Guyver (George and Wang 1991)

My fellow film fans, we need to be honest for one second. Once we get outside our exclusive and knowledgeable circle, there are some things about the basics of film that the average person does not know, or is only vaguely familiar with. For example, many people will know and understand what writers and actors do, but editors and producers? Not a chance, unless someone goes out of their way to explain and educate them. Even the best of us will have a hard time determining just what the difference is between an “Executive Producer” and a regular old “Producer” credit on a given film.

Then there is directing, which exists in some bizarre state where the general public sort of knows what the job entails, or at least knows that a director gets to yell “action” and “cut.” Even if a non-film geek understands the general idea that the director more or less guides the film from being a script to a finished work, bringing to the film some ethereal “vision” to guide whole project, it is still a fairly vague notion that is hard to properly explain unless the person has some working knowledge of filmmaking, particularly when one starts getting into concepts such as auteur theory. Poorly explained, the job of a director can come off as being nothing more than a project manager, rather than a creative individual.

It is for reasons such as this that I am happy that bad films exist, for they may be the greatest teaching tool for explaining film making. Film goers are used to basic competence at the very least when going to the cinema, so the absence of such competence can clarify the nature of jobs such as directing by showing what a film can be without a guiding hand. For this reason, the 1991 sci-fi/superhero/martial arts/monster disaster Guyver is a God send, giving those wishing to teach film basics the perfect tool for explaining what a director is, and what at least a decent one needs to bring to a film.


Guyver, based on a manga of the same name which I have never read, tells the tale of one Sean Barker (Jack Armstrong), a young man who, in a fit of concern for a woman he cares about, follows her to the scene of a crime where her father was murdered, and stumbles upon something called the Guyver Unit. The Guyver is a bio-armour which seems to enhance the abilities of the user and grant other powers, left on Earth by a group of mysterious aliens from the dawn of man. It seems these aliens made man to function as a weapon of some sort, and have given mankind a gene which, when activated, allows a person to switch between their human form and that of a freakish monster. The Kronos Corporation, which knows about our species secret history, is attempting to forge an army of these monsters, and recover the Guyver, in an attempt to take over the world. Once Sean is accidentally bound with the armour, it is up to him, and a tough CIA agent named Max Reed (Mark Hamill) to save the day.

Now, I hate to place films into easily definable categories, be it genre, target audience, etc., as a large number of my favourite films tend to bend and break such easy categorization. However, when films proceed to play with such categories, in order to succeed, such films need to have a clear sense of internal direction and focus in order to work: they need a clear identity, which is what a director is supposed to provide. Shaun of the Dead, for example, deftly blends horror, dark comedy and the romantic film genres together, working together simultaneously yet never clashing, unless the filmmakers wish these elements to do so.

Guyver however is a film that lacks any sense of identity at all, veering between being a kid friendly Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles rip off, a science fiction horror film ala Re-Animator (whose cast is cannibalized here), and a martial arts superhero film. Every scene in the film exists in their own little world, forcibly being joined together by a recurring and jarring transition edit that would have been out of place on the old Adam West Batman series. Gore and violence give away to rapping monsters, and vice versa, with the filmmakers succeeding only in creating bewilderment on the part of the viewer, and not in a good way.

The main cause of such inconsistency is that the filmmakers seem to have no idea just what the story they are supposed to be telling is, or more accurately, whose story is being told. My early description of the film’s narrative is deceptive, as it offers a more cohesive view of the film’s story than actually exists in the finished film. The film is divided between three different characters: the already noted Sean and Max Reed, as well as Mizky (Vivian Wu), Sean’s sort of love interest and daughter of the scientist murdered at the start of the film. While the set up of the film naturally lends itself to Max and Mizky being the protagonists, the filmmakers do their best to make Sean into our lead. The problem is that Sean has the least reason to be in the film: he has no character, no history, or at least nothing that the filmmakers are willing to share. As such, he has no actual point to existing at all, other than to be a typical young male hero. Since Sean has no direction to move in, the rest of the film has no direction to move in either, and thus the film becomes a mess of scenes without structure.

Such a problem should never have existed, and first time directors Screaming Mad George and Steve Wang should have attempted to address this in some manner before filming began. Unfortunately, their focus seems to be on one thing and one thing only: their creature effects. Having both designed and built the creatures of the film, George and Wang spend most of the running time focusing on extended sequences of their creations in action, ignoring the fact that the actors are all over the map and that no time and effort seems to have been spent on the set design and editing. I don’t think I have seen such a visually bland production in quite some time, and one has to wonder why George and Wang were not removed as the dailies came in. Perhaps I am being too harsh on the directing duo, but given that the version I viewed of the film is billed as a “Director’s Cut,” their role in the film comes to the front and center.

If Guyver does have a saving grace, it is that the film is so awful that it is often hilarious, from Mark Hamill’s attempt to be bad ass, to the hilarious facial gestures of Jack Armstrong during is out of suit fight scenes. Were the series still in production, I can almost guarantee that Guyver would have been featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000. Instead, audiences will have to settle with creating their own commentary track for the film.

However, such faint praise hardly makes Guyver worth a recommendation, and has only managed to amount to yet another painful review experience in a month full of them, as I try and find something worth saying about the films thus far. Thankfully, I have much higher hopes for our next film, Ponyo.

Life Stinks (Brooks 1991)

While I certainly don’t feel bad for filmmakers with critical and commercial success, I can imagine that often they feel trapped by the expectations that come with that success, making it harder to take chances and evolve as filmmakers. A good case can be made of this is happening to Mel Brooks, who in the 1980s was more ambitious as a producer, working without credit on films such as The Elephant Man and My Favourite Year. As a director during this period, Brooks made films such as History of the World: Part I and Spaceballs which, while fun films, were were less focused and sharp in their satire compared to his earlier work. Brooks seemed more focused on living up to his reputation as a filmmaker specializing in parodies during this time, drifting ever more in the direction of the Zucker Brothers and Jim Abrahams’ brand of kitchen sink comedy, a type which only the Zuckers and Abrahams ever were able to master to perfection.

Life Stinks, a 1991 film by Brooks, is an attempt to reconcile these competing sides of the filmmaking legend, seeking to capture genuine emotion and exploring the relationship between the wealthy and the impoverished in a manner evocative of (though not nearly as effective as) Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights (1931). Life Stinks stars Brooks, playing Goddard Bolt, a wealthy man who, as part of an effort to buy and redevelop a poor section of Los Angeles, agrees to a wager proposed by his rival, Vance Crasswell (Jeffery Tambor), in which Bolt will live in poverty for an entire month. During the course of the month, Bolt not only has to learn how to survive, but also deal with the meddling interference from Crasswell, all while slowly falling in love with a homeless woman named Molly (Leslie Ann Warren).

Unlike Brooks’ earlier efforts, Life Stinks does not use cinema itself as its subject matter, instead evoking elements of cinema’s past to help tell his most grounded tale. Brooks seeks to examine the issues of poverty in America, particularly in urban centers, and as such moves away from the subversive, meta jokes and slapstick that marked his classic efforts, though only to a degree: there is still plenty of broad comedy moments throughout the film. The film however is an attempt to have the viewers invest emotionally into the characters in a way Brooks never really has before, or since, while still allowing for those moments of broad comedy. Brooks is clearly moving out of his comfort zone, and it gives the film a level of energy that his latter efforts often lack: you can just feel Brooks putting his all into this one, and it makes it all the more frustrating as a viewer when the film just misses the mark.

The first real problem with Life Stinks is that Brooks’ satire is not focused. As crazed and episodic as Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein appear, those films are tightly focused efforts which know their subject matter backwards and forwards, skilfully blending social satire and cinematic lampooning. Here, Brooks has brilliant moments of satire, targeting the systemic failures in American society, but the Life Stinks never quite goes for the throat like his other efforts and explore the material in depth. Instead, Brooks relies on wealthy stereotypes and cartoonish behaviour rather than substantive criticism.

The first issue is likely the result of the second issue, which is Brooks’ unwillingness to commit to this film being something different from the rest of his body of work. While Brooks plays closer to reality, he also seems to want to hedge his bets by including moments of Brooks’ brand comedy which simply do not fit in the film, from random visual gags to forced slapstick. The entire final third of the film completely abandons any notion of grounding for a completely absurd, fairy tale ending that was probably slapped onto the film because the more natural, bittersweet ending point for the film (which I will get to in a moment) was too much of a “downer” for audiences. Thus, the film concludes with a fight between two construction vehicles, the poor of the L.A. area mingling with the wealthy, and a small man pretending that his legs are getting crushed. The ending completely undoes any investment made by the audience into the story, giving into cheap tricks, artifice, and low brow gags that had thankfully been kept in check till this point.

This total lack of faith from Brooks in making a different type of film is unfortunate, because when Life Stinks works, it works wonderfully. The highlight of the film is the relationship between Bolt and Molly, which manages to be sweet and touching without giving into the typical romantic clichés. One of the best moments of the film is a scene in which Bolt and Molly engage in a silly, fantastic, and old fashioned dance number which manages to be charming and one of the best scenes in any of Brooks’ films. Greater than this though, is a scene which should have ended then film, as Molly visits a comatose Bolt, who has suffered a massive personal setback and has ended up in the hospital (whose staff is responsible of Bolt’s state). The scene is one with Molly pouring her heart out, performed beautifully by Warren, and ends on a simply look between herself and Bolt. It is a wonderful scene, and in many ways, feels like the film’s end. It wouldn’t wrap up all of the threads of the narrative, but I don’t believe that the film really needs to offer a conclusion to everything. The issues Brooks addresses and the more grounded approach to them do not befit a fantasy ending.

Perhaps Life Stinks wouldn’t have been any more successful if Brooks had gone for broke with the film. However, we do know that the finished film was not a success critically or commercially, and if Brooks’ last two films are anything to go by, he took the wrong lesson away from the failure of Life Stinks, returning with a vengeance to mocking cinema in a manner that was derivative of his early successes. I’m personally sad that the ambition Brooks shows with this film was never developed further. For all its flaws, Life Stinks might have been the first step in the development of a second stage of his career as a filmmaker. Instead, it is cursed to be known as the first step in ending Brooks’ career.