Avatar: The Way of WaterMost of our world is covered in water, and there yet exist places on the Earth which have not been explored by humans, especially in the oceans and seas. Water is a mystery; it comprises most of our bodies, yet can kill by drowning or sheer force. Most of the planet's life exists within the water. It could be argued that because we cannot survive underwater without support, much of it remains unspoiled. Avatar: The Way of Water is an ecologically-centric sci-fi movie and a sequel to Avatar, which was released in 2009 and led the charge for a 3-D movie renaissance. The sequel picks up roughly sixteen years later, showing how life on the verdant world of Pandora has evolved since then.
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Just to put it out there first, the kinds of movies that I enjoy are almost universally narrative driven. I suppose that I like a good story. (That said, I also enjoy experimental and surreal films, but even these often have a good story as well, even if it is a weird one.) So once again I am baffled with myself that I found that I thoroughly enjoyed The Way of Water--just as I had with its predecessor--solely on the basis of its marvelous special effects and vivid visual world-building. This movie is a strange beast, much like the denizens of the satellite world of Pandora in deep space. It is, in the visual sense, a work of art, and a feast for the eyes at almost all points in its over three hour runtime. Filmmaker James Cameron is no stranger to epic productions, with a scope of vision that truly earns that appellation. There is something hypnotic about these movies, and this one is taken to the next level by the inclusion of exciting underwater sequences (also not unfamiliar to Cameron: see his The Abyss). And there's something thrilling to me about seeing a film so earnestly try to bridge the uncanny valley, even if The Way of Water sometimes struggles to adapt its own designs of the indigenous Na'vi from 2009 into a movie that is even more technologically adept than its earlier iteration. Some sequels allow for new audiences to jump onboard without much familiarity, but not so with this movie. To say that The Way of Water would be incomprehensible without a prior understanding of the world of Pandora and its occupants (at least to some small degree) is appropriate...but then, to be honest, maybe that doesn't matter. Frankly, that's something that I cannot avoid acknowledging, that the story of The Way of Water--as it was with Avatar--simply doesn't matter. (If one were so inclined, one could even quip that the movie's narrative "high points" amount to little more than "blue people doing sign language at whales" or "Free Willy" in space.) I could go on about themes ripped right from other "white guilt/savior" epics like Dances With Wolves--to which Avatar has been rightly compared--to tropes so embedded in Cameron's sci-fi oeuvre (space marines, powered armor, things penetrating people's chests, etc) that it would be expected. I could talk about the almost obsessive need to introduce a "younger, kid-friendly generation" of Na'vi, and how it's meant to teach the movie's younger audiences about how to cope with differences and other cultures, but again, it's not all that interesting to me. So The Way of Water has me at a disadvantage, I usually enjoy talking about these aspects of a movie, but find that in this movie, it's kind of...tiresome. This presents an interesting challenge, and the equally interesting question that comes with it. How do you talk about that phrase which has tragically fallen into disuse...how do you talk about "pure cinema"?
Termed by filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock, the idea of "pure cinema" is (in a nutshell) that movies can tell their stories by way of movement and imagery alone; everything else is incidental. It's a concept that is rarely (almost never) embraced by big-budget movies, and subsequently by most audiences--and this is a crying shame. After all, the only thing that separates a movie from a book or a radio play is the imagery and movement. So you can either look at this as nothing but a supporting pillar of the film or as a feature of it itself. Not to sound hypocritical, but yes, I want a good story in my movies, but I am drawn to imagery and acting that more succinctly describes that story, that visualizes it in an imaginative way that goes beyond my imagination. This is where The Way of Water (literally) shines. The greatest thrill of watching this movie comes from the longer, languid scenes of the characters swimming through bioluminescent underwater vistas, resembling the most gorgeous and vibrant coral reefs ever imagined. Long shots of the floating mountains and lush jungles with glowing leaves and assorted wildlife makes Pandora a fully-realized environment. In other words, it feels real, despite the fact that it is the farthest thing from it. It's clear that James Cameron understands that the real fireworks in The Way of Water come by way of these vast and detailed vistas and of the myriad creatures that occupy it. So the movie is positively plush with protracted scenes of the characters swimming or navigating through these scenes, all while the soporific score by Simon Franglen lulls us into quietude. But since The Way of Water apparently must have a story, all of it builds to a titanic (sorry, couldn't help myself) showdown between the Na'vi and the encroaching humans (those horrible humans...oh wait, that's us) that occupies most of the film's final act. Cue lots of explosions, lots of gunfights, more explosions, whales and boats, more explosions, and so on. As exhilarating as these scenes are at first, they run over-long, becoming as grueling for the audience as they must be for the characters. (This kind of flies in the face of Cameron's claims that there's nothing wrong with three-plus hour movies. It would be unfortunate if it's during the film's climax that he thinks his audience should go "get up and pee".) So, tragically, this final act negates some of what makes The Way of Water so magical in the first place, forcing a rote action set piece--stunning though it may be--onto its audience, just to satisfy the expectations of the blockbuster sci-fi/action genre. And The Way of Water is at its best when it defies these expectations, when it makes the most serious effort in a long time to embrace the idea of "pure cinema", of a visual smorgasbord that delights our eyes instead of assaulting them.
Recommended for: Fans of a technical masterpiece of computer-generated imagery and a bravura display of cinematic style and acumen. The greatest sin of The Way of Water, like Avatar, is how it never unshackles itself from the expectations of Hollywood blockbusters, forcing the plot and characters to sadly remain two-dimensional.
Termed by filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock, the idea of "pure cinema" is (in a nutshell) that movies can tell their stories by way of movement and imagery alone; everything else is incidental. It's a concept that is rarely (almost never) embraced by big-budget movies, and subsequently by most audiences--and this is a crying shame. After all, the only thing that separates a movie from a book or a radio play is the imagery and movement. So you can either look at this as nothing but a supporting pillar of the film or as a feature of it itself. Not to sound hypocritical, but yes, I want a good story in my movies, but I am drawn to imagery and acting that more succinctly describes that story, that visualizes it in an imaginative way that goes beyond my imagination. This is where The Way of Water (literally) shines. The greatest thrill of watching this movie comes from the longer, languid scenes of the characters swimming through bioluminescent underwater vistas, resembling the most gorgeous and vibrant coral reefs ever imagined. Long shots of the floating mountains and lush jungles with glowing leaves and assorted wildlife makes Pandora a fully-realized environment. In other words, it feels real, despite the fact that it is the farthest thing from it. It's clear that James Cameron understands that the real fireworks in The Way of Water come by way of these vast and detailed vistas and of the myriad creatures that occupy it. So the movie is positively plush with protracted scenes of the characters swimming or navigating through these scenes, all while the soporific score by Simon Franglen lulls us into quietude. But since The Way of Water apparently must have a story, all of it builds to a titanic (sorry, couldn't help myself) showdown between the Na'vi and the encroaching humans (those horrible humans...oh wait, that's us) that occupies most of the film's final act. Cue lots of explosions, lots of gunfights, more explosions, whales and boats, more explosions, and so on. As exhilarating as these scenes are at first, they run over-long, becoming as grueling for the audience as they must be for the characters. (This kind of flies in the face of Cameron's claims that there's nothing wrong with three-plus hour movies. It would be unfortunate if it's during the film's climax that he thinks his audience should go "get up and pee".) So, tragically, this final act negates some of what makes The Way of Water so magical in the first place, forcing a rote action set piece--stunning though it may be--onto its audience, just to satisfy the expectations of the blockbuster sci-fi/action genre. And The Way of Water is at its best when it defies these expectations, when it makes the most serious effort in a long time to embrace the idea of "pure cinema", of a visual smorgasbord that delights our eyes instead of assaulting them.
Recommended for: Fans of a technical masterpiece of computer-generated imagery and a bravura display of cinematic style and acumen. The greatest sin of The Way of Water, like Avatar, is how it never unshackles itself from the expectations of Hollywood blockbusters, forcing the plot and characters to sadly remain two-dimensional.