How will disaster movies ever recover?

THE SATELLITE DID IT

I thought The Day After Tomorrow marked the pinnacle of disaster-movie absurdity, with its infamous scene of a wave of killer frost literally chasing Jake Gyllenhaal across the New York Public Library.

But Roland Emmerich, the man behind that spectacle, surpassed himself several years later with 2012, in which a burst of neutrinos somehow disrupts the earth’s core, unleashing a Ragnarok of natural disasters that wipes out virtually all of humanity, including Danny Glover.

Nothing quite prepares you for Geostorm, though. This massive box-office flop, described as “the worst film of the year,” introduces a bizarre twist on the genre, in which a network of climate-controlling satellites is the only thing standing between humanity and the general concept of bad weather. So that when a computer virus makes these satellites go haywire, there is nothing to stop a gigantic tsunami from nearly eradicating Dubai. To quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up.

This is a movie in which a wonky satellite causes: a hideous electrical storm in Miami, a Biblical hailstorm in Tokyo, an array of tornadoes pummeling Mumbai, and a brutal heat wave descending on Moscow. Among other, equally ridiculous things.

Now, The Day After Tomorrow was just silly, but fun, while 2012 was awesome and scary despite being scientifically preposterous. And that’s all good. Geostorm, though, is aggressively stupid, without a single redeeming quality. Even by the generous standards of disaster flicks, the storyline and dialogue are trash-tier, the characters behave in nonsensical ways, and worst of all, in the one area this type of movie absolutely must perform – namely, captivating visual spectacle – Geostorm does a sickening bellyflop into the pool of failure. Only the Dubai-tidal-wave scene sort of makes the cut.

For a couple hours of escapist entertainment that will do real and lasting damage to your frontopolar cortex, I give Geostorm a reluctant one thumb up.

A damn fine retrospective

Chicago’s Music Box Theatre (where I saw Donnie Darko) is running a great retrospective on the films of David Lynch. I’ve taken the opportunity to re-watch Mulholland Drive and Blue Velvet and watch, for the first time, The Straight Story. (There is also a ton of other Lynch-related material on offer including short films, interviews and documentaries – ranging from interesting and illuminating to just weird.)

For me, seeing these productions on 35mm is a reminder that watching a great movie on the big screen is not just better than watching it on your TV – it’s a totally different experience. I would compare it to listening to a symphony in a concert hall vs. on a cassette tape. There’s that much of a gap. (I noticed this most dramatically when watching 2001: A Space Odyssey on the big screen for the first time in college.)

Visually, Lynch’s movies – and I’m thinking especially of Blue Velvet – have a rawness and richness of texture on the big screen that’s entirely absent when you watch them on your TV or tablet or whatever. Then there’s the communal aspect of enjoying the movie with a large audience (the Music Box was surprisingly crowded every time I went). Among other things, it made the humor more funny. Lynch’s movies are filled with moments of deadpan comedy that had the audience laughing out loud.

Lynch is most compelling, to me, when his weirdness is constrained by a narrative that’s at least semi-coherent. Blue Velvet achieves the perfect balance of surrealism and narrative logic; all the Lynchian weirdness is wrapped up in a story that “makes sense” and is, in its outlines, a pretty conventional detective yarn. We are taking a trip through a nightmare-world, but the story acts as the emotional engine that gets us through safely.

Mulholland Drive is also a great movie, but it goes further than Blue Velvet in pushing the boundaries of narrative coherence, without quite flying off the rails into total incomprehensibility. Things get really weird towards the end, but the movie keeps our attention and demands that we try to puzzle out what the hell just happened. It’s a powerful and beautiful experience.

I haven’t seen Lost Highway for a long time, but I remember it being a total disaster of a movie, and this had to do with its over-the-top horror and surrealism with no discernible storyline or emotional hook for the audience. I also recall not liking Wild at Heart very much, though there were some scenes that stayed with me.

Lynch is famous for dredging up images and ideas from the murky depths of the unconscious. This only “works” if the stuff that’s dredged up is hammered into a coherent shape that the viewer can understand and relate to. Otherwise, it’s just annoying self-indulgence on the director’s part, like when someone tells you about the crazy dream they had last night.

The Straight Story is way on the opposite end of the spectrum. Lynch’s most “conventional” film (along with The Elephant Man), it’s perfectly coherent in terms of plot and writing. Most people wouldn’t suspect it was a Lynch movie at all if his name weren’t in the credits. Despite this, the movie has an unsettling quality that I can’t quite put my finger on. I would describe it as “Lynchian” and leave it at that.

The Straight Story hit me like an emotional freight train. I would recommend it to anyone who is inclined to dismiss Lynch as a weirdo or a sicko. Well, he may be those things too, but he can certainly make a damn fine movie. (And cup of coffee too, apparently.)

“28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes, 12 seconds”

Last weekend, I watched a 15th anniversary showing of Donnie Darko at the Music Box Theatre in Chicago’s Southport neighborhood. Gene Siskel called the ornate, atmospheric Music Box his favorite movie theater and I can understand why. Opened in 1929, it now shows indie, classic and foreign films.

Donnie Darko is a powerful, eerie and engrossing film with shades of E.T. that deserves to be seen on the big screen. I saw it many years ago on the family TV (Netflix DVD back when that was a thing?) but hadn’t remembered anything about it except the terrifying man-sized rabbit that visits Donnie’s house at night.

Here’s an interpretation of the movie’s ending for those who’ve seen it. Apparently you need to watch the director’s cut, which is 20 minutes longer than the original theatrical version I actually watched and contains a lot of explanatory material, to understand what the heck is going on.