The American Way

Joe Johnston’s superhero movie is another Avengers prequel, much like Iron Man, Incredible Hulk and Thor. Each of these movies promises a minor story in preparation for a major payoff in 2012 when Joss Whedon’s fantasy hits the screens. My excitement for The Avengers is close to zero, but Captain America is rather entertaining, so much so I’d prefer to rewatch its wartime heroics over some Asgardian adventures.

Don’t let the title put you off. Yes, it has the clear ring of propaganda, but contextually it makes sense; the character of Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) comes from a time where it was easy to differentiate between good and evil (at least cinematically) and where the name “America” brought cheers instead of jeers. Rogers is a scrawny little young man for whom there is no greater goal in life than to enlist in the army to face the Germans as World War II continues. Rogers is told repeatedly that he doesn’t make the cut to enlist, but when a scientist, Dr Erskine (Stanley Tucci) observes his patriotic fervour, he convinces Colonel Philips (Tommy Lee Jones) to introduce Rogers to a top secret military program that aims to produce nothing less than American supersoldiers.

In short, Rogers becomes a supersoldier but things go wrong quickly after, which leaves only Rogers to battle his arch nemesis the Red Skull (Hugo Weaving) while courting the British Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell) - but not before selling some war bonds first.

Thematically and visually, Captain America is an old school affair. Johnston cut his teeth on the lovely Rocketeer in the 1990s, and retains much of that bygone era charm that characterised the latter film. Evans makes for a convincing superhero, much more so than in the Fantastic Four movies, while Tommy Lee Jones gets the movies best lines. Incidentally, that is also the film’s Achilles heel: the dialogue is often contrived. For example, if one character mentions how much he dislikes potatoes, you can bet your bottom dollar that later in the film, another character will remark on the other character’s dislike of potatoes. Repeat seven, eight times, and it gets annoying.

The film does have a strong villain, as Weaving presents a Red Skull that is deluded and completely convinced of his 'vision'. He’s a comic book villain, for certain, but one of the better ones. And haven’t the Nazi’s always provided the best bad guy fodder for American filmmaking?

Notes from the Netherlands

Paul Verhoeven’s “Zwartboek” (“Black Book”) is an engrossing World War II spy drama as Carice van Houten’s Jewess Rachel Stein becomes, in an attempt to survive the Nazi onslaught, the Dutch Ellis de Vries. As De Vries, she must spy for the Dutch Resistance on the local German officers, one of whom is Muntze (Sebastian Koch). “Zwartboek” turned out to be more old fashioned than I’d expected; a rather typical, well told story of wartime intrigue consisting mainly of betrayal and death. The key difference between this film and many others of its kind is its female protagonist, a woman who makes important choices and is fundamental in keeping some characters alive.

“Zwartboek” is Verhoeven's most skilful and effective thriller since his work in the early 1990s, by which I mean “Total Recall”, not “Basic Instinct”. After those films came “Showgirls” (not as bad as is generally suggested, but pretty bad nonetheless), “Starship Troopers” (a comically subversive sex ‘n’ space military soap opera) and the malicious “Hollow Man”. “Zwartboek” appears a full six years after that misfire, taking Verhoeven back to his home country, away from American studio interference.

Still, even away from American executives pounding on your door, a budget of 16 million Euros is nothing to sniff at, so Verhoeven plays it safe. The good guys are clearly good; the bad guys are often plain rotten, though they sometimes switch sides. The story (opening with that most awful of opening titles, “Inspired by True Events”) is played for entertainment. Stylistically and thematically, this is the opposite of “Der Untergang” (“Downfall”), and Verhoeven’s sure hand makes 140 minutes pass by without much lurching, even managing to work in three or four topless scenes (a Verhoeven film would not be a Verhoeven film without the obligatory, sometimes gratuitous nude scenes).