Dead & Messed Up
02-08-2009, 06:50 AM
Fanboys is one frightening movie. It’s about four lads and one beautiful lady who gear up for a cross-country road trip to see The Phantom Menace before wide release. That goal would suggest that the film is a tragedy, and there are signs that one of the mains might not survive to the end of the journey. Considering the movie they’re all pining for, death might be a mercy.
But let us return to the frightening realities of this movie. The filmmakers have convinced themselves that these fans are people to be admired, not derided, and that their fandom merits our understanding. They mostly focus with the four main characters, who are male, most likely because these filmmakers do not understand women.
In fact, they understand women so little that Kristin Bell, as Zoe, suddenly reveals an enormous attraction to Jay Baruchel’s Windows late in the film. Why is she attracted to him? It’s never explained. Like the rest of the movie, we’re supposed to go along and enjoy ourselves and not question what’s happening with these characters.
But why not? Why not actually have a movie that engages the idea of fanboyism, what it means, its perks, its flaws, how it can trap you, how a piece of art can set you free? Almost Famous is ostensibly about seventies rock, but by the end, it’s about people and their passions and dreams. They speak to what it is that art means to them, sometimes explicitly, sometimes hinted at, as in that perfect final line.
But the Fanboys are unexamined. What do they love about Star Wars? Thanks to the unending stream of reverential winking and nodding, we’re left to assume that it’s merely the sum total of a thousand little things. R2 sounds and Chewbacca growls and Darth Vader’s glowing red eyes. These men don’t love Star Wars. They love the act of loving Star Wars.
The film goes to lengths to hide normal people from its road trip. We encounter Harry Knowles, William Shatner, Star Wars vets, Vegas hookers, and Danny Trejo. Nobody that could be considered typical. The film goes to this trouble because, were any of the main characters to step out of their bubble and get some perspective, the movie would be over. You’d think a subplot about cancer would do exactly that, but instead, Chris Marquette’s Linus, with three months to live, is scaling walls and punching Trekkies.
There’s a line in the film where Eric (Sam Huntington) points out that this road trip is their Death Star, the one great thing they do before they die. It’s a good sentiment, until you step back and notice the two things wrong with such a statement. Firstly, a road trip to steal a film print should not be a person’s ultimate goal in life. Secondly, destroying the Death Star was not the apex of Luke’s journey.
That moment came when Luke cast aside his lightsaber and embraced his father. Remember? It symbolized moving beyond the power of anger, and the possibility of redemption, no matter the circumstances. It’s a lovely, mythic moment that’s perfect for a younger audience. It matters. But now I’ve engaged Star Wars in terms of narrative and emotion.
Don't blame me. Lucas was the one who shoehorned a great story into all those details.
But let us return to the frightening realities of this movie. The filmmakers have convinced themselves that these fans are people to be admired, not derided, and that their fandom merits our understanding. They mostly focus with the four main characters, who are male, most likely because these filmmakers do not understand women.
In fact, they understand women so little that Kristin Bell, as Zoe, suddenly reveals an enormous attraction to Jay Baruchel’s Windows late in the film. Why is she attracted to him? It’s never explained. Like the rest of the movie, we’re supposed to go along and enjoy ourselves and not question what’s happening with these characters.
But why not? Why not actually have a movie that engages the idea of fanboyism, what it means, its perks, its flaws, how it can trap you, how a piece of art can set you free? Almost Famous is ostensibly about seventies rock, but by the end, it’s about people and their passions and dreams. They speak to what it is that art means to them, sometimes explicitly, sometimes hinted at, as in that perfect final line.
But the Fanboys are unexamined. What do they love about Star Wars? Thanks to the unending stream of reverential winking and nodding, we’re left to assume that it’s merely the sum total of a thousand little things. R2 sounds and Chewbacca growls and Darth Vader’s glowing red eyes. These men don’t love Star Wars. They love the act of loving Star Wars.
The film goes to lengths to hide normal people from its road trip. We encounter Harry Knowles, William Shatner, Star Wars vets, Vegas hookers, and Danny Trejo. Nobody that could be considered typical. The film goes to this trouble because, were any of the main characters to step out of their bubble and get some perspective, the movie would be over. You’d think a subplot about cancer would do exactly that, but instead, Chris Marquette’s Linus, with three months to live, is scaling walls and punching Trekkies.
There’s a line in the film where Eric (Sam Huntington) points out that this road trip is their Death Star, the one great thing they do before they die. It’s a good sentiment, until you step back and notice the two things wrong with such a statement. Firstly, a road trip to steal a film print should not be a person’s ultimate goal in life. Secondly, destroying the Death Star was not the apex of Luke’s journey.
That moment came when Luke cast aside his lightsaber and embraced his father. Remember? It symbolized moving beyond the power of anger, and the possibility of redemption, no matter the circumstances. It’s a lovely, mythic moment that’s perfect for a younger audience. It matters. But now I’ve engaged Star Wars in terms of narrative and emotion.
Don't blame me. Lucas was the one who shoehorned a great story into all those details.