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When the members of Aerosmith, who contributed a few of their older songs to the Armageddon soundtrack, were shown a preview, they felt so choked up that they insisted on writing new extra songs. Lead singer Steven Tyler's daughter Liv stars in the film. Americans love the threat of Armageddon. Environmentalists predict an Earth where no one can breathe without inhaling toxic fumes, certain religious sects imagine themselves as the chosen sole survivors, and Mad Max fans hope for a crude landscape where people with mohawks and tattered industrial clothing can roam the Earth engaging in turf wars. We don't really think the end is nigh. We just love to be self-righteous about it. But what if the revelation really is at hand? Who will have the goods to save us? For Hollywood producer Jerry Bruckheimer and action director Michael Bay, who teamed up for Bad Boys and The Rock, the answer is--of course--Bruce Willis. Their newest collaboration creates a version of Revelation 16:1 with Armageddon, a movie that pits the world population against something we did not create and cannot control (meaning it's not our fault): an asteroid the size of Texas hurtling toward Earth at 22,000 miles per hour. The impending crisis opens the picture without any room for tense buildup in a place many disaster films enjoy destroying--New York City. Just as in this summer's tedious Godzilla, things fall apart immediately: Cute dogs topple into cracks in the earth; New Yorkers wearing "I heart New York" T-shirts are blown to bits; and the needle on top of the Chrysler building takes a nosedive into cement. NASA's executive director, Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton), decides to do something unorthodox to save the world. Instead of enlisting highly educated and trained astronauts, he hires rough-and-tumble manly men: oil drillers who have criminal records and unprofessional attitudes. Led by super-boss Harry S. Stamper (Bruce Willis), the team includes A.J. (Ben Affleck), who is in love with Stamper's daughter, Grace (Liv Tyler); Chick (Will Patton), a cynical gambler; Oscar (Owen Wilson), a cowboy full of weird observations; Max (Ken Campbell), the fat guy; and Rockhound (Steve Buscemi), the genius with a weakness for the ladies. The group undergoes rapid training and tests, which they fail. They are sent off anyway to drill a hole in the sucker and deposit a nuke. If this movie were a comedy, Willis would be Bill Murray, his ragtag team would be the weakling losers from Stripes, and the premise would be much more palatable. But this is a movie by Bruckheimer, who emulatesfilms like Dirty Dozen that turn outlaws and the common man into heroes. Do Bruckheimer's outlaws succeed as film heroes? Yes and no. The picture focuses not just on special effects but on the group of idealized men: criminal, astronaut, gambler, nice guy, pervert and cowboy. Bruckheimer prefers men who look natural when covered in the black sticky stuff drilled from the earth; they are all the more powerful when varnished with valor. Screw NASA, modern technology and the president of the United States; real men know what the hell is going on. Willis (looking more and more like Lee Marvin) is perfect as Stamper, a man who hits golf balls at a Greenpeace vessel and yells at his future son-in-law but loves his little girl more than life itself. Affleck looks right for his part and is not a deplorable actor, but he's not charismatic enough to be teamed with Willis. The other indie actors excel at giving the film the personality it could so easily have lacked. Patton is a more sociopathic Ed Harris. Buscemi (the film version of the wacky sitcom neighbor) is enjoyable to watch for his facial expressions alone. Peter Stormare, who plays a Russian astronaut, gives another oddly sexual and humorous performance. And it's refreshing to see Wilson, who was so brilliant in the independent film Bottle Rocket, in this milieu; he makes stupid lines hilarious with his wonderfully understated delivery. We genuinely like all of these men. But the movie itself? It, too, is likable--which is weird for such a manipulative Hollywood vehicle. Though we could have done without the sickly sentimental montages that look lifted from AT&T and Kleenex commercials, the film contains a couple of moving surprises. But it also has too many loud moments in which we have no idea what is going on. Good characters are developed swiftly and then stuck in the nuance-obliterating space of a rocket ship; faceless men in space suits scream at each other; crudely technical tools are used to work on a chunk of rock that, though it looks like an art-deco ice sculpture, offers little atmosphere for cinematic tension. Still, the movie does something to the viewer. It is, after all, Bruckheimer. We cannot help but be seduced by the extravagant candy of machismo displayed in its varied forms. Though the film is not necessarily full of passion, it is full of intensity. Armageddon is an oddity that works through inebriation: You can't take your eyes away, and though you may think about the idea of the world ending for two hours, you probably won't remember it in the morning. |
