10 Cloverfield laneFear makes people do strange things. It can cause people to look away when the see a child being abused. It can cause people to flee from a relationship when it becomes too much to bear. It can even cause some people to build a "doomsday bunker" in their backyard, because you can't build one after the apocalypse arrives on your doorstep. After a terrible car crash, Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) finds herself chained to a wall, an IV in her arm keeping her hydrated, and sequestered in a locked storage room below the Earth's surface, where her simultaneous captor and caretaker is a mountain of a man named Howard (John Goodman). Trust is not a given in this scenario.
|
|
10 Cloverfield Lane is fundamentally a psychological thriller, while also being a spiritual successor to J.J. Abram's kaiju monster movie, Cloverfield. But before crying foul at the apparent lack of an alien beast, Howard represents the "monster" in this chamber piece. Among Howard and Michelle is Emmett (John Gallagher, Jr.), an affable acquaintance of Howard's who describes to Elizabeth how he helped Howard build his shelter. These details are trickled out methodically, and only small pieces of the puzzle are disclosed moment to moment...and even then, some remain elusive for audiences to fill in, not unlike Emmett's "Cat Fish" puzzle. For audiences only tangentially acquainted with the premise of 10 Cloverfield Lane from the trailer, the ambiguity of the state of the world early on--teased in various ways prior to the car crash--suggests something at work along the southern seaboard of the United States; even Michelle's egress across the virtually abandoned roadways in Louisiana recalls Louis Malle's unique science-fiction tale of the apocalypse, Black Moon. It is the same sense that there is some power at work, operating behind the scenes in 10 Cloverfield Lane, alongside the twists and turns of a thrilling tale recalling Rod Serling's dramatic, science-fiction legacy, "The Twilight Zone"; in fact, some have taken to making this parallel between this movie and its predecessor as being emblematic of that same kind of thrilling storytelling which made that show such an indelible part of our entertainment history. This quality is also represented in the aesthetic of reusing the familiar set of the bunker and the few rooms therein, focusing on character interaction, and saving the big, flashy reveals for crucial set pieces.
Michelle is largely a blank slate character, save for a few key details which present her as one who has a tendency to run from her problems, but is deep down a fighter who chooses her moments to defend herself wisely (in most cases). She is rightly terrified following her awakening in Howard's bunker to find herself a prisoner. She reacts to her impulse to escape from captivity, and Howard expresses virtually no empathy toward her residency or personal needs. Howard is intimidating by presence alone; when provoked, he flares up into a titan of wrath, a "monster". Howard has his own view of the world, as indicated by Emmett, and claims that his experiences in life have shown him that those who do not prepare for danger are doomed to be consumed by it. These may be noble aspirations on the surface, but Howard exudes an aura of menace. He is controlling and makes proclamations which come across as paranoid or even delusional. His threat which keeps Michelle and Emmett within arms reach is that the world above the surface has suffered some kind of "attack", making the air unfit to breath, or at least contaminated. It is an invisible threat, one which Howard cannot provide any proof to reinforce, save for his passionate declarations that what he does, he does for the safety of his fellow residents. For whatever generosity Howard offers, there always seems to be the stern hand of an abusive parent behind it. He talks vaguely of his daughter, Megan, whom his estranged wife took from him, while he claims that some people cannot be made to act in the interests of safety. Howard's desire to create a "family" unit in Michelle and Emmett is hinged upon the trust he forces from them, that he is--as he proclaims without a hint of irony--a "sensible fellow", who wishes to protect them from the dangers of the "outside world". He depends on their trust, while simultaneously exploiting it in order to create a facsimile of his own failed family. But trust is a delicate thing; once broken, it cannot be easily mended. As Michelle and Emmett gradually acquiesce to Howard's brand of guardianship, at one point they listen to music on Howard's jukebox, including "I Think We're Alone Now" by Ritchie Cordell, and play games like "Life" and others. During one such game, where the players must guess what they are describing, Emmett tries to get Howard to guess "Little Women" by pointing to Michelle, but Howard can only think of her as a "girl" or "child", or even "princess". And shortly after, when it is her turn, he describes himself--albeit with a dose of menace per usual--as Santa Claus. Ultimately, Howard is a version of the consumer symbol for Christmas--always watching, rewarding good "children", and punishing naughty ones; he is even big and bearded. His perception of Michelle shows his disconnect from reality, even though he may still be right about the threat looming above their heads, a point which proves to be his undoing when Michelle proves herself to be not only reliant but capable of survival when she needs to the most.
Recommended for: Fans of a taut and gripping thriller which keeps you guessing about what is true and what isn't, and who you can trust. And if Mary Elizabeth Winstead's crawl through the vents echoes Die Hard between this and other films, this highlights her as a contemporary action movie heroine.
Michelle is largely a blank slate character, save for a few key details which present her as one who has a tendency to run from her problems, but is deep down a fighter who chooses her moments to defend herself wisely (in most cases). She is rightly terrified following her awakening in Howard's bunker to find herself a prisoner. She reacts to her impulse to escape from captivity, and Howard expresses virtually no empathy toward her residency or personal needs. Howard is intimidating by presence alone; when provoked, he flares up into a titan of wrath, a "monster". Howard has his own view of the world, as indicated by Emmett, and claims that his experiences in life have shown him that those who do not prepare for danger are doomed to be consumed by it. These may be noble aspirations on the surface, but Howard exudes an aura of menace. He is controlling and makes proclamations which come across as paranoid or even delusional. His threat which keeps Michelle and Emmett within arms reach is that the world above the surface has suffered some kind of "attack", making the air unfit to breath, or at least contaminated. It is an invisible threat, one which Howard cannot provide any proof to reinforce, save for his passionate declarations that what he does, he does for the safety of his fellow residents. For whatever generosity Howard offers, there always seems to be the stern hand of an abusive parent behind it. He talks vaguely of his daughter, Megan, whom his estranged wife took from him, while he claims that some people cannot be made to act in the interests of safety. Howard's desire to create a "family" unit in Michelle and Emmett is hinged upon the trust he forces from them, that he is--as he proclaims without a hint of irony--a "sensible fellow", who wishes to protect them from the dangers of the "outside world". He depends on their trust, while simultaneously exploiting it in order to create a facsimile of his own failed family. But trust is a delicate thing; once broken, it cannot be easily mended. As Michelle and Emmett gradually acquiesce to Howard's brand of guardianship, at one point they listen to music on Howard's jukebox, including "I Think We're Alone Now" by Ritchie Cordell, and play games like "Life" and others. During one such game, where the players must guess what they are describing, Emmett tries to get Howard to guess "Little Women" by pointing to Michelle, but Howard can only think of her as a "girl" or "child", or even "princess". And shortly after, when it is her turn, he describes himself--albeit with a dose of menace per usual--as Santa Claus. Ultimately, Howard is a version of the consumer symbol for Christmas--always watching, rewarding good "children", and punishing naughty ones; he is even big and bearded. His perception of Michelle shows his disconnect from reality, even though he may still be right about the threat looming above their heads, a point which proves to be his undoing when Michelle proves herself to be not only reliant but capable of survival when she needs to the most.
Recommended for: Fans of a taut and gripping thriller which keeps you guessing about what is true and what isn't, and who you can trust. And if Mary Elizabeth Winstead's crawl through the vents echoes Die Hard between this and other films, this highlights her as a contemporary action movie heroine.