So, my man and I went and saw 47 Ronin on Friday evening. It was that or American Hustle, and he let me have my way and we went and saw Keanu Reeves. And um...my bad.
At first glance it seems like the kind of movie I would love. Action, fantasy, magic, good versus evil--all tropes but I like a good trope done right. These were not done right.
Let's start with the incredibly obvious visual cliches. I mean, yes you can use the environment you put your characters in to make a statement, but that doesn't mean you have to beat the metaphor into the ground. They set the smirking bad guy's lair in a Japanese-ish version of Moria, for fuck's sake.
Impossible romance supported with actions and statements so ludicrous it bordered on just plain stupid? Check.
Improbable, poorly-explained alliance between bad guys that used magic as a convenient explanation for everything while making us care absolutely nothing about the possible threat these people posed, because they were so obvious and two-dimensional that you just couldn't be bothered? Check.
Hero figure set up for acceptance and redemption after harsh and unloving treatment his whole life--that is to say, in the life he lived after he fled from the Tengu Forest, the only part of the movie that actually could have been really interesting? And oh, allow him to inexplicably hang on to a valuable golden ornament given to him by his forbidden flame despite a year spent enslaved? Done and done.
And also, any sailors who put their ships that close together, with that many torches and lanterns in close proximity, deserve to have their fucking ships burnt down. I mean really.
Was the movie completely intolerable? No, although spoiler alert: almost every main character commits seppuku at the end, keeping with the historical legend of the 47 ronin, but still. Damn. I'm not necessarily sad that I saw it, but I am bummed that we spent the money to go out for that. Better watched at home, where you can groan and roll your eyes in peace.
In other news, we went to a UFC party last night and watched Anderson Silva break his leg on Chris Weidman's knee. Oh my god. You could hear the bone break. It was absolutely gnarly. The party was fun, in a hipster, awkward-glasses-homemade-venison-chili-craft-beer-and-martinis-for-everyone kind of way. I talked to almost no one. Not exactly a social butterfly, me.
Anyway, happy Sunday, darlins.