I went to see a movie the other night, which in and of itself is not really a staggering, essay-worthy event. What is significant, essay-worthy and rant-worthy was the response to this movie that grew around me in the theatre as the climax subsided and the credits rolled; it was a growl of disapproval for a cinematic meal that I found quite satisfying, but for others didn’t seem to provide what it promised on the menu.
The movie was called The American, and I really enjoyed it. It is a thoroughly well-acted, beautifully filmed, and tautly suspenseful character sketch, just as promised. This fact depends largely on whom the viewer sought to do the promising, who wrote the menu, or if the viewer sought any information of the fare at all, outside of crappy commercials, before they sat down at the table . The people around me in the theatre listened to the salesmen and judged the book by its cover, a film who’s only crime was allowing its handlers to preview it as something it wasn’t. The film succeeded for me because the preview failed.
I am before you today to offer less a critical review of the film as I am to comment on the current movie preview trend: To adver-tain every drop possible out of an opening weekend at all costs, none the least of which is often the cinematic expression itself.
I have a great deal of respect for advertisers, and admen and madmen of most every ilk. Their medium is equal parts creativity and communication, an economical narrative painted on a billboard canvas or in thirty seconds worth of persuasion with the utmost innovation. Occasionally and unfortunately, this masterful sense of pop culture karate is used for the forces of evil. Misdirection and the sleight of the editor’s hand can lead potential viewers to gather under a familiar flag, which is often a costume thrown over the real movie designed to be attractive to an intended demographic, rather than a sampling of their noble intentions. Our movie heroes ready to take the stage deserve a hero’s welcome and not a deceptive introduction.
The best persuaders are often the best liars. Every great persuasion has some measure of deception. In pursuit of the pitch, and of the sale, the trends, demographics, targets, market share, the true identity of the product often gets lost in the message. Sometimes in fact the truth finds itself in a distant second to the carefully sculptured message. Marketing persuasion has been known to massage, mask and mould the identities of all manner of politicians and their politics, medicine, pop idols, automobiles, and in my opinion most heinously and unforgivably, movies.
Every commercial, billboard and Twitter tweet is moment to provide the service of informing a potential audience member them that your movie is offering exactly what they seek. The disservice of this marketing deception is not just to the consumer but often to the art itself, which inescapably returns its damage to the artist for what really only amounts to short term financial gains, proportionately speaking.
This disservice was clear as the credits rolled when I went to see The American, a few nights ago. I didn’t know at first what to think when the pleasing taste in my mouth was clearly the minority. I was in a room with a sense that I was nearly alone with my opinion. Not an entirely new sensation in and of itself for me, but normally that sense of isolation is not found in a theatre seat, in the glow of the almighty movie screen.
I’m convinced that the disparity existing between my opinion those grumbling around me was not the fault of the viewers, the wrong ones (them) and the right ones (me, and a quiet couple behind me that I am counting as right), and not the fault even the movie itself. The fault in this case fell to the preview, the advertisement that brought most of the viewers around me in the first place was most directly responsible for the consumers around me not getting what they thought they paid to see.
In the case of The American, both advertisements that I saw, a trailer in theatre and one online, summarized all of the action sequences, added a glimpse or two of George Clooney with his shirt off, and threw in a brooding glance and a clichéd line of the regretful aging lone gunman. The movie is portrayed as Clooney’s Bourne movie, and why wouldn’t it? That is a very promotable formula.
Wouldn’t you like to see that? I would.
There’s only one problem: That is not the movie that you will be seeing. The American is a different film.
In place of the action thriller with some drama in the trailer, The American on the screen is a dramatic thriller with some action, which is certainly nothing to apologize for, but is apparently a less favourable sell. Given the chance to sample the film for what it is: a suspenseful thriller about an aging assassin weary under the weight of his vocation after he tragically allowed it to get personal, the powers that are chose the ultimate sin and dangled a carrot dipped in candy that would appear more appetizing.
I couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for my fellow theatre goers. I could hear a few muted crass remarks about its slow pacing, mingled with a few that weren’t so quiet. An older man, seemingly perfect for the film’s proper demographic stood up and sarcastically stated: “We should have gone to see Vampires Suck.” I could understand their protests and guffaws were at a different carrot, a different hook, a different movie than the one I had just enjoyed.
What if The American was advertised and sampled for prospective audiences as an appetizer more representative of 70s European espionage genre roots? What if it depicted more of the gorgeous pastoral Italian images or the themes of Clooney’s character Jack’s crippled spirit and unrelenting paranoia? Certainly any movie poster with George Clooney written across the top is going to attract an admirable box office tally. Why the need for the deception?
I can just see the studio executives around their conference table during their ill-fated promotional meeting for The American. I can see them presented with two potential campaigns; one displaying the genuine article, a thoughtful and suspenseful character piece, and the candied truffle, by the numbers spy-thriller schematic and accompanying flow chart splattered with dollar signs. I can also see them, after a short debate, ultimately making their choice. I get why the choice is made, time after time.
I get the choice, but I can’t understand the choice.
I understand the nature of all the good and bad reasons: to serve their bottom line, to please their investors, to pay their mortgages. But that doesn’t answer it for me. The owners the film, the licensers, distributing rights holders, investors, devils and angels; they have this piece of art to display to the world in a splendour that only cinema is capable, and still they make the wrong choice.
In 2006, a charming and intelligent comedic drama called Stranger than Fiction, with a stellar ensemble lead by Will Ferrell, wowed an overwhelmingly small audience. An unfortunately large percentage of the opening weekend viewership left their respective theatres with a common complaint: “That was not the funny Will Ferrell I was expecting.” It stands out for me, because of how similar the experience was in my reaction to the movie vs. those around me, as what I saw last week.
More appropriately: “All of the funny moments were in the commercial.” The critique had a valid point. I can remember the commercials, a pastiche of random Will Ferrell goofiness, out of context screams and stumbles, and almost completely destroying the actual tone of the film in favour of Ferrell’s trademark slapstick. It is really a great surrealist story about creativity and fatalism, perhaps a tough carrot to candy.
Ferrell’s character Harold Crick: “This might sound like gibberish to you, but I think I’m in a tragedy.” It’s a touching moment that was probably played in the commercial for laughs. I hope I’m not in a tragedy.
The consequences: 1. Millions… well, thousands of pissed off moviegoers. 2. Will Ferrell has elected not to make a similarly smart movie since. I believe he has one coming out in a few months. Here’s hoping the commercials aren’t funny.
I have heard numerous reviews, in the time since that film has retired to the back wall of the video store, from viewers and reviewers who have found it when they weren’t looking for it, that it was a thoughtful and thoroughly enjoyable film. These of course, are movie fans not tainted by the shadow of its promotional campaign.
Here’s a prediction: Everyone who sees The American without having had that trailer in front of it, who enters with an objective outlook, unencumbered by these false expectations will have the chance to enjoy this film. This prognostication is not limited to the two films above, but all of the above and many below.
So, how do we overcome? Is the answer to eliminate orchestrated advance viewing of movies in the few minutes before other movies? And let that time belong solely to the annoying commercials we never agreed to watch?
The best defence is a little education. Don’t let your movie viewing experience be informed by the same jokers selling you their snake oil and political bumper stickers. Avoiding these kinds of surprises, with the movies complicated enough to lie about, involves a fairly simple antidote. Find a critic online or in your local bundle of newsprint with whose opinion you seem to consistently agree and spend a short article’s worth of time researching the fare you plan to dine upon.
Fortunately for we the film addicts, not all movies are complex enough to lie about and fall prey to this minor epic epidemic. Frankly, we often know what we’re getting from the movie poster and the name that appears above the title.
As a somewhat happy ending, I should mention that The American finished the Labour Day Weekend in the No. 1 spot in the box office and positive news is circulating about Will Ferrell’s upcoming dramatic comedy Everything Must Go, about a recovering alcoholic.
The saddest thing of all, I really like movie trailers. They have become a story-telling art form in their own right over the past two decades.
See what I mean with the following exercise: Take a look through your DVD collection and grab one movie from each decade going back to the 60s. Any DVD worth the shiny plastic it’s printed on will have its movie’s original trailer. Start with your most recent pick and work back chronologically. By the early 80s you’ll notice a significant difference and by the time you get to Doctors Strangelove and No the medium itself will be unrecognizable.
We’ve (they’ve) come so far, with an evolved superhuman ability to convey and stir excitement with split seconds and mere glimpses. The next evolutionary step will hopefully be in the musculature around the sense of ethics that compels these editors and synopsizers to be faithful to the stories they’re depicting.
People lined up for these movies because of their false previews and for false profits, but other people will enjoy them one day in spite of them.
There’s a difference between creativity and creative ad campaigns, and not the least significant distinction is honesty. Honesty is where the creation of art and the selling of it will forever be divided.
I'm the Canadian in the title, by the way. Thanks for reading.
EH
