doorkeypress
A rejoint le janv. 2003
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Note de doorkeypress
"Saving Star Wars" is a movie for anyone who's lost faith in magic but who desperately wants to believe again. I am not a "Star Wars" fan. But I know the heartbreak of disillusionment. I'll never forget the day in 1987 when I realized that Laser Tag belts did not send the wearer back in time, as the cartoon of the same name suggested. Naturally I got a huge kick out of seeing Woody Garrison (Joe Urban) turn a plastic light saber into a weapon of righteousness.
Best friends Woody and Hank (Jim Peterson) have been serious students of the Lucas universe since they saw "Star Wars" together in 1977. Hank still sleeps in jedi jammies and takes calls on a life-sized Yoda phone, but difficult circumstances have turned Woody into an agnostic. It's hard for him to get excited about The Force when his young son Taylor (Scott Heffern II) is dying. Ironically, Taylor's greatest desire is to convince George Lucas to continue making "Star Wars" movies forever, so his father can enjoy the magic and adventure after the boy is gone. Taylor puts his request in writing and asks Woody to deliver the letter to the notoriously reclusive director.
The premise is an invitation for melodrama, but the characters express their complicated emotions indirectly, through dialog that is, at times, goofy. An early scene in Taylor's hospital room consists largely of "Airplane!" quotes. Writer/director Gary Wood has a good ear for the way guys use movie references and corny jokes in everyday conversations, and the actors deliver the lines with the perfect mixture of earnestness and self-conscious cheesiness.
After much internal debate, Woody accompanies Hank to the Star Wars Celebration II in Indianapolis, where George Lucas may or may not make an appearance. He runs afoul of a hostile press coordinator and a "matrix" of security guards, before finding Lucas (George Starkey) unconscious at his feet.
As the story progresses, it morphs into an epic parody of the best scenes from the "Star Wars" movies. A low-rent "pod race" is fall down funny, while a roof-top showdown creates real suspense by faithfully adhering to the rules of action sequence editing. The likable Dave Prowse, as himself, busts a few Darth Vader moves. And, of course, no "Star Wars" parody would be complete without a woman in a gold bikini.
Footage shot on location at the 2002 Star Wars Celebration is well-planned and blends seamlessly with footage shot elsewhere. A few scenes might have benefited from better lighting, but technical shortcomings such as these are easy to overlook when the performances are so engaging.
Joe Urban and Jim Peterson are irresistible as, well, a couple of dorks. Whether or not Peterson likes "Star Wars" in real life, he approaches the role of Hank with remarkable affection and respect for the character's passion. Gary Wood makes an important distinction between Hank's true admiration, and the immature obsession of "Darth Bader" (Scott C. Sendelweck), a character who steals the script for Episode III. Joe Urban is sympathetic as the world-weary skeptic who tentatively taps into The Force to escape increasingly outrageous situations.
Gary Wood's low-budget, feel-good comedy suggests that there's dorkiness in all of us, and that we'll never be truly happy until we accept it. "Saving Star Wars" convinced the dork in me.
Best friends Woody and Hank (Jim Peterson) have been serious students of the Lucas universe since they saw "Star Wars" together in 1977. Hank still sleeps in jedi jammies and takes calls on a life-sized Yoda phone, but difficult circumstances have turned Woody into an agnostic. It's hard for him to get excited about The Force when his young son Taylor (Scott Heffern II) is dying. Ironically, Taylor's greatest desire is to convince George Lucas to continue making "Star Wars" movies forever, so his father can enjoy the magic and adventure after the boy is gone. Taylor puts his request in writing and asks Woody to deliver the letter to the notoriously reclusive director.
The premise is an invitation for melodrama, but the characters express their complicated emotions indirectly, through dialog that is, at times, goofy. An early scene in Taylor's hospital room consists largely of "Airplane!" quotes. Writer/director Gary Wood has a good ear for the way guys use movie references and corny jokes in everyday conversations, and the actors deliver the lines with the perfect mixture of earnestness and self-conscious cheesiness.
After much internal debate, Woody accompanies Hank to the Star Wars Celebration II in Indianapolis, where George Lucas may or may not make an appearance. He runs afoul of a hostile press coordinator and a "matrix" of security guards, before finding Lucas (George Starkey) unconscious at his feet.
As the story progresses, it morphs into an epic parody of the best scenes from the "Star Wars" movies. A low-rent "pod race" is fall down funny, while a roof-top showdown creates real suspense by faithfully adhering to the rules of action sequence editing. The likable Dave Prowse, as himself, busts a few Darth Vader moves. And, of course, no "Star Wars" parody would be complete without a woman in a gold bikini.
Footage shot on location at the 2002 Star Wars Celebration is well-planned and blends seamlessly with footage shot elsewhere. A few scenes might have benefited from better lighting, but technical shortcomings such as these are easy to overlook when the performances are so engaging.
Joe Urban and Jim Peterson are irresistible as, well, a couple of dorks. Whether or not Peterson likes "Star Wars" in real life, he approaches the role of Hank with remarkable affection and respect for the character's passion. Gary Wood makes an important distinction between Hank's true admiration, and the immature obsession of "Darth Bader" (Scott C. Sendelweck), a character who steals the script for Episode III. Joe Urban is sympathetic as the world-weary skeptic who tentatively taps into The Force to escape increasingly outrageous situations.
Gary Wood's low-budget, feel-good comedy suggests that there's dorkiness in all of us, and that we'll never be truly happy until we accept it. "Saving Star Wars" convinced the dork in me.
Albion Moonlight is a salesman, a finely-tuned corporate instrument who has never evolved to a state of independent personhood. The umbilical electrodes connecting him to his space capsule monitor his biorhythms. The ship's artificial intelligence continually prompts him for personal data.
When his capsule crashes, the computer system connecting Albion to The Corporation crashes too. The salesman is unwittingly born into the world of free agency. Having relied for so long on mental paradigms from the corporate employee handbook, he is initially unable to structure his own thoughts. The unfamiliar landscape in which he finds himself is the a priori system of archetypes through which newborn babies filter their experience.
A universe of binaries takes shape around him. His spaceship lies in a sun-scorched desert, but a lust for the sea floods Moonlight's brain. Appearing out of nowhere a frantic fellow salesman reiterates company policy. Must report. Appearing just as suddenly, a magnetic stranger entices Moonlight to rebel.
The story seriously questions whether humans can operate independent of the sign systems implanted in them by society. Even The Corporation's reprehensible acronym for a customer (Signature to Lease Unlimited Goods--SLUG) is less destructive than an absence of conceptual structures. Albion has no means of categorizing the two strangers in the desert, for example, and chaos results.
Concurrent events at Corporate Headquarters question whether escape is even possible. Is Albion's disappearance a corporate slight-of-hand?
MOONLIGHT BY THE SEA tackles questions weighty enough to level a movie of lesser craftsmanship. The black and white cinematography is selective enough to help distill the major existential themes. Low-key lighting camouflages the bare-bones sets. A roiling sound design--a la IRREVERSIBLE--keeps viewers vibrating uncomfortably in their seats. The acting achieves an effective balance between stylized role-playing and emotional revelation. The script evenly distributes the expository burden between dialogue and flashback. One or two speeches seem abruptly declarative, as did Albion's recitation of the four phases of a sales call. However, the four phases themselves were fascinating, and the sequence was well-edited, interlaced with glimpses of a glib, beaming Albion peddling aerosol satisfaction.
The film employs enough of a three-act structure to accommodate Western perceptual needs, but it also lapses into non-narrative segments, stranding us, like Albion, with our own disordered streams of consciousness.
When his capsule crashes, the computer system connecting Albion to The Corporation crashes too. The salesman is unwittingly born into the world of free agency. Having relied for so long on mental paradigms from the corporate employee handbook, he is initially unable to structure his own thoughts. The unfamiliar landscape in which he finds himself is the a priori system of archetypes through which newborn babies filter their experience.
A universe of binaries takes shape around him. His spaceship lies in a sun-scorched desert, but a lust for the sea floods Moonlight's brain. Appearing out of nowhere a frantic fellow salesman reiterates company policy. Must report. Appearing just as suddenly, a magnetic stranger entices Moonlight to rebel.
The story seriously questions whether humans can operate independent of the sign systems implanted in them by society. Even The Corporation's reprehensible acronym for a customer (Signature to Lease Unlimited Goods--SLUG) is less destructive than an absence of conceptual structures. Albion has no means of categorizing the two strangers in the desert, for example, and chaos results.
Concurrent events at Corporate Headquarters question whether escape is even possible. Is Albion's disappearance a corporate slight-of-hand?
MOONLIGHT BY THE SEA tackles questions weighty enough to level a movie of lesser craftsmanship. The black and white cinematography is selective enough to help distill the major existential themes. Low-key lighting camouflages the bare-bones sets. A roiling sound design--a la IRREVERSIBLE--keeps viewers vibrating uncomfortably in their seats. The acting achieves an effective balance between stylized role-playing and emotional revelation. The script evenly distributes the expository burden between dialogue and flashback. One or two speeches seem abruptly declarative, as did Albion's recitation of the four phases of a sales call. However, the four phases themselves were fascinating, and the sequence was well-edited, interlaced with glimpses of a glib, beaming Albion peddling aerosol satisfaction.
The film employs enough of a three-act structure to accommodate Western perceptual needs, but it also lapses into non-narrative segments, stranding us, like Albion, with our own disordered streams of consciousness.