"The drone must die! The drone must die!"

The Wicker Man
(Not the real one. The crappy one.)

Plot:

Neil LaBute no like-y girls.

Comments:

You know, I really didn’t care for the original ‘Wicker Man’ the first time I saw it. I could definitely see its very odd appeal, but it just wasn’t there for me. Slow moving, filled with god-awful folk music, and featuring 70’s British eroticism, ugh. However, as I wrote up this review, I found myself referring again and again to the film in order to fully elucidate just went wrong with this one. In fact, with its myriad of glaring deficits the only positive thing that can be found in the remake is a fresh born respect for the craft and intelligence displayed in the original. Here we can see how a similarly be-monikered production possessing a nearly identical plot can turn out to be such an utter, vacuous, abomination.

I will tell you outright that I must discuss, in detail, the story and conclusion of the original film. If you have never seen it, then please read no farther than the end of this paragraph. To you the 2006 film will merely be a total annoyance. It’s a lame, un-thrilling thriller crammed full of cheap jump scenes. (I still don’t know if Malus was supposed to be schizophrenic, seeing things that weren’t there, or if LaBute just didn’t care how sloppy and illogical these vision sequences were. I know where I’d put the smart money though.) There are plot holes so wide and deep you could stash mob hits in them. It’s careless, lazy, and silly as hell. A film filled with and crafted by annoying empty-headed dullards. The only plusses; Cinematography is ok, with earthy tones of scenery off set by the occasional bit of colorful costuming. While producer and lead Nicholas Cage cannot act his way into a wet paper bag, (I swear, I thought he was trying to affect a southern accent before I realized he just mumbles all the feckin’ time!) acting is competent for the most part. I said competent, not good. The rest of the embarrassed and confused players are very successful at portraying their wholly unlikable, ridiculous characters. Production values may be high, but so what? Hollywood folk like Cage have money to throw around, and they do, but what’s the point when this only serves to add polish to a newly minted turd?

Writer/director Neil LaBrute is not fit to pen fortune cookies. Even as a stand alone, this film cannot merit more than a 1.5
There’s your capsule review. Now go out, rent the real movie, and have fun.

Those of us who have seen the original will fare much worse when exposed to this offal. Not only is watching this dreck torturous, it is also, ultimately pointless, as the conclusion of both films is more or less the same. I’ll now offer a quick recap of the original, just to clarify my upcoming comments:

Police Sergeant Howie receives notice that a young girl has gone missing from her home on a remote Scottish island. Summersisle is miles away from your usual farming community. The villagers are pagans who worship the old Celtic gods. Howie, a strict catholic is shocked by the lasciviousness and open sensuality displayed by the natives. (Including Willow, a nubile young woman who does her damnedest to seduce him.) Though the villagers are unconcerned with Howie’s investigation, he eventually manages to wheedle out that the child Rowan has died. However, after a bit more snooping around on the island, he begins to piece together a far different story. It seems that the previous year’s fruit crop (the community’s only means of economic support) was disastrously blighted. The ancient druids, and by extension, these modern druids, believe that only a human sacrifice (which is to be burned alive in a large wickerwork figure) can appease the old gods and restore the island’s bounty. The sergeant thus deduces that Rowan is still alive and has been spirited away to serve as a virgin sacrifice. After managing to purloin a disguise (that of a fool) for the mummer’s parade, he is able to blend in with the islanders long enough to find where the child is being held. He frees her, and follows her as she leads him to a large clearing ... and right back to the midst of the villagers. (And here is where you damn well better stop reading if you have not seen the first film!) Everything that has transpired has been subterfuge. (With not a little bit of cruel fate thrown in for good measure.) Howie has been manipulated into partaking in a series of ritual tests and preparations, and has come to the wicker man of his own free will. It is he who has been chosen as the perfect virgin sacrifice, not the child.

Now let’s take a quick peek at LaBute’s asinine “re-imagining”. (LaBute? Is that French for “The Ass”? Because that would be the most fitting bit of symbolic meaning attached to this project!)

Nicolas Cage’s “character” Sgt. Edward Malus pulls over a mother and a child in a station wagon. A tractor-trailer truck swerves to avoid some livestock and smashes into them, sending the car aflame. They both sit inside and wait for a fireball to knock Nick unconscious. He is then haunted by the incident, and begins seeing stupid redheaded girls run over by trucks on boats and such. (Yes, that’s what I meant to type. That’s what happens.) At home, he receives a visit from a female motorcycle cop, who hands him a letter from his old fiancé. This letter has no postmark, yet he does not suspect his co-worker of delivering it herself. In the letter, his ex begs for help as her child has gone missing and, blah, blah, blahdidy blah. Let’s skip to the end. (Spoiler alert, though, as I said, both films end more or less the same.) The kid is actually Nick’s and she; her mother, his ex-partner, and the car girl & mother show up to watch his torturous death.
Ok, were only about 10 minutes into the film, and yet we are drowning in logic diarrhea.
How did the cult control the livestock on the road? How did they know the truck would hit the wagon? (Was the driver a femi-cultist too? One who was an expert heavy truck stuntwoman despite living on a rural island her whole life?) How did they family stay in the car long enough to let Nick be hit with a large fireball without dying themselves? Why exactly was this bit of trauma needed; wouldn’t the letter be enough? Why did the cult send one of its members to live long enough in the real world to rise through the ranks of the police department, just to deliver a frickin’ letter? How did this rural cult member yet not lose her faith when exposed for so many to the modern world? (Or for that matter, develop even one iota of human compassion for a man she grew to know as a friend. Oh, I forgot, she has a vagina, and therefore, not a soul. Right LaBute? Asshole.)

Not only is this writing convoluted and senseless, it also flaccid. (Much like the woman-hating LaBute himself!) Malus is not being tested, he is being led by the nose.

Ok, I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Let’s examine this plot in more depth. Arriving on the island we are presented with a few more bushels worth of brain-dead scripting. While the villagers in the original were unhelpful and unconcerned with the investigation, they were by no means so openly antagonistic. (In fact, it was Sgt. Howie who came across as the biggest blowhard.) Here, from the moment Cage steps on the island he is treated like a leper wearing a t-shirt made of poo. The pagan villagers are cold, hostile, and threatening. (And their dialogue is the worst kind of ‘Village’-esque pseudo religious communal gibberish.) This of course is another huge misstep. Aside from the fact that the petulant blithering villagers add a whole ‘nother level of irritant to this exercise, (Especially the blind twin crones who simper in unison. Ughk!) this boneheaded bit of characterization effectively neuters any possibility of suspense. In the original, one may be initially apprehensive, but most viewers tend to side with the earthy, jovial pagans against the belligerent, puritanical Howie. (This of course is why the film’s conclusion is so haunting, as we learn that we should not always trust our hearts, despite the plethora of gooey new-age mantras to the contrary.) The “sisters” are at first treated with the utmost of Malus’ politeness, which they quickly wear thin. I was tempted, even in a movie theater, to start clapping when Cage stopped listening to their drivel and just began punching them in the bloody face. (Of course, that may have been construed as my deriving some small bit of pleasure from the film. Actually, I was just picturing myself doing the same thing to Nick and the director.)

LaBute can’t write dialogue, can’t pen a cogent plot, and for a perfect trifecta, pisses theme completely down his leg. To put it mildly, the man is hideously confused about a great many things. He firstly replaces the original theme of religious conflict with his own pet hang-up of gender friction. (‘Cause Allah knows that themes of violent religious conflict certainly aren’t of any relevance to the world today. *Cough! Cough!*)The island is a matriarchy; predominantly populated by females, island males are mute and subjugated. The villagers’ “faith” (which is non-existent on more than one level, as I shall elaborate upon later) is not druidism, but a ridiculous hash of Hollywicca, (Not the real religion, but an incredibly simplistic stereotypical simulation! “Hollywicca”, from the creators of “Hoodoo”.) neo-feminist claptrap and apiculture. (Yes, their religion is bee-based. No, I’m not joking. Yes, I must now hurt someone to make me forget this movie.)

This move is of course necessitated in order to shoehorn in LaBute’s impotent angsty nonsense. Not only does this castrate the narrative, but also renders it incomprehensible. Why are these “goddess” worshipers practicing human sacrifice? The wicker man ritual is druidic. (If it was even practiced at all in antiquity, and not just some bit of anti-Celt propaganda recited by Caesar in order to morally justify the Gaelic wars. Of course this pedantic bit of historical ponderation may be a bit over the head of someone who thinks that male-hating pagans would expect to be tolerated by the Salem colony.) The ancient Celtic druids were polytheists of course, not Goddess devotees. While female sexuality was equally liberated in Celtic society, that society was also very, very macho indeed. So where did the concept of this ritual come from? The bee cult has nothing to do with druidism, and Wicca (even mangled HollyWicca like this) is a wholly peaceful religion. The Great Goddess of Wicca does not need to be appeased with blood. (Not that appeasement has much to do with this ritual. “The drone must die” is what’s chanted, nothing about sacrifice or rebirth.) The whole sacrifice thing seems to stem from nothing more that two hippies saying to each other “Hey, I’m bored. Let’s kill some guy.” (Which is appropriate seeing that the neither the ritual nor its origin are ever explained or even mentioned in this film! That’s right, the titular plot device is a complete non sequitur! LaBute, you are a dumbass!)

As I was jawing on a bit earlier, one of the masterstrokes of the original is that it all but forces the viewers to see things from the villagers’ point of view, yet deftly managed to avoid choosing sides itself. Here, we are clearly supposed to identify with Malus, yet there is no reason to. Irreligious, self-absorbed, and not a little bit stupid, Malus believes in nothing, and is a non-entity at best. It seems ludicrous to say, but although the villagers are a fanatical communal cult, faith has nothing to do with this film. Making a modern day cop a middle-aged virgin would be a massive stretch of credibility, but would it really be so difficult to give him something to believe in? (Even some soppy irreligious humanist inkling?) The classroom scene begins with Malus walking in on a group of doe-eyed youngsters discussing phallic symbolism. (Odd note; for a film dripping with gender conflict, this remake is completely neutered, possessing none of the original’s charged eroticism. Hmmmm, neutered, impotent, castrated, flaccid, I wonder why these synonyms spring so readily to mind when discussing LaBute and his work?) Though taken aback, he is not offended. Actually, he laughs! When it comes to faith, religion, and the conflict of human belief, Malus, much like LaBute himself, has not one Dagda-damned thing worth saying (or even to say) in his worthless, empty little skull.

One wee scrap of theme shared by this film and its predecessor is that antagonist and protagonist are of equally strong spiritual timbre. Here this is sadly the case as Lady Summersile (Ellen Burstyn, who deserves better than this) has not one fiber of faith. Unlike the true Lord Summersisle who chose Howie because his essence was so powerful (and was willing to take his place if he failed the tests) Lady S. is simply a sniveling coward who abducts others to fit some taliban-esqe sense of righteous superiority. Hell, even some of those miserable yellowbellied bastards are willing to die for what they believe in. This Summersisle is more like some Saudi potentate, sending others to perish for her while she laughs at them in secret.

Thus of course, Lady S. cannot offer Malus the comfort of a “martyr’s death”. (Nor one feels, would the spiritual craven do so if she could.) While Howie’s murder cannot be justified, and is met fearfully, he is at least able to call upon God in his final moments, achieving some small amount of justification and comfort in a religion that, let’s face it, seemed more like a burden to him throughout his entire life. In some odd way, the rebirth achieved by the wicker man sacrifice may not be the crops, but Sgt. Howie’s. (Or maybe I’m just full of delusional English-Lit 101 mumbo jumbo.) Adding insult to immolation, Malus’s sacrifice serves absolutely no point. I’m not even sure what kind of “blight” would effect honey production (they’re bees, not potatoes) but why would a sacrifice be necessary to restore some balance of energy? I mentioned Sgt. Howie’s fear at the end, praying to God that his soul be rescued from the pagan deities. (And not in fact wind up in the islander’s “bloody apples”.) Here, when Nick dumbly ejaculates, “Killing me won’t bring back your honey!” not even the most fanatical cultist could disagree with him. For crap’s sake, the bees have already frickin’ returned to making the honey! In fact, Malus is nearly fatally stung whilst wondering blindly into (and then making the uber-brilliant move of running deeper into) a huge hive grouping of many happy, productive bees. The next year’s honey harvest can already be judged to be a success. (Unlike the original’s crops, the nebulous nature of which can make their success seem like a matter of fate.) Malus’ murder is cruelty for cruelty’s sake. The sacrifice scene is not even apt as drama, due in no small part to its ham fisted execution. (“Ow, you broke my leg! Ow, you broke my other leg!”)
Any shock that might come from the climax (yeah right, like we care about any of these caricatures) is totally diluted by a clumsy, stupid, and downright icky epilogue in which more island girls are sent out to seduce and manipulate other men to their ~~moose-y~~ buzzy fates. There is no renewal, no rebirth, and no meaning, merely a never-ending cycle of Sumersisle’s sadistic misandry. If a woman wrote this film, I’d say she was having a laugh working through some daddy issues. The fact that it is written by Neil LaBute only cements his reputation as a sore-headed, hateful, misogynist loser.
“Oh, Bwah! I don’t like people! Girls are mean to me when I can’t get it up! Bwah!”
Go to Hell, you pissant art-house poser.

And so, while the original presents us with a myriad of interpretations, here, I search desperately for a point. Any point. And since if this ‘Wicker Man’ is not about fate, faith, or rebirth, exactly what is it about? In a word, betrayal. The betrayal of love by one who desperately begs for aid. The betrayal of faith by petty, tyrannical authority. The betrayal of art by commerce and sloth. In the end, this is not simply another hacky attempt to cash-in on another’s work. It is a black-hearted, small-minded exercise of unbridled misanthropic self-loathing and sniveling pretentious cynicism. Perhaps the moral of this story is;

Never trust or love anyone.
Ever.

One last, sad nugget about this tub of waste; I remember recently reading of LaBute bragging he left “all the good stuff” from the original in his reworking. And perhaps that is the ultimate lesson of this ‘Wicker Man’. Some people are so twisted up in their own wretchedness they cannot tell what goodness is.

-1.5

A rare negative rating, and one more than fully earned.

*Update* March, 2007; While I hate to end the review of such a dour little turd pie on an up note, Mike Nelson and Kevin Murphy have recently released their Rifftrax for this film. I heartily recommend it; while it does mean you'll actually have to watch this film, perhaps again, (I completely forgot that that little bitch LaBute stole my font! Do you have an original bone in your carcass, froggy?!) Mike and Kevin hit every note perfectly, roasting this piteous mess of a film like a virginal bobby.