As a subcategory of the horror genre, the exorcism film does not have the best reputation. For every The Exorcist, there are a dozen Posessed’s and Beyond the Door’s. Yet, when done well, there is rarely something as profoundly [...]
Guillermo del Toro has by now established himself as the master of the child horror-fantasy. His work–ranging from the brittle-cruel fairytale of Pan’s Labyrinth to the haunting ghost story behind The Devil's Backbone–is a ranging study of children’s unique potential to experience both horror and magic, enabled by an innate sense of wonder and lack of fear. Now, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark adds another to his examination.
Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark may be billed as a remake, but it takes dozens of charming liberties from its 1973 original. Del Toro’s version follows Sally (Bailee Madison), a young girl sent to live with her estranged father, Alex (Guy Pearce) and his girlfriend, Kim (Katie Holmes). Alex and Kim are at work restoring the Blackwood Mansion, a towering structure of brick and dark wood trimmings.
Del Toro, who produced and co-wrote the film, arranges everything very carefully, so that the details of the house, the sounds, the lighting, all seem to drip with his influence. This movie possesses at times the haunting quietness of The Devil’s Backbone, at times the revolting horror of The Orphanage, and yet it is unlike any of its predecessors alone. Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark is marvelously polished, with hardly a misstep. Rarely does a filmmaker take an original and create a remake that is so clearly his own.
In part, this is due to his selection of fantastic and unconventional actors. Most notably, Madison is a twelve-year-old powerhouse. As Sally explores the house and, discovering its otherwordly inhabitants, tries to befriend them rather than escape, Madison is full of chastened curiosity and a struggle against emotion. The film aids her in that it does not try to make her cute, or give her charmingly childish things to say, or create jokes out of her youth. It instead leaves her alone to cry, to scream, to express her acute vulnerability.
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| Holmes returns to the screen as Kim |
However, the film really owes itself to del Toro’s formula. Aside from making a beautifully crafted film, he also defeats the most common downfall of the modern horror movie: the fact that the idiocy of the heroin is the driving force behind the plot, a trend that Neve Campbell’s Sideny Prescott describes as “some big-breasted girl who can't act who is always running up the stairs when she should be running out the front door.” By placing a child in this role, the film adjusts. There is plenty of the “Don’t go in there!” reaction, but the viewer forgives Sally for wandering into the basement, for looking under the bed. Rather than stupidity, we see that the film is driven by wonder, and it rings far truer than a heroine that manages to stumble and fall four times while being pursued, or one who never, ever remembers to pick up the gun.
But perhaps this wonder ought to be turned on del Toro, whose vision becomes more clear with each film he makes. As a group of films, Pan’s Labyrinth, The Orphanage, The Devil’s Backbone, and Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark form an inspiring and penetrating examination of the power of young imagination, and the danger of committing oneself too much to fantasy. Chiefly, what del Toro recognizes is the profundity of the darkness which exists in the human mind, and the ability of children to access this darkness without the fear that has been conditioned in adults.
While often marketed as horror films, they are in fact grisly fairy tales with the sort of unhappy endings that will creep on a viewer long after the lights come up. Don’t be surprised if you feel relieved when you walk out of the theater. Maybe everyone should be a little afraid of the dark.
The popularity of Vampires of late has given birth to dozens of creative and exciting reinventions of the original lore. The vampire is no longer the accented Dracula of legend; instead he or she is by turns a shimmering statue, a Viking, a distorted inhuman creature, and a child. Sometimes the vampire needs an invitation, sometimes it does not. Sometimes its death leaves it in dust, other times in bloody goop. The one thing that the vampire trend has not revisited in mass amounts is the landscape of campy, gory indulgence: the “Campire” flick. Now, Fright Night poses a remake intended to resurrect the “Campire” film, and instead puts the last nail in its coffin.
Fright Night follows Charley (Anton Yelchin), a newly-popular high school student living in a subdivision just outside of Las Vegas, whose life is turned upside down when a vampire named Jerry (Colin Farrel) moves in next door. Yelchin’s Charley is flanked with a limited cast of do-gooders: his single mother (Toni Collette), his girlfriend (Imogen Poots), and his one-time best friend (Christopher Mintz-Plasse, better known as McLovin of Superbad).
Where the 1985 film was a surprise hit and well received critically, still maintaining a 93% on Rotten Tomatoes, the 2011 remake doesn’t take advantage of the inherent camp of the genre to produce something enjoyable. The strength in the “Campire” genre, as with The Lost Boys, is the self-referential acknowledgement of the film’s location in the less than masterpiece. This gives the genre permission to take liberties with things that more discerning films avoid – cheesy one liners, excessive and fake gore, ridiculous turns of plot, and general tongue-in-cheek depravity.
Instead, Fright Night is strangely muted. Farrel, evidently trying to reinvent his image with character roles like the coke fiend boss he played in July’s Horrible Bosses, strains in the role of Jerry. The vampire, written to come off as smooth and somewhat absurd, instead appears vacant and peculiar. Farrel appears to think that he can communicate otherwordliness by refusing to focus his eyes at any moment, and so his pupils roam through every scene, like he is trying to read cue cards worn by moving camera men.
Farrel is not the only one visibly struggling with their role. The character of Charley isn’t a stretch for Yelchin, who has made his name playing earnest yet neurotic teens. However, his performance seems to be a battle against the material. Collette, whose comedic ability cannot be critiqued, also fails to land any of her jokes. Their interaction feels stilted, unnatural, and all of the emotional cues fall flat.
With the exception of David Tennant, who plays a phony performing illusionist in a delightful role that involves makeup, leather pants, and fake facial hair, all of the actors fall prey to the script’s inadequacy. Even Mintz-Plasse, whose role seems deliberately reminiscent of the much-loved McLovin, doesn’t manage to bring life to his character’s allotment of tired jokes.
One would assume that a Campire script penned by Buffy alum Marti Noxon would be on the mark at every turn, but instead, Noxon appears to have lost her touch. Where there are some instances of Buffy wit hovering around, for the most part the script is uninspired and lacks the creative drive to power the story toward any meaningful or interesting conclusion.
In addition to this sense of creative apathy, the 3D effects are both unnecessary and poorly executed. For the most part, the 3D is utilized only to make counters look more prominent, or enhance the effect of explosions. Granted, this complaint is levelled against many of the new 3D releases; however, Fright Night stands out due to its clear low quality. In any of the scenes involving night time or shadows, the resolution is blurry and appears hazy, with no definition. There are times that faces areall but unrecognizable, and action is unclear due to the murky effects.
Fright Night is not the first to fail in a remake, but it is the first with sucha noticeable metaphor for the danger in reviving the dead. In the end, the film communicates an effective message: some things are better left alone. Let sleeping vampires lie.
Fright Night follows Charley (Anton Yelchin), a newly-popular high school student living in a subdivision just outside of Las Vegas, whose life is turned upside down when a vampire named Jerry (Colin Farrel) moves in next door. Yelchin’s Charley is flanked with a limited cast of do-gooders: his single mother (Toni Collette), his girlfriend (Imogen Poots), and his one-time best friend (Christopher Mintz-Plasse, better known as McLovin of Superbad).
Where the 1985 film was a surprise hit and well received critically, still maintaining a 93% on Rotten Tomatoes, the 2011 remake doesn’t take advantage of the inherent camp of the genre to produce something enjoyable. The strength in the “Campire” genre, as with The Lost Boys, is the self-referential acknowledgement of the film’s location in the less than masterpiece. This gives the genre permission to take liberties with things that more discerning films avoid – cheesy one liners, excessive and fake gore, ridiculous turns of plot, and general tongue-in-cheek depravity.
Instead, Fright Night is strangely muted. Farrel, evidently trying to reinvent his image with character roles like the coke fiend boss he played in July’s Horrible Bosses, strains in the role of Jerry. The vampire, written to come off as smooth and somewhat absurd, instead appears vacant and peculiar. Farrel appears to think that he can communicate otherwordliness by refusing to focus his eyes at any moment, and so his pupils roam through every scene, like he is trying to read cue cards worn by moving camera men.
With the exception of David Tennant, who plays a phony performing illusionist in a delightful role that involves makeup, leather pants, and fake facial hair, all of the actors fall prey to the script’s inadequacy. Even Mintz-Plasse, whose role seems deliberately reminiscent of the much-loved McLovin, doesn’t manage to bring life to his character’s allotment of tired jokes.
One would assume that a Campire script penned by Buffy alum Marti Noxon would be on the mark at every turn, but instead, Noxon appears to have lost her touch. Where there are some instances of Buffy wit hovering around, for the most part the script is uninspired and lacks the creative drive to power the story toward any meaningful or interesting conclusion.
In addition to this sense of creative apathy, the 3D effects are both unnecessary and poorly executed. For the most part, the 3D is utilized only to make counters look more prominent, or enhance the effect of explosions. Granted, this complaint is levelled against many of the new 3D releases; however, Fright Night stands out due to its clear low quality. In any of the scenes involving night time or shadows, the resolution is blurry and appears hazy, with no definition. There are times that faces areall but unrecognizable, and action is unclear due to the murky effects.
Fright Night is not the first to fail in a remake, but it is the first with sucha noticeable metaphor for the danger in reviving the dead. In the end, the film communicates an effective message: some things are better left alone. Let sleeping vampires lie.
The age of the misfit comedy has officially begun. A visit to the theater shows the most promising trailers to lie in the hands of Freaks and Geeks royalty, writers of razor sharp wit, and producers hailing from beloved titles like Superbad. Now, in a landscape of hilarious “offbeat” comedies, 30 Minutes or Less hardly skips a beat.
30 Minutes follows Nick (Jesse Eisenberg), an everyman-boy who spends his time delivering pizzas and crushing on the sister (Dilshad Vadsaria) of his best friend, Chet (Aziz Asnari). Starting out with all the hallmarks of a buddy comedy, from badly coordinated fighting to hurling profanity-laden insults at each other, the film pulls a 180 when two amateur criminals, Dwayne (Danny McBride) and Travis (Nick Swardson) strap a bomb onto Nick’s chest and instruct him to rob a bank in the next 10 hours.
Jesse Eisenberg, selected previously in director Ruben Fleischer’s Zombieland, is a careful and deliberate choice. Eisenberg, who received an Oscar nod for his role in The Social Network, is at home as the narcissistic and wryly witty Nick. 30 Minutes gives him the opportunity to exercise his asshole muscles more extensively than his role in Zombieland, and the effect is simultaneously funny and endearing. Eisenberg has a unique talent for switching from the self absorbed cruelty of the standard young man to a cautious vulnerability that is so authentic, it is impossible to not be taken in by his characters.
At opposite, Aziz Asnari gets most of the film’s funny, portraying his character with a theatricality that, while at times breaking the fourth wall with the feeling of a stand-up routine, is also the greatest comedic strength of the film. In comparison, Eisenberg at times fails to carry his end, and their banter sometimes leans too heavily on Asnari’s comedic strength. However, even with a bit of overacting from Asnari, the jokes are predominantly successful and the witty and fast-paced script picks up any necessary slack.
The film’s villains are worth noting as well for their more low-brow style of humor. As two rednecks, McBride and Swardson are in their element. In comparison to Nick and Chet, the two criminals’ interaction seems a bit slow and lacking in the cracking wit; however, the juxtaposition of the laughs creates a well-rounded film with jokes for fans of all comedy types. Fleischer has showed himself to be very skilled at making humorous films that not only lampoon a genre (such as the Zombie flick, or now, the heist movie), but also use the tools of that genre to construct a surprisingly effective film in its own right. 30 Minutes functions perfectly as another offbeat bromance with bite, but it is also simply a good movie about robbing a bank–something that cannot be said about many films.
And that is what 30 Minutes is. Some bank robbers just have more fun.
Those familiar with The Planet of the Apes in its 1968 original appearance will remember a distant planet populated entirely by a civilization of fully sentient, creepily humanoid apes. Now, Rise of the Planet of the Apes reboots the original series with a leading backstory that just may mean it’s time to stop monkeying around on Earth. (Hey, they’re not monkeys, they’re apes!)
According to director Rupert Wyatt, the film, which does not fit into The Planet of the Apes continuity, is intended as mythology, and functions as “primarily a prequel to the 1968 film.” This means, you won’t see any fully articulate apes wearing armor. Instead, the film follows scientist Will Rodman (James Franco) in his attempt to find “the cure for Alzheimer's.” Motivated by a desire to help his deteriorating father, Charles (John Lithgow), Will develops a retrovirus that rebuilds damaged braincells and–in healthy chimps–actually serves to develop and enhance intelligence.
This latter effect becomes apparent with the introduction of Caesar (Andy Serkis), a chimp that Will rescues from the lab and raises with his father. The majority of the film occupies itself with Caesar’s origin story, splicing charming scenes of the ape swinging around the house with hints of dissatisfaction and aspiration for more than the role of a “pet.” The first half of the film s could have been clipped directly from Project Nim rather than function as the foundation for what has been billed as an action movie. The story progresses, at times, painfully slowly. While Lithgow manages some remarkable chemistry with a character that is largely CGI, watching them interact for an hour becomes repetitive and boring.
The scenes most lacking in human emotion are those, naturally, that involve the ape ensemble. With the exception of scenes where the apes sign to each other, their interaction lacks the clarity to be clearly interesting. While watching apes in a zoo as they play or challenge each other can entertain, these apes are animated in a bizarrely humanoid way, and makes the uncanny valley effect uncomfortably prominent.
The greatest disappointment of the film, however, is the lack of action and actual confrontation. With such a title and the mythology of the series, confrontation is to be expected. However, the film waits until the last twenty minutes to offer any real action, and there the violence is unsatisfying and shy, where explosions happen but no one ever dies. In the end, the film follows the environmental track of Fern Gully more than the traditional content of the series. Where fans of the original may be filled with the warmth of nostalgia at the film, this is more of a Forest of the Apes than the promise of the scope of the original Planet.
According to director Rupert Wyatt, the film, which does not fit into The Planet of the Apes continuity, is intended as mythology, and functions as “primarily a prequel to the 1968 film.” This means, you won’t see any fully articulate apes wearing armor. Instead, the film follows scientist Will Rodman (James Franco) in his attempt to find “the cure for Alzheimer's.” Motivated by a desire to help his deteriorating father, Charles (John Lithgow), Will develops a retrovirus that rebuilds damaged braincells and–in healthy chimps–actually serves to develop and enhance intelligence.
The scenes most lacking in human emotion are those, naturally, that involve the ape ensemble. With the exception of scenes where the apes sign to each other, their interaction lacks the clarity to be clearly interesting. While watching apes in a zoo as they play or challenge each other can entertain, these apes are animated in a bizarrely humanoid way, and makes the uncanny valley effect uncomfortably prominent.
The greatest disappointment of the film, however, is the lack of action and actual confrontation. With such a title and the mythology of the series, confrontation is to be expected. However, the film waits until the last twenty minutes to offer any real action, and there the violence is unsatisfying and shy, where explosions happen but no one ever dies. In the end, the film follows the environmental track of Fern Gully more than the traditional content of the series. Where fans of the original may be filled with the warmth of nostalgia at the film, this is more of a Forest of the Apes than the promise of the scope of the original Planet.
In the forties, the American family was established with the concept of the “Nuclear Family.” Two smiling parents were joined by two smiling children. Now, with a divorce rate that sees half of all marriages broken, the American family looks quite a bit different, and Love is a whole new game. A Crazy, Stupid, Love game.
Crazy, Stupid, Love is the story of a divorce, and the reactions that follow. Cal (Steve Carell) is a standard guy wearing oversize stonewashed jeans and baggy pastel-colored polo shirts. When his wife, Emily (Julianne Moore) asks for a divorce, it comes as a surprise. Cal’s downward spiral is intercepted by the tomcat Jacob (Ryan Gosling), whose womanizing methods and collection of beautifully tailored suits is meant to cure Cal’s romantic woes.
Most of what the film sets in front of its viewers is the same saccharin feel-good formula of a standard romantic comedy. However, it fleshes out the sometimes unimaginative script with a fantastic cast. Carell plays Cal with a poignant sadness bordering on mania. It is refreshing to see him take on a role with a more dramatic undercurrent, where the annoying ticks he develops in comedies appear more like attributes of a fully developed character. He manages to deliver his jokes here with a wry humor that doesn’t reach his eyes.
The film’s other standout quality is the relationship between Cal and his mentor. Gosling sheds his quirky loner M.O. (see The Notebook, Blue Valentine) for a surprisingly masculine role as Jacob, who prowls the night scene and takes home women nightly with a collection of charming witticisms. His wardrobe should be listed as a character in the film, as tongue-in-cheek body shots take up a sizable chunk of the film.
It is not surprising that his chemistry with Hannah (the magnetic Emma Stone) becomes the most attractive part of the film. Stone, playing a young lawyer with a history of “PG-13” relationships, uses her fresh face and husky voice to their full potential. The best scene by far in the film involves Stone and Gosling in a of cracking banter and organic laughter.
Despite the two actors’ delightful charisma, the attention given to their new “love” cheapens the film’s message. Where Cal and Emily’s more mature relationship groans and weeps with age, the film seems afraid to fully embrace the melancholy of its subject. As if to numb the pain, it throws the Hannah and Jacob pair into the equation, paying homage to the womanizer myth, which tells women to seek out men like Jacob under the illusion that, while he may treat women worse than his finely pressed shirts, his behavior will change when he meets the right one. While the film attempts to establish Cal’s accordance with Jacob as something that is good for his confidence but finally only serves to give him perspective, the glorification of Jacob’s new romance negates this message, instead calling the viewer’s attention to the new, young, and flashy.
In the end, a film that could have been great, based upon a talented cast and touching on important concepts, unravels itself into the newest attempt at Garden State (and a straining attempt at the Garden State soundtrack). While Cal’s account is poignant from afar, you’d have to be crazy and stupid to believe in this mediocre love story.
Crazy, Stupid, Love is the story of a divorce, and the reactions that follow. Cal (Steve Carell) is a standard guy wearing oversize stonewashed jeans and baggy pastel-colored polo shirts. When his wife, Emily (Julianne Moore) asks for a divorce, it comes as a surprise. Cal’s downward spiral is intercepted by the tomcat Jacob (Ryan Gosling), whose womanizing methods and collection of beautifully tailored suits is meant to cure Cal’s romantic woes.
Most of what the film sets in front of its viewers is the same saccharin feel-good formula of a standard romantic comedy. However, it fleshes out the sometimes unimaginative script with a fantastic cast. Carell plays Cal with a poignant sadness bordering on mania. It is refreshing to see him take on a role with a more dramatic undercurrent, where the annoying ticks he develops in comedies appear more like attributes of a fully developed character. He manages to deliver his jokes here with a wry humor that doesn’t reach his eyes.
The film’s other standout quality is the relationship between Cal and his mentor. Gosling sheds his quirky loner M.O. (see The Notebook, Blue Valentine) for a surprisingly masculine role as Jacob, who prowls the night scene and takes home women nightly with a collection of charming witticisms. His wardrobe should be listed as a character in the film, as tongue-in-cheek body shots take up a sizable chunk of the film.
It is not surprising that his chemistry with Hannah (the magnetic Emma Stone) becomes the most attractive part of the film. Stone, playing a young lawyer with a history of “PG-13” relationships, uses her fresh face and husky voice to their full potential. The best scene by far in the film involves Stone and Gosling in a of cracking banter and organic laughter.
Despite the two actors’ delightful charisma, the attention given to their new “love” cheapens the film’s message. Where Cal and Emily’s more mature relationship groans and weeps with age, the film seems afraid to fully embrace the melancholy of its subject. As if to numb the pain, it throws the Hannah and Jacob pair into the equation, paying homage to the womanizer myth, which tells women to seek out men like Jacob under the illusion that, while he may treat women worse than his finely pressed shirts, his behavior will change when he meets the right one. While the film attempts to establish Cal’s accordance with Jacob as something that is good for his confidence but finally only serves to give him perspective, the glorification of Jacob’s new romance negates this message, instead calling the viewer’s attention to the new, young, and flashy.
In the end, a film that could have been great, based upon a talented cast and touching on important concepts, unravels itself into the newest attempt at Garden State (and a straining attempt at the Garden State soundtrack). While Cal’s account is poignant from afar, you’d have to be crazy and stupid to believe in this mediocre love story.
As a genre, the Western is fairly straightforward. Whether it’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly or The Assassination of Jesse James, the formula is plain. There’s the saloon. The duel at dusk. The revolver sitting pretty on the lone ranger’s hip.
Now comes Cowboys and Aliens, a Western with an out of this world storyline hell-bent on changing up the formula.
Based on Scott Mitchell Rosenberg’s graphic novel of the same name, Cowboys and Aliens has all of the Western’s general hallmarks. There is the lone wolf outlaw, Jake Lonergan (Daniel Craig). There is the capitalist tycoon, Woodrow Dolarhyde (Harrison Ford). There is the mysterious saloon waif, Ella (Olivia Wilde). There is the saloon owner for comic relief, Doc (Sam Rockwell). And then, there are aliens.
The film begins with a dusty, befuddled Lonergan, who, having lost his memory, wakes in an unknown place with a bizarre metal cuff on his wrist. Craig plays the part with extraordinary control, using the harsh lines of his face to their full advantage as he scowls and huffs but rarely speaks. While Craig comes off more as a displaced James Bond than a traditional cowboy, his coldly placid face and tense body recreate the Western antihero in a way that spoken lines or plot development can’t. Before Craig utters a word, we know that he is a skilled fighter, a punch first, ask questions later sort.
Lonergan’s quest to recover his memory takes him to the town of Absolution, where he encounters Dolarhyde’s dramatically wayward son, Percy (Paul Dano). Things are going along the route of a traditional western, with Lonergan shaking up the town’s status quo, Dolarhyde making menacing statements, and an impending hanging. Cue: aliens.
With a plot so outlandish, the film could easily fall into cliches and overacted one-liners. Instead, Cowboys and Aliens undercuts its serious swagger with cheeky jokes and the occasional eye roll. The action movie feel is boistered by a cast of seasoned actors. Ford, whose acting might be expected to fall in line with Indy and Han Solo, assumes the more mature role of Dolarhyde with a gruff humor. Rockwell, fast developing into one of the most intriguing actors in Hollywood, transforms the archetypal saloon owner into a likable and ornery man whose depth goes further than the bottom of the whiskey barrel.
Though the title is reminiscent of Snakes on a Plane, the film does not rely on a single gimmick to drive its action. While unconventional, the melding of the Western and Sci-Fi genre is seamlessly drawn together to set a straightforward film without any reference to morally ambiguous aliens as seen in the disappointing Super 8. While the message represented in Westerns is generally frowned upon, the sentiment behind it is recognizable--the cowboys of lore were just humans facing a force that they believed to be terribly strong, confusing, and terrifying. Was battling against the last frontier with all of its perils and often dangerous inhabitants so different from the battling against the unknown that finds its place in so many human versus alien films? It is refreshing to watch a movie where the bad is so plainly bad and the good is so plainly good. Combining this moral simplicity with a light shade of character development and director Jon Favreau’s taste for action, Cowboys and Aliens is exactly what it sounds like, pulling off a genre fusion as rare as gold.
Now comes Cowboys and Aliens, a Western with an out of this world storyline hell-bent on changing up the formula.
Based on Scott Mitchell Rosenberg’s graphic novel of the same name, Cowboys and Aliens has all of the Western’s general hallmarks. There is the lone wolf outlaw, Jake Lonergan (Daniel Craig). There is the capitalist tycoon, Woodrow Dolarhyde (Harrison Ford). There is the mysterious saloon waif, Ella (Olivia Wilde). There is the saloon owner for comic relief, Doc (Sam Rockwell). And then, there are aliens.
The film begins with a dusty, befuddled Lonergan, who, having lost his memory, wakes in an unknown place with a bizarre metal cuff on his wrist. Craig plays the part with extraordinary control, using the harsh lines of his face to their full advantage as he scowls and huffs but rarely speaks. While Craig comes off more as a displaced James Bond than a traditional cowboy, his coldly placid face and tense body recreate the Western antihero in a way that spoken lines or plot development can’t. Before Craig utters a word, we know that he is a skilled fighter, a punch first, ask questions later sort.
Lonergan’s quest to recover his memory takes him to the town of Absolution, where he encounters Dolarhyde’s dramatically wayward son, Percy (Paul Dano). Things are going along the route of a traditional western, with Lonergan shaking up the town’s status quo, Dolarhyde making menacing statements, and an impending hanging. Cue: aliens.
Though the title is reminiscent of Snakes on a Plane, the film does not rely on a single gimmick to drive its action. While unconventional, the melding of the Western and Sci-Fi genre is seamlessly drawn together to set a straightforward film without any reference to morally ambiguous aliens as seen in the disappointing Super 8. While the message represented in Westerns is generally frowned upon, the sentiment behind it is recognizable--the cowboys of lore were just humans facing a force that they believed to be terribly strong, confusing, and terrifying. Was battling against the last frontier with all of its perils and often dangerous inhabitants so different from the battling against the unknown that finds its place in so many human versus alien films? It is refreshing to watch a movie where the bad is so plainly bad and the good is so plainly good. Combining this moral simplicity with a light shade of character development and director Jon Favreau’s taste for action, Cowboys and Aliens is exactly what it sounds like, pulling off a genre fusion as rare as gold.
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