Cloverfield

Much hype has surrounded the release of J.J. Abrams' new project, Cloverfield. And in the opinion of most (judging from a record-setting opening weekend this January), it has lived up to it. I agree, but for different reasons than the average monster-loving viewer.

The brilliance behind Cloverfield--and most of Abrams' projects, for that matter--is that it is primarily a film about relationships. The monster, the viral marketing campaign, the previously unknown actors, and the $150 million budget serve simply as foils for an Odyssean adventure-style love story. The characters are forced into the most horrifying event of their lives; their raw emotion is communicated brilliantly through the employ of a somewhat nonlinear use of handheld DV footage. Much of the dialogue preceding the disastrous events portrayed is foreboding of themes that will arise throughout the film.

As a group of friends throw a surprise going-away party for the protagonist Rob Hawkins, we begin to get a sense of what this film is really going to be about. Hawkins has nearly blown a chance with the woman of his dreams, deciding to lose contact with her before his big move to Japan. When this becomes common knowledge, his brother and friend try to talk him into going after her. At this point, the infamous monster touches down in the Big Apple and wreaks havoc like Godzilla on crank. The destiny of our Odysseus is set, however, and we soon find him torn between fleeing the city with his friends and trying to rescue the woman he has recently abandoned.

The force of choices is portrayed well by actor Michael Stahl-David as Hawkins (director Matt Reeves should be given credit as well, I am sure). His everyman features and distraught affectation produce a poignancy that stirs the audience to taste the sense of responsibility innate to human existence. Something hangs in the balance; something more than his love-interest's life. For it's his life also that hinges on the decision he makes.

To discuss subsequent details would be to give away far more than I already have, but let it suffice to say that no small amount of perilous obstacles await Hawkins on his journey to his loved-one.

What moved me to see Cloverfield more than once, and to think about it often after its viewing, is not the special effects, or its unique take on a mode of story-telling that all but died with The Blair Witch Project. It is the courage of the characters. It is the bravery that rests in making decisions--decisions that essentially forfeit one's own safety (or comfort) for the safety of another. Rob Hawkins chooses someone over choosing himself, in full knowledge of the consequences. And in a profound way, Rob Hawkins chooses to (potentially) lose his own life to save that of another--and in so doing, he finds his own.