Let us close our eyes for a minute and imagine I am a Hollywood producer. I am sitting at my desk playing Farmville, which is really my way of getting into “the zone” so I can come up with an idea for a great movie.
I am thumbing through everything I think would be most terrifying to a high school or college horror fan. English papers, break-ups… My raspberries are 93% ready and I just fed my mom’s chickens when I realize the thing that is both new, uncontrollable, and dreadful to anyone who realizes their dream college doesn’t let them choose who to bunk with. A roommate! You might luck out and get someone who volunteers to do the laundry, but there is always the fear you will walk into your room late one night and step in a two-day old nacho or can’t finish your chemistry paper because someone “borrowed” your flashdrive to reccord their band’s album.
Okay, so maybe I need something a little more intimidating. Let me think. Oh, I got it: The roommate is crazy and violent and is probably gonna kill you. Now all I have to do is fill in the details. They are crazy because they are bipolar/schizophrenic (those are the same thing, right?). The first sign they are nuts is when they don’t go to parties and they say they are studying! To keep everything realistic I will put in all the alcohol fueled sex I dreamed of—er, remember—from college. Then I add in a shower fight scene, so my director can showcase his versatility and originality in setting. This is sounding pretty awesome!
Still, I have that nagging little feeling in the back of my head that something is missing. I’m probably just a perfectionist, but no harm in overrachieving. The crucial part of a horror story is a genuinely intimidating villain (you know an an…an…antagonist; that’s the word!). I need my audience to cower in terror at the monster who came out of their worst nightmare. What can I give to this evil roommate that makes her more terrifying than your everyday chainsaw wielding hockey goalie? I exert my brain. Sweat pours down my brow. I realize my crops are ready to harvest, but I can barely click the mouse my hand is trembling so much. The seconds turn into minutes, the minutes into… more minutes.
And then it comes. The lightbulb flashes on; the angels sing. I dance with glee at the triumphant speech I will give to my distributor when they ask about my idea. I know the most horrifying thing that your roommate—or for that matter, anyone in your dorm—could be. I will...(pause for suspense) make the evil roommate a lesbian!
Thus follows the train of thought behind one of the most bigoted films as well as a particularly bad one.
Though it took a team of people to come up with something this terrible, one of the main culprits behind the abominable Roommate is Sonny Mallhi (an executive producer from The Strangers), who’s writing/producing bases the best of the alleged “horror” scenes on the concept that he is the only person who every knew Alfred Hitchcock existed and the worst that since he is only the hundredth person to write about a screaming girl dangling from a window he isn’t directly plagiarizing an idea that was stupid to being with. Joining him for the insurmmountable task of making the next Borat without the express purpose of shock humor is Director Christian E. Christiansen, a director of Life Hits and award-winning short film At Night. The fact that the minds behind this garbage have not always been so inept at filmmaking or respectful social intercourse suggests that this is another case of a studio so big it encourages itself to put in minimum effort. Whatver the reason, Christiansen succeeds in making the audience squirm, though not from fear as much from anguish at the not-really-PG-13 violence and nudity that tries to make us forget the whole ordeal was supposed to have a story.
I do not have a problem with a movie being unoriginal—I have a problem with a movie that goes through the motions of following the formula without actually trying. To enjoy The Roommate you have to deliberatly accept that every scene is a crude stereotype of an overused pattern. If you are paying attention to the story, the suspense is lost because you no longer have any investment in it.
The only think in the movie that is not absolutely terrible is the acting. Minka Kelly as the dislikable protagonist, Alyson Michkala as her partying friend, and Leighton Meester as the sinister roommate are all decent. Billy Zane is genuinely likable despite playing a character who’s romantic and charming nature is displayed by having him—no joke—spike his crush’s drink and then bluntly proposing they have sex before remembering to blurt out his name. Still, when the script barely goes through the motions of a plot the best acting in the world could not save it.
As funny as it can be to watch the stereotypes and rip-offs pretending to be filmmaking, it is not without its sad points. Some people who choose to not think about the terrible repercussions of the movie’s idealogies could actually end up having subconcious prejudices about those with mental illness or homosexuality reaffirmed. Likewise, many will probably take the carefree attitude toward alcohol abuse as a reason to ignore their suspicions that perhaps it is not something everyone does, or should do. Obviously there are people out there who genuinely believe the horrible things this movie is saying: The filmmakers. That of course is the saddest point of all. When 10% of the US is unemployed and most people are struggling to make by at honest jobs, a group of producers were able to get money for something with substandard effort condoning destructive decisions and trumpeting obscene bigotry. These people have likely lived a life with little diversity; they know nothing about what real mental illness is like. They can live their lives spreading misguided beliefs and never know the truth.
The Roommate is based in ignorance. Ignorance of good filmmaking, but more disturbingly ignorance of anyone different.
I am thumbing through everything I think would be most terrifying to a high school or college horror fan. English papers, break-ups… My raspberries are 93% ready and I just fed my mom’s chickens when I realize the thing that is both new, uncontrollable, and dreadful to anyone who realizes their dream college doesn’t let them choose who to bunk with. A roommate! You might luck out and get someone who volunteers to do the laundry, but there is always the fear you will walk into your room late one night and step in a two-day old nacho or can’t finish your chemistry paper because someone “borrowed” your flashdrive to reccord their band’s album.
Okay, so maybe I need something a little more intimidating. Let me think. Oh, I got it: The roommate is crazy and violent and is probably gonna kill you. Now all I have to do is fill in the details. They are crazy because they are bipolar/schizophrenic (those are the same thing, right?). The first sign they are nuts is when they don’t go to parties and they say they are studying! To keep everything realistic I will put in all the alcohol fueled sex I dreamed of—er, remember—from college. Then I add in a shower fight scene, so my director can showcase his versatility and originality in setting. This is sounding pretty awesome!
Still, I have that nagging little feeling in the back of my head that something is missing. I’m probably just a perfectionist, but no harm in overrachieving. The crucial part of a horror story is a genuinely intimidating villain (you know an an…an…antagonist; that’s the word!). I need my audience to cower in terror at the monster who came out of their worst nightmare. What can I give to this evil roommate that makes her more terrifying than your everyday chainsaw wielding hockey goalie? I exert my brain. Sweat pours down my brow. I realize my crops are ready to harvest, but I can barely click the mouse my hand is trembling so much. The seconds turn into minutes, the minutes into… more minutes.
And then it comes. The lightbulb flashes on; the angels sing. I dance with glee at the triumphant speech I will give to my distributor when they ask about my idea. I know the most horrifying thing that your roommate—or for that matter, anyone in your dorm—could be. I will...(pause for suspense) make the evil roommate a lesbian!
Thus follows the train of thought behind one of the most bigoted films as well as a particularly bad one.
Though it took a team of people to come up with something this terrible, one of the main culprits behind the abominable Roommate is Sonny Mallhi (an executive producer from The Strangers), who’s writing/producing bases the best of the alleged “horror” scenes on the concept that he is the only person who every knew Alfred Hitchcock existed and the worst that since he is only the hundredth person to write about a screaming girl dangling from a window he isn’t directly plagiarizing an idea that was stupid to being with. Joining him for the insurmmountable task of making the next Borat without the express purpose of shock humor is Director Christian E. Christiansen, a director of Life Hits and award-winning short film At Night. The fact that the minds behind this garbage have not always been so inept at filmmaking or respectful social intercourse suggests that this is another case of a studio so big it encourages itself to put in minimum effort. Whatver the reason, Christiansen succeeds in making the audience squirm, though not from fear as much from anguish at the not-really-PG-13 violence and nudity that tries to make us forget the whole ordeal was supposed to have a story.
I do not have a problem with a movie being unoriginal—I have a problem with a movie that goes through the motions of following the formula without actually trying. To enjoy The Roommate you have to deliberatly accept that every scene is a crude stereotype of an overused pattern. If you are paying attention to the story, the suspense is lost because you no longer have any investment in it.
The only think in the movie that is not absolutely terrible is the acting. Minka Kelly as the dislikable protagonist, Alyson Michkala as her partying friend, and Leighton Meester as the sinister roommate are all decent. Billy Zane is genuinely likable despite playing a character who’s romantic and charming nature is displayed by having him—no joke—spike his crush’s drink and then bluntly proposing they have sex before remembering to blurt out his name. Still, when the script barely goes through the motions of a plot the best acting in the world could not save it.
As funny as it can be to watch the stereotypes and rip-offs pretending to be filmmaking, it is not without its sad points. Some people who choose to not think about the terrible repercussions of the movie’s idealogies could actually end up having subconcious prejudices about those with mental illness or homosexuality reaffirmed. Likewise, many will probably take the carefree attitude toward alcohol abuse as a reason to ignore their suspicions that perhaps it is not something everyone does, or should do. Obviously there are people out there who genuinely believe the horrible things this movie is saying: The filmmakers. That of course is the saddest point of all. When 10% of the US is unemployed and most people are struggling to make by at honest jobs, a group of producers were able to get money for something with substandard effort condoning destructive decisions and trumpeting obscene bigotry. These people have likely lived a life with little diversity; they know nothing about what real mental illness is like. They can live their lives spreading misguided beliefs and never know the truth.
The Roommate is based in ignorance. Ignorance of good filmmaking, but more disturbingly ignorance of anyone different.
No comments:
Post a Comment