A Review of Postal (2008)

Postal is the latest movie from the much maligned German director Uwe Boll. It is, like every film he’s made since 2003's House of the Dead, based on a video game and, also like that film, has very little in common with its' source material. Postal follows a rather unique day in the life of a recently sacked factory worker (Zack Ward) who starts out at a job interview and ends up trying to save the human race. Along the way he is aided and thwarted (mostly the latter) by an eclectic mix, including: a bunch of bloodthirsty townsfolk, a cult comprised almost entirely of scantily clad models, terrorists, homicidal policemen, a dwarf who voices a popular (genital shaped) kids toy, Osama Bin Laden and … Uwe Boll! There is no real plot – the action proceeds from location to location seemingly on a whim as the Postal Dude’s day becomes more and more bizarre.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’ve been a champion of Boll’s work but, unlike most critics, I’ve actually watched most of his English language films rather than just jumping on the bandwagon and automatically deriding him. Most are mediocre, and some are stupefying awful (yes In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, I’m looking at you) but the man is an industry unto himself and, until recently, was making a very healthy business out of it. With Postal, Boll has wisely returned to the openly ridiculous style of House of the Dead, while also turning the comedy dial up to 11. This, coupled with the complete disintegration of any sense of moral decency delivers what can most favourably be described as a unique film.

Boll gets many things wrong here, but the tone, while being his greatest liability, also manages to be his greatest strength. What works here works really well and the way the film unfolds is strangely mesmerising – you literally cannot guess what will happen next. Nothing is sacred and this approach is so all encompassing that he can’t help but hit the mark from time to time. The humour vacillates from quite effectively satirical to utterly tasteless. I would one day like to meet the people who find scatological gags funny. Actually I wouldn’t like to meet them but I would be willing to help sponser the creation of a gulag just for them. Occasionally, to its detriment, Postal crosses the line from tasteless to misanthropic – a moment involving a baby carriage and a fast moving truck comes to mind. However for the most part the content, while undoubtedly crude and misguided, is surprisingly good natured. No segment of society is particularly targeted and Boll’s willingness to make fun of himself (literally) is quite refreshing.

The performances are generally serviceable and sometimes effective. Ward does a good job with some difficult material and manages to strike a balance between playing the clown and the action hero. Verne Troyer is memorable in a bit part which manages to not be demeaning (despite the excessiveness of his eventual fate) and JK Simmons pops up in a strangely unobtrusive cameo. Boll has a reputation for making even talented actors seem terrible (Ray Liotta, get a new agent) but the cast here do a fine job. And even when they don’t, the ridiculousness of the plot and the lightness of the overall tone makes the film practically immune to criticism.

Postal is without a doubt Uwe Boll’s most accomplished movie to date. Some people would say that’s like the difference between doing a frontal lobotomy with a fork or a spoon but it doesn’t change the fact that it represents some maturation in his work. It is by no means a great film, nor by most standards a good one, but it has such boundless, manic energy that you can’t help but get caught up in it. The film is like a huge, mentally challenged, blood-soaked, foul-mouthed Labrador. With a gun. And nuclear weapons. If you are willing to give it a chance and get in the right mind-set (possibly some substance abuse might be helpful) then Postal is a bit of nonsensical fun.

It is also a film in which our hero uses a cat as a silencer.

Yes you read that right.

Enough said.

:)

A Review of Transsiberian (2008)

Brad Anderson is one of those directors who everyone thinks they like until they look him up. Since getting attention with his creepy (but unsatisfying) Session 9 in 2001 his only feature of note was 2004's The Machinist - a movie which will always remain more famous for the extraordinary physical transformation of its star (Christian Bale) than its effectiveness as a creepy thriller. This is partly because Bale's emaciated form was genuinely mesmerising but mostly because the movie just isn't very good. So, after a few years directing TV episodes, Anderson had something to prove with his latest - Transsiberian.

I've never really thought of Emily Mortimer as a leading lady. She’s always seemed either hopelessly insipid or appears to be battling some unrecognisable accent and a cold at the same time. It may come as a surprise then to learn that she is one of the best things about Transsiberian but unfortunately that statement comes with a number of disappointing caveats. In the film Mortimer and a mis-cast, toupee sporting Woody Harrelson play a husband and wife heading home to the US after completing charity work in China. In a decision which screams ‘bad choice’ to the ever watchful audience, they forgo a simple flight home in favour of the famous 8000 km rail journey through the snowlocked Russian wastes. Hence the title of the film.

What results is billed as a twisty action thriller, with multilayered secrets and lies and the familiar device of a claustrophobic location surrounded by scenic wilderness. This may not sound particularly original but, done well, it could amount to an enjoyable few hours of escapism. And, in fairness to the film, it starts well – meandering slowly through the mystery laden landscape of character development, planting seeds of murky histories and maintaining a convincing sense of unease and displacement – 2 American tourists in the time warp of undeveloped Russia. Events occur in a fashion that makes sense, uncomfortable situations get steadily worse and, around the time Ben Kingsley shows up as a Russian detective, everything seems on a wonderfully dramatic collision course with the revelations of the final act.

But then the ‘twists’ begin. Not twists in the normal thriller sense of the word but closer to the M Night Shyamalan meaning ie: twists that spoil a perfectly watchable film. The final act of Transsiberian dispels any sense of tension and unease by blowing the films internal logic to smithereens. I’m not suggesting for a second that the follies here are on the level of the denouement of Signs (or the entirety of Lady in the Water), but they do manage to bring the films momentum to a halt. Both The Machinist and Session 9 had problems with their endings, Anderson seems to believe that if everything doesn’t reach an overedited fever pitch he isn’t doing his job correctly. This is a shame as the deliberate but inexorable pacing of the plot was one of the films strong points.

Ultimately, Transsiberian is a missed opportunity. Some good performances and impressive cinematography are not enough to smooth over the eccentricities of the final act. It cannot maintain the tension well enough to be a thriller but is too mild to fall into the category of suspense/horror. If it is a drama about the fate of foreigners abroad then why does it descend into near Outer Limits territory towards the ending? Brad Anderson may well have potential as a talented filmmaker but so long as he continues to make films which are only halfway effective he will remain in that halfway obscure list of directors-you-have-to-look-up-on-IMDB.