I'm sitting at my little desk with a built-in shelf, listening to some smart-ass kid telling us about all the exotic locations he had visited. A tight-lipped girl talks about how much money she helped raise for the local animal shelter. A pre- pubescent frat boy rambles on about how many pool parties he had for his highly selective clique of friends. Suddenly the over-energetic woman at the front of the room turns to me: "That leaves just you, Ryan. How did you spend your summer vacation?"
Yes, this is the first day of school. Pick a grade, it doesn't matter. My answer was always the same: a reluctant "At the movies" Of course, this answer never satisfied the teachers of my youth, or my peers for that matter. "How can a kid spend his entire summer vacation at the movies?" they asked. Well, I obviously didn't spend my entire vacation "at the movies," but it seemed to constitute the majority of my social activities. There is not much else to do in a relatively small town whose only options for excitement are bowling, the movies, and later, field parties. And my habits haven't changed.
This summer proved to be no different. It was a healthy summer at the box office, although it left few memorable films behind. The movie season got started with a bang in the form of two high-budget action pictures: Crimson Tide and Die Hard With a Vengeance. These types of movies have to be taken with a grain of salt. They are what they are, and one shouldn't expect much artistry or original themes when they enter the theater. I've always loved big-budget Hollywood action flicks solely for this reason: Escapism, pure and simple.
People who overly criticize these types of films, who need to pick apart every last detail and find all the flaws, and who only see them as immoral pop-culture garbage, really need to lighten up. There are no pretenses with most Hollywood "garbage." Besides, big-budget star-driven movies are the bread and butter of the American cinema. If it weren't for these high-grossers, Hollywood studios wouldn't have any extra money to make the smaller films that usually are praised more highly. And for all those nit-pickers out there, I'm truly sorry that you cannot grasp the concept of suspension of disbelief. I take pity on you.
Both Crimson Tide and Die Hard With a Vengeance were good at what they set out to do. Crimson Tide even had decent acting and a moralistic theme. It was more psychological than physical action, but by the last third of movie, I was psychologically exhausted. I just wanted it to end, but instead the plot kept going full circle, over and over again.
The next film I saw was by far the best of the summer. I wasn't expecting much when I entered the theater showing Braveheart, but by the time the credits started rolling, I was sitting silent in my seat, emotionally drained. Mel Gibson surprised me. I knew he was talented, both as an actor (Hamlet) and a director (The Man Without a Face), but I never imagined he could be so brilliant. Sure, there are moments, even whole scenes, in Braveheart that are unnecessary and cumbersome. But in a three-hour epic, one tends to ignore them. Exceptional cinematography (the final shot of the torture table invokes pure emotion), fine acting, and the most ironically beautiful battle scenes ever filmed combine to make Braveheart my early favorite for movie of the year.
Unfortunately, it was all downhill from there. The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill but Came Down a Mountain was a forgettable disappointment, especially in the way that Hugh Grant, whom I enjoy, has begun to typecast himself.
There isn't one good thing I can say about Johnny Mnemonic except that I'm sure Warner Bros. enjoyed a nice refund from their insurance company after their sets for Blade Runner were blatantly ripped off.
Congo and Batman Forever are another pair of those movies that you must take as they are. Congo, however, was even less than it tried to be (it's about time Michael Crichton experienced a poor cinematic translation), and Batman Forever was a little more. Joel Schumacher completely transformed the Batman films' style into what I consider a campier, friendlier noir.
For a romantic interlude in the midst of all these action/adventure pictures, I attended the terribly depressing The Bridges of Madison County, during which we are supposed to accept (and enjoy watching) a 65 year-old Clint Eastwood play a romantic lead. The film itself was enjoyable enough, despite the horrible casting and the distracting and annoying flashforwards to Meryl Streep's present-day children. There is one shot in the film that is most memorable, and ironically it is of Clint. The close-up of him standing in the rain, his hair soaked to his forehead, and desperate sorrow in his eyes brought a tear to my eye. If only I enjoyed being depressed
Despite all its hype and anti-climactic build-up, Apollo 13 turned out to be a very good movie. With Tom Hanks in the lead and Ron Howard at the helm, the movie couldn't go wrong. The authentic feel of everything, the pragmatic tension, and understated performances by Ed Harris and Gary Sinise helped to make it an enjoyable film, not to mention one of this summer's only blockbusters (along with Pocahontas and Batman Forever).
The rest of the summer consisted mainly of mediocre action pictures that were, at best, good entertainment (Under Siege 2), and at worst, an example of just how desperate some Americans are for cheap thrills (Judge Dredd). Among the better of these were Desperado, summarized simply as a helluva good time, and Waterworld. Despite a bathetic conclusion and an interesting resemblance to George Miller's The Road Warrior, Waterworld entranced me with its design and its main character, who at least in the beginning, is not the typical action hero. First Knight, The Net and Virtuosity were, at best, forgettable.
In the comedy category, Nine Months was simple and touchy-feely, and certainly had its moments. It will unfortunately be remembered only for Hugh Grant's run- in with the law, which some film critics have asininely not been unable to leave out of their reviews of this movie.
Clueless was the other comedy I dragged myself to in July. Some critics have had nothing but fabulous things to say about it, and although it was sometimes funny, I don't see the genius in it. True, it allows teenagers the opportunity to laugh at themselves, but I don't think that that's really a problem with most young people today. I know I laugh at myself every day.
Finally, at the end of the summer, a couple of very good independent films were released. Both are still out and are very much worth seeing. The first, Kids, is a shocking portrait of a small group of inner city youth. Filmed in cinŽma vŽritŽ style so as to resemble a documentary, it describes an extreme group of teenagers on the fringe of society. To borrow a now-cliched phrase about this film, it may turn some stomachs, but it won't turn any heads (away from the screen, that is).
The final film I saw this summer was one of my favorites, The Usual Suspects. A tight, fast-paced, noirish mystery-thriller, The Usual Suspects begins with a fantastic ensemble cast, adds a heist-gone-awry starting point, and takes off from there. I was enveloped immediately into the story, and it left me guessing until the final shot.
Although not the best summer for movies, 1995 certainly left an indelible mark on me. Braveheart will probably stay on my Top-Ten list for years to come, and I discovered a valuable lesson: the independent, low-budget films that are the hardest to find are usually the films that are most worth the wait.
So for all the other film nuts out there who can't seem to stay away from the darkened theater for more than a week, never be ashamed to tell the whole world how you spent your summer vacation Ñ and when you're all famous directors some day, never cast a 65 year-old man in a romantic lead.