The “leave your brain at the door” argument, and why it’s wrong

The “leave your brain at the door” argument, and why it’s wrong

Aug 03

You hear it all the time, often wailed in defence of Michael Bay’s latest crime against humanity: “you just need to leave your brain at the door of the theatre, and then you’ll have the time of your life.”

It’s spoken (or written) in a friendly but ultimately condescending manner, and is often followed up (especially online) with the suggestion that “you should get off your high horse,” “you should stop being so sensitive,” and, ultimately, “you should stop watching movies.”

That last one is dropped like some kind of clincher, like the author just hit the Win Button and is now allowed to swagger out of the room, put their sunglasses on, and ride off into the sunset in the vehicle of their choice, and that the conversation is forever dead and buried.

It implies that I’m doing something wrong, that I’m going about the business of watching frames flicker on a wall entirely incorrectly, that what I’m doing is uncool, lame, for dweebs or geeks, and doesn’t advance the social cause of being Awesome™. To me, it sounds a lot like “Shut up so I can concentrate on ignoring this movie better.”

A man by the name of Samuel Taylor Coleridge coined the phrase “willing suspension of disbelief.” When we approach an artistic medium – such as poetry, literature, or film – we understand the tropes and limitations of that particular medium, and we agree to give the author(s) a particular margin of artistic leeway, in order to get the most out of the experience.

Suspension of disbelief has been vital to storytelling ever since its inception. Looking back to the Greek “hero myths,” the one thing most of those heroes had in common was that the gods gave them superpowers. The gods were known to Greek audiences; they accepted the use of the “gods did it” device in the process of storytelling, so they could get to the cathartic bits about chopping off dragons’ heads and ravaging virtuous virgins.

That idea carries over into cinema. You know, when you watch a movie with Bruce Willis in it, that he doesn’t have to worry about firing a gun in public, he never runs out of ammo, that he can jump 20-foot gaps with ease, and that a single well-aimed bullet from his 9mm pistol is enough to cause any vehicle in the street to spontaneously combust. The source of Bruce Willis’ powers lies in the library of cinema leading up to this particular movie; you’ve seen it before, enough times (kind of like “the gods did it”), and exploding cars adds so much to this action scene, that you don’t mind the fact that it’s physically impossible.

It is, of course, possible to push the suspension of disbelief too far. When this happens, a movie’s credibility flees the cinema at the speed of light: think of that bit in Indiana Jones 4 where Indy gets in a fridge to survive a nuclear explosion, or that bit in The Quick And The Dead where the sun shines through a bullet wound, or that bit in Twilight where anyone says or does anything; after that happens, you get a creeping sense of disappointment, like the filmmakers think you’re really stupid.

But you’re not stupid. Do you want to know how I can tell? Because there are billions and billions of human beings all over the world who share 99.9% of each other’s DNA. You may be stupid, then, but you’re no stupider than me; you’re capable of using your brain just as well (or badly) as I am. So why do I get these “stop watching” comments from people?

Once upon a time, art and literature were esoteric pursuits reserved only for the most snobbish, upper-class echelons of society. The obstacle between the lower classes and art was the written language. Now that everyone (at least in this part of the world) is expected to be able to read, the prestige associated with art has been erased, opening the floodgates for more accessible (and sometimes better for it) works. Still, prejudice against classically “prestigious” forms of art remains, like the bitter memories of a jaded lover, and this hurts people’s appreciation of some media.

Adding to this is the 21^st century obsession with instant gratification. Where music used to be a 60-minute story told with a full orchestra in the town hall, rich in content and complex in delivery, music now is a 3-minute pop song that goes verse-chorus-verse-chorus, piped conveniently through the speakers in your car: it’s still music, but it’s music distilled to its most basic, lowest-common-denominator form.

Human beings now want (and expect) everything ready for them on a silver platter by the time they’ve asked for it. That desire extends to music, literature (think of those shallow-yet-thrilling page-turners by the likes of Crichton, King, Clancy and Rowling) and, sadly enough, film.

Consider dance music, a genre devoted solely to invoking the ancient ritual of shaking one’s body to a steady rhythm. Studies have shown that ritualistic movements like this stimulate particular parts of the brain, giving the dancer a sense of satisfaction (which explains why everyone loves dancing so much). Dance music is the ultimate in instant gratification – you don’t even have to think; all you have to do is hear the music and do what comes naturally and you get an emotional kick out of it.

The same holds true for movies. A movie like GI Joe or Twilight is like a dance song. It hits the beats, packs all the explosions and / or lingering looks you want, and tickles the aesthetic, ritualistic part of your brain, without providing a lasting experience you can savour for the rest of your life. But I want more — why shouldn’t film strive to echo the greatest sonatas or arias or ballads? Besides, film already has its equivalent to dance: comedy (a genre devoted to evoking immediate physical responses in the audience).

There is much pleasure to be derived from using your noggin. Great amounts of joy and awe can be gained from exploiting the curiosity / satisfaction loop in our mammalian brains. Rather than being treated as a second-class citizen of the brain, shouldn’t this loop be given more to do? Why shouldn’t it be treated like the wonderful, glorious adaptation that it is?

Movies can stimulate that loop as well as Mozart’s greatest works, while also banging the primal drum of dance music to fire the veins. It’s a one-two punch to our brains, targeting both the reptilian ritual-centre and the mammalian curiosity-centre lurking in our skulls; it’s a great thing when it works in concert, and the best film example I can think of to explain it is 2001: A Space Odyssey.

In 2001, the viewer is often left without any skerrick of explanation or plot for vast tracts of time. For some people this becomes tedious and their disbelief is no longer suspended; it’s boring, it’s too realistic, the spaceships move too slowly, the actors’ voices are funny, etc.

If, instead of immediately switching off when the experience doesn’t meet your quick demands, you start feeding these questions into your brain – why are we still in the plains of Africa? Why is that bone so important? What does this jump-cut signify? – you’ll start to get answers. You won’t get all the answers, that’s not the point; the point is that you get enough answers to suspend your disbelief and keep your eyes glued to the screen. The pleasure derived from answering these questions becomes the driving force of the movie, outweighing the modest visual thrills provided by Kubrick’s hallmark coldness, and providing a unique and resonant film experience.

At the opposite end of the spectrum is Transformers. The movie is loud and flashy, bludgeoning your brain with information so that it’s too stifled to think. If you could think, what questions would you ask? “Why are they going here?” To get to the action scene. “Why are they doing this?” To set up the kiss at the end. “What is the point of this character?” To act as cannon fodder for the enemy.

The answers are so quick to your mind, so familiar and uninspired, that the thinking loop becomes unrewarding, and you stop using it. You rely on the visual and auditory stimulation to provide your pleasure, a pleasure that is big but hollow, kind of like a dance beat that never changes. It delivers the emotional impact you crave, but it’s a stopgap rather than a long-term solution, kind of like choosing a chocolate bar over a three-course meal.

Maybe it’s time we all took pride in the delightful firing of neurons that stirs such storms of joy and fascination in us, instead of continuing to pretend that ignorance is Awesome™, thinking is gay, music is for dancin’ and books are for burnin,’ and that movies are just $100 million babysitters with delusions of grandeur.

Don’t sell yourself short; you’re better than that – I know this because we share the same brain. Maybe we should stop ignoring it and learn to use it. Until that happens, I’m not going to leave my brain at the door; I have too much fun with the thing to let it go.

Good one, Hollywood: I nearly believed you when you said you lost money on HARRY POTTER 5

Good one, Hollywood: I nearly believed you when you said you lost money on HARRY POTTER 5

Jul 07

Whenever I explain to people that big movie studios (like Warner Bros., Universal, Paramount, etc.) don’t make much annual profit (relatively speaking), I’m usually met with blank stares or open incredulity. “But Tentpole: The Movie: Sequel #3 made $xxx million!” they say; “of course they make billions of dollars every year!”

That’s not actually the case. Why? Because, while Tentpole 4 made $xxx million at the box office, making back triple its budget, Overlooked Indie Drama, Mid-Tier Director’s Passion Project, Small-Time Fantasy Epic For The Kids and Star-Driven Comedy Vehicle failed to make their double-digit budgets back.

Net profit at the end of the year? Out of a $10 billion gross revenue, a studio might expect to see $800 million — before tax and expenses. That’s 8%. And that 8% has to be used next year to fund a whole raft of projects, big and small, in the hopes of increasing the total revenue, and thereby increasing the actual money that flows into the studio’s coffers.

Confusing this issue is Hollywood’s annoying habit of fudging paperwork. A fresh example of this is a leaked document from Warner Bros. indicating that Harry Potter 5 ( … And The Order Of The Phoenix, 2007) actually lost the company $167 million despite a $938 million gross revenue.

As the insiders at Deadline helpfully point out, a vast percentage of the expenses are in interest owed to money-lenders (about $57 million); the report doesn’t specify who the money’s owed to, though: did Warner Bros. borrow it from a bank or just “lend themselves” the money? In the case of the latter, that “interest” is pure profit, but counts as a negative on this balance sheet.

Why bother lying to the world and covering up your profits? To avoid paying royalties and per-dollar contracts based on net profit. If you sign a contract with an actor to pay them 5% of all net profit, the actor’s going to think “Gee whiz, thanks Mister, I’m going to be rich when this movie banks a billion bucks!” Little does she know, the accountants find a way to balance the budget into the negative, by arbitrarily inflating expenditures, to avoid paying the actor a blessed cent (beyond her up-front salary).

Upon reading about this financial tom-foolery, I dug a little bit deeper and found that this kind of thing has been going on for decades. Here are just a few examples poached from Wikipedia:

• Stan Lee, creator of Spider-Man, successfully sued Sony when they refused to pay him any of the first film’s profits, claiming a net loss (budget: $140 million; gross: $821 million).
• Winston Groom, author of Forrest Gump, refused to sell the rights to his sequel after Paramount failed to pay him royalties, claiming a net loss (budget: $55 million; gross: $677 million).
• Art Buchwald, whose 1982 script led to the 1988 Eddie Murphy vehicle Coming To America, successfully sued Paramount when he wasn’t paid for his involvement; again, Paramount claimed a net loss (budget: <$35 million; profit: $350 million).
• J Michael Straczynski, creator, producer, and lead writer of TV’s Babylon 5, was massively underpaid according to his contract, despite the show’s greater-than $1 billion worth. Quoth he: “Basically, by the terms of my contract, if a set on a WB movie burns down in Botswana, they can charge it against B5′s profits.” Warner Bros. claims that the B5 property is $80 million in debt.
• Peter Jackson and his studio Wingnut Films, fifteen different actors, and the Tolkien estate have all tried to sue New Line Cinema at one time or another, as New Line failed to honour contracts based on the mammoth Lord Of The Rings franchise, which grossed over $6 billion.

Besides cementing the greedy and detached stereotype attached to Hollywood executives, what does this fraudulent documentation mean at a ground level? It means that filmmakers who choose a percent-per-dollar salary over an up-front sum are being swindled (unless their name is Steven Spielberg), and it means that no-name contributors who have a big effect on a movie are being criminally cheated out of compensation.

This comes hot on the heels of news that the big three Twilight stars (Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner) are being paid $25 million each to appear in the two-part finale, Breaking Dawn, and that Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter himself) is being paid $50 million to appear in his own two-part finale; that’s proof enough that studios have spare cash to throw down in order to secure things they really need — i.e. bankable faces — but are much more thrifty with their behind-the-scenes dealings.

Don’t get me wrong — I love a big spectacle movie like Lord Of The Rings or Star Trek as much as the next fellow, and it’s hard to imagine a cinema experience completely divorced from the Hollywood machine. But sometimes I wish there was a little more justice in the world, you know?

It’s kind of like that cliche guff from Spider-Man: with great power comes great responsibility. Maybe that should be amended to: With great bundles of cash comes the responsibility to pay people what you owe them, you greedy bastards.

THE LAST AIRBENDER cost $280 million — that’s a lot of dollars

THE LAST AIRBENDER cost $280 million — that’s a lot of dollars

Jun 26

If I had $280 million, I’d probably buy a new jacket, because it’s really cold right now. Last night as I drove home from work my car thermometer indicated that it was 5 degrees outside (that’s five real degrees, on the scale that actually makes sense, not the Fahrenheit one). Last time I was out and about in that kind of cold I was on the other side of the planet, and saw a frozen puddle of vomit on the sidewalk.

Paramount has coughed — vomited? — up $280 million for M Night Shyamalan’s latest (The Last Airbender, about some bald kid with a bo); that’s $150m for the production and $130m in advertising (which I’ve been deliberately avoiding — I don’t like spoilers). That’s a lot of jackets. Let’s hope the vomit doesn’t freeze on the sidewalk like Lady In The Water and The Happening did.

WORLD OF WARCRAFT movie alarmingly close to getting made

WORLD OF WARCRAFT movie alarmingly close to getting made

Jun 26

You’ve probably heard of World Of Warcraft; it’s kind of like Farmville on Facebook, but with more particle effects and Tolkien plagiarism. The idea that 11 million people pay money to keep playing a game that never ends literally hurts my brain.

It’s like paying $5 per episode to watch “The X-Files,” but they only give you the monster-of-the-week episodes, rather than the story arc ones, and they delete the scenes where Mulder and Scully actually talk to each other. That is to say, it’s completely unfulfilling and cunningly designed to acquire currency rather than provide an emotionally engaging experience.

Sam Raimi, who recently perused the latest script for Oz The Great And Powerful, has been attached to the World Of Warcraft movie adaptation for a while, and it looks like he’s coming alarmingly close to actually getting the film made. That the most exciting elements of WoW that Raimi can identify are the landscapes, the scale of the monsters, and the battle systems is a little concerning.

Speaking at the recent Saturn Awards event at Los Angeles, Raimi expounded on his enthusiasm for the project, talked about the state of the script, and elaborated on who else was involved in the WoW film project. It’s an intersting interview, even if Raimi seems a little distracted. Witness how he deflects the leading questions with practiced nonchalance; that, folks, is a rare skill. Marvel also that his in-game character is level 72 — that requires dozens and dozens of hours of repetitious tedium to accomplish; that, sadly, isn’t so rare a skill.

Sam Raimi Interview WORLD OF WARCRAFT Movie Saturn Awards 2010 – Funny home videos are a click away

Reel Thinker Podcast #01, June 25 2010

Reel Thinker Podcast #01, June 25 2010

Jun 26

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You’re moments away from listening to our first ever podcast. Go ahead, click the players above or below to start streaming from the web or Download the mp3 file (19 mb). Jason Stringer, Danny Clark and Nyrie Anne share their thoughts on today’s movie topics.

Podcast #01 Topics:

• Intro
• Toy Story 3
• Pirates Of The Caribbean: On Stranger Tides
  • Sequels in franchises
• Transformers 3
  • The cinema experience of Transformers 1
• Sam Raimi directing Oz: The Great and Powerful
• The Green Hornet target audience
• Tomorrow, When The War Began trailer

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By all means, ruin my childhood: THE LION KING undergoing 3D conversion

By all means, ruin my childhood: THE LION KING undergoing 3D conversion

Jun 23

I haven’t watched The Lion King since I was a wee grasshopper, sometime in the early-mid 1990s. I don’t really want to watch it again any time soon, either — perhaps I’ll give it a spin when / if I have kids, or when I feel a particularly strong urge to indulge in some hard-hitting nostalgia.

Being that I watched The Lion King when I was a kid, I don’t even know if it’s a “good movie.” I loved it at the time, but who knows if I wasn’t just amused by the flashy colours and jaunty musical numbers, rather than the engaging narrative, the beating heart of the story?

Anyway, now we hear that Disney’s planning to re-release The Lion King in 3D. Thankfully it won’t happen any time soon, but it begs the question: why remix a 2D animated film into a 3D animated film? Part of the charm of watching these smug-looking lions struggle to resolve their leadership woes is that it’s a cartoon: fluid, easy on the eyes, with strong lines and rich colour.

Squeezing all that through a 3D ringer won’t have the same effect. It’ll hurt my eyes to watch The Lion King. The painterly landscapes will be ruined by the addition of an extra dimension. The lions’ smug grins will be right up in my face. I don’t want any of these things.

I want to be able to introduce The Lion King to my offspring the way it was introduced to me — animated in 2D. Now every time The Lion King comes up in conversation my prospective children will roll their eyes and have to sit through daddy’s explanation of his version, when everybody knows The Lion King has always been in 3D.

Congratulations, Disney, you’ve simultaneously subverted my own childhood while pre-emptively derailing that of my future children.

(Beauty And The Beast is also undergoing the same unwholesome treatment; expect it to hit 3D cinemas in 2011)