Die Hard Action Amazing, Yet Absurd

The action movie that doesn’t know it’s an action movie is a problem. This one gloats in its genre. Which do you prefer?

Either way, here’s what happens when you become too self aware:

1. You forget why we loved you:

The charm of Die Hard is its plea to the regular guy. John McClane is a New York City cop who gets into more trouble that he should be able to handle. We love seeing him get out of it. This time, McClane is so damn invincible it’s unbelievable. I’ve never fallen off a jet before. Have you?

2. You forget we love the average guy so much we also love his even more average sidekick:

The beat cop in I, the quirky janitor in II and the “Good Samaritan” in III all made us feel like, yeah, we too could be in a Die Hard movie. These were all guys who were even less of heroes than McClane. They got mixed up and spit out, and we loved that, too. Replacing them with a hacker who the audience can’t identify with removed the connectivity and heart behind the series.

3. You forgot that heroes don’t know they’re heroes:

McClane’s heroic no dinners, divorce and my kids hate me speech is way too “on the nose” for the genre. Come on guys, the basis if this kind of hero is to not establish his heroics. Lose the speech and replace with some falling action, so we can have some down time between explosions.

4. You forgot we love the all-American angle:

It’s the Fourth of July. Bruce Willis is a republican. If you’re going to regurgitate nationalism, now’s the time. The threat against the United States and its people was introduced nicely in the first half, but after that, the audience never gets closure on the fear and heartache we’ve all just witnessed. Sure, McClane gets his daughter back, but what about my power and the idea that the Capitol building has just been destroyed? If I call 911, is John McClane going to answer? Thanks for adding to our fear Fourth of July and letting those terrorists win.

5. You forgot that action is like sex, we have to want it:

Tease the audience with the right amount of action and we’ll feel breathless. Choke us with sequence after sequence and we’ll feel like we’re at a hot dog eating contest. The pacing was off you’re your gluttony of blow-up moments that with each scene, they lost appeal. You can’t bold everything or nothing is bold.

Oceans 13 is Bad Luck

I love George. I love Matt. And most of all, I love Brad.

The biggest problem in a movie with this much star power should be where to put the key light.

Fortunately for the audience, they had that figured out. It was the plot that needed the most positioning.


The four cardinal elements of screenwriting, particularly in this kind of caper picture, were all disregarded, blatantly and boastfully by everyone in this movie.

1. GOAL: What do they want?
The goal in this film is to destroy Al Pacino’s casino by making the “house” lose. This is over-explained, under-appreciated and flat out lame. Described with too many details and too much dialog, it’s 46 minutes into the film before anyone in the theater has a clear handle on what’s going on. But in the end, there is a goal, whether it’s worth risking life and limb for, that’s for you to decide.

2. STAKES: What are they risking?
Nothing is at stake for George and co in this film. There is no threatened time in prison, no mob boss with cruel intentions or even risk to their very lives. And, Reuben, if you’ll remember, wasn’t killed or even physically threatened by Al Pacino. If nothing else, Pacino’s henchman could have cobbled the aging casino man. Then, the audience would see Pacino’s power, and Clooney’s gang would be at risk of suffering the same fate. As it is now, the worst that can happen to anyone in the gang is to suffer a mild shock, the kind a 10-year-old might get from swimming in chilly water.

3. VALUE: Why does it matter?
There was no value placed on the goal. So Reuben’s name would soon be mud? As far as I remember, Reuben was merely the “bank roll” in the previous two films. Why not put someone of merit on the hospital gurney, so we can feel the necessity of this heist? It might be too complicated, and not as exciting, to put George or even Brad out, but the story would have had more value. We would have cared. The more value you have on the problem, the higher the stakes, the more tension in the scene and the better the suspense for the entire movie.

4. TIMELOCK: How much time do we have?
The timelock was crow-barred into the first 20 minutes, like the much of the rest of the film, with over-explanation. In fact, the explanation was so weak, the movie itself began to make fun of it. “It’s the hard launch of Al’s new casino.” That’s it? That’s what I paid $8.50 to see? Why should I care if Pacino wins some stupid award, or if Clooney wants take him down? The timelock has to be tied to the stakes and the stakes have to have value and the goal has to defeat all this so the hero can win in the end.

Come on, Section 8, we expect more from you.

General audience malaise was caused by the following other annoyances:

• Screen time was used to showcase actors’ novelty affect, rather than create real conflict.
• Stealing diamonds (the most interesting caper of the film) didn’t advance the plot or give power to anyone in the Oceans clan.
• A streamlined story about Linus would have been more interesting if properly developed. We were all waiting for that from the last one.
• The love story with Ellen Barkin was highly underused. There was no sexual tension between Damon and Barkin, and story-wise, the use of hallucinogenic drugs made it impossible for Barkin to take responsibility for her actions. This weakened her character and story arc.
• A new location was needed. Vegas is old hat, my Sinatra friends. I’m tired of seeing the Bellagio and remembering how good Oceans 11 was. Take us to Russia or Tokyo or under water or something.
• Terry Benedict should have been used or loosed. His storyline consisted of a guy watching a TV monitor from across the street. That went out with Lethal Weapon 4. This ain’t a stake out. If you’ve got Andy Garcia in a movie, put him the scene. Heighten the threat. Make it real.
• A less complicated plot would leave more time for character development. (Do I need to say that?)

Everything aside, I loved all the shots of George, Matt and Brad, so please do not think I hated those parts of the film. Looking at Hollywood hotties has its advantages (unless they slap a prosthetic nose on one, and then those scenes go down the toilet with the rest of the story).

In summary: Abysmal except for the close-ups.

-- ScreenwriterJ

Knocked Up Gets Laughs, But Not Longevity

Knocked Up, the most recent comedic installation from Judd Apatow, employs his loose story-telling style, but fails to deliver on true visceral conflict.

Sure, the jokes are funny, the dialog is hilarious, and the set up always pays off. But what 40-Year-Old Virgin had that Knocked Up lacks is depth in plot to elevate a simple story to a new height.



Pot-smoking Ben Stone (Seth Rogen) wants to be present in the birth and life of his first child. When Ben impregnates Allison (Katherine Heigl), a confident career woman who wants nothing more than to lead a successful, empowered life, the movie should have written itself.

But it did not.

So… let’s go back to classic Greek storytelling for a minute.

A story is like a game: two players fight for the same ball. These players are the protagonist and the antagonist. In Knocked Up, Ben and Allison are the two players. The ball is the baby. These players should fight until ultimately one person wins.

Ben is the hero, so it is his destiny to win this game, and the audience finds enjoyment in watching the method in which he will succeed.

The purpose of the antagonist is to put pressure on the protagonist. In romantic comedies, the antagonist is benevolent. Allison may look pretty on the outside, but that shouldn’t affect how strongly she pushes Ben away from his goal in actions and dialog.

Unfortunately for Knocked Up, Allison doesn’t push the conflict. She takes little action to keep Ben out of her life and is far too agreeable when it comes to criticizing the personality traits of a pot-smoking porn addict who is, whether she likes it or not, the father of her child.

If this were a story meeting, we might ask, what could Allison do to keep Ben away? How could she push him, while at the same time contemplate whether he is the right man for her?

A poor example of antagonistic conflict comes eighty minutes into the film. Allison is on the couch, crying and watching TV. Here, she is not appropriately matched with her protagonist. The writers should have gone back to their outline and worked in more solid conflict. Jokes can always dress a scene, but if the story is engaging and funny, it will leave a lasting affect on your audience and give people something to think about on the drive home.

Here are some other warning signs (in addition to a crying couch-potato antagonists) that conflict is not visceral:

• Characters who yell
• Characters who name call
• Characters who “lose it” in the middle of the scene for no concrete reason

If you’re “dressing” dialog with profanity and name calling, take a closer look and see if the characters are saying anything of substance. Sure, profanity and name calling is funny at the end of the scene or in a joke, but if the entire scene is a barrage of useless elevated speech, ask yourself, what are you trying to say?

Conflict should come out of character, and character is motivated by fear. The antagonist taps this fear until the hero is so crazy, he is forced to change his life.

Do that, and you’ll have a story people will want to see.

Laughter fills a moment of silence in the theater, but a good story lingers to keep the audience coming back for more.