On Skimpy Shorts and Dancing Cows
Tomb Raider and the
State of Video Games Today

by Ed Owens

If confession is good for the soul, then perhaps I can keep myself out of at least the seventh circle of hell by admitting that I'm a gaming addict. Between doing my part to pay down the local multiplex's electric bill and holding down a job, I do manage to find time to lose myself in one of those myriad worlds where I can essentially do anything and be anyone. Half-Life, Unreal, Deus Ex...all names that carry with them more logged hours than most of my intimate relationships (and quite frankly have probably been the death of more than one or two of those relationships, a confession which assures me nothing worse than the fourth circle). Before you write me off as a clueless teenager, I should add that I recently turned 30, though that does little to counter the accusation of being clueless.

My latest computer animated escapade is an odd little gem called Black & White, a game that is sure to please gaming opponents by eschewing the controversial first-person shooter format in favor of a little idolatry. In a nutshell, you (i.e., the player) are a god, a promising start to any adventure. As a god, it is your responsibility to ensure the adoration of your subjects, the local villagers, using a creature, an animal that you have selected and bred to tend to the more corporeal aspects of your otherwise ethereal existence. You train your familiar by rewarding them when they do good and slapping them when they do bad (good and bad are, in this case, relative, given that an evil god would certainly raise a malevolent creature). Almost as much fun as the game itself are the conversations it provokes:

Very-Soon-To-Be-Ex-Girlfriend: "What the hell are you doing?"
Me: "I'm stroking my cow."
VSTBEG: "Excuse me?"
Me: "I'm rubbing my cow's stomach to let him know he's done good."
VSTBEG: "What did he do?"
Me: "I taught him to start fires."

While cows and fires have not been a very good match historically, my biggest problem so far has been "potty-training." Lewis, as I've come to refer to my cow, once relieved himself in the middle of a village, something I'm sure the villagers were none too happy about. I did what you're supposed to do when your creature does something wrong and slapped him. Rather than learning that there were good and bad places to go, Lewis has simply stopped going. Trying to explain that one was what shortened the name of my VSTBEG to just EG.

Did I mention that my cow dances when he's happy?

My point is that video games have come a long way since the days of Frogger, at least as far as one can consider constipated cows an advance. Where different levels of Frogger were separated merely by the number of alligators and the speed of passing automobiles, today's video games tend to follow more complicated storylines, many of them approaching the level of narrative in their various developments (short movies that bridge successive levels are even referred to as cinematics). This makes them ripe for screen-to-SCREEN translations.

Enter Lara Croft, whipping girl for ardent feminists in search of a cause and pinup girl for horny adolescent boys with joysticks. There really isn't much of a backstory to Lara, just a backside. That, quite frankly, is what made Tomb Raider one of the hottest selling series in PC history - Lara Croft in various outfits, none of which fit properly, even by the lenient (some would say prurient) standards of today's society. Gameplay was repetitive at best and the graphics were definitely less than stunning, leaving Lara as the game's primary draw. At least the player knew what he or she was in for right off the bat.

The same can certainly be said for the film. Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (the film's promotional title) opens with a furious battle between Lara and a vicious robot, after which she heads upstairs for a slow motion shower and some teasing glimpses of her supple profile, the water beading on her glistening...but I digress. Most of this is accompanied by a techno soundtrack with a beat heavy enough to make cool Jurassic Park-style ripples in my large Pepsi (well, the shower scene actually had some nice orchestral accompaniment, the kind of mood music that brings to mind candles and lather...but I digress). Needless to say, the film had set the bar pretty high in just the first ten minutes. The rest of the film is more of the same - without any additional shower scenes - and with the plot amounting to little more than a series of comic book buzzwords (Illuminati, the power of god, end of the world) that frighten our heroine into taking her ass-kicking global.

Jolie is perfect for the role, actually managing to look a great deal like the actual video game Lara. There's not much to be said for her acting, given that this isn't really much of an actor's role. Lara basically runs around in skin-tight outfits, bathed in sweat and flashing a sexy "come hither" half smile every chance she gets, and to that extent, Jolie nails it. The supporting roles are actually even less demanding, essentially serving as foils for Lara's playfulness.

The film's greatest strength, however, is actually the work of production designer Kirk M. Petrucelli. The various sets, from Lara's stately manor all the way to the stunning world clock, are fabulously rendered, giving the film a larger-than-life feel that is certainly in keeping with the film's overall tone. The cameras, helmed by Peter Menzies, caress each new locale with a mix of reverence and affection, and the film's wide ratio (2.35:1) is well-served.

But that's about where the strengths stop. The film moves choppily, playing more like a series of set pieces (uh...that's pretty much what it is) than an actual narrative, and the dialogue is at times atrocious (at one point, Lara's nerdy sidekick actually makes fun of something another character said, a nice self-aware touch, but not enough to excuse the film's many spoken travesties). While the action set pieces themselves are stunning, West's direction vacillates between inspired and confused, as if he were occasionally making it up as he went along. And anyone looking for a carefully crafted character study is woefully misguided.

The bottom line is that Tomb Raider is a really bad movie, but it's a bad movie that gleefully revels in its own excess. For 90 minutes and change, I was able to forget about my bovine troubles back home. Now that it's over, I can return to my godly duties tending to my constipated, fire-setting cow Lewis, after watching a video game goddess brought joyously (and showeringly) to life. Perhaps its best that I'm currently single...

©2001 Ed Owens
CineScene