My Friends and Readers, it is with a heavy heart that I come before you today. Normally, my sister Rebekah and I get along wonderfully well--as you would expect two intelligent, witty, and all-around enjoyable women to do. However, in days past, there has been a certain amount of tension between us, and though this tension is small it is perceivable.
I know that you have immediately concluded that this friction is merely a result of the problem I wrote about in my last journal entry. Intelligent though you are, you are, sadly, wrong in this conclusion, for our disagreement stems not from anything having to do with a certain fedora-wearing internet reporter, but rather from differing opinions on the movie Powder.
In a nutshell, Rebekah enjoyed it while I thought it was a mediocre piece of shlock. Needless to say, discussion commenced the moment the movie was over, a discussion I rather enjoyed until Rebekah, pressing her point, demanded, “Didn’t you watch the movie?” and I realized that she was growing very frustrated and angry, at which point I high-tailed in for the safety of my garret room before she whipped out the karate moves on me.
It goes without saying that I do not want Rebekah to hate me simply because I panned Powder, and I fear that, in the heat of the moment, I did not fully explain why I disliked the movie. Beyond that, I, admittedly, dislike a great number of movies, and I am beginning to fear that people think I dislike movies for stupid and petty reasons. That, however, is not the case, and I, therefore, have reached the conclusion that it is time to explain why so many movies suck.
To that end, I am going to use Powder as an example, which, frankly, almost makes me blush with embarrassment. Powder after all is such an utterly forgettable movie—neither truly good nor truly awful, but rather occupying that vast space betwixt the twain where so many mediocre movies fester and rot in obscurity. I almost feel like I’m giving it too much credit by explaining why it’s bad, but since my argument with my sister revolves around this particular film I will soldier on and force myself to pick it apart.
There are three (3) elements that make up a good movie/book/what-have-you and they are Story, Structure, and Character. Story tells you what happens. Structure tells you when it happens. And Character tells you why it happens. This is not to say that every movie or book out there has all of these things. The Lord of the Rings (the book, not the movie which I prefer to pretend was never made) is a long, meandering tale held together by its gripping story and interesting characters. James Patterson novels skate by on structure, minimal plot and no character whatsoever, yet they’re routinely number one on the bestseller lists. Ideally however, a movie or any story whatsoever ought to have all three of these things.
Powder, however, has a clichéd story, a weak structure and even weaker characters.
The basic story as I see it is as follows: A lonely orphaned teen with supernatural powers uses his gift to change the lives of those around him; however, the very powers that help him bring others together prevents him from growing close to anyone, and he eventually commits suicide.
A fuller explanation of the story would go something along the lines of...urban legends falsely claim that human beings only use ten percent of their brains. What if we lived in an alternate reality where this urban legend was true? And what if, in this faux earth, there existed a young man who could use eighty or ninety percent of his brain? Well, obviously, he’d be a hairless albino with a genius I.Q. who, through the wonders of technobabble, is fated to draw lightning to him better than a party draws Paris Hilton. Of course, this strange ability would cause his father to abandon him, his grandparents to force him to live in the basement, and for everyone to generally fear him.
When his grandfather dies Powder, as our young, hairless protagonist is nicknamed, is left orphaned. With only the weakest of explanations, he is carted not off to the orphanage but instead to some sort of home for juvenile delinquents who immediately accept this shy, odd-looking, young stranger as one of their own. I kid. They actually end up treating him the way they no doubt treat any newcomer—unkindly.
Here, at the home for juvenile delinquents, the woman who oversees the home gives our albino hero the opportunity to attend school, which, for some bizarre reason he willingly decides to do. It would, possibly, have been better for him if he had employed the Jessica Menn theory of school attendance because, while at school, he runs into Hollywood’s resident science teacher--you guessed it--Jeff Goldblum. As if that wasn’t enough, Jeff decides to illustrate how electricity works by pulling out a Jacob’s Ladder, which, true to the nature of science-equipment-in-movies, shocks our young, bald protagonist.
With good reason, our hero decides he wants to go back to the farm he grew up on and promptly starts walking, only to be stopped by craggy faced Chief of Police Lance Henrikson and Lance’s overweight, African American-hating, gun-loving, white trash, (insert whatever Hollywood cliché of Bible belt Americans I missed) assistant officer, who force Powder, who never broke the law in his life, to go back to the home for juvenile delinquents.
With that background laid, Powder goes on to influence the lives of each of these people. He opens Jeff Goldblum’s mind, sparks his creativity, and helps him have the best sex of his life. Yes, you read the last part of that sentence correctly. He makes the fat cop realize how evil guns are by making him experience the pain a dying deer feels. He helps Lance talk to his cancer-ridden, comatose wife, which eventually causes Lance to reconcile with his city-dwelling SUV-driving son. He kills one of the boys at the home, but it’s okay because he brings him back to life afterwards. And as for the woman who runs the delinquent home...he changes her life somehow, but the movie never actually explains how.
Finally, after doing all of this, he escapes from the dreaded home for troubled boys and returns to grandfather’s farm only to find that it’s been closed up and all the books and furniture have been sold. Lance, Jeff, and the delinquent woman arrive shortly thereafter, and, although they have exhibited little desire to give Powder any genuine help throughout the course of the movie (i.e. give him suggestions on how he could earn some money and buy back his farm), they all decide to help him now; however, it doesn’t matter because Powder decides that the world isn’t ready for him, and in a moment that is supposed to be bittersweet and heart-tugging (or so I assume based on the over-bearing string music in the background) he races out into an open field, gets struck by lighting, turns into pure energy, and presumably becomes one with the universe.
Of course, beyond merely being somewhat clichéd, the story is flawed from the beginning because it’s based on some totally ridiculous and unscientific premises. This wouldn’t necessarily matter--after all, sci-fi movies the world over are based on ridiculous and unscientific premises--however, Powder does not have the solid structure and strong characters needed to make up for the story issues.
As far as structure is concerned...well, I’m shakin’ my head. I could write a whole essay on the three act structure, but I don’t hate my audience that much. Suffice it to say there ought to be a progression to a story. Each action should spring from the actions that have come before; each scene should be a natural result of the scenes that have preceded it. Powder, however, was meandering, disjointed, and I would go so far as to say nearly episodic. Our lonely hero may have changed the lives of those around him, but that alteration did not cause them to do anything that actually pushed the story forward. Lance may have been reconciled with his son, but reconciling with a bit player who has two lines in the entire movie does not a story progress. The fat cop may have given up guns, but that hardly matters unless his sudden unwillingness to pack heat causes him to either (a) die tragically when he’s accosted by seedy underworld types or (b) avoid bloodshed when he has to coax a crazy, hostage-taking, assault-rifle-wielding militia man out of his underground bunker. Powder may have changed the life of the woman who ran the rowdy boys home, but since the movie never explained exactly how he changed her life it’s a safe bet to say it had no relevance on the story. As far as Jeff Goldblum is concerned, the fact that Powder helped him have great sex did indeed cause Jeff to later caress our hero’s smooth, white, hairless scalp, but, frankly, that was an image I could have gone without.
If I felt like boring you all to death, I could probably write twenty pages on the shoddy character development exhibited in this movie. But, to reiterated, I don’t hate my audience that much...although, it would give me at least a mild feeling of satisfaction to pile onto Powder’s screenwriter in such a merciless and comprehensive manner.
Let’s ignore Jeff Goldblum’s pointless presence in this movie. Let’s ignore the spoken-of-but-left-unseen change in the woman who runs the home for troubled boys. Let’s ignore Lance Henrikson’s soulful progression from stoic, craggy-faced cop to stoic, craggy-faced cop, and, by all that is wonderful, let’s ignore the utterly unbelievable idea that a fat, angry, red-neck white supremacist would suddenly give up guns after experiencing what a dying deer feels.
Let us, instead, focus solely on the character development of our hairless, white-skinned protagonist.
Am I the only one who hears crickets chirping?
The whole movie was supposed to be building up to the point where the only good and logical choice for Powder to make is that of committing suicide in a bittersweet but uplifting and somewhat inspiring way. For that sort of ending to work, it has to be made overwhelmingly apparent that Powder’s powers (a) completely separate him from the rest of mankind and (b) are so strong that the separation they cause can never be overcome. In the story as presented, however, Powder’s special gifts did not play a significant role in causing his separation from those around him. He could have been only an albino with no special powers, and the boys at the delinquent home would still have mistreated him because he was shy, very smart, and an albino. He could have been completely normal in appearance with no special powers, and the boys at the delinquent home would still have mistreated him because he was shy and very smart. He could have looked normal, not had special powers, and had an average IQ, and the boys at the juvenile home would still have mistreated him because he was shy. He could have been completely normal in appearance and intellect, not possessed any special powers, and had a more outgoing personality, and the boys at the home would still have mistreated him simply because he was the new kid. There was nothing in the movie to suggest that his lack of connection with those around him was caused by anything more than his introverted personality and the fact that he, a law-abiding citizen, was in a home for juvenile criminals--a place he did not belong. That hardly warrants killing oneself.
More than that, his suicide was made even more unbelievable and senseless because things finally looked like they were going to change. The adults who had spent the entire movie not trying to help him in any way, finally were going to assist him. The corner was turned, the skies were blue, the way ahead was open and clear. But, for some inexplicable reason Powder decided to run out into an open field, get struck by lightning, and disappear into the air. I can only hope it was not a willing choice but rather some sort of pavlovian response to the swelling string music.
Beyond that, the movie gave no reason to believe that his powers were so dangerous to him and others that he had to die. If he had moved someplace that didn’t have a lightning storm every two minutes he would have been just fine, and, based on how his powers were presented, I think he could have excelled as either a scientist or some sort of mental health counselor. You will have a difficult time convincing me that he would not have served both himself and humanity better by hanging around on the mortal plain and helping those around him. And, if nothing else, I’m sure he could have used his powers in some sort of money-making, circus-freak capacity.
If only Powder was lacking in the areas of story, structure, and character then I think I could survive, but ninety percent of all the movies coming out of Hollywood are also lacking in those areas. If all those movies were, like Powder, box-office failures then I think I could survive, but Spider-Man 2 made hundreds of millions of dollars and was a huge blockbuster success.
If this keeps up I’m going to be the one running out into an open field with arms outstretched to receive the bolt of lightning.
Copyright 2005 Jessica Menn