A Roller Derby Kind Of Evening
Last Saturday, I was meant to take in my first all-female roller derby game. My cousin Ky knows a few of the players, and goes to their games from time to time. This time, he invited me along. I assume all of his real friends were busy. I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about it, to be honest. Sure, being a human male with working genitalia, the whole "catfight" thing appeals to me on a primal level. Get a group of girls together, skating around, slamming into each other... the mind tends to fill in the blanks.
And of course, I am a champion of the sporting woman. That goes without saying. But actually leaving the house to mingle with the sweaty throngs of humanity, watching the girls doing whatever it is one does in a roller derby game, is an entirely different matter. I don't exactly know what "roller derby" is. My only experience with this phenomenon comes from watching Rollerball perhaps a dozen times. Not the terrible John McTiernan remake, either. The original Norman Jewison film. And I doubt an actual roller derby game is as violent (or as entertaining) as the blood-soaked deathmatch that is Rollerball.
I never watched Whip It because it looked boring. I mean, it was only rated PG-13, for fuck's sake! What are the odds of a worthwhile shower scene in that movie?
I feel like I'm drifting off course.
I suppose my point is that the combination of a sure-to-be disappointing spectacle paired with forced interaction with a rowdy herd of enthusiastic fans did little to excite me. But I decided to go in the end. What was the worst-case scenario? I get kidnapped by some beered-up roller derby fans who run an adrenalin-soaked hate train on me before slitting my throat and dumping my bloated corpse in an abandoned sewer? I chose to take my chances.
Because I'm a rebel, man. I throw caution to the wind and then piss in the wind and chuckle ruefully as the spiteful wind soaks my rebellious pants in my own bodily waste. I'm that guy.
So I braced myself for an exciting evening of local lady roller derby. After all, it could be surprisingly entertaining. Ky picked me up, and we set off for a wild night on the town. He immediately informed me that due to the local venue's, shall we say "shabby chic" nature, we would have to supply our own seating. That's not a good sign. We made a quick stop by his mother's abode to pick up a few chairs. We immediately discovered that the chairs he had stored in an old workshop were covered in old hornet nests and surprisingly spry brown recluse spiders. Another omen.
When we finally arrived at the venue less than ten minutes after the doors opened, we were astonished to see that the parking lot was entirely full, and there were several large, dull gentlemen standing around, dumbly waving off all incoming cars, weakly promising to "find some extra parking somewhere". That was the moment we jointly decided that the roller derby experience just wasn't worth it. So we fucked off to our local cinema, to see... something. Basically whatever would be available when we arrived.
When we did arrive, we discovered that we had missed every available screening (aside from that Justin Beiber "movie") before 9pm. Knowing we would have to wait nearly an hour before the next screening of I Am Number 4, we chose to waste some time at the theatre's convenient arcade. Now there's not much variety at this arcade. But they did have a nearly-new Terminator Salvation shooter. Between that and the old standby, Star Trek Voyager, we did manage to waste enough time (and money) to tide us over until we could take our seats in the auditorium.
The Terminator game was a lot of fun, actually. Decent graphics, smooth light-gun targeting, and a nice grenade launcher. One cool thing I noticed was the game's reload feature: instead of aiming the light-gun away from the screen and pulling the trigger to reload, you simply slam the faux assault rifle's retractable magazine against the palm of your hand. Perhaps this is old hat, but I've never encountered it before. It made things rather convenient, I would say. I wish it didn't cost a buck to play, but that's really my only complaint.
Moving on... why did we choose to see I Am Number 4? Simply put, my pal Titus had recently seen it, and he thought it was the bee's knees. I had no desire to see the movie before his recommendation, and if we hadn't missed the 7:15 screening of Drive Angry, I never would have seen it. At least, not until its inevitable premiere on cable television. Or satellite television, considering living out in the sticks, I am beyond cable's reach. I was perfectly content to just let this movie fade away like so many others, but fate had other plans.
If you're unfamiliar, I Am Number 4 is based on a young adult novel by the same name, co-written by James Frey. You know, that A Million Little Pieces guy. The story follows a teenaged alien calling himself "John Smith", who is the 4th of 9 aliens from some planet called Lorien. I guess their home planet got wrecked by a race of angry, bald, shark-toothed motherfuckers with gill slits on their faces, unfortunately named "Mogadorians". That name just sounds fucking ridiculous. These aggressive dickheads followed the last surviving Loriens to Earth, where they've picked up their old genocidal hobby anew.
The film begins with the death of Lorien Number 3, who is hunted down by the Megadoolians in what looks like a South American rainforest. We are then introduced to Number 4, who is frolicking on the beach with some of his scantily-clad teenager pals. At the moment of Number 3's death, a new brand painfully appears on Number 4's leg, along with a vision of his extraterrestrial pal's death at the hands of the Margaretderbians. What with his inexplicably glowing leg, his beach pals keep their distance, recording the spectacle with their phones and loudly calling him a freak.
I just found it funny. Number 4's would-be girlfriend audibly calling him "a freak" while he thrashes around in the tide like a wounded alligator. Hilarious.
After that embarassing incident, 4's guardian Henri (Timothy Olyphant!?) decides it's time to skip town in a damned hurry, lest the dreaded Marbledolemites find them. Because since Number 3 was the last to die, obviously Number 4 is next. Because the Loriens all have to die in numerical order. I don't understand this, nor do I understand why these kids are numbered in the first place. Did nobody bother to give them real names? Are they numbered in order of birth? Or was it completely random? I don't recall these questions being answered in the film. Perhaps answers are provided in the book, but I will never read that book.
Number 4 and his Lorien guardian Henri (why does he have a real name?) settle in Paradise, Ohio, for reasons known only to Henri. Something to do with research, I reckon. 4 is assigned the name "John Smith", because why not? After being warned repeatedly to remain in hiding from the Marthadoodles, John immediately decides to go to school. Why? Is a high school diploma really going to help him get ahead in life? It just seems pointless. Like in Twilight, why is that smash-faced vampire dude in high school? He's over a century old, dammit! Picking up on high school chicks, even! It's a brand-new level of creepy!
But I digress. John Smith is an idiot. He wants to go to high school "to fit in". Never mind the fact that establishing himself in any community endangers himself and the people he will inevitably befriend. He's a teenager. Teenagers are selfish fools. Moments after he arrives at school, he meets the girl he wants to spend the rest of his life with, the outcast weirdo who will eventually become his best friend, and gets accosted by the local jock bully! All before his first class. A busy day in the life of John Smith, to be sure.
The next day, his hands turn into flashlights in science class, and he hides in a broom closet. Henri shows up to take him home and explain what just happened. This is essentially Henri's role in the movie: to explain shit to John (and the audience!). He's the exposition guy. As it turns out, John's developing his "legacies", or amazing supernatural powers. Really, his hands just glow, and he can move shit with his mind.
John also discovers that the chick he's totally into has taken a shitload of candid pictures of him, and posted them all on her flash-heavy website. Good job remaining incognito, asshole! Luckily, Henri uses his elite hacker skills to erase the photos. When John notices this, he pouts. Because he's an idiot. Henri has dedicated his life to protecting this dim-bulb douchebag, and he never gets any thanks for his efforts. He just pissed on by his young ward, because apparently keeping this mouthbreather safe from the Marlborobonians is "cramping his style". I'd just let the shark people have his ungrateful ass. Then I'd go back to my real gig on Justified.
Oh shit. There's a plot, here. I'm trying to remember it all. Oh yeah. John grows closer to the young lady with the odd nose, who seems to have a serious photography fetish. But she used to go out with the jock asshole, and the jock asshole hates watching his ex-broad hanging out with Mr. Flashlight Hands. John goes out on a lovely date with his chick, and they're accosted by the jock asshole and his entourage on a haunted hay ride. John kicks the shit out of them with his awesome "legacies", and then he takes his lady home.
At least, that's how I remember it happening. Around this point, I remember turning to Ky and asking how much longer this movie would last. He was so unengaged in the proceedings, he just shrugged and said something to the effect of "three hours?" I kept wondering when something was going to happen. Anything to keep me interested. I didn't care about this alien asshole and his photog girlfriend. Was there a point to any of this? When were the Maltomealians going to show up and kill this prick?
What happened next? I don't recall. Wait, I think the school nerd saw John's glowing hands at the haunted hay ride, and he gets it into his head that this cat might just be an alien. Speaking of haunted things, I am reminded of something I overheard once whilst in Arkansas. Sitting at the local Western Sizzlin' (the only place open in Batesville after 9pm), I couldn't help but hear bits and pieces of a conversation carried on by two large cowboys two tables over.
These fellows had massive belt buckles. Now that I think of it, every man in that retaurant had a massive belt buckle. It was like some kind of pageant. Like they were all trying to outdo each other in the belt buckle department. And all of these massive, shiny belt buckles were adorned with either Budweiser logos, bald eagles, or American flags. One of these belt buckles (I am not making this up) featured all three. It was amazing. Like some kind of belt buckle singularity.
Anyhoo, these two dudes were having a conversation about ghosts. Cowboy #1 believed his old family house to be haunted, and Cowboy #2 kept asking him questions about what kind of clothes the ghosts were wearing. Like he's Joan Rivers on the red carpet. The conversation was amusing enough, but what really grabbed me was the way Cowboy #1 pronounced the word "haunted". Every time he said the word, in his ridiculously over-the-top Arkansas accent, he said "hainted". H-Ain't-Ed. His house was "hainted".
I felt like I was witnessing some kind of bizarre performance art. At the end of their conversation, I was half-expecting them to rise from their seats and give a respectful bow to the rest of the Western Sizzlin' patrons. Later that night, as I sat in the hellish humidity of an Arkansas July, I was overcome with laughter as I recalled the truly bizarre thing I had witnessed. I have never, before or since, heard anybody pronounce the word "haunted" that way. I don't care how Southern someone is. That's just fucking weird.
So the nerd confronts John with his earth-shattering knowledge, and John comes clean. Yes, he is an alien from another planet, and yes, his hands come in handy during a power outage. "Handy". Get it? Jesus...
Henri gets kidnapped... somehow, by two internet conspiracy yahoos being manipulated by the Mongohamiltons. John and the nerd track them down and attempt to rescue Henri, but the toothy ones arrive and a fight commences. Our heroes give the bad dudes the slip, and they all crowd into the nerd's truck. But the nerd has lost the keys! Never fear, Henri informs John that he can use his awesome telekinetic powers to start the truck without the keys.
John halfasses it, doubting his own abilities. He just doesn't commit to the whole "telekinetic ignition" idea. This gives one of the Molarameranians time to jump on the hood and ram his ugly sword through the windshield, into Henri's chest. Literally five seconds later, John manages to start the truck with his mind, and they speed off into the night. A little later, Henri whispers some trite shit to John, then he crumbles into ash. So I guess maybe he was a vampire?
Yeah. Henri's death was John's fault. Good job, asshole! The conspiracy loons found John because they discovered a video on the internet showing John's tidal freakout from the beginning of the film. Then the Mamboonians found the conspiracy loons and they tracked down Henri and the rest is history. John kept being a fucking rebel, giving Henri the finger at every turn, and the end result: dead Henri. The only really good actor in the entire movie got cacked before the climax, thanks to our "hero".
The Mangosapiens follow John and Company back to Paradise, where the big climactic battle takes place at the local high school. Some Australian chick shows up, and we learn that she's Number 6, and she's here to kick some shark people ass. The Margleblasters unleash their secret weapons: two giant hairless sugargliders with big teeth and bad attitudes. But John's dog has a secret...
Damn, I never mentioned the dog. John has a dog. Near the beginning of the film, we are introduced to a curious little lizard that crawls into the back of Henri's car as he and John leave Florida for Ohio. Once at their new house, the lizard exits the vehicle, crawling into a bush. What emerges from the bush is a cute little beagle. John sees this lonely dog and immediately adopts him. We obviously know the dog isn't just a dog, and throughout the film the little pooch keeps showing up, acting strange.
During the climax, as the nerd sits in his truck with the dog, the canine transforms into... a giant dog? It still vaguely resembles a dog, only now it has a mouth like the Reapers in Blade 2, and the tail of an Ankylosaurus. When the terrordog shows up in the school to rescue John from the mutant sugargliders, Number 6 explains that the dog is actually a "chimera", a big shapeshifter from the planet Lorien apparently sent by John's late parents to protect him.
So John's dog tangles with one of the sugargliders, while the humanoid heroes duel with the Mazoogodians. After half the school is destroyed, the good guys prevail, blowing up the Mambozargodian leader with his own grenades. So they all get the fuck out before the cops arrive with a shitload of questions. The next day, John says his tearful goodbyes to the photog chick, swearing to return one day. The nerd chooses to tag along, because his dad apparently has something to do with all of this extraterrestrial nonsense, and also because the high school no longer exists. And the jock asshole is now a good guy. So everything works out in the end, right?
But what about his dog? He had an epic battle with the giant sugarglider in the school showers. The sugarglider stabbed the shit out of him with his razor-sharp talons, but eventually the dog got the upper hand, tearing out the monster's throat with his massive jaws. After defeating his nemesis, he slowly transforms into a bloody, limping beagle, collapsing on the wet floor, his blood swirling down the drain.
At no point after this does John show the slightest concern for his dog. He never even mentions the dog again. Nobody does. It's like after that heartbreaking final image of the little beagle dying alone, the movie wanted us to forget he existed. Luckily, moments before John and his pals ditch town, the beagle limps to his master's side, still bloody, still clearly in a lot of pain.
The asshole never even went back for his fucking dog! He left the poor, noble animal to die at that wrecked school. He was already moving on with his life, pledging eternal love to his dull love interest and readying himself to search the world for his Lorien companions. The wounded animal had to make his own way to John the next day. I couldn't fucking believe this. Why would that dog give two shits about this prick after being abandoned to die in a fucking high school locker room?
And John doesn't seem that happy to see the dog, nor is he terribly concerned that the animal is clearly in a a bad way. The nerd just picks the dog up and climbs into the truck with him. The fucking nerd cares more about the dog! This was the last straw for me. Throughout the film, I was given no reason to truly care about this douchebag of a hero, and the way he treated his superdog just sealed the deal for me. This is our protagonist? No fucking way, man! The boring, dog-hating, flashlight-handed asshole? No dice.
And what the fuck is up with his love affair with the photog? We're informed that Loriens love for life. When they fall in love with somebody, they can never love anyone else. Isn't that special? He'd better hope the empty-eyed photographer chick feels the same way, otherwise he's going to be one miserable motherfucker later in life. I keep picturing this duck in my neighborhood. After his mate was hit by a car, he just wandered around in a daze for about a month, before I watched him waddle into traffic, ending his own life. That was fucking tragic. I teared up when I saw that poor duck commit suicide.
Of course, if this ever happens to John Smith, I'll just laugh. That would be a wonderful twist.
I hate I Am Number 4. I truly do. I hate the cast, I hate the story, I hate the stupidly-named Mogradorians. The only actors who manage to bring any believability to their roles are Timothy Olyphant and maybe Brian Howe as one of the conspiracy loons. But Howe has prior experience in this genre, being one of schlockmeister Larry Blamire's stock players. If you haven't heard of Larry Blamire, watch The Lost Skeleton Of Cadavra or Dark And Stormy Night. They're hilarious, and they're so much more entertaining than this mess.
Every other actor in this movie is just another notch on the dull bedpost. Alex Pettyfer, who plays "John Smith", has no screen presence, and no chemistry with his love interest, played by Dianna Agron, who is about as appealing as a burlap sack filled with spoiled cottage cheese. Callan McAuliffe plays the nerd "Sam" with some unique brand of boring pseudo-intensity that never feels convincing. The jock asshole, played by Jack Abel, looks like he'd last about two minutes in a real football game, and looks like the son of Sean Whalen, who you might recognize as "That Bug-Eyed Guy" from Jury Duty, That Thing You Do!, and Twister. In short, this dude looks like a rapist.
Director D.J. Caruso knows how to call "action" and "cut", but he doesn't know much about actually making a compelling story. Looking back at his directorial career, I can't say he's actually improved at all. Taking Lives is an incomprehensibly bad motion picture, Disturbia is a flashy, vapid Rear Window knock-off, and Eagle Eye is just a fucking mess. I still love his first movie, The Salton Sea, but he actually had good actors in that one. That film featured Val Kilmer, Vincent D'Onofrio, Peter Sarsgaard, Adam Goldberg, Glenn Plummer, Deborah Kara Unger, Doug Hutchison, Luis Guzman, Anthony Lapaglia, R. Lee Ermey, and fucking Meat Loaf! You can't fail with a cast like that, so I don't credit my enjoyment of The Salton Sea to D. J. Caruso's direction.
I understand that I Am Number 4 is based on what is the first in a planned-out series of novels, so it's no surprise that the film feels incomplete. But that doesn't explain why the movie feels like the pilot episode of the CW's I Am Number 4: The Series. The big, expensive two-hour series premiere, with special guest-star Timothy Olyphant. The movie just feels so small. Sure, the digital effects are better than what you usually see on network television, but the writing, the directing, and the cast are all pure mediocre TV.
No surprise to me that the film was co-written by Alfred Gough & Miles Millar, the guys who created the thoroughly mediocre Smallville for the WB/CW. They've never written anything worthwhile. Seriously, check out their history on IM DB. It's like a perfect storm of mediocrity! They came up with the story for Lethal Weapon 4!
Leaving the theatre that evening, I realized I enjoyed playing the Terminator Salvation arcade game so much more than watching I Am Number 4. And I hated the Terminator Salvation movie. Funny how that works out. In short: fuck this movie. In long: motherfuck this movie. In retrospect, I am certain I would have had more fun watching the roller derby game. Or just wasting the rest of my money at the arcade, rather than subjecting myself to I Am Number 4.
Keep Hope Alive
I watched the Academy Awards the other night. I saw a hologram of Bob Hope introduce Jude Law and Robert Downey, Jr. Then I ate my own head.
P. S. - Drive Angry review coming soon. That is all.
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