An hour into the film. Still no monsters. Well, there’s one at the beginning after a soldier whistles Wagner, an obvious hats-off to Apocalypse Now. But Apocalypse Now is nothing like this picture. Monsters is a film that takes its sweet time. Primarily auteur Gareth Edwards directs two young good-lookers, a photojournalist and his editor’s daughter escaping Mexico, which has been infested by some octopus/spider-looking creatures from another planet. Are you surprised NASA’s been hiding alien life for six years? Me neither.
To call Monsters slow is an understatement. Edwards would like to believe he has made this year’s District 9, but this picture can’t hold a candle to Neill Blomkamp’s sci-fi epic of social dysfunction or to Cloverfield, which couples romance and leviathans in a much more inventive way. Monsters only grapples with humanity to state that we are more or less powerless against the elements (or the aliens). Do audiences identify with this kind of anti-heroism? Either way, some expectations must be suspended; this is an indie romance, not a monster movie.
The lack of creature action could be totally forgiven had Edwards delivered something more than a lackluster script and two forgettable characters. But don’t blame the actors. Scoot McNairy pulls off the D-Day photojournalist in the throes of his own desensitization, but due to the lack of character development, Whitney Able has little to give the picture but a pretty face and platinum hair. The characters talk in circles and never reach a dramatic goal. Most of the shots are of the two walking or staring blankly, searching each other’s faces for traces of affection.
The real stunning thing about this picture is that we see Edwards’ name not only in the Writer/Director spot, but also in the slots labeled Cinematographer, Production Designer (most of the film was shot in a damn forest) and Visual Effects Artist. Hollywood could use a new jack-of-all-trades since Orson Welles died, but is Edwards the one? This movie sets out to prove very little and achieves this goal. Much of the dialogue is chitchat get-to-know-you drivel, and as far as I can tell, there’s very little interpersonal conflict save when the two Americans trade a diamond engagement ring and $5,000 for ferry tickets.
One noteworthy scene occurs near the end while the adventuring couple holes up in a convenience store in order to wait for the army. The two hold separate phone conversations in which only the characters’ sides are heard. The photojournalist comforts his ex-girlfriend’s son, and the editor’s daughter attempts to convince herself and her fiancée that the two are still in love. Highly emotional, but does it drive the point home? Human life is precious but fleeting! This movie is literally War of the Worlds without the budget or an H.G. Wells novella to back it up. The editor’s daughter crouches behind a counter as the tentacled beast probes the Kwik Mart.
There isn’t much of an ending to ruin, since Monsters simply presents a scenario rather than a plot. The two hang up the phones and wander outside only to watch two monsters high five and presumably copulate. This has an amorous effect on the ravaged, U.S.-bound youngsters. He says: “This is it . . .” She says: “I don’t wanna go home.” The two kiss, and the army pulls them apart. Roll credits.
Forgive me for being unforgiving. Some may say that the beautiful on-location sets and tense tone make this picture worthwhile, but hang it up. Monsters has nothing to offer but an excuse for teenagers to make out in the theater. Low-budget movies disguised as Hollywood movies have a place in cinema; they could easily be the future of the art. But this one is pretty much just a drag.
