#3. Most Films Forget That A Camera Needs To Physically Exist
New Line Cinema
I'm not sure when, but somewhere down the line directors forgot that movies are still supposed to take place in real life, and they turned the camera into a coke-fueled Lakitu from Super Mario 64, just zooming around wherever the fukk it feels like. The audience needs the camera to physically occupy some kind of actual space for us to maintain a frame of reference, or else, once again, everything just looks like a freaking cartoon. For example, take a look at this scene from
The A-Team, even though I'm like 70 percent certain that
The A-Team was just a practical joke everyone played on Liam Neeson for his birthday:
20th Century Fox
Better than your screenwriting.
Soak up that
Merrie Melodies, dikk-slapping nonsense. As
Furious 7 so elegantly demonstrated, we love to see fancy vehicles plummet from the sky like God's forsaken Hot Wheels -- only
Furious 7 knew that we need to see that shyt
for real in order for it to have any kind of effect. Not only did
The A-Teamuse CGI to phone in the madness, it made sure the cinematography was so cartoony that even people with catastrophic head trauma couldn't possibly mistake it for being
real.
Then, there's the raptor chase scene from
Jurassic Boogaloo, which has the camera zipping around like it's in an XFL game:
Universal Studios
There's no edge to shooting
Velociraptors like a pod race. It doesn't serve any purpose beside making me disappointed in creatures I used to pretend to be when I was 10 and sometimes at 30. This is one of many situations where having a camera that can pass through any physical object on-screen detracts from anything on-screen having any kind of presence -- it's just another reminder that what you're seeing isn't real, like that cavernous goblin-shanty from
The Hobbit:
New Line Cinema
You know, where they spent the last four hours of Part 1.
By sweeping the camera hundreds of feet through the environment, everything comes off like a model train set with tiny people composited in. The irony is that old-school miniatures were
shot in a way to
avoid looking tiny, something digital artists have completely forgotten about -- especially in
Jurassic World, it seems:
Universal Studios
They won't be cheering once the
Mosasaurus Blackfish documentary comes out.
In these cases it's not that the CGI is undetailed or shytty, but rather that it's
all-encompassing. The creatures aren't bursting into the real world because there's no real world to penetrate. Instead they shot some extras over a green screen and stuck them at the bottom like a particularly bad episode of
Mystery Science Theater. And as directors opt for more and more digital sets, suddenly every movie looks like regular people inserted into a computer-generated cartoon, instead of CGI elements dropped into a real world.
Even Jurassic Park III knew that when you're putting a digital creature into a real environment, you don't just say "fukk it" and make
everything CGI. And seriously --
how many times do I have to use
Jurassic Park III as a positive example? That entire clown show of a movie was incited by a parasailing accident.
#2. Modern Movies Forget We Can Tell When Something Looks Fake
Paramount Pictures
I mentioned the
uncanny valley earlier -- a term used by scientists and artists to describe the psychological gap between seeing an actual, living creature and eerie human facsimiles, like Japanese robots or Willem Dafoe. We've recently gotten around this with films like
Dawn Of The Planet Of The Apes -- but only through painstaking research into getting every little detail right (they even
consulted an eye surgeon to figure out the exact amount of moisture to apply to the eyes of their CGI monkeys). The point is, getting past our natural instinct to fear things that look
almost human but not quite is one of the hardest things an effects company can do, and it often results in big rubber men that invoke laughter over awe.
Paramount Pictures
"Make it like Arnold is his 30s, but if he was wearing a spray-painted Michael Myers mask."
However, it would be unfair to say that the
Terminator series
never made a giant rubber Arnold before:
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, TriStar Pictures
Or a rubber Arnold/Kurt Russell "if they mated" for the bottom one.
But
here's the difference: Unlike
Genisys, the first two
Terminators seem to know that their rubber Arnolds didn't look convincing, because they used them only for very quick cuts. Hell, even McG's
Terminator Salvation immediately hid their CGI Schwarzenegger with a purifying wave of cleansing fire:
Warner Bros.
This also solved a lot of dong-related issues.
While I haven't seen
Terminator Genisys yet, it appears to think that its terrible CGI Arnold double is awesome enough to prominently feature it in the trailer. There's a lack of self-awareness to the fakery.
Now replace Schwarzenegger with a hulking CGI dinosaur (shouldn't be hard) and you see why people get so mad at
Jurassic World. It's not that the original
Jurassic Park looks better because the CGI is better, but rather that the original film knew to
hide its effects. With the exception of the
extremely dated Brachiosaurus scene, most of the effects in
Jurassic Park are hidden by rain and darkness.
Universal Studios
"Whatever, he was totally ripping off the guy that did
Jaws with that slow reveal."
Jurassic World, on the other hand, sticks the digital puppets right in our faces like it's a banana cream pie filled with teeth:
Universal Studios
Dentist-Cam doesn't need to be a thing.
They're
literally shoving us down the CGI's throat as if to say "HEY LOOK! LOOK AT THIS!" so that we can't help but point out any and all imperfections. And since not even the freaking environment around those dinosaurs is real, it's comically easy for people to notice that the effects don't look right. I mean ... they couldn't spring an extra day to shoot
real water? Even
Lake Placid did that:
20th Century Fox
Lake. Placid.
Yeah ... remember
that piece of shyt? The late 1990s effects of a horrifically bad giant crocodile movie should have the lasting power of a snowball in my pants -- and yet even this piece of hot garbage had the modesty to quickly cut away from
what little CGI they used. And considering that it's not inexplicably tinted orange and blue, takes place in a real environment with real splashing water, and is aware of its visual limitations -- I actually
prefer this shot to the
Jurassic World orgy of
Mosasauruseating a shark, if only because it understood that the presentation of the effect is just as important as the effect itself.
#1. Big Effects Sequences Are Supposed To Be Treated With Awe
Universal Studios
I didn't care for the new, ultra-serious take on the laser-breathing dinosaur we normally call Godzilla. But, to his credit, director Gareth Edwards clearly knew how to present larger-than-life monsters as having the gravity and consequence that 100-foot sea beasts trying to find a quiet place to bump nasties would have:
Warner Bros.
Godzilla, King Of The Cockblockers!
I get why people liked this film, even though it's not what I personally wanted from a
Godzilla movie -- which until now was always about stupidly in-your-face, unobscured
monster-on-monster violence. That said, Edwards' sense of buildup and dread is
exactly what should have been in the new
Jurassic World -- a film trying to follow up a classic prehistoric monster romp with only 14 minutes of actual romping.
Since having lumbering dinosaurs fighting world-fukking aliens inside a giant robot head has become so stupidly achievable, it's really easy for movies to forget how terror-shyt inducing those things would be in real life. And since we have a tendency to constantly shorthand pop culture staples, it's only natural to skip over the awe part of a special effect. The time it takes for Optimus Prime to transform for the first time in each
Transformers film goes from
40 seconds in the first movie, to
10 seconds in the second, to
five seconds in the third.
Paramount Pictures
Which coincidentally mirrors the exact time used for creating each plot.
By the new one, it's easy to completely forget the spatial absurdity and scale of watching a bright red semi explode into a giant bipedal robot. We just sort of gloss over this mind-bending space colossus' shapeshifting dance until the action is reduced to a flurry of colors narrated by racist catchphrases.
The original
Jurassic Park spent
minutes on the
Tyrannosaurus' approach. When we finally see it, we spend another several minutes on the thunderous horror of a dinosaur tearing a jeep apart as it frantically tries to eat all of the characters on-screen.
The Lost World repeated this in the scene where the
Tyrannosaurs knock Jeff Goldblum's trailer off a cliff, and even dumb ol'
Jurassic Park III spent a lot of time on showing us exactly how much of an airplane's ass a giant dinosaur would kick (answer: all of it). Now look at this ungodly shyt:
Universal Studios
"A Michael Bay-ing 65 Million Years In The Making."
Sure, that looks pretty awesome, but destruction on that scale should
blow our fukking minds. The response to dinosaurs wrecking a helicopter should be nothing short of paralysis, but this scene has no sense of gravity or consequence. There's no scale to it. There's even
going to be a scene where (minor spoilers) a
Pteranodon picks up a woman and literally
drops her into the mouth of the Mosasaurus. It doesn't matter how
real the CGI looks, because that scene belongs in a fukking
Sharknado movie. It's an absurd cartoon orgy.
And so
that's why some people are saying that the new
Jurassic World "looks fake": The CGI is powerful, but the people who made it clearly don't have enough respect for that power. I know I'm just quoting Malcolm at this point ... but shyt. They
really were so preoccupied with whether or not they
could have 88 dinosaurs throwing exploding helicopters at each other that they didn't stop to think if they
should.
Dave can be found lurking aimlessly on Twitter if you're so inclined to say hello.