2012 (2009)

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"2012 proves to be Roland Emmerich’s best film to date. A heaping amount of bombast and detail has gone into this cinematic brown note. It’s an insane ride that just keeps going well after the world has imploded upon itself. Bravo! "

When heading into a film about the end of the world, that's exactly what we, as a collective conscience, want to see. In spades. Absolute destruction in its purest form. It's revisionist theory porn on a grand scale. Really. It's the same with any genre escapade. Give us a monster movie and we could give shit all about the storyline. We want to see a goddamn monster. Give us an alien invasion flick, and we'll skip over all the hoopla about character design and plot structuring in a heartbeat. Just as long as the decimation of mankind is cool enough. And scary enough. After thirteen years and three epic, earth-shattering tales of gleeful obliteration, director Roland Emmerich understands this principle better than any other sci-fi auteur on the planet. He doesn't play fast and loose with his drama, dragging out the inevitable. He doesn't arrive like a one-trick pony with a lame, lofty ruse up his tattered sleeve. He never makes us wade through an ocean of boring faces saying goodbye to each other for the last time, only going all in at the end. He doesn't save the best for last. No! He fucking pounds us again and again with that swinging fist of spectacle, never letting us breath for a second. Even after every corner of the world has been torn asunder, he keeps his valuable screen time ticking like a series of intense time bombs that keep going off in our face. When it comes to dramatic arcs, the man has studied John Stagliano more than he has Alfred Hitchcock or Steven Spielberg. He's all about the money shot. Working on a grand scale (perhaps the grandest scale of all), his special effects team keeps this train wreck rolling with at least ten buckets of "oh, shit!" per second.

If you've come simply to see the world get gang raped, bone broke, and orally violated by an angry cosmic flush of unstoppable power, trust me, you won't leave disappointed.

The film really isn't about the Mayan calendar at all. In fact, it completely neglects its Latino influences all together. There are some early scenes where scientist Adrian Helmsley (Chiwetel Ejiofor) realizes these long-foretold prophecies are about to come true in ways we've never fully imagined. But the real-life theories and speculations of 2012 authors such as John Major Jenkins and Daniel Pinchbeck are quickly thrown out the window in exchange for excitable gasps of craziness. Why are these things happening? Who gives a fuck? Emmerich seems to be screaming along with his dusty old Bloodhound CD, "We don't need no water, let the mother fucker burn! BURN!" And that comes as a godsend for this particular project. Because if it ever stopped long enough to be preachy or truly scientific on a realistic enough scale to prove authentic, we'd be sitting there flipping off the screen. Instead, we are so caught up in the grandiloquent nature of the narrative; we never have time to ponder the truisms that are ingeniously hidden throughout this landscape like little Easter eggs.

That's not to say 2012 isn't cheesy. Oh, it is. But purposely so. Emmerich is deceptively adept at parodying himself without becoming too self-aware. He's cognizant of the criticisms aimed at his past work. He knows he is the "Master of Disaster", and by the looks of things, we wants to keep that title tucked in his wallet on a business card for ages to come. It will be a while before we see anything of this nature every again. With his leading men, it seems as though he's gone through his old catalogue of caricature "types" to look at the wrongs he's made. He pulls those andocentric elements out in the open, exposing them for the betterment of his dramatic arc. He exposes these supercilious cinematic overtures and plays with them for the first, real time. Thus creating a few genuine male archetypes that still somehow managed to cling to the wantonness of classic sci-fi literature and all of its aluminum wrapped foibles. He slowly soaks his cardboard cutouts with a slick grease-stain of authenticity that hasn't ever really been seen in his films before. And he does it slowly. Though, he does manage to abandon his females to the ancillary background, where they must rely on the weight of male bravado to save the day. It makes for an interesting mix of ideas and macho chauvinism that physically works. He is fully aware of what he is doing in this vaulted arena. Thus, 2012 becomes a self-induced commentary on his own recent body of creative output.

Take the dog in Independence Day for example. We have a giant alien fireball trumbling down a breezeway. Our hero's girlfriend jumps to safety in a janitor's closet. At the very last possible moment, her dog makes an unbelievable leap to safety too, just missing the once-in-a-lifetime chance to be incinerated. Upon first site, the audience cheered. Loudly. In the moment, the scene was rewarding and great. After the fact (like, basically upon exit of the theater), a lot of people started to grip about this one scene in particular. It is perhaps the most maligned scene in any of Emmerich's films, and even provoked Will Smith to choke a dog to death in I Am Legend. In 2012, Emmerich reconstitutes this same scene, only upping the ante tenfold. Once again, in the moment, it works. A dog's life is at stakes, folks. Women and children will grit their teeth. Guaranteed. "Oh, no! Is that little pooch going to make it?" Emmerich sprinkles some rock salt on the scene by capping it, quite latterly, with a flying finger as if to say, "Fuck you!" to his audience of haters. (In speaking with the director, he held no reservations in explaining that, yes, he was raising the bird to those audience members that complained about this same scene in ID4. The guy has a quite the lovable sense of humor. And he knows his place in the scheme of things. He is the king of dubious Funcore; and you either dig it or have to get off the bus one stop short of your intended destination.)

For perhaps the first time in his career, Emmerich squeezes some real, genuine heart and humanity into this tale of world destruction. Which doesn't necessarily make the film any better or worse. It simply gives us a pair of eyes through which to view the mayhem first hand. Like many of the popular B-grade disaster flicks from the 70s, Emmerich has concocted quite the ensemble cast here. And our survivors are all connected in some way, be they ridiculous or twee. Our two main heroes are the above-mentioned Helmsley and Jackson Curtis (John Cusack). While Helmsley is busy securing a safety net for a handful of humans, Curtis is faced with the task of saving his estranged family. Standing in as a template for the director himself, Cusack's Curtis is a failed author-turned-limousine driver. His past work is laughed at and considered cheesy. But Helmsley personally has connected with the material. In fact, it's the book he's currently reading while all of this chaos is going on around him, and it has been placed in his duffle bag for future generations to come. By the will of the Gods, these two cross paths in Yellowstone days before it blows, and they will eventually work to save humanity together, as we know it. Is it destiny? Or is it cruel, unbelievable script machinations that bring them together? Who cares? Its too much fun to contemplate.

Most of the action is hinged to the back of poor Jackson Curtis, a recent divorcee that gets to take his kids to Wyoming once a year for summer vacation. This year, his Jeep has stalled and he is forced to drive his limousine all the way to Jackson Hole (how much gas this takes, and how big a carbon imprint it leaves on the earth is never discussed). His older son doesn't care much for him, and seems more interested in texting his step-dad. Once they arrive at their intended location, they find that much of Yellowstone has been quartered off. It could blow at any moment, and the world, as we know it, is coming to an end. How does Jackson find out what is really going on? Charlie Frost (Woody Harrelson), of course. Fashioned on radio personality Art Bell, Frost is a conspiracy nut broadcasting an intense radio show out of his roaming Winnebago. As played by Harrelson, the guy is an eccentric loon who looms behind the scene of the crime, eating pickles and showing his ass crack. Charlie is a harried cartoon of a man, but Woody is able to pull it off.

In Frost's Winnebago is a map that leads to the government's secret hidden plans for saving "some" of mankind. He tells Cusack this, over a couple of beers, but the sci-fi author doesn't take heed. Instead, he drives his kids back home to Los Angeles. And that's when the fun starts. We're given one of the best earthquake sequences ever rendered for the big screen, and it is so awe inspiring, its hard to fault the rest of the movie, no matter what plot hole or problem crops up like a eye-widening circle in a field. This is what we came for, and Emmerich doesn't disappoint. The rest of the movie finds Cusack trying to get that prized map from Frost all the while rushing his ex-wife, her husband, and their kids to safety. This, of course, means a stop over in Yellowstone just as it's super volcano blows to kingdom come, a harrowing plane ride to China, and enough earthly devastation to fill ten lesser movies of this type. It's quite literally an amusement park ride for the senses. And it's relentless. Adoringly so.

Emmerich is not out to disappoint. The world does come to a fascinating end. Though, after it does, Emmerich still finds a way to keep the action and intensity going for at least another forty strong minutes. Never one to give away the twisty juxtaposition; let's just say that the governments of the world have concocted a fancy way for us to survive. And it doesn't really include the normal, hardworking folks that make this planet great, like you and me. If you were disappointed by the recent remake of The Poseidon Adventure, let's just say that this lip-biting climax is like a cinematic refund for the better. Roland does more with the big boat premise in twenty minutes than Wolfgang Peterson managed to squeeze out of an hour and forty.

Technically proficient, painstakingly detailed, and a hell of a lot of fun, 2012 might not satisfy those looking for a serious discussion about the implications of this impending year in question and its doomsday shutterings. But it sure will satisfy your desire to see some stuff get "fucked up real good". 2012? Whoop-fucking-doo! (It's the only movie I've seen twice this year, and that speaks volumes about how much fun it is to stare at. Its like looking directly into the sun!)

(Though, it must be noted that: "I'm no longer wearing my pull-ups!" Could be the last worst line in any movie in history. The verdict's out.)

(All of B. Alan Orange's reviews are based on the Boo! or Whoop-doo! evaluation system.)