Reviews

Loosely translated, this is not a movie about superheroes.

In fact, I still haven't figured out what it is, to be honest. The obvious answer is that it's a psychological thriller with supernatural overtones... but when has Shyamalan ever done the obvious? No, I think it may possibly be something quite different.

I think it's possible that this movie is Shyamalan's condemnation of society as we know it - after all, the "hero" (David) meets his end at the hands of the "authorities", and the overarching concept is one of hiding and destroying Those Who Are Not Normal.

Could this be a social statement?

Could Shyamalan mean this as a warning about a possible uprising after the three-ring circus our socio-political system has become? Is it a call to action before the REAL enemy with the clover tattoos has total control?

Maybe I'm giving him too much credit for subtlety... but it sure feels like we're supposed to see something of ourselves in each of the three focal figures and sympathize with them in different ways.

And James McAvoy, oh dear me - if I didn't already love him I'd be a fan after this one. Extraordinary. The only conceit they resort to in his multiple portrayals is brown eyes and a bit of prosthetics work for the Beast; everything else is pure body language and facial nuances, and he does it so well it's terrifying.

The movie is worth sitting through even if it's just to see his performance.

With all that in mind, this is unfortunately a terribly flawed creation in many ways.

The dialogue is dreadful, the pacing is bizarre, and the overall scenery is watered-down to the point of being boring. Casey is a cartoony rendition of Stockholm Syndrome Gone Wild; she, David's son, and Elijah's mother are pulled into the story without truly adding ANYTHING of any value to it except their presence; and there's too much time spent showing off crazy camera angles and extreme close-ups, and not enough time filling in great big GAPING holes in the plot.

It depends far too much on our suspension of disbelief, but gives us very little to hang our collective jackets on. All in all, one of the most poorly-executed movies he's ever signed off on.

And yet, I cannot help but be intrigued by it. It stays in my mind and wiggles its way into my subconscious. Is Shyamalan really a genius after all? Has he hidden a deep, world-altering message in a wretched shambles of a movie so that the general public will spurn it... but so that the people who NEED to get the message will see it and recognize it for what it is? The thronged masses in the train station at the end, staring numbly at their electronic devices, being exposed to the presence of something unpredictable and dangerous that's been hiding under their very noses - is that us?

The simple possibility that this is, in fact, the case makes me like this movie more by the moment.

This is one of those classic movies that, despite being clunky and laughable by today's über-polished standards, evokes a time in the viewer's life when such trivial details went overlooked in the face of a good-versus-evil, over-the-top, beautifully simple story that gave you a magnificently happy ending.

Harry Hamlin didn't have to act or even emote - it was enough just to look at that gorgeous chiseled face and see him scantily clad in a revealing toga. Ursula Andress, despite having only a single line in the whole thing, is beyond exquisite. Good thing, too, since every line in the movie is overblown... because come on people, we're talking Olympian gods and myths here!

If, like me, you grew up in the 70s and 80s, this grand operatic gem of a movie gave you a warm fluffy visual treat equivalent to a brownie sundae. Not a nutritious meal, but it left you feeling giddy, slightly overcharged, and ready to believe that syrupy goodness wins out in the end.

Handsome hero overcomes seemingly impossible odds, beautiful maiden is swept off her feet by romantic besotted stranger, wise and benevolent adviser offers advice and quips in the background, and all against a backdrop that is as overdone and self-aggrandizing as the acting itself. The music is equally epic and quite hummable when you're stuck in traffic.

The entire movie begs you to suspend your disbelief and just accept the story, no matter how awkwardly strung-together it is to those of us who are now sadly spoiled by modern special effects. And it's a sacrifice I make gladly, every time, because like Scully and Mulder I WANT TO BELIEVE. If you were lucky enough to be of an impressionable age when it came out, it made you a believer too.

The lurking terror of Medusa's lair, the menace of the Stygian Witches, and the raw overwhelming wish-fulfillment of the whole epic struggle are so charming that the viewer is glad to let go of their adulthood and believe in childish ideals again. Harryhausen delivered monsters that, while not necessarily perfect, were JUST RIGHT for the feeling at hand. A little romantic, perhaps a little forced and silly at times, but isn't that what it's all about? Myths aren't meant to be realistic. That's what makes them myths.

Clash of the Titans is a movie version of every child's favorite teddy bear. It may be moth-eaten and grubby by today's standards, but you love that bear anyway and you wouldn't trade it for a thousand new ones. It kept you safe from the monsters under the bed. It gave you hope. It made you believe that all was right with the world. And that's a gift that you never outgrow, and you'll always look past its flaws and remember the comfort it provided when you were young.