You will believe a man can fly....off a building to his death

The Global Op went extra nerdy last week, taking in the Thursday evening IMAX  preview showing of Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. As mentioned before, he had been cautiously optimistic, but still, going in, he could not have predicted how he would react.

Put simply, the movie worked. As far as action movies for the year it was near the top. Attack the Block would of course continue to reign above all else. But still, Mission Impossible had done its job and managed to elate the doggedly sour Global Op for the duration of its running time, and then some. As he saw it, two main things were the culprits here: assured direction by Brad Bird, and the rediscovery that action needs comedy(AKA the Murtagh needs Riggs principle).

As to the first point, more directors should start in animation like Brad Bird did. The need to literally draw and construct every shot seemed to instill an appreciation for well planned out sequences. All too often in movies lately, action sequences were marred by quick cuts and changes in perspective. Like the woman in the short dress meant to distract the guard from the robbery occurring behind her, these were the techniques of amateurs  substituting flash and bang for an actual plan. Sure it got the job done, but it was no fun to watch. The sequences in Mission Impossible were a delightful contrast to this. Each one had clearly been planned out, and as such the perspective was always in aid of the viewer. Most if not all shots were designed to enhance the viewers enjoyment, not to mask the director's lack of vision, and this paid off extremely well. In particular, the Dubai tower sequence was a testament to this. It was not often that the Global Op squirmed in his seat, and even less that he worried about the safety of Tom Cruise, but damn that scene made him fret like an addict two days in without a fix.

Which brings us to the Global Op's second point. The whole Dubai tower sequence was punctuated by moments of comedy. Though by no means necessary, these laughs served as great cathartic moments that both allowed the audience to exhale briefly while also accentuating the danger on screen. Comedic intrusions were present throughout the whole movie and their impact cannot be underestimated. Each moment helped sustain the tone of "action movie", and for the most part they all succeeded in both elevating the tension of the scene in question as well as reminding the audience what sort of ride they were on. Furthermore, these comedic moments helped insulate the film from criticism because while the viewer was cognizant of the numerous plot holes and inconsistencies, the comedic instances signified the film as "entertainment" and therefore somehow less needing of scrutiny.

So while Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol may never be remembered as a classic action film, it deserves great credit for reminding audiences not only how nice it is to be able to see what is going on, but also how effective a well placed laugh can be.

Walking Dead Reckoning

 *Consider this article as the parlor scene. All the suspects have been gathered, all the clues have been found. Secrets will be revealed, truths told, SPOILERS unmasked."

The Global Op cared about the zombie genre. Kindred spirits of a sort. No not the zombies, he was cold, but not that cold...and he knew most people's brains weren't very interesting anyways. No, it was the survivors he could connect with. Those stragglers of humanity who woke up each day to the bleak reality that the world was out to get them, to beat them into a submission from which there would be no recuperation.

Given these facts, he had been excited for the Walking Dead's pilgrimage to TV when it was first announced. Like many others he was familiar with the graphic novel source material, and while not a rabid fan, he still appreciated what it brought to the zombie conversation.  Because it was not constrained by the run time limits of movies, the graphic novel had been able to more deeply explore what the best of the genre, (Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, 28 Days Later) could only hint at: how do people live, not just survive, when confronted by the daily disintegration of the human race. The serialized graphic novel form allowed for large spaces of narrative in which the zombies were largely absent, in which it was just people left to interact with each other, to test and decide what prejudices, what morals, what beliefs, they would continue to hold onto.  Given TV's similar freedom from the constraints of narrative time, it stood to reason that this idea could transition quite nicely.

Yet, after one and a half seasons, he found this complexity sorely lacking. In its place, like a cheap plaster imitation, was a show that couldn't let characters evolve naturally because somewhere some writer had designated them as being emblematic of a specific moral code. Perhaps unfairly, the Global Op had named this the Lost effect. Yet, the parallels were there, the tortured leader who cannot bring himself to stray from what is "right" vs. the antihero who is more willing to embrace the dark side. Consider for a moment the second season's key acts of violence that have occurred at the hands of Rick and Shane respectively.  Rick's killing of zombie Sophia was treated as a moment of sadness and mercy. It was not like the slaughter of zombies that has just been unleashed by the other members of the group. It was a scene that wanted you to feel sorrow for what this man was being forced to do, while still keeping an aura of "good" about him. In contrast was Shane's killing of Otis (the man he shot in order to escape the zombies at the school). Everything about this was presented as a "wrong" but perhaps necessary act. Even the way the truth was revealed in fragmented flashbacks was meant to suggest guilt. By creating opposing moments like these, the writers forced definitions upon the two leads rather than letting them develop over time into more complex realistic characters.

To return to the Lost analogy, it did not stop with just the two leads. In addition, there was the all too familiar woman character tied to them both as well as the presence of a rotating cast of supporting characters serving as dramatic foils, with more able to be cycled in as plot required. The Global Op had enjoyed Lost, but like the accountant that mistakenly believes a gun makes him a tough guy, what works for some does not work for others. The problem with using this model for Walking Dead was that there was no island mystery to compensate for the simplicity of the characters. Yes, there were the questions of if civilization exists somewhere, if there was a cure, if there was a future for mankind, but these were not driving questions. Taken alone, they could not create cliffhangers episode after episode. So instead, the writers needed to create dramatic tension by creating arguments and philosophical standoffs between the characters. While this still had potential to be interesting TV, it failed at holding the viewer's attention for long if, as seen above, the characters were written so rigidly in their "identifying" beliefs that it telescoped how any dramatic scene was always going to play out.

It was in service of this artificial dichotomy that the TV version most disappointingly differed from the graphic novel. In the graphic novel, Shane does not last very long. For you see, the boy, Carl, kills him while protecting his father, Rick.  Narratively, this had very important consequences on the character of Rick. By dispatching  Shane, Rick was not allowed to exist as the "good" leader to be contrasted against Shane. Instead, he had to be more human, more nuanced. Effectively he became the TV versions of Rick and Shane rolled into one conflicted mess of a character. He was still the leader, but when needed, he did what was necessary for the protection of the group. Just think how much more interesting it would be if Rick had been the one to shoot Otis in addition to his mercy killing of Sophia.

Have you seen this girl?

Which brings the Global Op to the Sophia arc. He had heard phony stories before, knew when things didn't add up, and this certainly didn't add up. There was no way that someone on the farm wouldn't have made the connection between the zombie girl in the barn and the girl that all these people were looking for. A single mention of the logo on her shirt would have been enough to make at least one person go hmmmm. Sure, one might argue that Herschel was trying to keep the zombie barn a secret, but that didn't prevent him from telling them that Sophia had been found dead. Or given that Herschel was the designated zombie compassion character, it would have stood to reason that he would have used Sophia to make his case. But no, instead the writers decided to ignore these paths in order to artificially sustain something long enough solely in order for it to be a mid season shocker.

Yet it is this designation as a shocker that made this arc so frustrating. It was a shocker only because children are not supposed to die. In our society, women and children are protected territory. This point is heightened and elevated when run through the lens of popular culture. To kill a child, or to zombiefy a child is such a gimme, such an easy layup, that it is quite surprising how badly this one failed. And it failed primarily because the writers were greedy and went for the big mid season "oh wow" moment. Sophie had never been developed into enough a character, and had been off screen for way too long for us as viewers to really connect with her zombification and death.  In watching the finale, the Global Op, normally an astute observer, wasn't even sure at first that it was Sophia at the end. As such, what should have been a climatic and devastating scene was a moment that barely registered save for the residual emotions that seeing a child harmed triggered. Had they really wanted to shock, they would have either a) done the Sophia reveal an episode or two after her disappearance, or b) let Carl die from his bullet wound. But, the writers would never consider the latter because while they make a big show about the Walking Dead being about how people survive in a post-apocalyptic world, they are still operating in a within the TV arena which dictates that bad things happen but not to certain people.

He still had hope for the show, still believed that the Walking Dead could become a good show, if not a great one. But for this to happen the writers and showrunners needed to accept that working within the zombie genre meant more than just showing a gruesome zombie death every episode.  By more, the Global Op saw three main things:

1. Stop trying to manufacture suspense and plot. There were plenty of episodes to be done about the daily struggles of living in a zombie land without always needing to have a child missing or with a gunshot wound.  The question of fresh water and if zombies would infect it was a perfect example of a plot point that could have been expanded upon had the writers trusted their audience enough to believe they werent only watching in the hopes of seeing a maggot filled zombie corpse.
2. Accept the bleak. Accept the gritty. Accidents should happen. People should die, and not just the peripheral characters. In a zombie world, there could only be so many times that a character does something like taking an arrow to the side AND a gunshot to the head and survives. Any world that suggested otherwise would have managed to luck its way out of being a full blown zombiepocolypse. 
3. Rick or Shane no more. It would never happen, but it needed to. Either one could easily take on the moral mantle of the other and the show would be the better for it.

December Case Load

And with that, November had snuck out the window like the pool boy in the night. December was upon the Global Op, bringing along with it the usual suspects of year end movies.  He'd done the legwork, kept his ear to the ground. He knew what he was up against. By now, only a crafty few had managed to evade the searchlights of the press. He'd listened to the predictions, the reactions as they floated through the smoke filled air of the internet speakeasies. Now the case files lay upon his desk, overwhelming in their chaos. "Rats", he muttered to no one. All morning he had searched for a diversion, would have even taken on a missing cat case, but none had come, and now it was raining out.

Left with nothing else, he unfurled his fingers from the fist that they all too often adopted out of habit and self preservation and picked up the rocks glass that had been sitting in wait all afternoon. So armed, he slumped into the slatted chair and began to work.

Most Wanted

There were a few each year, those few, those precious few whose cases he would take for free. They were the reasons he had become a private eye in the first place, the ones who still took pride in their craft, brought something new, got him to smile, to think, to feel. They were the ones who didn't just walk into the nearest 7-11 with a gun and a mask. They were the dreamers, the ones who went for the big scores, and he damn well respected them for it.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
 Even without the advance buzz, it would have caught his eye. It was a professional crew at work here. A classic combination, a group of old masters: Gary Oldman(Sid and Nancy, The Professional, The Dark Knight), Colin Firth (King's Speech, A Single Man), John Hurt(Alien, Hellboy, The Proposition), paired up with young talent: Tom Hardy (Inception, Bronson), Benedict Cumberbatch(Sherlock). When done right, it was hard to beat. The masters would play it cool and low, sinking into their roles, while the proteges add a bit of flash, still trying to leave a mark, talented for sure, but not yet disciplined enough to let a job go by without leaving a calling card. Style and substance. And then there was the job itself, Cold war espionage. Spys. Double Agents. Places called the Circus, men called Control. It was a world, the Global Op would happily spend a couple hours in.

Tyrannosaur*
Another UK film. Coincidence, probably, but then again he didn't really believe in coincidences.  This one had teased him all year. With each thing seen and heard, he had grown more and more intrigued. The job exuded the grit of realism, it seeped out of its poster, out of its trailer(Watch Here). It promised to take him down into the streets and turn his gaze upon those people all too often ignored. Ignored because they were too average, the ones treading just enough above the point of drowning that no one had to give them any thought. Yet unlike so many films, it didn't appear to be unpleasant for the sake of being unpleasant. It didn't scream out to be noticed, just quietly went about its business. So it drew him in, enticed him, even as he could guess at the weight and meditative sorrow that it would bring.

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol
He shouldn't be excited. The list against it was convincing: the job wasn't new, wasn't original, was too slick, too smirking. No one else was excited. No one was even talking about it. Only about that hot little opening act(Bane Prologue ). Yet, whoever had put this thing together had done at least one thing right. They had coaxed Brad Bird(The Incredibles, Iron Giant) out into the flesh and blood world. Whether or not he could work his magic with live actors was yet to be seen, but the Global Op was intrigued for now.

The Adventures of Tin Tin
There was no way around it, the motion capture animation still repelled him like the sight of a cuckolded husband crying on his desk. It was unnatural. Someday they might get it right, and maybe Tin Tin was that day, but he was wary. Then there was the presence of Spielberg. The Global Op knew cops like him. Guys who busted up a couple big cases back in the day and had been coasting on them ever since. But there was hope. Advance word had been strong. Already released overseas, the movie was a hit. And having Edgar Wright (Scott Pilgrim, Shaun of the Dead) and Joe Cornish (Attack the Block) on board as writers certainly went a long way. So despite his reservations, he was looking forward to it. Sometimes you just needed to ignore history and listen to your gut.

Pays the Bills
Fur coat cases he called them. These ladies would wander into the office, necks buried in fur more expensive than his last car. They all had a story, and sometimes it was legit. But he'd seen enough of them by now. 9 times out of 10 the story wasn't real. You would take their case only to come out the other side realizing that it was just another lonely rich old broad looking for attention. Sure, you were blinded by their prestige, their confidence, but you should have known better. Instead, you were left yet again with a hollow feeling in your soul and a collection of fancy names to drop on everyone who didn't know any better.

Young Adult
Witty, sharp, wickedly truthful, ruthlessly honest. Each year, there was at least one of them. That case with the slightly acerbic, wholly dislikeable main character. And with it, there would be enough critics willing to jump on board with that same set of accolades that got used the same year before. There was a pattern, it didn't take a P.I. to see it, it's just that no one else wanted to look. These were barbed accolades, the kind that get thrown out to shame dissenters into silence. Those that disagreed weren't quite as hip, were in denial about how the world really worked. He might be wrong, after all the people involved were talented enough, but his expectations were low.

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows
The first one had been entertaining enough. It had amused him at the time, amused him whenever it was on HBO, but like the third card monty game on the corner, it always left him feeling dissatisfied. It was too produced, inorganic in its construction. Its goal was to take your money, providing just enough flourishes of the cards to make you feel only slightly cheated. The Global Op had a theory about blockbusters like this. Any successful franchise should produce at least one popular Halloween costume the following year. People were sheep, never more so than during Halloween. Any blockbuster that didn't result in a slew of uncreative costumed imitators was doing something wrong. He couldn't recall any Holmes costumes after the first one, and he wasn't expecting to see many in 2012.

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
There were those that had loved The Social Network. The Global Op had not. He respected David Fincher. Respected the craft and care he put in. But craft and care were not a substitute for emotional resonance. Musical scores could not substitute as emotional stand ins, guiding and pleading with the audience to feel something that the film itself was incapable of eliciting. He knew this from experience, had tried it with a woman once. The result was a stinging cheek and broken ipod. So yes, he agreed, this had the best trailer of the year. But a huge part was the music. He just hoped that this wasn't another case of a David Fincher film needing Trent Reznor to play the role of emotional dubber.

The Artist
He had plenty of Bogart in him, he had long ago admitted this to himself. Slightly contrarian, all too happy to default to jaded when the winds of public opinion started to blow too strongly. The Artist looked enjoyable. He would always support a big hearted celebration of Hollywood's early days. Where he drew the line was turning this into something bigger than it needed to be. Already with its reception at Cannes, and the NYC film critics giving it best picture, it was starting to get too big for its fedora. He didn't need another King's Speech or even worse, another Life is Beautiful in his life. Some things should be left as entertainment, not 
as prestige.

Red Dresses
What was left of the whiskey in his glass had long since watered down into nothing, matching the pile of cases still left on his desk. Some he just couldn't bring himself to classify. But there were a few that still stuck out. They were his red dresses. Trouble. The bullet scar in his shoulder attested to that. Sure, it was hard to say no to a red dress, but you had to do it. You just had to remember everyone looked good in a red dress, which is why they were usually the ones with something to hide.

W.E.
Maybe it was just his lingering bitterness at Madonna's looming presence in pub trivia games twenty years after she was relevant, but this was one he would avoid. It soothed his conscience that advance word had been pretty devastating, with many suggesting it was a waste of time save for those interested in looking at people dressed in pretty clothing, which most certainly did not include him. (The Global Op liked his clothing like his days: grey, muted, and unchanging). Anyways, he couldn't recall the last time a parallel modern/past romance storylines had worked as a cohesive movie. Which reminded him, it was high time to re-watch The French Lieutenant's Woman....

Extremely Loud and Incredibily Close
A picture said a 1,000 words. Try and tell him differently and he would show you a cabinet full of pictures ready to blab about cheating spouses, corrupt officials, and the true scum of the earth. This picture from the trailer told a story:

It told him him that this thing might as well be subtitled a study in twee.  Then the Global Op made the mistake of turning on the sound for the trailer. It was all there in the audio, the entire case cracked wide open. There was the saccharine child narration, the swelling U2 on the soundtrack, the snippets of dialogue that without fail reeked of cuteness or a heavy dose of emotional syrup. It screamed "Hug me", and all the Global Op could do was look and say "No".


We need to talk about Kevin
The Global Op needed to get something off his chest. He had never seen Ratcatcher or Movern Callar. He should of, he knew. He had been told plenty times to, but both had escaped him. But right now he was ok with that. It freed him from the spell of Lynne Ramsey, freed him from an obligation to go to this out of respect for the director. He had no real reason this case fell in this pile. It just did. He could see the potential for something interesting, but something about it repelled him and told him that there was nothing to see here, to just move on. These things happened sometimes.

The Rest
There were others. Cases still left untouched, things like War Horse, The Iron Lady, We Bought a Zoo. All had their reasons for him to care, but he didn't. Maybe that would change later. Probably. But for now, they would sit unexamined, gathering dust in the fading light of day.

Froget it Jake, It's Muppettown

The Global Op sunk lower into the theater’s plush leather seat.  The owner’s way of atoning for the subpar sound system, he thought. In front of him, a figure bobbed up and down, obscuring the faded ads upon the screen. Across the aisle, silent muzzle like flashes erupted as someone’s tricked out sneakers kicked against the seats. Children. He was surrounded, and more kept coming in. It was his own damn fault, he’d known there would be no peace at a PG movie on the day after Thanksgiving, but he’d come anyways. Some dames you just can’t say no to. Miss Piggy was special like that. Still, he was nervous, and it wasn’t just the swarming children that were keeping him on edge. It had been over ten years. He had changed. The world had changed. And then there was Hollywood. They didn’t know how to leave well enough alone. He knew the odds weren’t good, but he had to hope. It was the Muppets after all. Shouldn’t anyone who once convinced the world that a well worn hat was the only thing standing between a frog and a bear being identical twins be right at home in this all too absurd world?

Two hours later and he couldn’t help but smile. The name of the game here was nostalgia, and they had played it well. It didn’t take a detective like him to see through the plot holes, but sometimes a man knew when to look the other way. In another world, another movie, it would have mattered that the writers’ main plot impetus (that the Muppets had broken up) was never justified or given the slightest reason for being. But, within the confines of a Muppet movie, he not only allowed it, but welcomed it. For the film moved fast, really fast, 100 dollars lying on the sidewalk fast. The plot was secondary, a vehicle to reintroduce the world to some old friends, to give each of the main players a moment to remind us what all too many had forgotten: the Muppets were funny. Not gut bustingly funny, not cynical smirking funny, but apple pie funny. The kind that started as barely a laugh, but it sure as hell didn’t dissipate. Bite after bite, it built up in you, until you were left sated and full of all too rare winsome joy.

Yes, he would have preferred more Gonzo, more Pepe, more Rizzo (Selena Gomez should never have more lines than the rat), but there would be other movies, other times. Strolling out of the theater with the haunting Mahna Mahna still in his head, he felt a deep sense of relief. The Muppets were back, and with that knowledge, he thought, maybe, just maybe this world had a chance.