Cloverfield
It’s fair to call “Cloverfield” an experiment, but I think it’s an economic rather than an artistic one. The calculation behind it goes something like this: If you make a monster movie without all the stuff that makes monster movies scary and exciting and engaging – charismatic performances, elaborate action sequences, killer effects – you can make one on the cheap. And if you market it as a handmade monster movie for the YouTube generation, you can outgross the modest budget on opening weekend before word of mouth kills it. The experiment worked. Paramount Pictures managed to turn a profit on a boring and visually noxious movie about a 200-foot-tall beast ravaging Manhattan. I realize the 1998 “Godzilla” remake stunk hard, but at least it tried to deliver the goods. Screenwriter Matt Reeves and director Drew Goddard think they’re too cool for conventional thrills. They show a commitment to realism that’s baffling given their disregard for plausible biology. “Cloverfield” pretends to be found footage from the video camera of a dim young partygoer on the run from the monster. Meanwhile, Reeves and Goddard hope you won’t notice that they’re building the plot around a vapid romantic dilemma. They also exploit the memory of 9/11 with images that evoke the destruction of the twin towers. I suppose “Cloverfield” could be an allegory about the continuing threat of terrorism and our failure to learn from the attacks, but it’s hard to ascribe such high-minded intentions to a movie so witless and cynical.
LISTEN: Cloverfield