|Even the poster has blue lens flares!|
So what does the film get right? The young actors are excellent and Abrams seems to direct them casually, and it’s not difficult to imagine that this group are friends. Their conversations seem unscripted and spontaneous (though the adults are one dimensional morons). The two leads are able to promote pathos while being burdened with trite dialogue. Here again, the adults infuse the narrative with only bathos, inanimate objects infused with pathetic fallacy.
The rest of the story is a conflated mess that utilizes magic as an end to the means. It denies any real emotional impact in representing childhood trauma and instead parades cardboard cutouts in place of characters, giving the movie a video game mentality. I’m not sure why every science fiction film believes that the creature piloting the space craft can actually build it. I’m sure Neil Armstrong is a super intelligent guy but I doubt he could reconstitute the Apollo 11 from spare parts…especially alien spare parts. I also find it disturbing that the movie seems to be saying that the boy and his father, after suffering such a tragic loss, must “let go” of their grief. This elevates the message to the Spielbergian realm of pure emotional manipulation that is outright wrong, a pop psychology cure as sweet as a candy and just as sickly filling.
The movie, like the alien, is just too big and loud that not only stretches credulity but deforms it. I guess no one could see a 20 ft monster running around the city for a few days? It smashes cars, kidnaps people (wtf?), breaks into stores and steals electronics while no one witnesses these events or even questions the magnitude of the crimes. And what did the alien do with the hundreds of tons of dirt while digging his cavern? And how did all of the metal reform into the exact space craft that was depicted in the professor’s videos? What was the point of the Rubik’s-like cubes? And how in the world did the professor survive a head-on collision with a speeding train? The movie buries its logic under a screeching cacophony ("phony" being the nominative) of grinding metal and two vapid faux Pas (stupid pun alluding to the poorly written “fake” father figures). And if I see another blue lens flair I will fucking scream!
SUPER 8 is too big and empty of any cinematic calories, a summer snack that seems tasty when eaten but is nearly impossible to digest.
Final Grade: (D)