Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. This week I’ve been writing up a fuckin’ storm; getting ahead on bounties, pushing forward on my novel, and even tossing off an indulgent side quest for my DnD party (we’re doing The Phantom of the Opera and The Taming of the Shrew simultaneously, which will absolutely involve were-shrews). All this feels like a genuine breakthrough for me, as I’ve traditionally found it extremely hard to write in multiple modes at the same time – it’s hard to think in terms of criticism when writing quests, hard to plot in terms of novels when writing songs, etcetera. Now it feels more like I’ve reached that vaunted position where work in one field actually inspires work in others; I was basically stuck at one bar scene in my book for weeks, but fiddling with quests seemed to unlodge something essential for getting momentum back. And yes, the film screenings have continued, alongside copious munching through the Brennan Lee Mulligan extended universe. Let’s break down some movies!
First up this week was Atlas, a recent scifi feature starring Jennifer Lopez as Atlas Shepherd (perhaps the most on-the-nose ‘savior of humanity’ name I’ve ever seen), an AI analyst still haunted by the robot rebellion that rocked the world twenty-eight years ago. When she’s given the chance to hunt down the rebellion’s leader Harlan (Simu Liu) on a distant planet, she immediately joins the team. However, Harlan’s machinations soon find Atlas alone on a hostile planet, with only the AI identity of her power suit to guide her.
Given its plot directly concerns both the future of artificial intelligence and humanity’s reckless disregard for the habitability of our planet, I was frankly astonished by how little Atlas had to say about basically anything. The film would be a perfect vehicle for ruminations on the nature of personality, the ambiguous morality of scientific striving, or even just the power of personal connection, but Atlas’ cowriters apparently just didn’t have any such thoughts in mind when they were composing it. Jennifer Lopez is in a power suit on an alien planet, and that is more than enough substance for them.
Lopez honestly tries her best with the thinly written material, and Atlas’ best moments all concerning her burgeoning buddy-cop relationship with her suit’s AI. The two actually develop a pretty charming rapport over the course of the film, which does a fair job of mitigating the film’s general aimlessness and somewhat underwhelming action scenes. But ultimately, neither Lopez nor her cheerful robot buddy can overcome the predictability and outright stupidity of the film’s script, which saps investment through a persistent pummeling of unbelievable reasoning and ill-considered worldbuilding.
Our quest for an appropriately Thanksgiving-themed horror feature (beyond Eli Roth’s surprisingly excellent Thanksgiving) then led us to Blood Rage, a slasher from the tail end of the genre’s ‘80s reign. The film centers on twin brothers Todd and Terry, both played by Mark Soper. As a child, Terry brutally killed a man and then framed his brother – ten years on, Todd escapes from a mental asylum just as his brother’s latent murderous instincts reawaken, prompting a bloody spectacle at their wooded community of Shadow Falls.
There’s not too much Thanksgiving in this one, I’m sorry to report. We basically just get the family sitting down for that iconic meal before things shift in a more traditional slasher direction, with oversexed teens partying their little hearts out before being dismembered by Terry. The performances here are dubious on the whole, though I quite enjoyed small-screen star Louise Lasser hamming it up as the twins’ mother, progressing from guzzling wine to eating leftovers on the floor to frantically vacuuming as the film proceeds. Both the brutality of the kills and the artistry of the cinematography are also a cut above here; director John Grissmer does a fine job making a forested labyrinth of Shadow Falls, demonstrating he’s taking as much influence from Deep Red as Prom Night. As far as Thanksgiving horror goes, you could do a lot worse.
Our next viewing was Ator, the Fighting Eagle, another low-rent Italian sword-and-sorcery feature starring Miles O’Keeffe as Ator, a man born with a birthmark prophesying he will one day destroy the malevolent Spider Cult. Obviously this is of great concern to the many faithful spider cultists, and thus Ator is stolen away to a distant village, where he grows up to be a simple man who loves his parents and is in love with his sister. The news of his unusual parentage is thus a source of joy and relief to all involved, at least until spider cultists show up to kill everyone on his wedding day. Thus Ator heads off on a grand adventure, making allies, fighting fiends, and eventually slaying all who would oppose a union between himself and his stepsister.
I’ll be honest, beyond the stepsister thing and O’Keeffe’s fabulously coifed hair, there is basically nothing I can remember about this film. It slides across consciousness like only the most archetypal of B-movie fare can manage, leaving no trace of distinct ideas or memorable moments to mark its passage. I do recall that the spider cult lord was decked out in a handful of real living tarantulas, and hoping that he got paid a little extra for the trouble. But yeah, otherwise, Ator, the Fighting Eagle proves indistinct even by the exceedingly accommodating standards of ‘80s sword-and-sorcery castaways.
Last up for the week was In the Heart of the Sea, a recent Ron Howard production chronicling the destruction of the Essex by a white whale, the event that inspired Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. Chris Hemsworth stars as first mate Owen Chase, heading an impressive ensemble including Cillian Murphy, Benjamin Walker, and Brendan Gleeson. Determined to earn a captainship in spite of his humble farming-family origins, Chase and his captain lead the Essex to the ends of the earth, only to find that there are forces in this world that elude human mastery.
In the Heart of the Sea is an admirably old-fashioned production, offering the kind of sweeping Hollywood grandeur and grit that we basically never see these days (save for the similarly epic Master & Commander, whose current meme status assures me it’s finally getting the credit it deserves). You’ve got a talented gallery of top-shelf character actors, a big practical ship for everyone to stomp around on, a suitably formidable task facing them, and Gleeson here on commentary, offering the least convincing Nantucket accent I have ever witnessed.
The whole makes for a handsome assemblage that wants only for a tighter, more eloquent script. The film’s dedication to being the “true story that inspired Moby Dick” might actually be one of its weaknesses; reality offers plentiful pleasures, but coherent dramatic arcs are not among them, and In the Heart of the Sea suffers from a premature climax and awkwardly shapeless denouement. Still, it’s always a treat seeing great actors sink their teeth into meaty period pieces, and while it feels grimly appropriate that In the Heart of the Sea’s box office returns were blown away by the ensuing week’s The Force Awakens, I retain hope that such films might one day return to the high seas.
