Second-Chance Cinema: Guardians of the Galaxy
No critic is infallible. It’s an open secret that few of them will admit, but would be remiss to deny. As valuable a resource as the informed film critic can provide when appraising a motion picture, we’re prone to the same random prejudices and peccadillos as anyone else. Sure, professionalism dictates that we diligently strive to check them at the door, but few of even the very best films are recognized as classics on first sight, and any number of random factors – including real-life experience – can skew our perception as we weigh the many factors that lead to a film’s ultimate success or failure.
Citizen Kane (1941), The Wizard of Oz (1939), and Blade Runner (1982) were all panned by critics upon initial release, yet today they’re rightfully considered classics. So what stuck in Pauline Kael’s craw when she turned up her nose at The Graduate, and who pissed in Rex Reed’s Wheaties the morning he saw Airplane (1980)? Even the very best critics can fail to recognize a contemporary classic in the moment, and if they’re worth their weight in celluloid (or hard disc space), they’ll be willing to do penance for their errors in judgement.
That is the objective of Second-Chance Cinema – to confront the critics with their own words, and explore how their opinions may have shifted over time, either for better or worse. It’s alright to be wrong, and confession offers a healthy opportunity to explore our growth both as people and as critics.
Looking back on my two-star review of Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), I was actually somewhat surprised at how positive it read. As a long-time James Gunn fan who adored his underrated Super (2010), I was interested to see how he would make the leap from an original work informed by comic book culture to a franchise feature for Marvel Studios. Ever since his Troma beginnings, Gunn had displayed a particular strength for uncompromised, independent filmmaking that perfectly suited his gloriously demented sensibilities.
That warped vision seemed well intact from the moment Star Lord lip-synchs Redbone’s “Come and Get Your Love” to a rat during Guardians of the Galaxy’s wonderfully unorthodox title sequence. Yet despite the striking, comic book inspired imagery of our hero leaping onto the Milano moments later, I soon found myself growing resentful of the perceived compromises Gunn appeared to be making in order to accommodate Marvel Studios’ ever-sprawling canon.
In my review, I took particular exception to the “convoluted plot” involving Infinity Stones, cosmic family quarrels, and proxy villains. The story structure, with its focus on a genocidal maniac determined to wipe out a civilization bearing an uncanny similarity to contemporary Earth, to me registered as a stale echo of nearly every Hollywood sci-fi and comic book film produced over the past few decades. Here was Gunn, one of modern cinema’s most ferociously original voices, willingly compromising his commitment to weirdness in order to cash his ticket to the big time. This is where I confess that despite my ability to savor the occasional comic book blockbuster, I foolishly walked into Guardians of the Galaxy craving a straight shot of Gunn. It was the Marvel mixer that threw of for a loop. Now that I’ve developed a taste for this unlikely blend, I can’t get enough.
It was that initial bitterness that blinded me to exactly what was happening here – Gunn was actively nudging Marvel Films out of the Dark Knight’s imposing, all-consuming shadow. Though I absolutely respect the shade of legitimacy Christopher Nolan’s Batman films brought to comic book cinema, I deeply resent the dour impact the trilogy (in particular the second installment) had on a genre that was once colorful, vibrant, and accessible to the original comic book audience – kids. Here was one of my favorite filmmakers administering the antidote to that dark plague right before my eyes, yet I failed to notice since I was so focused on my own expectations to appreciate what was actually happening.
Yes, despite their insistence otherwise, it’s true that even professional critics can be shackled by their own preconceptions about what a movie could or should be (case in point, the time a colleague and typically on-point critic cried foul when Driver left behind the bag of cash at the end of Drive [2011]), and here I was falling into the very trap I strove so hard to side-step in the past.
More than once, Gunn has gone on record claiming Guardians of the Galaxy is “a movie made about outsiders, by outsiders, for outsiders.” In the movie as in the real world, those outsiders have real value, and the sooner in life children learn that, the sooner we can stop destroying each other, and start working together to get off this planet and explore the universe. Yes, the plot of Guardians is shackled to convention, but story is only one of many factors that contribute to a film’s success, and the more I revisit the film, the greater my appreciation for its subversive sub-text grows.
In retrospect I should have seen it from the beginning. After all, when it comes to subversion Gunn does have something of a reputation for subversion; true, Gunn’s debut feature Slither (2006) is essentially little more than a full-blast gross-out monster-fest (though it could be argued that he’s assaulting the conventions of the typical romantic drama, ala Night of the Creeps [1986]), but his early screenplay for Tromeo and Juliet (1996) is by definition a corruption of Shakespeare’s oft-told tale, and his PG Porn (2008-2009) series is somewhat ingenious for undermining of the very thing that smut-seekers savor – explicit sex, in order to highlight the absurdity of it all.
Then comes Super. Though immediately lost in the shuffle of normal-guy superhero films like Kick-Ass (2010), Defendor (2009), Special (2006), and Griff the Invisible (2010), thanks, perhaps, in part to its generic title, Super is a brilliant character study that truly stands apart from the pack – not only for Gunn’s skill at subverting the comic-book vigilante concept to tell the tale of a sad man on an incredible voyage of self-discovery. Star Rainn J Wilson’s stunning performance as heartbroken Frank Darbo is every bit compelling as Robert DeNiro’s Travis Bickle (an obvious influence), even though his muted “public persona” in the film makes the richly nuanced portrayal easy to overlook.
Interestingly, a key scene of Super involves the comic store clerk who will soon become Darbo’s sidekick misinterpreting a request for a comic by name-dropping The Avengers (of whose ranks the Guardians ultimately join in the comic book universe), highlighting Gunn’s interest in the medium before it could even be conceived that he would be at the helm of a major Hollywood Blockbuster. Though exquisitely written and performed with gusto by Wilson and co-star Ellen Page (not to overlook Kevin Bacon’s pervasively scumbaggy turn as villain Jacques), Super is a grimy, inelegant film on the surface, defiantly wearing that trait as a badge of honor from the moment young Frank is getting urinated on by bullies even before the opening title (spelled out Jacque’s pulsing cartoon guts).
While I’m confessing, it’s impossible not to admit that I was in love with Super from first sight. It truly is one of my all-time favorite films. It’s horrifying, hilarious, heartbreaking, and beautiful all at once, the kind of film that rarely gets produced in the world of script doctors and test audiences. I laughed when Frank declared “People look stupid when they cry,” and I looked stupid when he found his once-bare wall covered with perfect moments. I think Super is a masterpiece, and everybody knows that a masterpiece is impossible to follow.
So I walked into Guardians of the Galaxy with hope in hand, and, perhaps, a chip on my shoulder. Having previously been fatigued by the slew of superhero movies that climaxed with the potential obliteration of Earth, I was severely underwhelmed with not just my previous criticisms of Guardians, but also a somewhat predictable climax that led to the potential obliteration of a planet that looked a whole lot like Earth.
Then I took my daughter to see Guardians of the Galaxy in the theater; then I bought the Blu-ray; then I tossed it in the player countless times when I just wanted something to watch. And the more I returned to it, the more I began to realize that it wasn’t the “contrived plot” that kept me coming back for more, but the richly-drawn characters and the bond they shared when faced with a common threat. Considering that I thought Super to be such a spectacular character study, it’s incomprehensible to me that I overlooked that same element in Guardians of the Galaxy, a film that captures the imagination as well as the very essence of being an outsider (the real-life cases in which kids with autism and Asperger’s were inspired by the characters of Groot and Drax are genuinely heartwarming).
So I confess! I was wrong about Guardians of the Galaxy! It feels good to come clean.
It also leads me to a point I made repeatedly in my 15 years as a professional film critic: A film – a visual work of art – deserves to be seen twice to make a truly fair critical assessment. This way, any initial misgivings could be minimized in order to render a fair verdict. I’m a firm believer in second chances, and though the film remains the same, it’s our consciousness and ever-evolving sense of self that allows us to see the vision within the illusion.
After all, we have decades to appreciate the work of artists who put brush to canvas. Why not extend the same courtesy to artists who put light to celluloid?
Jason Buchanan
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- Second-Chance Cinema: Guardians of the Galaxy - September 29, 2015
