No Habla Ugly.
Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu
Normally, Brad Pitt makes me want to vomit. The man is rich, possessed of good lucks that would moisten my dead grandmother, and actually a fairly competent actor. And yet, here he is, romancing that freakish Morlock queen, Angelina Jolie. Clearly sent here from the underworld to reinvigorate the mole people's gene pool with fresh DNA, Jolie's maggot-pale face and disfigured visage screams of generations living underground, scavenging for insects, cavefish, and the occasional lost spelunker. Obviously, while the savagery and brutality of underground life may have prevented the development of higher forms of technology, magic and sorcery were practiced. It's these bewitchments thathave ensorcelled both Brad Pitt and the rest of the world into thinking she's anything but a pasty hag with swollen salt-sucker lips.
But that really doesn't have much to do with Babel, aside from the fact that Brad Pitt's in it. The film, a somewhat rambling treatise on miscommunication, is strong, powerful, and instantly forgettable, like all of Inarritu’s other films. Comprised of 4 stories, each strongly connected by theme and loosely connected by a rifle, the film explores issues of communication breakdown the world over, with plot lines taking place in Morocco, Japan, Mexico, and the United States. Pitt and Cate Blanchett play an American couple traveling in Morocco when Blanchett is shot. The effects of this shooting play out across the 3 continents and 4 stories of the film, and resonate deeply with screenwriters begging for an Oscar nomination.
Pitt is good in this film. Not as good as Blanchett, but good nonetheless. So, he doesn't make me want to throw up. What does, however, is the hand-held camera work. Not because it give me motion sickness, but rather because I don't understand why every movie set in one of those countries with languages that sound like a retard beat-boxing has to be hand-held and shaky. I know these are backwards banana republics, and while you may not be able to get clean water or food not comprised of dust and insects, I'm sure you can rent a tripod somewhere, or at least find enough scattered leg bones around to jury-rig one. It's a cheap form of filmic shorthand, like making an Italian a mobster, or a woman a bad driver whose only purpose is to bat their eyelashes at the male lead and have erect nipples. I mean, both those things are true, but that doesn't mean it's not lazy to rely on them. I'll understand that a film is set in Africa even if the frame doesn't giggle around like a pregnant woman with epilepsy. I'll understand that a country is hot even if the film stock isn't all blown out. What I'll never understand is what Brad Pitt sees in Angelina.
Underage? Read a PG-13 review at The Comic Book Bin. Then come over to my house and let me watch you touch yourself. Girls and effeminate boys only need apply.