anna Wintour (chief-in-editor) and Grace Coddington (creative director) who are the maîtresse de haute couture of Vogue magazine. In this documentary, the mantra that “fashion is a religion” is carefully explored through the historical production of a 100-page issue that has never been attempted by Vogue since its decision to produce a monthly publication in 1973.

All being said however, the film lacks the narrative zoosh! of award winning documentaries such as An Inconvenient Truth (dir. Davis Guggenheim, 2006) or Born into Brothels (dir. Ross Kauffman and Zana Briski, 2004). Fortunate for Cutler (director), the film is hyped-up because it rides on the success of David Frankel’s Devil Wears Prada (2006). But on its own merit, The September Issue does not deliver the poignancy and depth of character development that one would expect from a documentary. The emotional and psychological complexity of Wintour and Coddington is as deep as a puddle. Once the audience gets over the excitement of seeing Anna Wintour’s wrinkly face and Grace Coddington’s even wrinklier and completely dishevelled hair, the film enters into a trance of monotony. We are shown repetitive scenes of designer houses, photo shoots and the reasoning for certain photographs to include for publication but the buck stops there. The closet of Wintour’s life, trepidations, fears, and anxieties are shut and never pried open. She remains an enigma but a boring one. Even the so-called cat-fight scenes are never more than a few hisses and scratch on the reel. In short, this documentary reveals nothing more than what the audience could have already guessed.

It would be unfair to say that the documentary is not worth watching but don’t expect heart-stopping or heart-thumping scenes. To be frank, don’t expect your heart to do much at all. It’s a flashy and well-produced documentary that would be inspirational for the aficionado of glitter and glamour. But just like the fashion industry, the film is superficial at its best.

Alien versus Predator: Requiem

Originally published in Rip-In-Magazine Issue 049, 2008.

Genre: Sci-Fi
Actors: Steven Pasquale, Reiko Ayesworth, John Ortiz, Johnny Lewis, Ariel Gade, Kristen Hager
Directors: Colin and Greg Strause

Alien versus Predator: Requiem is like a box of chocolates sitting out in a patio under the Australian summer heat. You know it’s going to look real bad, yet adamantly you open the box – just to make sure. Well Nostradamus, you’re right again. The movie (just like the chocolates) is a distasteful aberration.

The directors have split personalities. The Brothers Strause obviously took turns in directorial intent. One of them was convinced that AVP:R should look sci-fi-ish with an exposition of cool technology and slightly impressive digital magic. The other brother then decided that sci-fi should embrace postmodernism and determined that the latter half of the film should mimic I Know What You Did Last Summer.

The incongruity of film exceeds the norms of acceptability. First you have really awesome aliens and face-huggers attacking even more impressive Predators who seem to have the entire arsenal of their planet attached to an arm. Then in media res you have the stupidity of a teen flick with a pizza boy courting some blond, rich girl. He gets beaten up by her ex-boyfriend and manages to get his keys thrown into the sewers. In the dingy sewer tunnels, the directors had an epiphany and said that this is the perfect scene to begin AVP teenage massacre. (What the…)

The major difference of AVP:R and AVP is that the former prostitutes the gore on screen while the latter is more abstractly inclined in the expression of death. AVP:R analogically throws the baby into the bathwater and jabs it a few times in the face. The effect is supposed to be terrifying and incomprehensibly cruel. I got the incomprehensible part as there is no rhyme or reason for the bloodbath other than for the purpose of shocking the audience into distaste. Don’t get me wrong. I like my gore. But I prefer it with a storyline.

Perhaps it is unfair for me to say this, but I have always looked for a Sigourney Weaver in Aliens versus Predator films. Just because it is a science fiction film doesn’t mean all the acting focuses on fangs and drooling, retractable jaws. And it doesn’t help when you add in a teen-flick storyline that focuses on upper-body female distensions rather than facial expressions.

All in all, this has been another disastrous film on the market. Alien Versus Predator had such potential to be a cult favourite as the characters have already established popular cultural significance. But, in the hands of amateur directors and creatively-numb writers, you have yourself another box of chocolate under the summer heat.

Halloween

Originally published in Rip-in Magazine Issue 046, 2007.

Genre: Horror

Actors: Malcolm McDowell, Brad Dourif, Tyler Mane, Daeg Faerch, Sherie Moon Zombie, William Forsythe

Director: Rob Zombie

Children are a delicatessen of horror films. Big, hulking and gargantuan blokes with a cleaver are still in the menu but it is an old recipe that is both passé and outdated. Children, however, add that something-special to the plate and wet the palate of tired consumers of slasher movies. After all, it’s not every season that we get to watch a ten-year-old boy slice the throat of his step-father, (literally) backstab his sister and clobber the skull of his sister’s boyfriend with a shiny baseball bat. In Rob Zombie’s Halloween, Michael Myers (Faerch) has infantilised to four feet of pure innocence and evil.

Based on John Carpenter’s original screenplay in 1978, Halloween has attracted cult-status. With an unforgettable soundtrack that is the ringtone of hardcore fans, the film has gathered itself a following of mask-wearing, plastic knife wielding devotees.

Unlike its predecessors, Zombie’s Halloween goes back in time to the awakening of Myer’s bloodlust. Slasher films do not normally bother with storyline or plot. The point is to hack and hack and hack. But the director has taken steps to introduce a rare ideology, which is ‘intrigue’, and this is evident through 45 minutes of intricate storytelling.

The audience is siphoned into the world of young Michael Myers who suffers from a severe split-personality disorder. On good days, the boy is all smiles, hugs and feminine innocence. On bad days, a Cruela Deville look-a-like nurse gets stabbed with a fork. Dr. Samuel Loomis (McDowell) is introduced as the specialised psychologist that could possibly cure Myer’s deranged personality disorder. Of course, his success rate is as slim as an anorexic drinking full cream milk.

Seventeen years passed and, to the surprise of no one, Myers manages to break out from prison. And from here onwards, it is 45 minutes of unadulterated slasher idiocy. The Incredible Oaf (adult Myers played by Tyler Mane) roams the streets of Haddonfield, unobtrusively picking up and cutting down the residents that no one seems to miss. Later on we realise that Myers plans to kidnap his baby-sister (Sheri Zombie) but for what reason, only hell knows.

You know a slasher movie as a slasher movie when more than five bullets enters the body of a nutcase and he still gets up with an insouciant gait to kill the victim. At the very end, even I doubted a bullet to the head would keep the mute monster down. But like all good horror movies, you could smell a sequel before the audience breathes out their first stale breath.

All in all, you would only watch Halloween because it is rated R and you wanted cheap thrills. If you’re hell bent on going and paying to see this flick then bring a pen to the movies. You might get an itch to draw your neighbour’s arm after the first 45 minutes.

Gabriel

Originally published in Rip-In Magazine, Issue 046, 2007

Genre: Action
Actors: Andy Whitfield, Dwaine Stevenson, Samantha Noble, Erika Heynatz, Michael Piccirilli, Harry Pavlidis.
Director: Shane Abbess

The clouds finally parted and the light from heaven cascaded onto a chrome-grey and dilapidated city. Gabriel (Whitfield) stood on the precipice of a cracked and empty roof as he watched, for the first time, the grace of God and his victory over darkness. He spread his arms in submission and defiance against humanity and gently leapt into the air. As he fell, serene and tranquil music filled the auditorium. When darkness eventually enveloped the audience, one man, at the back of the row rightfully trumpeted, “It sucks!”

Yes, it sucks. Gabriel is a film that has all the ingredients for “it sucks”. In the spirit of goodness, the audience member wrote my review in two words. After the first half-an-hour, a teenager with a beanie on my left was breathing with a sinus inflicted nasal cavity and the man in front of me was tossing his head in delirium. (I swear it’s true). All I could do was to chew on my nails till it was over.

For what it’s worth, I give a modicum of respect to Shane Abbess, a first time Australian director and producer of medium-budget movies. According to trivia, they were so short-funded that Abbess had to work daytime in a call centre to manage the cost of production. It’s clear that he works for the love of film and wish to connect with an international audience (for example, he uses a ridiculously Texan-accented actor to play the archangel Michael hoping, I think, to connect to America). But there is no excuse for bad directing and bad script-writing.

Gabriel falls under the category of try-hards and a-stylistic films. The introduction reminds me of a very bad non-digitalised, un-high-definitioned version of Star Wars. Words are framed against a starlit sky and a deep, resounding voice booms non-diegetically. George Lucas would have died laughing because Abbess didn’t even try to be funny.

The whole film is edited with a strong, constant coat of blue tint. At first I thought Abbess was trying to produce a Sin City effect. Unfortunately I was wrong. It’s either the editor who’s colour blind or the director has an impending cataract that would hurt his eyes to add any brightness to the film. The blue-tint stunt did not work or else I wouldn’t be tortured by snoring viewers.

As for the storyline, well, it’s about Gabriel, the last archangel to save the lost souls from Purgatory. Good fights evil, Gabriel takes a nick or two to the face, a bit of sex scene with miss archangel (a.k.a. Jade the Prostitute), has a toss or two with Michael (they’re secretly in the closet I think), and of course, at the end the clouds part to reveal 5 seconds of light to the audience.

Don’t watch this film unless you’re a drug-addict or insomniac. I have so much more to write but any more and I’ll get death-threats from the production team. Take this final advice from me: the genre of the film is actually horror.

A Mighty Heart

Originally published in Rip-In Magazine 045, 2007.

Genre: Drama/History
Starring: Angelina Jolie, Dan Futterman, Archie Panjabi, Mohammed Afzal, Irfan Khan
Director: Michael Winterbottom

There is a sense of awkwardness when mainstream cinema excavates the complexity of history through the artistry of documentary stylistics. A Mighty Heart, directed by Michael Winterbottom, uncomfortably produces a cramped biography of Mariane Pearl (Jolie), who is the widow of murdered Daniel Pearl (Futterman) in Karachi Pakistan.

Winterbottom is an eclectic director that has covered the gamut of genres. He has directed TV series such as Rosie the Great (1989), docu-dramas such as Cinema Europe: The Other Hollywood (1996) and his most acclaimed to date The Road to Guantanamo (2006); his deft range of films also includes arthouse flicks like 9 songs (2004) and also the comedic biography of Tony Wilson in 24 Hour Party People (2002). However, eclecticism in style is also synonymous with confusion and clutter.

This film is made for an indelicate audience that are trained to stomach the complexity of war, especially when a masala of names, organisations and political affiliations are battered into one storyboard. A Mighty Heart, in précis, recovers the true story of Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl and his capture by terrorists. The film details the ordeal of Mariane Pearl as she tries desperately to locate her husband’s whereabouts in Karachi. The exposition explains that Daniel travelled to meet a religious extremist by the name of Sheik Gilani but fails to return home. Mariane suspects foul play and called a host of international organisations in Karachi to rescue her husband. The tragedy unfolds as her husband is later found murdered when the U.S. failed to comply with terrorist demands.

A Mighty Heart attempts to unveil the indomitable spirit of Mariane through the realism of cinema verite (hand-held, erratic camera movements) and the mainstream bell-curve of narrative-making (the progression of the story with low-high-low dramas). In the process of unveiling Mariane’s emotional turmoil, Winterbottom added another documentary element, which is the flood of information to sustain the realism of the film. Unfortunately, such prostitution of facts, evidences, criminal alibis and victims made the audience painstakingly run-the-mile just to catch-up with the story.

It is unfair for critics to expect tear-drenched audiences but the audience were emotionally shielded from Mariane by the excessive complexity of narrative, style and information. The two-supporting actors – Asra (Panjabi) and Captain (Khan) – were commendable in their roles as they added flesh to a convoluted jigsaw of skeletal information. While Jolie’s performance did not exceed expectation, she was well chosen to play the paradoxically spirited yet emotionally vulnerable Mariane.

From the hype came a disappointing dissolution of anticipation. This is a film with the buzz word “Oscars” trailing the wake of its screen profits but I wouldn’t bet a dime on it just yet.

Saw IV

Originally published in Rip-In Magazine, Issue 044, 2007.

Genre: Thriller, Crime
Actors: Tobin Bell, Costas Mandylor, Scott Patterson, Betsy Russell, Athena Karkanis
Director: Darren Lynn Bousman

Distinguishing moments in horror/thriller films often cause long-term psychological traumas and are (in my opinion) the primary causes of paranoia, psychosis, and the occasional turret syndrome. For example, puking girls, foul language and revolving heads from The Exorcist (1973) added innovativeness to Punk culture and their paranoid fear of fashionable people. And what about Stephen King´s IT (1990)? The clowning industry took a dramatic decline due to anonymous death-threats and hit-and-run incidents by clownophones (or technically called coulrophobes) who just couldn’t face the fact that clowns generally don’t eat children.

Saw IV is honoured with a prestigious place within the pantheon of horror/thriller ´distinguishing moments´. In other words, audiences tend to get a bit twitchy after watching the film and stay twitchy for a few more days. The brilliant direction of Bousman has defined cinerobics (my neologism for cinema aerobics) and securely established itself as a popular cult film of the 21st Century. Of course, Patrick Melton and Marcus Dunstan, the successor of writers Leigh Wannell and James Wan, are equally as sick and perversely twisted in their concoction of tortures.

The fourth series of Saw films adds complexity and density to both its narrative and plot. This year we are treated to the unveiling of Jigsaw´s (Bell) genius and the context of his madness. The detective game that is played in Saw IV is complicated so I do not advice anyone to watch this unless they have prior knowledge of Saw II and Saw III.

Two FBI profilers, Agent Strahm (Patterson) and Agent Perez (Karkanis), were called to help Detective Hoffman (Mandylor) uncover the macabre of Jigsaw murders. While they sift through voluminous information, SWAT Commander Rigg (Patterson) is introduced as the last officer untouched by Jigsaw´s harrowing games. Rigg is later abducted for the mistreatment of his own life and family and goes through a series of ´lessons’ devised by the puppet master. Interconnecting the plot of the film are intermediate flashbacks of John´s life told through his wife Jill (Russell). She chronologically details how he came to be the unstoppable Nietzschean philosopher with a lethal streak.

My only criticism of Saw IV is that the ending is too condensed. The most impressionable moment of all Saw films are the twists and unexpected conclusions that cause perceptible oohs and aahs from the audience. This time, however, there is also an unexpected interjection of eh? from the viewers. The sudden influx of information at the end sent the audience into an arduous reflective mood and affected the overall satisfaction of the film.

But one can still claim a delectable psychosis from the finale of Saw IV. An observing viewer will notice twitching eyes and spasming fingers of those who leave the cinema.

Resident Evil: Extinction

Originally published in Rip-in Magazine, Issue 040, 2007

Genre: Action, Horror, Sci-Fi, Thriller
Starring: Milla Jovovich, Oded Fehr, Ali Larter, Ian Glen, Ashanti, Mike Epps,
Director: Russell Mulcahy

There are few horror films that can make you exercise in your seat. Take for example Blade: Trinity (2004). Occasionally your lips twitch to employ the guise of humour and sometimes fingers involuntarily curl, but it’s not because you are scared but because your bottom got itchy. And take Hostel I and II (2005 and 2007) for paralysing examples. The body exercises the batting of eyelids because there is dire need to avoid falling asleep. Should one’s legs accidentally jerk and kick the backseat of the audience, again, it is not because you are scared but because your fellow audience is about to comatose.

Resident Evil: Extinction achieved what few films could not – ‘cinerobics’. This peculiar cinema workout is unique to horror/thriller films. The knees of the audience intermittently spasms; palms quickly rise and fall from the death grip of one’s thighs to shadow a quarter of the pupil; at certain sound cues (such as screams and death throes) the body flips to the left or right and stays there for a period of time; blood pressure rises and adrenaline rushes to hungry muscles. The sweat achieved from this film is actually quite satisfying. But other than such exhausting thrills, the film was quite forgettable.

Continuing from the apocalypse of Resident Evil 2 (2004), Alice (Jovovich) wakes to a desolate landscape of undeads prowling and spreading the T-Virus throughout the world. A group of loony scientists work to stop the damning destruction of the human species but the cure is illusive. Alice is, of course, the acrobatic anti-heroine with guns that would put any man to shame. She wears skin-tight clothing so that every somersault highlights her arse and impossibly small waist. Occasionally her flawless face is marred by a grain of sand, but the director quickly zooms out to avoid such an unthinkable travesty.

Just like the game, Resident Evil is about high-action and very ugly zombies. Story comes third to gun-blasting and zombie brain goo. Since the original game was FPS (First person Shooter), it makes sense to cast the sexy Alice as the one and only saviour and deliverer of humankind. Actually, the film made a few more Alice just in case your drool hasn’t drowned your feet. Watch the film and you’ll know what I mean.

The addition to the third instalment of the series also introduces a motley gang of survivors starring Ali Carter as their leader and Oded Fehr as her right-in-command. Their acting was superficial at most but at least managed to add some excitement to a world that turned into a giant, boring Sahara desert.

While the cinerobics of the film tugged it from the adjective of ‘dull’, it would be a stretch to say that Resident Evil: Extinction was ‘memorable’. I admit that I fully enjoyed the gun-blastings, psychic detonations, crow zombies and left-right hip exercises. But no one would stay a millisecond longer to see the end-credits.

Stardust

Originally published in Rip-In Magazine, Issue 039, 2007

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance
Starring: Charlie Cox, Sienna Miller, Michelle Pfeiffer, Robert De Niro, Nathaniel Parker, Ian McKellen (Voice over), Dustan Thorn, Peter O’Toole, and Rupert Everett.
Director: Matthew Vaughn
Writer: Jane Goldman and Matthew Vaughn

Fantasy is always about the crossing of worlds. There is one pertinent question that fans of the genre ask: How do the different worlds meet? In this case, the answer resides beyond a very long wall of an old English village called, well, Wall.

The exposition of the film was rather terse and clumsy. The short and coarse editing of Stardust commenced a choppy prologue. While it was marginally disorientating, the interjection of Dustan Thorn’s (Parker) foray and adventure into the old world of magic enabled the birth and destiny of his gauche and awkward son named Tristan (Cox).

The young and idealistic protagonist portrayed the village dreamer that girls scorned and adults tolerated. The prudent decision to cast Charlie Cox worked for the film as he shifted seamlessly from an adolescent romanticist to the mature, sword-buckling buccaneer. Driven by the need to impress his teenage sweetheart within Wall, Tristan made the decision to leap through the one-old-man-guarded brick barricade to commandeer a fallen star for his beloved. Unfortunately (and hilariously), the hobbling old guard was a high-kicking, somersaulting, and staff-cracking martial artist. Later, the boy realised the history of his birth and the transgression of his father’s love beyond Wall. Tristan uncovered a priceless gift by his mother, a black candle, which transported him into a crater where Yvaine (Miller) was first introduced as the fallen star trapped in mortality.

The crater was a sign that lifted the anchor of fantasy and let sail the magic and voyage of two individuals who, at first, could not stand the sight of one another but necessarily had to stay together. In their journey, the audience was introduced to the three witches of the old world, one of whom was called Lamia, centrally played by Michelle Pfeiffer. Her character was at once deliciously evil and insatiably contemptuous. A short discussion with the rest of the reviewers unanimously agreed that one just can’t get enough of her. Her multidimensional expression and interpretation of Lamia showed both the comedic and detestable, the complex shift of hopelessness to triumphant arrogance. Pfeiffer was paradox stuffed in one ravishing yet incalculably old body. One almost wished she didn’t die in the end. Who cared if evil lived as long as she was delectably wicked? My vote is still affirmative.

Based on the novel by Neil Gaiman, Stardust (2007) enraptured the audience without high-handed or cluttering visual spectacular. The adapted story, written by Jane Goldman in collaboration with the director Matthew Vaughn, was masterfully shaped not so much for children but for adults. This was evident through the affecting and memorable entrance of Captain Shakespeare (De Niro). At first glance, it seemed the script writers executed a paltry attempt to unveil a crass and disgruntled pirate. But like all good storytelling, the depth of his character later revealed the endearing comedy of a fey, camp and closeted transvestite that respected and dutifully performed his vulgar and oafish heritage. Few fantasy films would dare conspicuously exhibit a queer character for fear of audience and profit ostracisation. For this alone and more, Stardust deserves an applause.

In summary, the postmodernistically foreboding, risqué, camp, and romantic montage of the film were accomplished with delightful humour and style, although its editing needed more finesse. Stardust exceeded expectations not because of its adapted narrative or imaginative visuals but because the casts and characters were exceedingly dynamic, animated and insatiable.

Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer

Originally published in Rip-In Magazine, Issue 035, 2007

Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy
Starring: Ioan Gruffudd, Jessica Alba, Chris Evans, Michael Chiklis, Julian McMahon Kerry Washington, Andre Braugher, and Doug Jones.
Director/Writer: Tim Story/ Don Payne and Mark Frost

According to MARVEL Five Fabulous Decades of the World’s Greatest Comics, the Silver Surfer represents Marvel’s most sincere efforts to “to elevate the super hero genre.” First appearing in March 1966, Jack Kirby joined with Stan Lee to introduce this half-alien, half-angel character into Fantastic Four #48 comics. The endearing temperament and philosophical nature of a silver man on a surf board brought such originality to the comic world that the Silver Surfer earned a title and fan-following for many years.

The Silver Surfer (Jones) is introduced as the herald of Galactus – a God-like supernatural force that devours planets to fuel its existence. The exposition of the film is both awesome and breath-taking. The collaboration of Academy Award® visual effects Weta Digital with three-times Oscar® nominee Scott Squires created a fearsome Galactus and stunning Silver Surfer that would make any fan of the comics weep in both relief (because it did not fall short of expectations) and ecstasy (because the Surfer is just so cool!).

When four radiation-altered mutants meet with one “Sentinel of the Space Ways,” we know we’re in for a good treat. The Fantastic Four series creates a rare sequel that couples both the comics of #48-50 and #57-60 to bring together a meeting of Dr. Doom (McMahon) and the Silver Surfer. It should be no surprise that comic fundamentalists would strike the show down as heresy for being untrue to the history of Stan lee’s creation. But if Lee could bring himself to be a guest of the “Wedding of the Century” scene in Fantastic Four, I don’t think fans should be too worked-up about the author “selling-out.”

The primary narrative of the film is typical of most PG films. The issues of family and sacrifice, good versus evil, love versus hate, monogamous commitment versus promiscuity, are all ideologically evident for good daddy-mummy-and-me viewing. The closest the audience gets to nudity is the Surfer’s sexless body on a surfboard. But, of course, my own commitment to “Don’t let me guess, bare it all!” films should not be conditional to all narratives.

Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer links the audience to more comfortable and matured characters. As Jessica Alba said to a press release: “In the first film I was trying to figure it out… Now I already know the character so I have a lot more freedom.” The humour of the film is less formulated and Sue Storm (Alba) and Johnny Storm (Evans) are more relaxed in their roles. While superheroes are still a bit stiff and unbending (including Mr. Fantastic), I believe they salvaged a semblance of praise in this sequel. It is, finally, a film worth watching, if not for content at least for great surfing style.