Review: Hulk

I took very low expectations to Hulk, which I saw with Leighton at Innaloo on Thursday night. After seeing a string of unimpressive action blockbusters (Daredevil, Matrix Reloaded and the acceptable but still ultimately poor X-Men 2), I felt that it was perfectly reasonable to fear that Ang Lee, with all respect to his undoubted directorial ability, would be unable to save a comic-book adaptation from the pitfalls that plague the genre.

I'm an Ang Lee fan. Of the three or four of his films that I'd seen prior to Hulk, the only one that had offended me was the tepid Ice Storm, with its lousy plot and uninteresting characters in search of permafrosted profundity. Whereas, on the other hand, I was a complete sucker for the cinematic beauty and genre-winking understated humour of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. As for Sense and Sensibility, well I'm enough of a man to enjoy the odd happily-ever-after middle-class Austen fantasy now and again.

But could Ang Lee really interest me in a story about a mild-mannered scientist who (in the all-too-easily-explained inexplicable manner of comics) turns into a giant green angry ape when he gets riled? The answer, surprisingly, was yes. Despite the film having been previewed to me in various media as pretentious, overblown crap, I enjoyed it rather a lot.

I was quite happy to indulge the fairytale photography of the Banner backstory, complete with garden gates opening on to bleak deserts, and duelling plush toys, a visually symbolic feast which is later recapitulated with apocalyptic variations and pictures of empty swings in the shifting sands. The film is laced with rather blatant visual references to its character's emotions and psychology (mushroom clouds, closed doors, verdant gardens etc.) but these, along with the 'innovative' scene cuts (constant comic-panel-esque shot cuts, fadeouts and dragalongs), are to be enjoyed as cheesy, reverential trappings of the genre movie, not pedantically reviled.

I haven't seen Chopper (have a rented copy sitting on my coffee table right now, actually) but I've heard Eric Bana was rather good in it. He's far from brilliant in Hulk but does manage to exude likeability in a way that a lot of American actors of the Affleck mould simply can't. He just doesn't look like an arrogant prick, so when the unbelievably sleazy Josh Lucas character wheels and deals his way in, we're quite pleased to see him get his head beaten in by an empowered nerdy guy. Nick Nolte plays Banner's maniac dad as a grizzled trash-collecting perv genius, and some grey-haired yank with a stick up his bum plays the military man who's out to crush his mad scientist dreams forever. Even if Jennifer Connelly just switches into Beautiful Mind mode and mainly just sits there saying mildly assertive things while exposing her ever-so-charmingly bucked teeth, at least she isn't the abysmal Jennifer Garner - at least Connelly can act. So the acting in this movie isn't bad at all. It's a lot better than the competition.

What about the all-important action eye-candy? A leading complaint amongst reviews of this film that I've seen is that it takes too long to get into the action. Well, frankly, I thought all of its aforementioned contemporaries got into the action too fast, too frequently, and in too cluttered a way to hold one's attention. The fight scenes in Hulk, by contrast, are relatively few in number (I think there's only about three or four) and are charmingly goofy rather than trying to win you with 'beautifully choreographed' (read: implausible and overlong) action. I got quite a kick out of seeing the big green guy (who was well-animated in CGI that simply shouldn't be copping the amount of criticism that it is) pick up a twenty foot wide metal door that must have weighed about fifteen fictitious tonnes and throw it like a frisbee through a couple of solid concrete walls. The same goes for all the leaping about and tank-tossing. Much more entertaining than being asked to believe a blind guy in a red leather suit can do flips off the front of speeding motorcycles.

So, Hulk is not a masterpiece, but is strongly plotted for a comic book adaptation (it even waves the wand quite well with its scientific rationalisation for all the crap in it), has interesting characters (I haven't given a decent mention to Nolte and Elliot in the duel of the bad old men) and fun action scenes. It is good. It does drop off a bit towards the end though, in a completely unexplained and incongruous finale that was apparently inserted after studio focus groups weren't happy with the original. But we can imagine that the original Ang Lee - James Schamus monster-movie conception would have been perfect, and put down all the problems to the Hollywood studio machine.

OK, so I've finally got around to:

entro Magic Number 12 Job Most Hated Person - Ever Personality Rainy Day Temperament Unflappable Sexual If I Have To Likely To Win A Place On The Bench (For The Reserves) Me - In A Word Subtle Colour Brought to you by MemeJack

and:

ataxi Magic Number 13 Job Politician Personality Drifter Temperament An Oft-Exploding Volcano Sexual If I Have To Likely To Win A Nobel Prize Me - In A Word Beautiful Colour Brought to you by MemeJack

I like both of them, though I'm finding it hard to reconcile my two temperaments ('unflappable' and 'an oft-exploding volcano'). And why is my colour red? How disappointing. Unfortunately, other people's are so massively off the mark I can't give the thing much credence because I'd quite like to think that 'subtle' and 'beautiful' summed me up in a couple of words. Also, it's disappointing to see the meaning of the word 'meme' reduced to 'an internet quiz'. Why must people always go tromping on delicate concepts with their vulgar vocabulary requirements?

Hiatus Hiatus

Solid poem:

Of course I tried to tell him
but he cranked his head
without an excuse.
I told him the sky chases
the sun
And he smiled and said:
'What's the use.'
I was feeling like a demon
again
So I said: 'But the ocean chases
the fish.'
This time he laughed
and said: 'Suppose the
strawberry were
pushed into a mountain.'
After that I knew the
war was on--
So we fought:
He said: 'The apple-cart like a
broomstick-angel
snaps & splinters
old dutch shoes.'
I said: 'Lightning will strike the old oak
and free the fumes!'
He said: 'Mad street with no name.'
I said: 'Bald killer! Bald killer! Bald killer!'
He said, getting real mad,
'Firestoves! Gas! Couch!'
I said, only smiling,
'I know God would turn back his head
if I sat quietly and thought.'
We ended by melting away,
hating the air!
Gregory Corso, 'Poets Hitchhiking Along the Highway'

Just thought I'd share that with you as I finally found an electronic copy of it.

I have just finished reading: an omnibus of William Hope Hodgson's work, including The House on the Borderland, The Boats of the Glen Carrig, The Night Land, and The Ghost Pirates. Spine-wibbling stuff. Not bad actually, though not quite up the the billing it's given in its blurb.

I have just started reading: Narcissus and Goldmund, by Hermann Hesse. Have no idea, really, what it's about yet.

My exam went reasonably well, and my project mark turned out to be twenty-five percent higher than I thought it would be, which was a nice surprise. Unfortunately I had very low expectations to begin with, so that doesn't mean I got one hundred and five percent or anything.

I have entirely, utterly, and completely finished working for the Child Support Agency. This statement accompanied by muted, soul-crushed celebrations.

On Monday night, I attended the 2003 Nocturnal Ball at Metropolis in town, with Max and a couple of friends. It was a gas. Had to wear a tuxedo, which I don't really enjoy, but at least others appreciated it. On the other hand, I spent a couple of days making a terrific mask for the event: a golden kingfisher mask which made me look like an alien. I shall treasure it always.

I am slightly melancholic about the fact I'm not going to Terracon. I hadn't really thought about it until recently, but it would've been fun to attend. Ah well, I suppose I may be alive and in the vicinity next year, so I can always head down then.

Today is not a good day. He clutches feebly at the hem of his jacket, fingers scrabbling in the damp dirt of the laneway, his right hand passing blindly over the satchel of papers at his side. The cold metal slides between his innards, separating membranes of flesh like buckwheat tofu, causing shivers. This initial chill is followed by a painful, stinging heat that spreads rapidly. The face that stares down on him with a mad look about it is attached to a head that is attached to an arm that is attached to the sword that is running him through. A pity. He would have liked to finish reading that novel at some point.