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Introducing the British Empire Genre with Madagascar (2005)

Ah, the good old days of the British Empire. Fanning yourself in the sand dunes, slaughtering 27,927 Boers, torturing innocent Kenyans during the Mau Mau uprising. Memories.

It’s an interesting take, if you’re interested in horrific and entirely incorrect opinions. However, around the 1970s, an odd kind of film genre began to emerge with a nostalgic reverence for the ‘excitement’ of British imperial rule. Their directors tended to romanticise the quite literally named ‘Heat and Dust’ (1983) and use ex-colonised settings such as India to host tales of pretty white women incorrectly wearing saris and falling in love with a well-mannered coloniser called Keith. 

Today, we take a trip down to ruined childhoods with Dreamworks’ Madagascar. Set primarily, unsurprisingly, on the African island of Madagascar (and yet always broadcast at Christmas for some reason) the film in fact begins in New York, where a lion named Alex (voiced by Ben Stiller) and his various mammal friends are living-up life with various gadgets and cutlery. See where it’s going?

We are repeatedly shown just how civilised Alex and co are, as they use toothbrushes and treadmills better than a Manhattan banker with a coke addiction and three hundred bail receipts. And yet Alex’s best friend, Marty (voiced by Chris Rock) yearns for open space and to see fields greener than Snoop Dogg’s ‘garage’. 

What follows is a predictable mix-up which results in all four animals being stranded with the ‘uncivilised’ lemur tribes of Madagascar. Just like the exoticism that resulted from European explorers and subsequent fictionalised accounts, Marty finds himself ‘conquering’ the wild and eventually winning over the hearts of its understandably wary inhabitants.

Meanwhile, Alex bemoans the loss of his ‘normal’ Western comforts and wishes to return to New York where, presumably, the studio will reimburse him for this minor career blip. It’s up to Marty to convince Alex that the funny scary lemurs are really nice to play with. Kind of like watching Ivanka Trump being forced to support other women. 

Ignoring the giant fuck-off u-turn that Dreamworks then takes the plot on, and the traumatic inner turmoil experienced by Alex when he tries to EAT his LEMUR FRIENDS - the moral of the story can largely be summed up to the Western viewer as: Come and tame Africa!

The British Empire genre has thankfully become outdated, but as Madagascar shows, it’s subtext has simply trickled down into various depictions of ‘foreign lands’ outside of Europe and North America. 

‘I Like to Move It’ is a banger though. Respect to Real 2 Reel.

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Introducing the Uncanny Valley with Sex and the City 2

First coined by Masahiro Mori, then a professor at the Tokyo Institute of Technology, the ‘Uncanny Valley’ refers to renderings of human faces which become more appealing in their accuracy- that is, until we hit a certain point, termed ‘the Uncanny Valley’.

Just like reaching the 2 minute marker in ‘2 Girls, 1 Cup’, the Uncanny Valley leads the viewer to suddenly experience a high level of disgust, anxiety, and constipation, as they perceive a passable, and yet discernibly false representation of the human body. Which brings me to Kim Cattrall.

Cattrell is one of the stars of Sex and the City 2 (Michael Patrick King) which has proved such a huge hit with film critics that UNESCO recently appointed it a World Heritage Site, with the description; “a large comedic goldmine which can be found in Hollywood’s more shameful hills.”

Released in 2010, the film received immediate praise for its poster design and ending credits music. Criminally, however, its revolutionary animation and outstanding visual effects went unnoticed - in what can only be described as a tribute to their skill and expertise. I can now exclusively reveal that almost 90% of the film was in fact CGI.

It is this knowledge that finally explains the feelings of discomfort and illness that plagued some viewers of the film at its premiere. As Carrie’s (Sarah Jessica Parker) heavily edited face smirks towards Mr Big, a man so dull he absorbs light, we can see that despite their best efforts, neither is truly, definitively human. Even with lighting, cinematography and some gentle angling; it soon becomes clear that no character in this film is 3D.

It's evident even in the film’s promotional posters. Here, the Uncanny Valley comes alive as four hand-drawn faces struggle to hold their unblemished limbs like living, water-drinking homosapiens. It even leaks into the plot. All of the main characters’ issues and conflicts appear to have forced them to experience emotions. However, this has actually been caused by a lavish and stifling wardrobe, worn until all four women are oxygen deprived and view pouring bleach onto every rose-tinted memory of their famed 80s TV show to be a good idea.

There are some more major slip-ups. Designers of Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) appear to have been designated the lowest budget, and her feminist moment of standing up to her misogynistic new manager is as unconvincing as R-Kelly’s Wikipedia page. Here, an attempt at a genuine human woman is swiftly quashed as she quits her huge and well paid New York job in favour of her son’s dumbass preschool presentation. Mirandabot’s wires become noticeable as she is instead edited into silly-lady-boss-who-learns-her-place-and-starts-breastfeeding-again.

For any travellers considering a trip to the Uncanny Valley this season, expect artifical lighting and a splatter of synthetic boobs in this Sony commercial repackaged as film, Sex and the City 2.

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Introducing Slasher Films with Cars 2 (2011)

Slasher films are a subgenre of the criminally underappreciated Horror genre. Historically, they encompass all manner of films, such as highbrow Hitchcock-type classics like Psycho (1960), to the greatest film trilogy ever made, Friday the 13th; Friday the 13th Part 2; and the imaginatively named, Friday the 13th Part 3. 

The origin of the name lies in the concept of its characters being ‘slashed’, as in, brutally killed by all manner of tools and gardening equipment. Most critics agree that slasher films can be divided into three subsections: the classical (1974-1993), the self-referential (1993-2000) and the neoslasher cycle (2000-2013), which sounds like the specialist option for some futuristic Tesla washing machine but there you go.

Today, we visit this genre slapbang in the middle of the neoslasher cycle with the release of Cars 2, a little-known driver of the medium. Early influences for the genre are usually typified by  an anonymous maniac seeking revenge, usually stalking a sympathetic character. In a plot thinner than clingfilm, and even more transparent, the film introduces this character to us with Lightning McQueen (voiced by Owen Wilson who is voiced by a discount Matthew Mcoughaney). 

McQueen is a famous race-car who will be taking part in a World Grand Prix, which also happens to be hosted by the countries with the largest box offices thus conveniently aiding the merchandise sales of thousands of plastic toys throughout the Northern Hemisphere. 

As the race begins however, a darker, and more sinister tone begins to emerge within this 3D animated nightmare. One by one, cars begin to spontaneously combust, erupting into flames in silent screams, left behind as our hero speeds ahead, to diminish into twisted metal carcasses.

Gradually, these murders begin to produce suspicion, and become a heavier onscreen presence in the cross genre neo-noir style subbing black gloves for tyres and foot steps for revved engines. So far, so Slasher. Except, as emerges, our enemy here is not a singular maniac as is typical of the genre. Instead, an SS style German Professor is leading a complex ring of crude oil miners to torture and poison racers, funded by foreign investment. Side-note; the MPAA rating for this film was G.

As with all slasher films, Lightning McQueen alone survives to be the lucky ‘final girl’ and with the final bomb disabled, all is apparently well. Yet as the lights begin to fade in and the credits begin to roll, the entire audience are forced to confront a two-foot projection of the Disney logo, as a subtle reminder that major conglomerates and huge oil-rich companies will continue to exist. And so, with the release of Cars 3, we see first-hand that the threat will survive.

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What is Pastiche? with Gary Marshall’s Valentine’s Day (2010)

Pastiche, as defined by Google, is “an artistic work in a style that imitates that of another work, artist, or period”. Or, as defined by Bing, “a food dish resembling pasta but not quite.” Today, we explore the former definition, through Gary Marshall’s and Satan’s love-child; Valentine’s Day (2010) and its relationship to Richard Curtis’, Love, Actually (2003). 

Valentine’s Day is a unique endeavour in that it is not only a film based around a popular holiday, but a useful optometry tool for allowing eyeball removal from the comfort of your own home. It takes its inspiration from the Richard Curtis’ classic, Love, Actually, the ultimate favourite of all TV producers when they can’t be bothered to come up with new content at Christmas. 

Both films utilise the cash-cow trick of shoving huge celebs into miniscule roles to avoid allowing them to read the full disaster of the film’s script. Both also boast a plethora of interweaving plotlines which fit together like Shrek shagging a chihuahua. However, a pastiche is distinct from parody in that it celebrates, rather than mocks, the film it imitates. Certainly, Valentine’s Day had me gagging for Love, Actually in a way I never thought would be possible. In a bold and expensive career-move, Marshall appears to have commemorated the genius of his inspiration by lovingly shitting out its antithesis. 

Valentine’s Day is a deliberately poor imitation in all of its qualities, from each film’s respective leading ladies (Emma Thompson would knock Jessica Alba’s teeth out) to their poster title fonts (Futura Bold? Come on Gary.) There is also a blatant reuse of Love, Actually’s end sequence within the film, in which all of its characters' faces are projected into a huge whitewashed mural. However, this time they’re in a smaller love heart, meaning Bradley Cooper’s receding hairline can be cleverly disguised.

Technically, the film hovers around average. Love, Actually's bright lighting and bland cinematography are perfectly re-captured by Marshall, and he shows an in-versatile use of the shot/reverse shot camera angle much loved by Curtis. 

But perhaps the producers’ greatest recycling was in basing their entire film around a holiday which their audience are forced to buy into. Love, Actually's holiday cheer is heartwarming, not sickening, because we can all put aside our judgement for one day when snow is combined with gentrified London boutiques. Valentine’s Day serves to highlight the brilliance of this trick by charging us £10 for a stapled love-heart ticket stub and calling it a seasonal classic. 

One of the many fine features of a pastiche is that it can continue to grow far beyond the life of its original creation. Gary Marshall went on to imitate his own films with the cleverly named New Year’s Day (2011) and the even more tenuous, Mother’s Day (2016). Unfortunately, that was about as much cash as he could drain from the idea, and he died shortly thereafter.

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Rasputia, Revisited: the Academy-award Nominated Norbit (2007) as an Example of the Melodramatic Heroine

For years, themes of income inequality and class issues have been situated firmly in the hearts of the films best-loved by filmmakers and viewers. From Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight to Bong Joon-ho’s recent runaway favourite, Parasite; the everyday struggles of the working class have never seemed louder.

Today, we uncover the secret Marxist leanings in what is perhaps one of cinema’s best portrayals of the poor and suffering. Eddie Murphy, starring in the Academy-Award nominated, Norbit (dir. Brian Robbins, 2007) effortlessly plays the part of a pitiful, middle-aged man in crisis. Norbit, undertook a difficult critical journey being initially mistaken for a racist, sexist, fat-shaming slapstick. But it is so much more. After almost two decades, Robbins’ homage has finally begun to be acknowledged as a masterclass into the smartly tragic trappings of the melodramatic film genre.

There are three reasons why the academy-award nominated Norbit should be recognised for its melodramatic genius and thus made standardised viewings in our children’s schools. Firstly, of the images evoked by the term ‘melodrama’: wailing women; screaming children; I can promise all of those were present when I first set eyes upon this glorious film whilst knee-deep in a urine stained carpet at Teesside’s Showcase Cinemas.

However, even more convincingly, as we peer into the slow derailment of Norbit’s (Eddie Murphy) struggle between his Southern Belle love interest Kate (Thandie Newton) and his wife, the gluttonous aristocrat, Rasputia (Eddie Murphy); the film’s truth emerges as a detailed portrait of hyperdramatised class turmoil.

Money is everywhere in Norbit, and not just because a global audience misplaced $100 million to see it. Rasputia, the film’s antagonist, splashes out on expensive bikini waxes and neon-pink nails, whilst Norbit stays silently in her shadow. However, when Rasputia’s three brothers become intent on turning Norbit’s childhood orphanage into an evil strip joint, Eddie Murphy’s nuanced performance leaves audiences on tenterhooks, as he becomes torn between the new industrialised world, and the Oscar from Dreamgirls he was forced to wave goodbye.

The rest of the film is spent wondering whether our melodramatic hero will triumph over the gluttony of Rasputia and the vices of an industrial age, whilst simultaneously asking when will this finish? and how can I stop watching? For the viewer in search of an emotional, never-ending journey of questionable quality, and a use of yellow-face more tasteless than Helen Keller’s breakfast, I suggest a re-visit to the Academy-Award nominated, Norbit.