Red Sparrow

From Russia, With (JLaw)ve
or
Welcome to the Trump Nightmare

If prostitution is the world's oldest profession, "honey-trap" is probably the second. That conceit of deceit is such a useful tool of spy-craft (and entertainment about it) that one doesn't need look over the "spy" or "thriller" genre even shallowly before running into it (the first review of this month featured Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler from 1922 which had it, and in Hitchcock films, there's Notorious and North by Northwest, it's in the second of the James Bond films and the first of the novels and on and on and on). In films, the concept has always been played for romance, cheap thrills, and instilling some sense of sex and intrigue and the potential of betrayal into the thriller mix. It's a trope of the movies and thrillers, for god's sakes.

That's why it's so damn amusing to see all the "Aunt Flo's" on the internet having their hissy-fits and purple hemorrhages over Red Sparrow, the new spy thriller (based on a book—the first of ANOTHER trilogy—written by former CIA op Jason Matthews), re-teaming director Francis Lawrence (he did the Will Smith I am Legend and Water for Elephants) with his "Hunger Games" star Jennifer (no relation) Lawrence. The difference is Matthews wasn't working to amuse, but to paint a darker, colder, and more realistic "take" on the sordid business of finding an opponent's weak-spot and exploiting it, a strategy that employs all sexes and permutations. The "honey-trap" business was the first to embrace the LGBTQ community without any discrimination, whatsoever (as opposed to our military who preferred homophobia to national security after the 9-11 attacks by dismissing much-needed Farsi translators if they were gay). This is a point that Red Sparrow brings up, but does not exploit. If they had, I think there would have been less squawking about Jennifer Lawrence and the bloody violence and the sexual manipulation. Maybe. Maybe, it's because people don't like their romantic tropes and fairy-tales punctured.

Dominika Egorova (Lawrence, Jennifer Lawrence) is living the good life in Moscow. She is the prima ballerina at the Bolshoi Ballet, toasted by everyone, and feted by party officials. The position provides a good apartment downtown and medical care for her Mother, Nina (Joely Richardson), who is suffering from...we're never sure what. During her performance at the opening gala, her dancing partner, Konstantin (Sergei Polunin) lands on her leg, snapping it, effectively ending her career...and with that, will go the apartment and her Mother's care.

Dominika is approached by her Uncle Vanya (heh...oh, he's played by Matthias Schoenaerts) who is high up in Soviet Intelligence. He is (of course) sympathetic to Dominika's plight, but gives her a chance that she might be able to take care of her Mother. He has a little assignment: He wants her to seduce a Party official and replace his phone with one provided by the SRV, so they can plunder his information, but also track him and...maybe find out his voting patterns. It's sure not anything to do with Russian orphans. Just saying. He also tells her that her rival at the Bolshoi is now the prima performer, and has long been rumored to be involved with the dancer who broke Dominika's leg. It is Vanya's opinion that Dominika was "I, Tonya'd"

Dominika sneaks into the Bolshoi one night, not completely healed from her leg injury, walking on crutches. When Konstantin and her rival, Anya, are finished with their practice, she waits, and finds them in the sauna snogging. Using her cane, she attacks Anya, breaking her jaw, and beats Konstantin, effectively crippling him. Vonya notes the coincidence of the attacks, but says nothing. Dominika has a job to do.

Once she is back on her feet, a dress is provided, a room booked at a swanky hotel, and a time when the official, Ustinov, will be there. She is given the phone, but has no idea what the device will do. Her main concern is attracting the attention of Ustinov. She needn't have worried...Ustinov has left his party and is buying her a drink within two minutes of her sitting at the bar.

It is simplest of matters to convince Ustinov that she will do what he wants if he can provide medical assistance for her Mother...but she doesn't anticipate how aggressive a predator Ustinov is. Before she can even think about replacing the phones, Ustinov is attacking her. But, he is interrupted by a masked figure wrapping a wire around his throat and strangling him, his blood falling on Dominika who can only look on with horror. The masked man, an assassin named Simyonov (Sergej Onopko) tosses her some clothes, a motorcycle helmet, and an escape route past Ustinov's guards, and brought to a secure location where she is told by Vanya that the rendezvous was always going to be a "hit," that she wasn't informed to get her cooperation and, now that she's the only witness to the murder, her life will be in constant danger from intelligence officers...unless she becomes one of them. Dominika has no choice but to be sent to "Sparrow School."

Dominika has another term for it: "whore school," but for her safety and her Mother's, she goes to the remote location, where she is greeted by "Matron" (Charlotte Rampling) and she is told that her "body belongs to the state," and she and her fellow-recruits, male and female, will be taught espionage skills and the fine art of manipulating human beings to their purposes. But, first, they have to be broken down, their past lives forgotten, their attitudes erased, their inhibitions discarded—they belong to Mother Russia now, which (as Matron explains) must take the place as the supreme power of the world, given the breakdown of the West.

It's at this point, that it all clicked into place for me; Red Sparrow is merely Ian Fleming's From Russia With Love from the "honey-pot" point of view. The scenes with "Matron" have an eerie, creepy similarity and Rampling's play-book for her performance in her role is very similar to Lotte Lenya's (she played the Russian Colonel Klebb, who recruits the girl—also a former ballet dancer—to the task of seducing a spy from the other side). And, damn, if that isn't the exact-same assignment Dominika is given; a CIA agent, Nate Nash (don't laugh...he's played by Joel Edgerten) has been making regular contact with a Soviet spy named Marble (??) but after a suspicious meeting in Gorky Park that had all the appearances of some form of trap, Nash managed to escape getting caught and has fled the country. His contact has made it plain that he will only deal with Nash, who is now stationed in Budapest, and it is up to Dominika to find the agent and find out who "Marble" is, so that he can be eliminated. Just like From Russia With Love. But, without the gadgets. Or the quips. Or the train-fight. Not even an exploding helicopter.

One of the handful of times Lawrence smiles in the film.

Or the fun, for that matter. You can count on one bloody hand-print how many times Lawrence smiles in this film—her face is usually a determined inscrutability, a mask that hides what she's thinking or where her loyalties lie, which is important to the drama, and her words? She says what will gain her the most advantage, saying what everyone wants her to say.  But, it is a tough film and Dominika is ruthless, but not in an action-cartoon sort of way (like Salt or Atomic Blonde or even as "the Black Widow" is presented in the Marvel films. The fights are not balletic, the violence is...messy and bloody. There is one particularly grueling fight that seems to take as its inspiration the killing of Gromek in Hitchcock's Torn Curtain—not as stylized, though—that has its central thesis just how hard it actually is to kill someone.  

In fact, the film is brutal in ways that will make you wince...a lot. Matthews wanted to portray a more realistic spy-world where water-boarding is just a prelude for nastier ways to extract information and it is anything but glamorous. In fact, be prepared to be repulsed. There are no "nerve agents" in Red Sparrow, but the deep-rooted Soviet animus inherent in such attacks—as recent as last week's in Salisbury are very much evident. The graphic garrotings and flayings employed by the Simyonov character are merciless, and, in fact, the whole movie's tone is that way, even that of the movie's protagonist.

But it feels more "right" (or should we say "appropriate") for the movie to take this tact when morality is the farthest thing from any objective being portrayed. It's a world of blackmail and cold manipulation, and even if it does have a "kicker" that might be satisfying to an audience, one can take no pleasure in it...or the movie.

Director Lawrence makes the thing look great and he has a good cast—I haven't even mentioned that Jeremy Irons and Ciaràn Hinds are in it as high Russian functionaries—Edgerton is a bit bland, but then, he's supposed to be, and Lawrence manages to make her sparrow vulnerable when she needs to be (in the first part of the film) and deliberately opaque during the rest of the film's course, while, for the most part, keeping her Russian dialect—as tough to sell (think of Cate Blanchett in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull) as any accent there is. She's always interesting to watch, always making tough choices, and capable of even making her state-run little monster relatable.

Water for Elephants

Written at the time of the film's release...

"To Talent and Illusion..."
or
"Jacob Jankowski, The Only"

Really, there's nothing too special about Water for Elephants, other than it's a well-told tale that doesn't treat its audience like they're idiots, showing you things that happen, rather than showing you and having some helpful person with a grasp of the obvious tell you what you're seeing. This is nice. And before the film goes South in its last third, it's a cut above your standard romance story. Told in flashback (the framing sequence features Hal Holbrook  and Paul Schneider and I could've used a lot more of them), it's mostly a period piece set in 1931 during the days of Prohibition of a young veterinary student, Jacob Jankowski (Robert Pattinson), who must drop out due to circumstances of Fate.  Without inheritance and no foreseeable future, he hitches a ride on a passing train and barely escapes being tossed off it.

In the morning, in a lovely shot that moves out of the freight car he's been sleeping in, he discovers he's hitched his way into the circus—the Berzini Brothers circus, specifically, a down-on-its-luck travelling menagerie of animals and people just one rung up from them trying to eke out an existence during the dark days of the Depression. He finds temporary work mucking out the cages but it isn't too long before his veterinary skills make him indispensable to the inscrutable owner August (Christoph Waltz, finally finding a project worthy of his talents) and his main attraction, a stunt equestrienne named Marlene (Reese Witherspoon, all platinum blonded and permed, almost resembling Madeline Kahn).

It doesn't take a genius to know where this is going, but director Francis Lawrence (I Am Legend—the best parts of his movies seem to involve animals) manages to make it interesting before the romantic sub-plot kicks in. Until then, Water for Elephants is quite interesting in its portrayal of carny life amidst the human mis-fits. Things become very interesting when August, picking among the scraps of a dead circus—one of the many that are going broke during the hard economic times—finds his new star attraction, onto whose hide he pins all of the circus' economic hopes—a bull pachyderm named Rosie. Dismissed by its previous owner as being none-too-bright, it is Jankowski's job to take care of and train the elephant to become the star of the show, aided and abetted by Marlene. Where August is content to just beat the animal into compliance, Jankowski develops a bond with the beast, throwing him at odds with the ring-master and closer to the woman.

I remember working at a radio station in a small town when a circus set up stakes in the same parking lot of the local Montgomery Wards' the station perched on. Walking out the studios' back door led you straight to the holding area for the elephants and I would spend my lunch hours, watching them rock back and forth, their only restraint being a coil of rope around their foot and the memory of the chain that used to be there. I could never tell whether that huge elephant was content, bored or crazy, but I knew that it was huge, that it could have taken me out, and maybe the station and maybe the Monkey Ward's, given the time, inclination and a substantial telephone pole. But for now, it was content to watch me watching it, and swaying, forever swaying—something to do before the food arrived. Was it the elephant version of rocking in the corner, or was it dancing?

I thought about that elephant a lot during Water for Elephants and what was in its mind as I sat watching it while it watched me.  I wondered where it is now and if it remembered the kid that sat contemplating it on those hot Summer days.  Probably not.  But, I remembered it, as well as a couple of the actors appearing in this movie that I'd worked with and admired (Good work on their parts, and I noted how they'd made something more of their small parts that didn't require the breadth of their talents—nice stuff, Scott and John).  Everybody's good in it and I was amused that more attention seemed to be paid lighting Pattinson than Witherspoon—that might please his fan-base.

But, as I said...nothing too special, although there is solid work throughout, and not too unlike a circus—a pleasant diversion that manages to take you away from the real destruction going on in the real world.

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1

Written at the time of the film's release...

The Best-Dressed Rebel in History (You Say You Want a Re-vo-lu-tion, We-ell, ya know, We'd All Love to See the Wardrobe)
or
"(If I Get Killed), Make Sure You Get it on Camera"

Okay, now it gets interesting.

"The Hunger Games" saga gets interesting, even as the dramatic momentum slows to a crawl to set up the paradoxes and conflicts that will ensue in the next film of the series due November 20, 2015 (mark your calendars, but better do it in pencil).

Mockingjay Part 1 has been released, and it is a game-changer, after two movies with the same premise (distopian society conducts its own crowd-pleasing and -controlling form of entertainment by pitting gladiators from each state into a winner-take-all death-match) and moves to the next step—those gladiators rising up like Spartacus to do battle against the leaders that oppressed/glorified them in the process.  

A non-CGI'd Hoffman, Moore and Jeffrey Wright plotting, plotting...

The games—the government's weapon of mass-distraction—are over, interrupted by Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) defiantly firing an insurrectionary arrow into the overhead circuitry of the Hunger Games arena. Now, it's sudden death and the battle is real. But...not really. What makes this entry interesting is that the battles and explosions mostly happen off-screen, the real fireworks are in the media as both sides of the conflict—the government and the various districts—engage in propaganda wars over the public air-waves. At this point, image is the big weapon of choice and the rebels (led by new-to-the series Julianne Moore and the late Philip Seymour Hoffman, along with former champions Woody Harrelson and Jeffrey Wright) against the administration of President Snow (Donald Sutherland), who rescued Katniss in the last installment, Catching Fire. Now, the pressure on Katniss is not to participate in the games, but to become "The Mockingjay," "The Girl on Fire," the poster-girl to inspire and incite the masses to revolution.  

"If we burn, you burn with us"

They want her to be Joan of Arc—in which case "Girl on Fire" is not the most promising of titles.

The masses hardly need encouraging, with rebel attacks, random sabotage and giving the three-fingered (read between the lines?) Katniss salute in solidarity. Ms. Everdeen is not so spontaneous or rebellious—she chafes at her role as role-model.  Her concerns are for her family (who may have been lost in an attack on her home district 12) and her friends in harm's way, particularly Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson) who has been captured by "The Capitol" for use in their own media wars.

Part 1 is merely the set-up for the fireworks to come in Part 2, where loyalties will be tested  and ultimate sacrifices made (inevitably). But the set-up has its interesting aspects embedded in author Suzanne Collins' designs that have been slightly glossed over in the previous movies. For instance, the Panem situation is an interesting commentary on existing political systems and their failures in practice, combining both communist and capitalist models that have both degenerated into the most lop-sided of societies of "some being more equal than others" and rich and poor separated by a wide economic gulf, with no middle-class to provide aspiration and cushion. Collins also argues that both agrarian and technological systems have their inherent weaknesses (she's preaching to the choir here—I live in Washington State).

Katniss receives a sly message from President Snow in Mockinjay 1

The other nice thing about Mockingjay 1 is the role of symbology in the proceedings—a concept that Christopher Nolan only stumbled around in his "Dark Knight" trilogy without really getting to the point. Katniss was made, reluctantly, into the Mockingjay of The Hunger Games by the Capitol.  She is just as reluctant to fulfill the role for the rebels, so there's a psychological war going on amid the bombings and the district-cleansings. The Capitol made The Girl on Fire their symbol. Now, that she's playing for the other team, they're just as ready to tear her down, even as the rebellion tries to build her up as their own, and as these things have a cyclical nature, once the rebellion claims her...

Even District 13 has a cyclical nature...

Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's sufficient to say that The Hunger Games in the larger picture is saying something about fame and fortune, the danger of depending on symbols—especially reluctant ones—and the general manipulation of fiction for fact—certainly in its parallel to the "reality" television blip (please, God, is it over yet?), but also in the general use of myth-making and how the general public can be led like sheep to believe one thing as long as its comfortable (and what they want to hear), and then, on a dime, turn into a slathering "burn-the-witch" crowd at the contrary, even if it's that one has overstayed their welcome. (I would say that mob mentality could use a healthy smartening-up of "fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me" but I don't know how well I could float with my hands tied behind my back).

Don't believe me? Ask Bill Cosby. Or any U.S. President. Or anybody who has sought fame and still has something resembling a conscience, however useless as an appendix it has become to them. You probably have a hero right now walking a tightrope just one misstep from a fall. Hope they have a good press agent. A good alibi would do.

End of lecture. Back to Mockingjay, Part 1: Sure, there are things really, really wrong with it (Katniss shoots down a jet fighter, which then swerves into another one, taking down two jets with one shot...from a bow-and-arrow?  A bow-and-arrow??), but, in general, I liked this chapter better than the previous ones.  It will be interesting to see what they do for the finale.

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Written at the time of the film's release...

Feeding the Beast
or
To Kill a Mocking-jay

I mocked The Hunger Games rather mercilessly when it came out (as if it would prevent a single sou from entering its coffers) , because even though it was a hot publishing phenom' and a breathlessly anticipated movie, the original concept was a bit derivative without being very divergent (yeah, that's a snark for a future film there).  So now, the second of The Hunger Games films (of four total) Catching Fire has come out (with a new director, Francis Lawrence, of Water for Elephants and I Am Legend as a bit of an improvement over Gary Ross, even with Steve Soderbergh assisting) and this one's a better film.  For one thing. "this time it's political," and the easy targets of reality TV and the excesses of the rich (with an eye towards the Roman Empire and its parallels of bread and circuses) are a bit less strident, although they haven't disappeared. They're just presented a little better this time. And the politico's of the Capitol are being a bit more cagey than they were previously.

Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) now finds herself the most watched human in Panem. Her victory in the 74th Hunger Games along with Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson) has earned her and her family a cushy residence in Victor's Village and the vulture-like scrutiny of Panem's leader, President Snow (Donald Sutherland, as creepily confident as if he were selling you orange juice).  He sees the way that Katniss has reached out to Panem's people and now she's the centerpiece of a swelling revolutionary movement.  A personal presidential visit amounts to a threat that she'd better be convincing in her devotion to the State.  "I'll convince them." assures Katniss.  "No." replies Snow slowly. "Convince me."

And with that, the stakes are raised. A "Victory Tour" is planned for the remaining districts (the ones that haven't been nuked), but at each appearance of Katniss and Peeta something happens that brings out the riot police. At the suggestion of the Capitol's new gamesmaster (check out this name) Plutarch Heavensbee (Philip Seymour Hoffman, keeping a straight face), who comes up with a plan to put more pressure on Katniss and speeding the inevitable moment when the public turns against her. Then, with the next Hunger Games competition occurring (the 75th), it is decided that, rather than having a "Reaping" lottery among the populace, the competition will be between past Victors, considered by the State now to be potential inspirations and inciters to riot.

So now, the Games are between past champions (including Jeffrey Wright, Jena Malone, and Amanda Plummer), some of whom are just as determined to win, while others are angry at being targeted again, but there will be only one survivor. 

It's a better film with more tricks up its sleeve, and the media manipulation is played by all sides—it may be an illusion but Stanley Tucci's teeth actually look whiter this time—with a terrific set-up for the next films that comes out of left field...if you haven't read the books.  It's an entertaining change-up from the situations of the original, and promises to be even more intersting next time out.

Now I've Seen Everything Dept: I Am Legend (s)

"Come Out, Ne-ville! Coooome Ouuuut!"


                          

I have been in love with Richard Matheson's 1954 novel "I Am Legend" since I first read it in high school. A horror/sci-fi story, it tells of a world-wide plague that turns the world's populace into either corpses or vampires, except for the one man who carries the immunity from the disease, and who spends his days hunting the infected, and his nights being hunted by them.  

The images played out on the pages are searing, and Matheson's romantic way of writing the isolation of being "The Last Man on Earth" palpable. Plus, it has one ingenious kicker that makes the whole idea a perfect conceit that resonates and makes the story such a brilliant concept. It is literally mind-bending and perception-altering.

It has been filmed three times, each version having its own strengths (lead performances, always—what actor wouldn't want to play a role so dominant to the movie?) and weaknesses, but none of the them really coming to the heart (er, so to speak) of the story.

The Last Man on Earth (Ubaldo Ragona/Sidney Salkow, 1964) Vincent Price stars as Dr. Robert Morgan, the last survivor of a plague that has turned the majority of the Earth's population into vampires. By day, he lathes a number of wooden stakes and hunts down the creatures, driving the stakes into their hearts to kill them. This is the the closest the movies have come to Matheson's original concept, although the ending is changed, making Morgan an ersatz Christ-figure*, impaled by a spear in a church, his arms flung wide in a crucifixion pose. Made in Italy on the cheap, The Last Man on Earth is still a satisfying film merely for the strength of the ideas, the dusky black and white cinematography and Price's excellent performance. But don't take my word for it--you can download it or stream it here. It's been in the Public Domain for years (although MGM has come out with a nicely re-mastered version on DVD).

The Omega Man (Boris Sagal, 1971) Army Colonel Dr. Robert Neville (Charlton Heston) survives a world-wide plague as a result of a biological war between the Chinese and Soviets. Holed up in a bunkered apartment in Los Angeles he leads a solitary life: by day blasting the mutated victims with his high-powered, high-intensity-beamed assault rifle; by night listening to their taunts, armored against their organized attacks. The mutants are light-sensitive albino's, banded together as a sort of political/sociological cult ("The Family"), led by a zealot named Matthias (Anthony Zerbe), who see Neville as a threat to their way of life, and well, yeah, that's a pretty effective rifle he hauls around. Using his own blood's immunity, he's trying to bring back the pigment-challenged. One of Heston's interesting forays into sociological sci-fi in the 70's, The Omega Man lays it on a little thick and heavy with the race-relations metaphor, but the cast is uniformly excellent especially Heston and Rosalind Cash. Again with the Christ-allegory as Neville is impaled in a fountain, arms floating out in a crucifixion pose while giving his life-saving blood to the rag-tag band trying to carry on his work. Though not strictly Matheson, it does reflect the times in which it was made.

 

I Am Legend (Francis Lawrence, 2007) Lieutenant Colonel Dr. Robert Neville (Will Smith) and his German Shepherd Sam are the last surviving unaffected Manhattan residents of a plague brought on by a mutating vaccine. All the bridges have been destroyed in an attempt to halt the disease which has become airborne. Neville is unaffected. Animals, only by contact. And the two cruise the car-jammed streets looking for food, and trying to make their way through the entire DVD inventory at the local video store. At noon, he and Sam go to the South Street Seaport, waiting for someone--anyone to respond to his broadcast plea.

"My name is Robert Neville. I am a survivor living in New York City. I am broadcasting this message on all AM frequencies. I will be at the South Street Seaport every day, at mid-day, when the sun is highest in the sky. I can provide food. I can provide security. I can provide shelter. If there is anyone out there. Anybody. Please. **

You are not alone."

He has been waiting in his private hell for three years.

The effects work of a deserted Manhattan is nothing short of astonishing and several shots of Neville tracking deer in his Mustang GT500 are played out to please any action aficionado. Kudos to director Lawrence (who managed to salvage a good movie out of Constantine against all odds). Smith is amazing throughout this movie. He's the only game in town, literally, and he is extraordinarily frugal in what he displays throughout the first two-thirds of this movie. His rituals, his by-play with Sam, his clinging to normalcy, and his studied work ethic never give a hint that he's cracking up. Flashbacks in moments of unconsciousness are the only indication of his loss and his desperate feelings of responsibility. At some point, something's got to snap.

When they do, they take the movie with it. Oh, things are intriguing for a good long time after that, and it appears that everything's fine--it's a bit like the plague really. But at some point, it becomes a confused muddle, story-wise and philosophy-wise, and that I place squarely at the hands of script-"doctor" Akiva Goldsman.***

Warning! Quarantine Zone!
Stand by for a retinal scan and display your ticket stub! This quadrant infected with Viral Spoilers! If you have not seen the movie, proceed no further!! I repeat, proceed no further!!!

First, let's back-track to the novel. In Matheson's original story, Neville discovers that not all the contaminated inhabitants have been turned vampiric. Some have been merely rendered sensitive to light, and during his daytime raids, Neville has killed a bunch of them. A representative from this group infiltrates his stronghold, and fills him in, telling him that he is now considered on the same scale as the the vampires of legend, coming to their houses in their sleep and killing them. Neville is eventually captured and sentenced to die for his crimes.  In his cell, waiting to be executed, he ponders the irony that, now, he is the legend of death, not the ones he was hunting down.

Pretty dang bleak. But a fascinating concept, and a mind-bender of a story-turn. But nobody's done it like that. In the films Neville dies, but always as the sacrificing Christ-figure who can one day restore the Human Race. Not the book. In the book, the Human Race is dead. Changed forever. No going back. And the last man of earth, the ancient old-guard, is the new source of horror. But the movies won't go that far—there's always got to be a glimmer of hope that the blood of the Savior can save Humanity.

Now, back to this latest movie. Things go swimmingly the first two-thirds of it, but things begin to snap after Neville rather ingeniously captures a female mutant to test his vaccine on (GA Series 319, compound 6, trivia-buffs). He makes a report that the mutants**** (standing in for Matheson's vampires) have stopped showing any sign of human behavior. Then he's immediately proven wrong in the most elaborate way possible--they emulate his own Rube Goldberg trap. Nothing is made of Neville's obvious miscalculation. By this time, his grief is too great and he's not thinking. And the movie is going someplace else and not using The Scientific Method doing it.

He is rescued at a very opportune time by two other survivors, who have heard his radio message and take him back to his apartment. All well and good. Something has to give in this version of the scenario or there's no forward momentum. The woman tells him that God directed her to him to take him to a Survivor Stronghold in Vermont, to which Neville (no doubt because he's a scientist) gives her the statistics of the disease (90% dead, a few percent mutant, who eat the immune-which when you think about it, might cure them, but no such luck) telling her that with such an effective kill-rate that there can't be a God, and that we did it to ourselves, thank you very much.***** She then replies that its easier to hear God when it's so much quieter (sounds like Goldsman with the happy-meal schizophrenia, again).

So, what happens? The mutants storm Neville's strong-hold for the Third Act Attack--a staple of any action movie, and our plucky survivors head for the fairly impregnable lab, where it becomes quite apparent that Mutant #1 is going to break through the glass to get to his souless-mate. Neville grabs his vaccine, gives it to the other survivors and tells them if they find the Survivor Stronghold to give 'em that blood sample--that un-refrigerated, bound-to-go-bad blood sample--to further his work, sticks 'em in a secret hidey-culvert and tells them to leave when it's light. Then he blows himself up with a grenade and takes the mutants with him, because, as we all know from watching the news, suicide-bombing is the very epitome of heroism these days.******

Fade to Black. Our two survivors end up at the fortress-walls of the survivor colony. What will they find when they get there? More mutants? A blasted Statue of Liberty in the sand? Harrison Ford and Sean Young in that other ill-considered feel-good ending to a sci-fi movie? No, the door opens on an idyllic little town with a Main Street, and in the background a white church-steeple with a bonging bell. They've come just in time for services, it appears. And hopefully the guards with the machine guns won't force them to attend.

What we have here is one step beyond using Neville as a Christ-allegory. It's a pro-religion/anti-science zombie movie. If the Vatican was "consoled" by The Golden Compass's soft opening, they must be positively spilling wine on their cassocks celebrating over this one!

As good as it starts out, this one takes "I Am Legend" so much farther afield from its source material than the others, that I can't be happy about it. Smith is great. The abandoned Manhattan scenes are amazing. But...

The script obliterates a great book for another hokey feel-good ending. After all, isn't that how you're supposed to feel after a devastating plague with a 90% kill-ratio? The film ends with a Bob Marley tune (kudos to that, but Marley is used for another confused metaphor that in the context of the film is just stupid). Maybe they should've ended with a rousing up-beat group-sing of "Tomorrow" from "Annie."

Gloriosky in the highest.

* I could do a few dozen pages on "Christ-allegories-in-the-movies," but let's just point out a few of them: E.T., the Extra-terrestrial, Cool Hand Luke, The Star Wars films, Braveheart, Narnia (of course), Blade Runner, The Superman films (especially.."Returns"), The Matrix, and ad infinitum spiritu.

** In just one of the beautiful touches in his performance, Smith's voice cracks on that one word only. 

*** The name "Akiva Goldsman" on a writing or producing credit is enough to spoil any movie-going experience for me, although I have always given the benefit of the doubt--but than as I'm sure Goldsman would tell me, repeating any behavior expecting an outcome that never occurs is a sign of insanity. It was Goldsman who destroyed the first "Batman" movie franchise with his cartoonish, pun-heavy scripts. He "cracked" the script for A Beautiful Mind by reassuring movie-goers that schizophrenia was nothing more than delusions of grandeur with visions of Ed Harris and Paul Bethany included--forget any unpleasantness. His by-the-numbers adaptation of The DaVinci Code made it boring for anyone who read the book, and breezily incomprehensible for anyone who didn't. His scripts for Practical Magic and Lost in Space are overworked humorless muddles. And I, Robot had one good, recycled and paranoid idea in its empty little head and chucked the great ones of Isaac Asimov. I'm not sure "whose windows he's washing" to be so successful with so much hack-work in his resume, but the man is the 21st Century Joe Eszterhas.

**** I've been calling them Danny Boyle "Red Bull" zombies, as they have the same out-sized aggressive energy as Boyle's 28 Days Later zombies, but with a case of the energy drink in them. They are pigment-less, hairless albino's who start to burn at the first touch of sun, and during the day they apparently huddle in dark spaces and huff and puff spasmodically. And they screech a lot, with distended CGI-enhanced faces. So, they're basically vampires, but zombies have a higher "Q" rating, so they're called zombies. 

***** I will say, however, that how the mutating disease comes to be is not only a plausible scenario, but wickedly likely.

****** Ah, but wait.  This ending was a substitute for the one that didn't "test" well with preview audiences.  Evidently, they wanted more action, even if that action was ultimately destructive to the point of the story and hewed closely to the endings of the other adaptations. ("Hey, dude, just blow something up!").  Here is the original ending to the latest I Am Legend, where Neville does indeed have a perception-altering experience, and realizes that...maybe he was wrong.