Cars (review)
Cars are people too? Sooo not funny.
Cars are people too? Sooo not funny.

I kinda would have liked to be able to toss off a ‘it’s not easy being green’ quip about *Hulk* and be done with it, but damn if Ang Lee hasn’t gifted us with a film that I don’t want to be flip about. Yeah, it’s about a rather enormous green guy who smashes stuff… except that’s like saying that *Hamlet* is about this college kid who goes crazy.

Elvis Presley takes a job as a roustabout at a carnival, gets slapped by a lot by girls with frighteningly waspish waists, and sings corny carny songs. In superbright Technicolor! Silly movie.
Olivier’s take on Shakespeare’s story of madness and murder most foul is unmistakably a filmic one — with its monologues recast as internal thoughts heard in hushed voiceovers and use of dizzying camerawork to show Hamlet’s inner turmoil, this could never have worked on stage. The emotional desolation of Elsinore’s inhabitants is conveyed with a roving camera that swoops down on characters plotting or moping in huge, empty halls.

Tom Stoppard, I’ll grant you, is infinitely more clever and more talented than your run-of-the-mill fan-fiction writer. But he’s doing exactly the same thing as those hordes of writers who have continued and expanded upon the adventures of the crew of the Enterprise, the owner of the TARDIS, those two FBI agents down in the basement, and the fictional denizens of a zillion other cultish TV shows.