Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, or, Gererra/Two Tubes 2016

rogueone

PEOPLE. DOING. STUFF.

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story is the direct predecessor of the original 1977 Star Wars. It’s a premise first conceded by LucasFilm visual effects supervisor John Knoll some ten years ago. It started filming in August 2015 and was initially slated for a May 2016 release date. But Rogue One didn’t come out in 1977, or 2005, or 2015, or May 2016.

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story came out in December 2016, and it can be hard to pry it free of that context.

Rogue One offers the first cinematic look at a galaxy under the rule of the Empire and explores what that rule inspires, costs and means to those without Skywalker blood in their veins. It’s a film that winds up being startlingly timely, as its backbone is an examination of how we respond to political discontent.

When the status quo twists your guys in a knot, how do you respond and with what level of passion?

In the words of Saw Gerrera, that somewhere between trailer and final film ended up on the cutting room floor, when subjected to intense pressure “what will you become?”

Saw Gerrera himself violently lashes out against the status quo while frothing at the mouth. On the opposite side of the conflict are those like Orson Krenick who look to defend the status quo and prop themselves up with it. Between the two we see a myriad of effects and responses.

Some allow themselves otherwise unjustifiable moral and ethical luxuries in the name of fighting for what they believe in. Some enshroud themselves in their beliefs while others abandon them entirely. Some abandon their posts. Some sacrifice their souls.
As the events of Rogue One are set into motion, Jyn Erso has decided to react by looking away. Her days of fighting the status quo are over, her days surviving in its shadow sprawl endlessly ahead of her. Jyn is not only our window into the conflict between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance, she’s a surrogate for our own views on an imperfect world. She’s the shackled potential of the first steps toward change – an understanding that things are not as they could or should be that is never acted upon.

In the face of Imperial subjugation understanding is not enough. Belief is not enough. The rebels of Rogue One aren’t heroes because they believe the Empire is evil. They’re heroes because they believe the Empire is evil and they do something about it.

Rogue One is a film that compels the viewer not to let their beliefs become accessories, to use them as fuel for honest, actual, boots-on-the-ground action. Retweeting Wikileaks post on the Emperor’s baller new laser iMoon isn’t enough. Change requires you to stand up, go outside and steal those Death Star plans!

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story lucked into being the halftime locker room speech that’s come smack in the middle of a divisive and grueling 2016 and an uncertain and daunting 2017. It finds itself burdened with not only the immense fan expectations of being the first Star Wars spin-off film, not to mention one that is meant to serve as a prelude for the original Star Wars, but also by being a film about political rebellion released in period of particular political resentment.

Despite the weight of its preceding films and whatever intentional or unintentional political readings punk ass bloggers might saddle it with, Rogue One is a thrilling blockbuster in its own right, one that may serve as a pop culture touchstone for a particularly heated period it couldn’t have predicted.

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The Bourne Formula, or, Jason Bourne (The Movie, Not the Guy)

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Bagger Vance?

I loved the late NBC show Hannibal. For a good half of its three year run I considered the show immaculate, and while in retrospect it still remains one of my all-time favorite television series there was a moment, one small scene, about halfway through the show’s second season when I realized exactly what a Saturday Night Live parody of Hannibal would look like (a battle of increasingly elaborate, metaphorical pontifications, each more vague and intangible than the last, showcased from angles seemingly achieved by rolling the camera like a dice and filming from where it landed. Give me a call Lorne). It was a moment where all the variables on the screen showed themselves individually, rather than as a fanciful, wholly engrossing equation. It was a moment that was exactly equal to the some of its parts, revealing to me for the first time exactly what those parts were, how they worked and how they came together.

Jason Bourne (the fifth installment in Universal’s Bourne film franchise, not the primary protagonist of four of those installments) is a two hour revelation, due largely to trademark Bourne cinematography gone entirely off the rails.

We’re talking Cujo bonkers.

The initial Bourne trilogy boasted briskly-edited, fast-paced action with tight camera shots that put the audience in the middle of Bourne’s skirmishes. The action was quick and kinetic and shaky, but despite the complaints of some viewers I never found it incomprehensible. And that’s not nostalgia talking, that’s me watching the fight scenes from Identity, Supremacy and Ultimatum right now as I write this.

There’s nothing to latch onto in the fights of Jason Bourne (the cinematic vehicle in which the fights in question are contained, not the fictional participant in said fights), no brief respite from furious camerawork to give you a shot of a guy getting shanked in the hand with a pen or beat on the nose with a magazine or punched in the face with a book to anchor you amidst the choppy proceedings. It’s spastic camera work and flailing limbs completely unhinged, and when something of note does finally happen there seems to be a dogmatic insistence that it be shown from the least exciting angle possible. That awesome shot of the K.O. from the trailer? An over-the-shoulder close up.

Without the excellent action I’d come to expect from Jason Bourne’s adventures I was left to actually sit and think about Jason Bourne’s adventures and realize that Jason Bourne’s adventures are kind of just highly tactical episodes of Blue’s Clues where Matt Damon runs around a foreign city, gets in a skirmish and finds a clue that unlocks another five seconds of his flashback of the week and points him toward the foreign city hiding the next clue until he gathers up enough clues to confront the milquetoast old bureaucrat whose been hounding him with a cookie-cutter, bad-Bourne henchman.

I suppose in the back of my head I always knew that’s what the Bourne movies boiled down to, but it took Jason Bourne (the box office champ for the weekend of July 29th, 2016, not the highest paying Uber passenger of 2002) to shine a light on all the strings and mirrors. In that way, Jason Bourne (the motion picture, not The Martian) has a lot in common with the fourth outing of another super spy.

Thunderball, the fourth James Bond film, is arguably the installment that solidified the Bond formula that would be repeated for decades to come. There were variables of the formula in Dr. No and From Russia with Love, but it wasn’t until Goldfinger that the story beats and character archetypes of your standard Bond adventure were really molded to perfection. And it wasn’t until Thunderball’s rehashing of those beats and archetypes that it was made pretty clear what a Bond movie was going to be for the next fifty-plus years.

Even last year’s Spectre conformed to the same blueprint as Goldfinger and Thunderball. The franchise has gotten no shortage of hits and misses alike out its equation. Perhaps the same will be said of the Bourne franchise in a few decades.

Having a stringent narrative backbone doesn’t automatically mean churning out tired rehashes. Imposing rules on a narrative can breed creativity and tinkering with an existing formula over time can serve as an interesting metatextual barometer for the time and culture in which the installment was made. So, you know, that’s something.

But a stringent backbone means you have to have some damn good vertebrae and unfortunately the impenetrable fights and chases in Jason Bourne (the movie I’ve been talking about every time I refer to Jason Bourne, not the character I’ve never been referring too every time I say Jason Bourne)  leave it slouching.