Review - 'Warrior'

When I scrolled through Netflix, and selected Gavin O'Connor's 'Warrior' to watch, I did so in the mindset that I was selecting a film that would contain some testosterone-fuelling and powerful fight scenes. I was aware it had got some critical acclaim and good reviews, but my thoughts were that this is a film where various men punch various other men.

And I was, to many extents, right. There is a lot of punching. However, I was not expecting to find the film to be as emotionally powerful as the physical power of every punch thrown. I was not expecting to  be both moved to tear and have my heart stop in suspense in a single scene. And I did not expect to feel both completely emotionally drained and unbelievably elated as I did when the credits started to role..

For those who don't know the film, it follows the lives of two estranged brothers, played by Joel Edgerton and Tom Hardy, the sons of a retired mixed martial arts fighter... a field they both display a lot of talent in. Both end up entering the Sparta tournament, the grand-prix of mixed martial arts with a five-million dollar prize. And both of them need to win. So what we have is not a sports film where the protagonist has to conquer his enemy; we have two heroes, and we want both of them to win.

However, this is not really a sports film, in the sense that it is not about sport. It is not about mixed martial arts; that is simply a device to tell the story. Like how musicals aren't about singing, that's just how they tell their narratives. And this, at its heart, is a film about family. It's about fixing a broken family, and it's about saving the family you have. And this is executed beautifully, up until the closing moments when the climactic fight scene brings everything to an exquisite resolution.

Director Gavin O'Connor handles this brilliantly. Working from a well formed script - only occasionally let down by slightly flat dialogue - he follows the emotional archs of each of his protagonists, and makes the most of their performances. And what performances they are, with both Edgerton and Hardy maintaining the drive and ambition that underpins each of those actions - a fact that is crucial, because without those objectives, no audience would become emotionally invested in such barbaric acts.

All this is not to distract from the fights themselves, which are perfected routines of choreography, executed with the skill you would expect from a professional ballet. And the camera work that accompanies it is perfect, with us there in the cage, feeling every punch, but throwing every one as well. More than once did I gasp when a punch landed, but just as much did I feel the power when one hit the opposition.

And as for the montage scene in the middle... montage scenes are often over-used, particularly in sports films. And, as a result, the emotional manipulation they often attempt can sometimes fall flat, simply because audiences are desensitised to the technique. However, O'Connor revamps it, with the editing design following Hardy and Edgerton's training being something extraordinary, leaving one pumped for the final act of the film, the tournament... as pumped as the fighters need to be.

In short, I never expected a film about mixed martial arts to move me quite so much. And I certainly couldn't have imagined that it would compete in my mental awards ceremony for Best Film. It is, quite simply, perfectly executed.

Coincidentally, I was Tom Hardy's body double for the film.

On The Killing Of Background Characters In Blockbuster Films

There is a sociopathic, senseless massacre that takes place very regularly, and one that the general population readily remains in compliance with. More worryingly, it is broadcast to anyone and everyone on cinema screens and through the gleaming window of television. This tolerated form of snuff is even openly viewed by young and impressionable children.

I am talking about the tragic deaths that befall the many background characters in popular films.

This consideration flitted through my head earlier today as I was watching The Return Of The Jedi (undeniably the best of the Star Wars saga). In the third act of the narrative, a large battle takes place on the forest moon of Endor; however, this battle is throughout treated incredibly jovially, due to the cute facade of the Ewoks, distracting the viewers attention.

Distracting them from the fact that they are, undeniably, ruthless killers.

Consider. Only moments after meeting the first Ewok, we see him assist in the bludgeoning of one Stormtrooper, and the explosion of another. Later, in the battle scene, the Ewoks use a large variety of primal and savage tools to brings about the demise of the Empirical forces. All actions the audience condones, chuckling along, going, 'Oh, look at them - they're cute but they have so much pluck. Bless 'em.'

One reason this is permitted is the way blockbusters treat these background characters. These characters are all uniform, formless, anonymous. They're not really being killed to the audience. It's more like snipping a single blade of grass; you don't notice it amongst a field. Star Wars does this incredibly literally. Every Stormtrooper is nigh on identical, just white, well-built, androgenous humanoid figures. However, contrary to some incredibly naive opinions, they are not robots. There are people of flesh and blood to be found under the armour... real people. People that may, in all likelihood, have families waiting for them at home. And yet that thought does not cross an audience's mind when the bring down  their transport in a ball of flame.

Just think. For that Stormtrooper, there is a family at home, sitting at the dinner table. Little Stormtrooper Jr saying 'Daddy, where's Mummy*?' And Daddy Stormtrooper, trying to stop the tears from rolling down his visor, struggling to explain what has happened.

Just think.

And what message does this send to our youngsters? That anyone not actively concerned in the main narrative of your life is expendable cannon fodder? Or, more worryingly, that if you are currently in a position of menial grunt work, that you could be taken out at a moments notice - regardless of whether or not you work for a vast criminal enterprise bent on world domination?

And that is another point worth addressing. A casual defence for the deaths of these characters is that they are in the employ of the 'bad guys' - or, at the very least, compliant with their actions. However, working for a company that has hidden, evil motifs does not immediately make a person, or even their job description, evil within itself. 'Hi, I'm Will, a regular guy who likes football and a nice Ceasar salad. I do work a dark, shady organisation, yes, but only in Human Resources. Puts bread on the table, doesn't it?'

Many would say that these deaths are acceptable. They are fictional creations, and more importantly, fictional creations that are solely there to be dispensible. They do not have the emotional resonances we find in leading characters. Well, firstly, I am wonderfully supportive of the notion that any work of narrative is in itself its own world - and with that goes the notion that each part of that world is integral to its creation. Through art we see new worlds; we shouldn't be willing to throw parts of those worlds aside.

But for those of you who don't conced to such pompous, hoity-toity notions, consider this. What about everyone you walked past on the street today - the 'background characters' of your life? The ones you don't have emotional resonances with? I presume that if one of them keeled over before you - or was slain by a group of marauding Ewoks - then it would affect you in some sort of way? You wouldn't let that slip. You wouldn't let that slide if it was broadcast to chuckling audiences.

Everyone has rights, including the background characters.




*Yes, I know you assumed they were all male. Although, technically, they are, because in the narrative they were all cloned from Jango Fett, but I still felt it necessary to challenge the assumptions of gender norms.

On The Romantic Notion Of The Sublime Cropping Up In 'Jurassic Park'

Note: The interpretations of the Sublime represented are drawn from touching on them in lectures and seminars of the Romanticism module I have been recently taking, and I apologise if it is superficial. The film Jurassic Park, on the other hand, I know backwards, and I apologise if it is obsessive.

Like the majority of young boys, I went through a dinosaur phase. I waded through that river for several years at least, and some of the debris I picked up - long, Latin names, obscure characteristics and the names of notable professors - is still lodged firmly in the back of my mind, and won't become unstuck any time soon. Therefore, it is no surprise that the first film experience in my memory is that of Steven Spielberg's masterpiece Jurassic Park. 

However, very few young boys go through a Romanticism phase. I myself did not - however, I have recently been embroiled in a Romanticism module, and it was whilst my mind wondered at the back of one of these lectures, I realised how well the Romantic ideal of the Sublime worked as a way of viewing Jurassic Park.

Stephen Greenblatt has written that the English Romantics saw the Sublime as, in simple terms, the 'realm of experience beyond the measurable'. My lecturer, on the other hand, evoked it wonderfully by giving this analogy: that it is similar to being confronted by a great mountain, right in front of your nose, something so large and mighty that one cannot fathom it in rational thought - it is only by accepting this greatness, and by stepping back from it, that you can truly appreciate it, that you can fathom the unfathomable. In short, it involves being overwhelmed by something, an experience or object, to such an extent that only by accepting the overwhelming nature can you begin to understand.

I know, it all sounds incredibly pretentious. And it is, but that doesn't negate it. Of course, what you may now be asking is, well, yes, but what relevance does that have to the masterpiece of family entertainment in question. Dinosaurs aren't in themselves Sublime, we know that they were real, we can fathom them, understand them, get our heads round them.

Of course. But that is the point, it is not the dinosaurs themselves, but how Jurassic Park, with it's cinematography and narrative, that evokes this quality. Consider that famous scene in which the heroes see their first dinosaur, the Brachiosaurus. The characters are quite non-chalently being driven along in the jeep, when one by one their attention is drawn to something off-screen. It is then, and only then, that we see this great spectacle, this huge creature that crosses the screen, and the way the camera captures it, the humans are small and insignificant in comparison, mere observers of the giant. The characters are quite literally overwhelmed, falling to the ground in awe, and Richard Hammond delivers that immortal line of 'Welcome... to Jurassic Park'. It is only then that the camera distances itself from a herd of other dinosaurs, seen in the distance; along with the characters, we have accepted the greatness of the experience, and only by accepting that irrationality, can we then go on to appreciate it in rational terms.

Now, of course, many could and would say, that this is simply a cinematic device, simple tricks being used to create an emotion in the audience. And I would whole-heartedly agree - the point is that that experience that Spielberg is trying to make for the audience, is the same one that the Romantic poets tried to create for their audiences, with their interpretation of the Sublime. Both try to create an overwhelming sense of awe, and then, when you have acknowledged the awe, you can step back and find new meaning.

It would be foolish to claim the Sublime on the basis of one scene; however, the narrative arch of the film itself seems to have this ideal nestled away in the plotline. Finding the basic three-act structure in the narrative is not difficult:

• Act 1 - the characters visit the island and are amazed by the dinosaurs.
• Act 2 - due to complications, the characters are then being attacked by said dinosaurs.
• Act 3 - they escape the dinosaurs, who then command the island.

And finding the Sublime in there is not that difficult, although it has been actioned up and given the Hollywood treatment, due to the medium. Act 1, as seen in the incident with the Brachiosaurus, is chiefly dominated by awe, not only from being confronted by the dinosaurs, but being confronted by the science that made it possible. The heroes' wonder at the whole experience embodies that overwhelming experience - even Dr Malcolm's worries about the project is, in its own way, an awe at the power of life, that it cannot be contained... 'Life finds a way'.

Act 2 continues with this awe but it turns to fear; it is the 'stepping back' (or, indeed, running away). It is the 'overwhelming experience' becoming too much, so that one has to try and distance oneself. The fact that this is brought about through fear and action does not diminish it. It is tempting to think that the Romantics were only concerned with beauty and nature, that fear is an irrelevant factor, particularly in relation to the Sublime. Yet, Edmund Burke, in writing a fairly seminal essay on the matter,  defined the Sublime as "whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger... Whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror." Fear is fundamental to the sublime (like love or sheer joy, it is a feeling that completely overwhelms) and as Burke demonstrates, anything that has that power to evoke fear, by its very nature, must evoke awe.

Act 3, therefore, is the standing back and appreciation; in dramatic terms it would be known as the release of tension (though not quite catharsis as Aristotle described it). There are two scenes I wish to draw on for this. The first is, I believe, the turning point into the Third Act, the moment when the group of heroes are seemingly cornered by a group of Velociraptors, only for the Tyrannosaurus Rex to charge in and attack the predators, coincidentally saving the humans' lives. Of course, this is dramatically lucky, and cynics would say a dues ex machina... however, with this reading of the Sublime, it finds prominence. Once again we are faced with this awe-inspiring figure, a figure of fear, a figure of greatness, and a figure who, merely by existing, we cannot comprehend. Yet, he is there in front of us, and now no longer a threat, since he is busy eating his prey. That detachment allows us to truly appreciate, and as she roars, the banner we saw earlier in the film, reading 'When dinosaurs ruled the earth', symbolically flutters down in front of her, again allowing us to understand this awe, and how insignificant we seem to be in comparison.

And then there is the closing moments of the film, when the survivors are in their helicopter leaving the island, detached from the awe-inspiring events that have preceded them. And Doctor Grant looks out of the window, and sees a flock of birds flying alongside, and he simply smiles. Through all the fear he has faced, through the awe, through the Sublime, he has found an appreciation, conquering the cynicism that embodied his character earlier in the narrative. In short, the Sublime he found in Jurassic Park, regardless of the nature of the events that took place, has changed him.


Notes:

• I've referenced the film over the novel due to the cinematic evocation of the Sublime, which I hope demonstrated; the novel's prowess, however, I believe, comes not from this but the scientific demonstration of these possibilities and narrative. I suppose it shows how adaptation can be used to find new meanings in a text.
• The aforementioned Brachiosaurus scene, which, for me,is one of the greatest and most moving in cinema.

A Welcome Post

Hello all. I do, in advance, apologise for the unstimulating nature of this post. It's so basic that the title doesn't even contain a pun. However, all this post is here to say is thank you for looking, and that potentially interesting posts will be here in advance. But not this one. This one is simply a filler until the proper scribblings happen. The written equivalent of clearing your throat before you speak, one might say. 

Sorry if this all sounds very pretentious and convoluted. I'm not trying to be, I promise - it's just how I get when I'm nervous.

So, what does this blog aim to contain? The truth is, I really don't know. In all honesty, this only begun after I was fascistically ordered by a friend to increase my 'online presence'. I still don't know what that is, but I spinelessly followed suite. Anyway, I hope that this will contain intellectual musing on various clever subjects and witty ramblings on various trivial subjects. That is the plan. However, statistically, it is more likely to end up as a mish-mash of malevolent feelings towards various celebrities - Justin Bieber is a favourite in this arena, I've noticed - and pointless whinings on personal issues. So, it is probable this will end up as the typed equivalent of the shrill exhaust of a whistling kettle. And for that I apologise in advance for adding to the anger coursing the internet.