This past weekend, Easter weekend, two of cinema’s so called rebels were planning on having audiences rolling in blood and gore while they would be rolling in the cash of another box-office slam-dunk. Their studio, Dimension Films, fully expected that the ubercool of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriquez, who had lifted studio fortunes so often with the likes of Pulp Fiction, Desperado and (talk about diverse slates) the Spy Kids movies, would open a flood gate of revenue and blockbuster accolades.

Ahh, but the news wasn’t good right from the start. By Saturday morning, Friday’s race results were posted and low and behold, the bad boys of gorilla movie making ran fourth. Yes, fourth! And to put things into a bit more jolting perspective, that would be behind a second week number one by Will Farrell in ice skates and spandex, a CGI animated Disney opus and a first week release sequel starring Ice Cube. The news never got any better and a mere 11.6 million hit tills that had already been depleted of more than 58 mil in production costs. (I saw lots of advertising so I can only imagine that the marketing dollars added much to Monday morning’s indigestion.) I wonder if anyone thought this would be a week when the Weinstein Co. would be counting their blessings that they beat out a movie called Firehouse Dog?

So what gives?

Interesting that the highest profile release on Easter weekend features a woman who’s leg is gnawed off by a zombie and has the remaining stump fitted with a sub-machine gun and the only people to take exception on Monday are the accountants. As they say in the Bronx... Whaa Haappend? Amazingly it seems to me, there’s quite a long list. Too long. Let’s just look at the source rather than the symptoms.

With a due nod, the critics loved it. Shows you what the critics know. Actually, that’s not really fair. Point is that the critics no longer drive audiences to the movies. Especially audiences in this demographic and for this kind of film. So, thank you critics. And while “Q” and Robbie should be kissing some critical behind for the only positive feedback they got this weekend, both of these guys had to be surprised that the tables would get so turned. How do you make a blood and gore flick on deliberately damaged film stock featuring some of the most gratuitous footage since Michael Moore barged into an editing room and the only good news comes from the reviewers? Well first off, you stretch the point and the gag over 3 hours and 11 minutes. Ouch! Not sure if that’s my attention span snapping or the bone in my ass. Come on guys, this is pretty much a one note samba stretched into an opera. Rodriquez wrote three damned El Mariachi movies and even three Spy Kids but had the decency to release them years apart. Tarantino even made two Kill Bill’s and as much as sitting through them back to back would have been like watching Star Wars Episode One twice in a row, no one had to. And that’s key... NO ONE HAD TO. Three and a half hours in a stadium seat is just not anyone’s idea of a rollicking good time. (There is good news here. Marathon DVD watching can be lots of fun with the benefit of bathroom breaks and lots of readily available free snacks.)

Then there’s the subject matter. This is perfect, fast, jump edit, down and dirty, smack you in the face stuff. Anyone want to sit through a three hour fireworks finale? If you did, you’d only do it out of morbid curiosity and the bragging rights to say you did. And after three plus hours, raise you’re hand if you just can’t wait to buy the DVD. Already the Weinstein Co. is talking separate rereleases (for the two separate films) in US theaters which is how the initial releases in Europe are already scheduled. Harvey Weinstein was quoted as saying, “This is a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into”. Sounds like the kind of quote that might be more likely to come from an undergraduate film school director. OK, no one’s infallible but geez! This is like Wolfgang Puck shrugging his shoulders after a hot shot protege burns your dinner. Just not what you expect from professionals.

And there’s the rub. The ugly beast that rears it’s head to spew crap passing for art all over American movie theaters. Only in this case, it was supposed to be blood and zombie guts and burning gasoline. So while critics applauded the bold faced exploitive homage to exploitation shlock and audiences were supposed to be packing theaters to wallow in the blood-fest, the weekend box-office was once again splattered with over inflated egos. The pomposity of directors who are writers who are film makers who are auteurs who are visionaries who are just too important to hear the word “no”. The bravado of business men who are celebrities who are entrepreneurs who are icons who are just too jaded to believe they could be wrong. A lesson to both... your audiences,  who are for the most part just regular folk are finally learning that the money padding out your fat bank accounts came out of their own thin wallets. And this time, that’s where it stayed.

Thursday, April 12, 2007