Posted November 26, 2010 by David Watson in Films
 
 

Sucker Punch


Over the next few weeks you’re going to see a lot of reviews for Zack Snyder’s Sucker Punch. Some will be good. No, really. Many will be stinkers. But none of them are going to sit on the fence. Sucker Punch is like marmite; you’ll either love it or you’ll hate it.

Over the next few weeks you’re going to see a lot of reviews for
Zack Snyder’s Sucker Punch. Some will be good. No, really. Many will be
stinkers. But none of them are going to sit on the fence. Sucker Punch
is like marmite; you’ll either love it or you’ll hate it.

Framed for her sister’s murder by her wicked stepfather, Babydoll (Emily Browning)
has just five days to escape from the Dickensian insane asylum where
she’s been committed before she’s lobotomised. Struggling to cope with
the horror of her surroundings, she retreats into a fantasy world where
the asylum is a Moulin Rouge-style brothel, the imprisoned girls (and
they are all nubile young girls) are showgirl/hookers and the asylum
staff, brutal orderly Blue (Oscar Isaacs) and sympathetic Dr Gorski (Carla Gugino),
are pimp and madam respectively. Teaming up with the feistiest gals on
the cellblock, sisters Rocket (Jena Malone) and Sweet Pea (Abbie
Cornish), Amber (Jamie Chung) and non-blonde Blondie (Vanessa Hudgens),
Babydoll plots their escape, sucking the girls into a deeper level of
fantasy where, clad in leather fetish gear and wielding swords and
machine guns, they must battle giant samurai, futuristic robots, dragons
and steampunk zombies while Zen master and guru Wise Man (Scott Glenn)
guides them to the objects they’ll need to escape in the real world.

Like Pan’s Labyrinth remade by a masturbating gun nut on acid with a
schoolgirl fetish (not necessarily a bad thing…), Sucker Punch is not a
subtle film. But then director Zack Snyder is not a subtle man. While
his 2004 remake of George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead was
arguably better than the original, eschewing Romero’s heavy-handed
satire in favour of zombie babies and full-on Armageddon, his adaptation
of Frank Miller’s sword-and-sandals graphic novel 300, was possibly the
most homoerotic blockbuster since Top Gun, with Gerard Butler in a pair
of trunks SHOUTING REALLY, REALLY LOUDLY for two hours while splashing
gore over the audience and his reverent adaptation of Alan Moore’s
classic Watchmen was notable for Billy Crudup’s giant blue schlong
(probably the scariest and most impressive use of IMAX yet).

His films
are never less than stunningly realised, visual feasts. But they’re not
exactly drowning in depth. Whatever characterisation and wit Dawn of the
Dead had it can thank writer James Gunn for and, let’s face it,
Watchmen and 300 are comic book adaptations. That’s right all you
fanboy-geeks out there; comics! It doesn’t matter how many times you
tell everyone they’re ‘graphic novels’, deep down they know and you know
you’re reading a comic. For all their po-faced solemnity, your average
Jilly Cooper has more characterisation than anything Frank Miller or
Alan Moore has done. Don’t believe me? Try reading Alan Moore’s Voice of
the Fire or sitting through Miller’s film of The Spirit. I double dare
you. So if you’re going into Sucker Punch expecting a cerebral
meditation on the emancipation of women or an expose of the American
mental health industry, you’re out of luck. But if you’re looking to
wallow in the violent, adolescent fantasises of a disturbed 13-year old
boy with Attention Deficit Disorder then pull up a chair, Sucker Punch
is the flick you’ve been waiting for.

Opening with a bravura sequence where Babydoll’s mum dies, her
step-dad tries to rape her, she accidentally shoots her little sister
and she’s committed to a mental hospital all in the time it takes Emily
Browning to deliver a breathy Cocteau Twins-style cover of The
Eurythmics Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This on the soundtrack, Sucker Punch
is both a gloriously incoherent mess and thumpingly obvious. A wizened
Scott Glenn (having enormous fun impersonating a Kung Fu-era David
Carradine) spells out…Every. Single. Plot. Point. For. You. It’s just
unfortunate that none of it makes any sense. The opening scenes
illustrate both the strengths of the film and its glaring weaknesses.
The film works best as a silent movie; a throwback to the 1920s. As long
as Snyder fills the frame with action and the soundtrack with music
Sucker Punch kinda, sorta holds the attention. As soon as any of the
characters are required to speak or emote in any way the film hits the
brick wall that is the script.

While it looks gorgeous, the film is vapid and empty, lacking even
basic characterisation. The girls don’t develop, they change costumes.
The script by Snyder and Steve Shibuya lacks any coherent narrative
sense, the dialogue is risible and the film looks and feels like a video
game (the girls are given missions, the girls complete the missions,
the girls move on to the next mission) but lacks the visceral pleasure
of actually playing. It’s like sitting on a mate’s couch waiting for
your turn playing Call of Duty, watching as he machine guns baddies;
boring, repetitive, unsatisfying. The constant flitting between layers
of fantasy doesn’t really work; we never spend enough (or any) time in
the real world with the characters. We never get to know them or care
about them so it never feels like they are in any danger in Babydoll’s
dream world. They’re two-dimensional ciphers, figments of a disturbed
girl’s imagination. We’re not emotionally invested in them so when bad
things start to happen to them, we don’t care. It’s hard to care about a
character when we’re not even sure they exist. Even when the film
comments on it’s own artificiality, it feels artificial, forced.

While Scott Glenn and Carla Gugino are obviously enjoying hamming it
up and Oscar Isaac and Gerard Plunkett make great boo-hiss villains (in
fact one audience member swears there was an almost subliminal hissing
on the soundtrack every time Isaac’s Blue swaggered onscreen), our
heroines (with the possible exception of Jena Malone) deliver their
lines in the flat, stilted fashion of fembots; their performances as
real as their enormous fake eyelashes. And while it may be something of a
sexist, misogynist cliché, aren’t mental girls supposed to be the
sexiest? Not in Sucker Punch. Never have beautiful young women wearing
leather corsets and firing heavy calibre automatic weapons been quite so
unsexy.

Sucker Punch’s biggest problem however is it takes itself waaaaaay
too seriously. What should be a sexy, violent, entertaining genre
mash-up winds up po-faced and pretentious. Snyder seems to be under the
impression that he’s making some kind of statement about female
empowerment and the power of fantasy. Or maybe his message is that women
can only triumph in their dreams. Or that strippers indulge in
feverishly violent revenge fantasies while dancing. Which is going to
make that next visit to Spearmint Rhino really uncomfortable for all the
wrong reasons. Who knows what message Zack is trying to tell us? Maybe
Zack does.

Ultimately, Sucker Punch just isn’t that much fun. This is a movie
where leather-clad vixens piloting a WW2 Lancaster bomber engage in an
aerial dogfight with a fire-breathing dragon. That should be fun. A
little blonde girl in pigtails fighting giant samurai should be fun. Any
movie where scantily-clad stripper/hookers battle clockwork
steam-powered German zombie soldiers should be fun. And it is. Sorta.
Kinda. But not really. You can never quite shake the feeling that Sucker
Punch could have been so much better. If only it had had a script. Or a
heart. Or a brain. Maybe one day Snyder will release a Director’s Cut
on DVD with an extra half hour that adds depth and nuance to the film.
If he does, I’ll buy it. I’ll probably love it. Until then, Sucker Punch
will remain probably both the best and the worst film of the
year.



To Buy Sucker Punch On DVD Click Here Or On Blu-Ray Click Here


David Watson

 
David Watson is a screenwriter, journalist and 'manny' who, depending on time of day and alcohol intake could be described as a likeable misanthrope or a carnaptious bampot. He loves about 96% of you but there's at least 4% he'd definitely eat in the event of a plane crash. Email: david.watson@filmjuice.com