Free Guy

BFD for the NPC

or

Thumb-Twitching at the Movies

 

Guy (Ryan Reynolds) wakes up every morning, feeds his fish ("Good morning, Goldie!"), pulls out his usual outfit—short-sleeved blue shirt, khakis—from a closet full of short-sleeved blue shirts and khakis, brushes his teeth, eats breakfasts, grabs a coffee (medium coffee, cream, two sugars) and goes to his job as a bank teller ("Don't have a good day. Have a great day!")...which will be robbed...every day. Without fail.

 

Oh, I didn't mention the commute.

 

Guy lives in Free City, which is a video-game. Walking to work, he is constantly witness to all sorts of disasters, natural and unnatural, none of which can kill him if he's on his normal route to the bank. He is an NPC—a non-playing character, an extra, a background figure. He's coded, but he's robotic. Unless something hits him and kills him, he's going to do the same thing, go the same route, be the same Guy, a nobody, a drone, a cog, a non-essential worker.

And I know how he feels.

Guy's a part of the landscape, but Free City is constantly invaded by the muckery inflicted by real-world players, all represented by avatars wearing sunglasses. The chaos they cause is just part of the routine, until Guy notices a woman (Jodie Comer) walking down the street, bopping to the Mariah Carey song "Fantasy" which he recognizes. Why, you may ask? Well, that would be spoilery (and, frankly, a little unbelievable—but, go with it). He's intrigued by her, wants to know who she is, and inspires him to don player sun-glasses he's acquired from one of the bank-heist perps.

What he finds is a real-player's perspective of his world—pixelated mind blown! He is made aware of an entirely new world in which he is not merely a part, but could become a participant; he has some measure of control and he knows that the woman—named "Molotovgirl"—is somehow involved. So, he must find her, and find out what he needs to know to become the master of his own fate.

Tough work. But, the cast—especially in the Free City sections—makes it enjoyable. Because that whole area is a fantasy and anything can happen (including cameos) there are surprises and Easter eggs galore, plus it has Ryan Reynolds at his most winsome. The movie is more of a slog out in the real world where the issues are creative rights over code rather than self-actualization, and despite the best efforts of these actors—Taika Waititi tries damned hard for laughs and Comer's real-life programmer Millie has less jolt than Molotovgirl—these sections of the film must be endured, rather than enjoyed.

Of course, you've seen it before...and better. The "Simulation Hypothesis" has been around since people decided they liked their dreams better than being awake. The trope was used in a lot of "Twilight Zone's" and other sci-fi/fantasy product like Rainer Werner Fassbinder's World on a Wire, the "Men in Black" series, The Matrix (of course) and Ready Player One. One of my favorite instances was in an episode of "Star Trek: The Next Generation"—"Ship in a Bottle"—where, after trapping a hologram of Professor Moriarty in a small cube version of a holo-suite, Captain Picard muses "Who knows? Our reality may be very much like theirs, and all this might just be an elaborate simulation, running inside a little device sitting on someone's table." 

 

Just so.

The concept is so fascinating that real-world people can abandon their limited lives to immerse themselves in the video-worlds to imagine themselves as better versions (in the things they admire—like kill-ratios) while their biological clock is ticking down, all in the quest of earning more imaginary lives. Video games are the crypto-currency in our biological banking system. But, do they value their psuedo-lives more? Than their actual lives? Results may vary.  I sense a screenplay synopsis coming on.

For me, I don't play video games anymore. I find them a waste of my dwindling time here on Earth. So, I didn't "geek" over Free Guy, a lot of the inside referenced going right over my head. But, I enjoyed enough of it that I didn't care—and the movie plays well enough without insider knowledge. I also liked the fact that I got to watch it on free HBO while staying in a hotel in Oregon, a way to pass the time where I didn't "want those two hours of my life back"—real or virtually.

Don't Make a Scene: How Green Was My Valley

Another repeat this week because of one image: the empty chair.

Last week, another (another!) mass-shooting took the lives of innocent grocery shoppers in Buffalo, and we noted the passing of the 1,000,000,000 mark in Covid Deaths (this pandemic has surpassed the Civil War as the biggest single-cause of mass death in the United States, and there is, of course, a war going on in Ukraine.

Empty chairs. So many empty chairs.

The Set-Up: We present a scene from a film that had 20th Century Fox studio head Darryl F. Zanuck grousing that he was being forced to make a "pro-union" film. But Zanuck bought it, and hired leftist screenwriter Phillip Dunne to adapt it. Then hired Roosevelt Democrat John Ford to direct. What did he expect?

Richard Llewelynn's 1939 novel is the melancholy remembrance of a Welsh coal-mining community, and specifically of the Morgan family, who's patriarch Gwilym Morgan is the miner's spokesman with the owners of the colliery. The scene today comes early in the film, when the four mining sons take issue with their father's stance regarding the owners, and pledge a willingness to strike, a move strongly disapproved by the father.

Ford stages this scene quickly. He has already established the Morgan routine of the family dinner table, so this scene, coming on the heels of a shot of Old Gwylim suffering the humiliation and health dangers of a day spent in the pouring rain, rapidly contrasts with the peaceful order of things. Just as the boys are eager to challenge the authority at the colliery, they must first contend with their father's authority, which is autocratic—modern film-goer's may blanch at the women's subjugated roles at the dinner table, but they are as subjected as the sons. It should be pointed out that throughout this scene, the voice of Gwylim Morgan, never rises above normal conversation level and is measured. He does not countenance the up-rising (literally) of his sons, but throughout the scene, he is always willing to be conciliatory...until the end. And, with the leave-taking of the four boys, Ford repeats the shot of that long dinner table--now empty, save for the Father and the youngest, Huw (played by the recently-arrived-to-the-U.S. Roddy McDowell, sent by his family from London to be spared the blitz—the same reason the film was shot in Malibu, California rather than Wales). It is as quiet, and as potent, an image of loss as any in cinema (and Ford compounds it on the last angle of Crisp with a view of an empty chair--presumably the one that accommodated his already-married-and-left son—in the down-scene living room—the father is surrounded by loss and echoes of it).

How Green Was My Valley won the 1941 Academy Award for Best Picture in a competition that also included The Maltese Falcon, Sergeant York, and...Citizen Kane.* Despite all that, it's hard to argue with the quality of the choice. How Green Was My Valley was, and is, an exceptional film, full of character and incident and spoke of on-going issues that would only be interrupted by the on-coming war. Orson Welles' next film, the studio-sabotaged The Magnificent Ambersons, contained many of the same themes as ...Valley: of the shattering of tradition and family, the crushing march of progress, and its subsequent scarring of the earth.

How Green Was My Valley was selected in 1990 for the National Film Registry.

The Story: The dinner table of the Morgan household is usually a warm place. Tonight, it's seething. The family of Welsh miners are divided as the head of the household, Old Gwilym Morgan (Donald Crisp), also the head of the miners' negotiating committee, has been punished for his stance by being transferred to a position that has seen him standing in the middle of a torrential down-pour. His sons are determined to call a strike to protect the old man, but he will have none of their "socialism." Observing the dinner discussion are Mrs. Morgan (Sara Allgood), daughter Angharad (Maureen O' Hara), and youngest son, Huw (Roddy McDowell).

Action!

Davy Morgan: Do you think I'll let them make my father stand like a dog in the rain and not raise my hands to stop it?
Beth Morgan: Hush, Davy.
Mr. Morgan: Who gave you permission to speak?
Davy: This matter is too important for silence. They're trying to punish you for...
Mr. Morgan: Is that more important than good manners?
Ianto Morgan: Then, what are we going to do about it? You'll die of the cold when it comes to snow!
Ianto: Let us all stand together and see how they'll act then!
Gwilym: Right! The men will come out if we say the word. All the pits are ready.
Mr. Morgan: You will not make me a plank for your politics. I will not be the excuse for any strike.
Ianto: But if they learn they can do things like that to the spokesman, what will they try and do to the men?
Mr. Morgan: We will see. Be silent now. Finish your supper.
Ianto: But, Father...
Mr. Morgan: Enough now!
Angharad: But...
Beth: On your work....Owen Morgan: It is not enough!
Mr. Morgan: Owen!
Owen: I am sorry, sir....
Mr. Morgan: Hold your tongue until you have permission to speak!
Owen: I will speak against injustice anywhere, with permission or without it!
Mr. Morgan: Not in this house.
Owen: In this house and outside, sir!
Mr. Morgan: Leave the table.
Owen: I will leave the house!
Beth: Owen! Tell your father you're sorry.
Owen: I am not sorry!
Gwilym: I am with you. We can find lodgings in the village.
Beth: Gwilym!
(Ianto, the oldest, slowly stands)
Mr. Morgan: All of you, then?
Mr. Morgan: For the last time, sit down. Finish your supper. I will say no more.
Ianto: We are not questioning your authority, sir. But if manners prevent us from speaking the truth, we will be without manners.
Mr. Morgan(resignedly): Get your clothes and go.
Angharad: I'm going with them to look after them.
Beth: Hold your tongue, girl. Get on with your dishes.
(The mother goes after the boys.)(Huw eats a bite, then drops his cutlery loudly on the plate. No reaction from the father, who sits despondently at the head of the table.)(Huw drops it again, then loudly clears his throat.)
Mr. Morgan: Yes, my son. I know you are there.

How Green Was My Valley

Words by Phillip Dunne

Pictures by Arthur C. Miller and John Ford

How Green Was My Valley is available on DVD from Fox Classics Home Video.

* And, in the small circle of critics, "the buzz" is all about how Citizen Kane has been "dethroned" by Vertigo in the No. 1 spot of Sight & Sound's "50 Greatest Films of All Time" poll (after being in the top spot for fifty years).  Sight and Sound's poll, although it enjoys the reputation of being the most watched (a distinction that I'm sure will also fall at some point, given the vagaries of fashion), has the same effect on individual tastes as any poll—none—and merely offers a list for comparison and the occasional (and only occasional) "new" idea.  Tastes and reputation change over time, as the only inevitability in life is change.  I stay away from polls and "Ten Best" lists, only giving them a cursory glance, but if one wants to see what my favorite films are (if such a term can be used), I would refer them to the "Anytime Movies" series of articles here for the films that have such a hold on me that if I start watching them, I must stay with them to their conclusion—no matter how many times I've seen them.  A quick summation is in the left-hand column of the B/CL Index, a handy guide to what's archived on this blog.

Morning Glory (2010)

Roger Michell died last year at the age of 65, before his latest film The Duke was released. It is out now and I recommend seeing it, especially in a theater, where it will do the most good. Michell's most popular film is probably Notting Hill, but he also made The Mother and Enduring Love (for you Daniel Craig fans), and Hyde Park on Hudson (with Bill Murray as Franklin Roosevelt). To sum up, he made movies that are usually placed in "art-houses" where films of a limited budget and less than frivolous subject matter, unsullied by hyperbolic press and saturation campaigns go to die...and merit consideration during Awards Season, where sometimes their fortunes are favored, but mostly forgotten. And he was darned good at it. 

 

This was written at the time of the film's release.

 

"You're Gon-na Make it After Alllll"*
or
"Will Someone Tell Me Why I Logged Off 'BangingGrannies.com' For This?"

Talk about quick turn-around. Plucky news-producer Becky Fuller (Rachel McAdams) has just rebounded from being fired from her New Jersey TV station to being hired to produce an in-the-ratings-dumper morning news-klatsch in New York City. The stipulation from boss Jerry Barnes (Jeff Goldblum, whose height advantage over McAdams is used to very good advantage) is that she has to turn the ratings around on the clunker or the venerable TV-institution called "DayBreak" will be cancelled.

But who wants to work in an institution?

The place is a televised mad-house. Goofy weatherman, clueless reporters, a perv' anchor (he delivers the second headline above), and the Nurse Ratched of the place is the veteran house-mother-anchor (Diane Keaton) who views Becky as just one more producer for a show that's "a revolving door for cretinous morons." She's seen 'em come and go, while she's been "pulling the train up the hill (...with my TEETH!)" for fourteen years. "DayBreak" needs to be fixed.

Becky starts to shake things up, and her first job is to find an anchor a little less orange. She goes the credibility route and seeks out Mike Pomeroy (Harrison Ford, who hasn't done this much mugging since Return of the Jedi**), a veteran news-man (he lunches with Chris Matthews, Bob Schieffer, and Morley Safer), grumpily living out his golden parachute contract, and has no desire to lower his standards working on a show with "half an audience who've lost the remote, and the other half are waiting for the nurse to turn them over." 

Warned that he is "the third-worst person in the world...after Kim Jong-Il and Angela Lansbury" by the movie's obligatory boy-friend (Patrick Wilson...slumming***), Becky finds a loop-hole in his contract and forces the pro to "lower his standards," but raise the bar on passive-aggressive behavior (he refuses to "banter, from the Latin word for 'gibber like a moron'")...as if the show needed any more of that. Pretty soon, every surface at the station has Becky-forehead-sized dents from her beating herself into them—that and her seeming incapacity to open doors are the two consistent jokes of which no opportunity is passed.

It's got the TV-industry cynicism down, but raised to the bitchy level of the fashion industry (the writer, Aline Brosh McKenna, also wrote The Devil Wears Prada, ...and 27 Dresses , and Laws of Attraction, and Three to Tango...so this is the first movie of hers I haven't actively avoided...although I did see Prada, and admired it). Director Roger Michell can do rom-com fine (Notting Hill), but he's capable of doing better stuff, and he keeps everything lively and semi-sunny, despite the rampant cruelty tossed around like so much unnecessary paper-shuffling on a news-desk. But, he can't do much with the cliched material, from the "meet cute" to the "slo-mo run through new York." 

Morning Glory is okay, but it breaks no boundaries (or news, for all that), it's another "working girl" comedy in the revolving door of them.

* Cue the hat-throw. Give credit where credit is due: I didn't notice this was basically "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" (and a two-hour stretch of the half-hour pilot, at that) until Ford's crusty news vet says to the young producer "You have a repellent moxie" in the same way that Ed Asner's Lou Grant said "You've got spunk....I HATE spunk!"  Where's Betty White when you need her?

** ...which makes me think something is wrong.  Ford is the master of the subtle slow-burn comic performance, but this one is at a hard-boil. His lines delivered in a husky, phlegmatic drone, you start to wonder if Ford—like his character—just isn't happy to be there (y'know, like his narration in BladeRunner?). Then, he manages to take what should have been the movie's worst scene, and make it shine, giving it depth, resonance and heart...while still not betraying his character. Nice work.

*** Yeah, but on the other hand, I've felt so sorry for so many good actresses playing "the girlfriend" over the years, this is one for equal opportunity.