Kicking The Iron Man's Ass - Humanity in Kick-Ass and Iron Man 2

Half an hour into Iron Man 2, I checked my cell phone clock, slouched in my seat, and leaned on the arm rest. Iron Man 2 blew into theaters last Friday, with the requisite mixed critical reaction and fanboy fervor, and it was easily the most tedious superhero flick I’ve seen in a while.

I’ll admit I never cared for Iron Man/Tony Stark and his “struggles” as the smartest, richest man in the Marvel-verse—in fact, I actively despised the clown after he inadvertently precipitated Captain America’s “death” —and cared little for the corporate intrigue of the first film. Yet, I enjoyed Robert Downey Jr.’s performance as Tony Stark, mostly because of the sheer force of his personality. Once I saw the commercials for the sequel, I expected more of the same: a great performance by Downey and a middling story of corporate espionage peppered with mecha battles. I was right. Iron Man 2 dropped below my expectations with pitiful pacing, dues ex machine plot and action figures for characters. Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Black Widow), Ivan Vanko (“Whiplash”) and Justin Hammer weren’t real characters; they were toys.

A week before Iron Man 2 was released, I had the pleasure of catching a film that actually treated comic book characters like human beings: Kick Ass. Kick Ass, distributed in comic form by Marvel’s creator-owned imprint, Icon, was a fun, memorable flick that put people before and “super” heroes. In Kick Ass, the story of normal people who pursue super heroics in the “real” world, each character had a life before heroism, or vigilantism as the case maybe. Whether it was Dave Liezewski’s (Kick Ass) mundane existence as a teenage nobody or Mindy McCready’s (Hit Girl) all-to-brief childhood, I believed these characters had a life—one I could relate to--beyond their absurd exploits. These characters also had clear goals. Big Daddy’s quest for revenge and Dave Liezewski’s grab at gallantry may be obsessive and misguided, but at least they were more realistic than Tony Stark being stingy with his super armor. Admittedly, both flicks strain plausibility, but the characters of Kick Ass ground the film in a semblance of reality that encourages the audience to care and cheer for the characters despite their suicidal stupidity. In Iron Man 2(IM2), the audience is told to love the super kewl characters because of their hipper-than-thou dialogue and feats of computer generated derring-do.

A comparison the of Kick Ass and IM2’s characters shows just how crucial grounded, relatable characters are to the effectiveness of films that demand suspension of disbelief. Kick Ass protagonist Dave Liezewski becomes "super" hero Kick Ass for reasons both selfish and altruistic. As much as Dave’s interest in being a superhero is bolstered by his desire for girls and popularity, he also genuinely wants to protect people, even at risk to his own safety. Tony Stark became an amplified version of this character type in the first Iron Man, as he gradually evolved form an arrogant hot shot to a hero who wanted to protect the world and erase his sins. But, in IM2, Stark regressed to the being a petulant prick due to an inability to cope with internal and external challenges. All of Stark’s character growth in IM1 is nullified by his actions in IM2. Stark is more interested in protecting his precious suit from antagonists that may never exist in the really real world than protecting the helpless from real-life terrorists. Conversely, by the end of Kick Ass, Dave Liezewski has moved from being teen with a power fantasy to honest-to-God hero when he helps Hit-Girl get her revenge on the D’Amico mob. Adding to Dave’s human-centered heroism is his resolve after being brutally injured. He doesn’t magically invent an element to save his life; he lies in the hospital, heals and returns to crime-fighting once he’s healthy. Kick Ass’ return to the streets may be based on delusional obsession, but positively rebounding from injury after a long recuperation is all-too-human.

Kick Ass’ humanity is echoed in the exploits of Big Daddy and Hit Girl. Big Daddy and Hit Girl are the opposite of IM2’s Ivan Vanko and Natasha Romanov. Big Daddy, like Vanko, is man trying violently and decisively avenge himself and his family. Both characters want to make powerful men suffer, but where their stories differ is the quality of the motivating offense and their physical response. Ivan Vanko builds a exoskeleton with electric whips to show the world “he can do what Stark can do better.” Big Daddy builds his body and gun collection while turning his daughter into a weapon in an effort to kill the man who sent him to prison and “killed” his wife. While both responses are ridiculously disproportionate, Big Daddy doesn’t care about embarrassing his opponent; he wants the guy dead. Vanko wants to shame Stark, with Stark’s death being a bonus. Both characters build “arsenals,” but Big Daddy treats himself and his daughter as the ultimate weapons as opposed to Vanko’s Gundams. Vanko balances equations and tinkers with toy robots before fighting Iron Man in a suit, that will surely protect him from nuclear attack. With little more than a bullet proof vest and some sturdy leather, Big Daddy and sidekick/daughter Hit Girl put their own bodies on the line to attack their enemies, a fact particularly evident in any scene featuring Hit Girl.

Compared to Natasha Romanov, her closest analogue in IM2, Hit Girl is a paragon of human heroism. Trained in the “art of death” by her father, Hit Girl is efficient and ruthless, yet charming and exuberant. She may move, bouncing around like a ninja slash the bad guys—in a far more effective and less-showy manner than the hipper-than-thou Romanov—but, on her off-hours, she’s a kid who loves her Dad and her toys. Hit Girl’s father may be certifiable and her toys—guns, knives and jetpacks—are surely dangerous, but its her genuine glee and warmth that reminds the audience—especially when she’s being beaten by a man three time her size—that this a “real” 11-year old child. Natasha Romanov, on the other hand, is a fembot. There’s no humanity behind her eyes, no life to her story. She’s a fully-poseable cheesecake maquette doing tricks that pale in comparison to Hit Girl’s more efficient, practical carnage. In IM2, Natasha is given one clumsy scene to demonstrate her “skill” and make the audience like her. In Kick Ass, the audience falls in love with Hit Girl because see her story and watch her drop every thug in a room more than once.

Rounding out the main characters of both films are antagonists that toe the line between friend and foe. Kick Ass’ Chris D’Amico (Red Mist) and IM2’s Justin Hammer both enter their respective films as ineffective jokes. Through betrayal and subterfuge, , they morph into dangerous villains as the films progress. The difference between these two villains is the nature of their threats, particularly in relation to the loss of human life. While Hammer is satisfied with stealing government contracts and Iron Man suit from stark, Chris takes part in a betrayal that truly threatens the lives of Kick Ass, Hit Girl and Big Daddy. By putting human life in the crossfire, rather than contracts and magic suits of armor, Kick Ass demonstrates that it deals in absolute, far from the vagaries of IM2. The villain’s response to the unveiling and, subsequent, foiling of their schemes highlights this principle. Chris is shocked, hurt and betrayed when his father threatens the heroes, and, later, is so angered by the death of his father that he sets forth on a path towards bloody vengeance. Justin Hammer, on the other hand smirks when he gets caught for allowing Vanko to turn his military robots into Iron Man-hunters. He even quietly went to jail rather than disappearing. Judging by the endings of both films, one could anticipate that in future sequels Justin hammer will return to take Tony Stark’s company while the Red Mist will return to take Kick Ass’ life. Those assumptions are indicative of the fundamental divergence between these two films: the weight of the human element.

The human element--prevalent in Kick Ass, yet lacking in IM2--grounds the fantastic in reasonable reality, encourages audience investment through character development and raises the stakes by putting lives, not companies or magic armor, in danger. The more attention a film pays to character the less likely it is to require contrived stakes. IM2 deals solely in contrived, inhuman stakes. None of the characters are ever in any real danger, so nothing matters, save plot progression. And, that’s what Marvel cares about: the mighty march to the Avengers epic. The characters in IM2 don’t serve an engaging story that delves into their core and examines the motivation and consequence of their actions; they serve a plot that teases the Avengers. Until Marvel executes its event film, and puts character first, creator-owned comic book movies will—much like their printed counterparts—capture audiences by telling stories about characters worth caring for.

Empty After the Ending

I’m getting old. I’m convinced my taste in movies has matured to the point where very little surprises or impresses me. The summer movie season will kick off in a week with Iron Man 2, and I’m not nearly as excited as I was ten, or even five, summers ago. How can I be? Look what’s coming in the next few months: two more additions to the increasingly exhaustive line of superhero flicks, Iron Man 2 and Jonah Hex; the Pirates trilogy meets video games experiment, Prince of Persia; more installments of adolescent literary fantasies, Twilight: Eclipse and Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows Part 1; two more spins on the A-Team formula after this Spring’s The Losers, A-Team, ironically, and The Expendables; and a female twist on the Bourne Identity, Salt. While a few original ideas sneak between the derivative—Last Airbender and Inception—most of this summer’s blockbuster’s look to be trite, forgettable affairs.

Lately, the blockbusters bombarding multiplexes every Friday and breaking billion dollar records aren’t making the impression they used to. I remember breaking my neck to get to the movies every Friday in late 90s and early 2000s. Those days gave audiences some great movies, didn’t they? I still quote Maximus’ rousing, vitriolic speeches while remembering his unrelenting climb from slavery to glory to freedom. I easily recall the valor of the Fellowship of the Ring at Helm’s Deep and on Pelennor Fields. I apply Alonzo Harris’ philosophies on a daily basis. I still marvel at Spidey’s first swings through the glass and steel caverns of Manhattan. I smile when thinking of the lethal beatings delivered by Jason Bourne, James Bond and Bruce Wayne. I can’t say that many of the blockbusters from the past two years have delivered the same quality of memories, and I doubt this year’s crop will prove different. At this point, I could almost care less about catching this year’s blockbusters. Almost.

Catching the next big tent pole release, week after week, is just a chore these days. I can only feign so much enthusiasm for the next “blockbuster” that attempts to top the spectacle and box office of the previous week’s top earner—albeit with a fraction of the humor, heart and character of flicks from the early days of the last decade. Spectacle is all audiences get today, and I’m tired of it. Honestly, how many ‘kewl,’ over-the-top, CGI spectacles can the industry pump out before even the lowest common denominator is no longer impressed? The studios may believe that the average moviegoer will never go unimpressed, but I would bet the domestic take of this year’s highest grossing film that even the most easily satisfied moviegoers will eventually crave something with at least a sliver of depth, something that they dare to remember after they leave the theater.

With the success of the forgettable, derivative visual vomit that was Avatar, spectacle has reached a profitable apex, and studios will likely be less inclined to finance films with a modicum of depth. Avatar proved, nearly single handedly, that millions of viewers care less about characters and story and more about hi-def visuals, 3D landscapes and explosions that pretend to singe their eyebrows. Over a billion served may not care, but I do.

I’ll admit to being curious enough about some of today’s spectacle-laden blockbusters to check them out on opening weekend. Even I can’t deny that going to movies is a, relatively, inexpensive weekend diversion—and heck, I still love movies despite their increasing lack of depth. But, by the time most movies are over, I just don’t care. After some light introspection, I know why. I’m tired of spectacle after spectacle. I’m sick of movies being nothing more than a collection ‘kewl’ moments. I’m over limp stories that make you yawn in between those moments. I’ve had enough of the moviegoing experience overshadowing good storytelling. Tell me a good story with cool characters and slick, clever action and I’ll be happy. Sadly, I doubt any of today’s studio-supported filmmakers will oblige me.

I can name a dozen “holy shit” moments from the top earners of the past two or three years, but I can barely recite a plot or name a character that I honestly cared about beyond the post credits sting. Sure, I remember Captain Jack and Robert Downey Jr.—who, by playing himself in his past two mega-hits, is more a draw than the characters he’s playing—as well as the cool stories of a Nazi-hunting brigade of Jewish soldiers, post-9/11 Batman and bomb dismantling specialists in Iraq, but those are exceptions. Allow me to point to any film starring Sam Worthington as examples of the rule. With a blank slate lead and a clichéd "band of heroes save the world, civilization, (insert motivation here)" plot, flicks like Terminator: Salvation, Clash of Titans and Avatar are becoming a template for box-office gold (Okay, maybe not those first two, but definitely the third). Not to mention, the rapid expansion of Marvel and, to a lesser extent, DC’s comic universes, whose superhero sagas are becoming so prevalent that two summers ago (2008’s geekgasm) it seemed like the only movies in theaters were based on comics.

I love comics, particularly the art and the format. But, even as a comics-obsessed teen, I could never get invested in the popular superhero stories. Every story was just a slight variation on the same formula. The thing about formulas is they produce consistent results with very little derivation. No comic fan or cinephile can tell me, with a straight face, there’s more than a fraction of difference between Batman and Iron Man. And, how many comic flicks are just different versions of adolescent power fantasies writ large with colorful characters that would be promptly injured, quickly ridiculed, thoroughly subjected to psychiatric evaluation in real-life(thanks, Kick Ass and Watchmen). I don’t mind suspending disbelief and taking flights of fancy, but all the flights are going to a place I’ve been before. However, as long as there’s gold in them hills, then Hollywood will follow. I’m just not sure I want to follow them anymore.

I love original—or at least as original as is possible in today’s over-saturated media—stories. I cherish cool characters. But, the more I watch, the more everything seems the same. When I leave the theaters today, I’m friggin' crestfallen. You expect a great experience and all you get is a two-hour 3D ride. There's no memorable character or moving scene to recall, just the empty feeling of stepping off the roller coaster so the next person can take their turn. I’ll ask my moviegoing companions what they thought then they’ll ask me, and we all respond by shrugging our shoulders and saying, “Meh. It was okay.” By the way, thank you for ‘meh,’ Lisa Simpson. No other word so simply encompasses the utter apathy I feel for most of today’s filmed entertainment. It’s a sad day when the best response you can muster to a film is ‘meh.’ In a way, the ‘meh’ response reminds me of ‘pops,’ or audience reaction, in pro wrestling. Wrestlers say that they can appreciate being cheered and jeered, but an apathetic, disinterested crowd response is worse than death. Maybe, it’s not the fault of the studios, or the filmmakers, or the actors, or the source material. Maybe, I don’t care because I’ve seen too much. Maybe, I’m wrong for valuing story and character over spectacle. Or, maybe, other mediums are telling better stories, stories dashed with spectacle and replete with compelling characters and engaging plots. Maybe, television, video games, and, to some extent, the internet really are to blame.

I’ll jump on the bandwagon with the studios and agree that TV, video games and the internet are drawing attention away from movies. The rise in popularity of the serial drama on television has led to sprawling engaging series with deep, complex characters and refreshing plots that encourage viewer investment. Today’s television series want viewers to come back each week and see how a grand story ends, which is, more often than not, infinitely more satisfying than the denouements of most “blockbusters.” Much like modern TV series, Video games also offer deep, stirring narratives that thrive on an investment derived from their innate interactive nature. In top-selling games like Grand Theft Auto, Halo, Gears of War, Metal Gear Solid, Arkham Asylum, etc, I am the protagonist. I am an active participant in these worlds rather than a passive witness. It doesn’t hurt that you can enjoy both in hi-definition for a cost that, in the long run, is a lot cheaper than a weekly trip to the movies. As far as the other accomplice, the internet, I can find more pure comedy in a 30-second YouTube clip than most big screen comedies. I can watch most of the TV shows I love while downloading episodic content for my favorite video game with one device.

I’ll never stop loving movies. As long as daring filmmakers and smaller studios keep telling great stories in lieu of barn-burning special effects rides, I’m there. I’ll even continue to check out those big blockbusters because I’m curious and I have to do something my Friday nights. But, until the principles that guide those smaller films truly impact the way tent poles and megahits are crated, I doubt I’ll remember anything about this decade’s “blockbusters” besides a few “kewl” moments.

I'm Back

After an extra long hiatus, the Storyteller's Journal is back with a new purpose and perspective. Te all-new and all-different, as it were, Storyteller's Journal will focus on approaching film, TV and pop culture media from a unique perspective. I will be posting more editorials and features about the storytelling themes and trends, along with some personal observations on pop culture media. I'm going to do my best to keep up with the posts and provide some cool stuff along the way while the pretentiousness to a minimum. Enjoy.

Movie Review - Inglorious Basterds

In describing Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds, allow me to begin by skipping the hyperbole and overstatement that would only echo the sentiments of scores of other critics and simply say that Inglorious Basterds was the single most entertaining film of the summer. Period.

Well, I tried.

Now, I’m going to further parrot my fellow critics’ enthusiasm: Inglorious Basterds is a masterpiece. This film is storytelling at its brightest, sharpest and most engaging. In fact, one can only find flaws by nitpicking Tarantino’s indulgence in long stretches of dialogue and quirky stylistic flourishes. Ultimately, those flaws pale in comparison to wonderful whole of the cinematic experience that is Inglorious Basterds.

Contrary to the trailers, Basterds is more than the story of Brad Pitt’s Lt. Aldo “The Apache” Raine and his ragtag Jewish-American, plus a few German defectors, “special ops” squad as they dare to slaughter as many Nazis as humanly possible during the height of World War II. It is the story of Shoshanna Dreyfus (Melanie Laurent), Col. Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz), Bridget von Hammersmark (Diane Kruger), and so many more. It is the story of those dared to bloody their hands and souls in an attempt to bring the Third Reich to its knees. The plan to achieve this ambitious goal includes Raine’s Basterds, Shoshanna and her lover Marcel’s Parisian cinema house and the collaborative efforts of German Spies, British counterintelligence and duplicitous Nazi officers. Basterds explores these elements through four separate chapters, culminating with a rousing, explosive finish that legitimately makes you laugh, cry, and cheer.

To paraphrase one of Basterds more outrageous characters, Donny Donowitz, the “Bear-Jew,” Tarantino knocked this one straight over the Green Monster and into the Atlantic. There is patience in the storytelling and heart in this film that Tarantino merely hinted at in his earlier films. Each character is developed through extended, theatrical scenes that are enlivened through beautiful cinematography that evokes the sensibility and style of WWII movie made during the late 60s or early 70s. Tarantino’s patience allows the audience to experience each character and their lives in the midst of this tragic era before moving them towards the film’s climax. It also gives the actors room to deliver some of the best performances of the year. Among the best are Laurent’s gripping performance as Shoshanna Dreyfus, the sole survivor of a vicious Nazi raid led by the charmingly, villainous Col. Landa. Shoshanna is unquestionably the soul of this film. Laurent’s anguished performance is balanced by a measured approach that is never over-the-top and perfectly evocative of the simmering rage, fear, and anxiety that fuel vengeance. Counterbalancing Laurent’s performance is Christoph Waltz’s turn as one of this generation’s best screen villains, Col. Hans Landa. Waltz plays Landa as a twisted Sherlock Holmes, a charming and perceptive man who is rightfully impressed with his own intelligence yet prone to fits of unimaginable viciousness. Waltz uses the pitch perfect approach to his portrayal of Landa, only going over to top when necessary but constantly bubbling with an infectious energy that draws in enemies and allies like flies to a spider’s web. It may be premature, but, based on Waltz’s performance, Landa is the undoubtedly the screen villain of the year.

Not to be forgotten is megastar Brad Pitt and his deliberately exaggerated turn as Lt. Aldo Raine. Pitt plays Raine with a Tennessee accent, a variation on his Benjamin Button N’awlins accent, and devilish smirk that shows he takes far too much pleasure in killing, scalping and scarring Nazis. The power of the three main performances does not diminish the impact of supporting performances by Diane Kruger, Eli Roth, Michael Fassbender, Til Schweiger, and Daniel Brühl who all turn in amazing, nuanced performances that add to the humor, heart and tension of the film.

The wonderful performances in Basterds highlight the mostly character-focused nature of the film, but, being a Tarantino film, scenes of visceral violence consistently punctuate each chapter. And, what glorious violence it is! The action scenes in this film tiptoe between grisly spectacle and grim reminders of the cost of war. Each scene of violence, prior to the prolonged ultraviolent climax, is fast, furious and brutal, topped with shocking images of scalping, bullet holes and scarring. That said, some of the scenes may prove difficult for the squeamish. But, thanks to Tarantino’s assured direction and slavish adherence to story and character over spectacle, each scene serves the story and the characters rather than being violent for the sake of the R-rating.

Indeed some viewers may find the violence to be unbearable, but they may also find the lengthy scenes of dialogue equally unbearable. Tarantino is famous for the wit, sharpness, and the amount of dialogue in his films and Basterds proves no exception to that rule. Many scenes in Basterds, such as the bar rendezvous and Shoshanna’s lunch with Joseph Goebbels, could have stood to lose about five minutes, though at possible detriment to the story. It’s hard to say whether many other directors would have taken the risk and let those scenes run long. But, based on the excellence of the final cut, it seems to have been a calculated risk with mostly positive results. Just be prepared to digest a lot of talk before the action starts.

In addition to the Tarantino dialogue, there are a few other stylistic flourishes that may pull audiences out of the story including a 70s-style mini-movie dedicated to one character’s back story (complete with the old-school big font title and porno music), a glut of filmmaking references, and a strangely anachronistic narration by one of Tarantino’s premier players. Again, each is a minor indulgence that reflects Tarantino’s style and personality, but may prove confounding to the two or three moviegoers unfamiliar with Tarantino’s style.

Minor nitpicking aside, Inglorious Basterds is awesome (and Michael Bay wasn’t even involved). This is moviemaking, nay storytelling, at it should always be: emotionally engaging, riotously funny, truly touching, terribly thrilling, and, most importantly, unrepentantly entertaining.

The Bay-Perry Theory

Michael Bay. Tyler Perry. Hearing those names will make you cringe or gush. These two “prolific” directors consistently elicit nothing less than extreme responses from audiences and critics. Depending on your taste, education, location, and a glut of other circumstances, you will believe that Mr. Bay and Mr. Perry are either brilliant auteurs with their fingers on the pulse of contemporary audiences or manipulative, unimaginative hacks.

The record-breaking success of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (ROTF) this past weekend has brought the well-known-but-rarely-discussed enmity between the average moviegoer, the discerning moviegoer, and the critics and their opinions of Bay and Perry’s movies into the spotlight. While no one expected ROTF to be a masterpiece of storytelling, the amount of vitriol it has received from critics and more discerning moviegoers is staggering. This film is currently at 20% on Rotten Tomatoes with many professional and amateur critics slamming it for its scant plotting, poor characterization, weak dialogue, gratuitous sexuality, racism, and general stupidity. At the end of the weekend, the preaching of the film world’s “intelligentsia” had little effect on average/casual moviegoers who made ROTF one of the fastest and highest grossing films in history, and had mostly positive comments for Bay’s metal grinding epic.

In many ways the wildly different responses from casual moviegoers and critics are reminiscent of the divergent responses to controversial “filmmaker” Tyler Perry. Critics and savvy moviegoers repeatedly bemoan the nonsensical plotting, stereotypical characterizations, and overwrought theatrical melodrama of Perry’s films, yet his target audiences never fail to push his films to the #1 box office spot. This phenomenon once baffled critics and savvy moviegoers but now only seems to enrage them. It leads them to label audiences as easily manipulated, unrefined, and stupid. They decry these audiences for turning away from intelligent fare for formulaic fluff. But, as a any math major will tell you, formulas are effective because of the potential for mass application.

Michael Bay and Tyler Perry have crafted films built on strict adherence to a simplistic formula, which manipulates audiences into having specific emotional responses that allow for catharsis and wish fulfillment. Simply put, they use a simple formula to make films that make audiences feel good. Their films are candy for the soul of the malnourished. Yes, they appeal to lowest common denominator. But, the thing about the lowest common denominator is that it’s common. Most moviegoers would prefer a movie experience with safe yet cathartic fantasy and wish fulfillment than one with profound, challenging, thought-provoking and, likely, painful content. This is nothing new. The troubling revelation is that today’s casual audiences do not actively engage in balanced viewing habits. Casual audiences are content to be entertained and are not bothered in the slightest to pursue material that might expand their mind or break their hearts. This is the phenomenon that disturbs critics and discerning moviegoers most.

Generally, it’s fine to enjoy guilty pleasures and popcorn entertainment. But, without balance, those forms of entertainment become the so popular and profitable that they threaten to dominate the cultural landscape. Consequently, intelligent, challenging work begins to fade away because it is no longer marketable. The growing possibility of a dumbed-down culture causes many critics and certain audiences to go at filmmakers like Bay and Perry full bore because they don’t want good culture to disappear. And, really, who can blame them?

While critics and moviegoers of particular taste are not the vanguards of culture they are still voices that represent culture and it is their right—and at times their responsibility—to defend culture that will show the future that we weren’t idiots. When watching ROTF, or any of Bay or Perry’s work in general, I think to myself, “this is ridiculous.” But, beyond that thought, I hope that other members of the audience know it’s ridiculous too. In all honesty, that’s a real roll of the dice. Much of the audience for these films is too young and unbalanced in their cultural exposure to accurately interpret these movies as fluff. Conduct an exit poll on audiences from any of Bay’s or Perry’s films and see if that audience isn’t dominated by people who believe movies like ROTF or Madea Goes to Jail aren’t masterworks of cinematic storytelling. This is particularly demoralizing to African-American audiences, who make up such a small segment of the population--with so few films to represent their experience, positive, negative, or indifferent--and whose tastes are doomed to be defined solely by the Tyler Perry standard. Even worse, an entire generation of moviegoers may grow up disregarding intelligent entertainment in favor of youth-skewed fluff that never dares to evolve beyond wish fulfillment and consider the human dimension of facing extraordinary circumstances and the subsequent triumphs and consequences.

As our culture becomes more youth-oriented, high tech, and generally hyperactive, we can only hope that audiences will grow out of the phase where they only enjoy the work of Bays and Perrys. We hope they realize there’s more to life than explosions, pissing robots, hot babes, pot-smoking-fist-fighting-drag-queen grandmas, chubby bigots, and happy endings, and will in turn demand more from their entertainment. But with ROTF breaking box-office records daily and Tyler Perry’s movies consistently reaching top spots on the box office, all we can do is hold on to a hope that is vague and fleeting at best.