Hulk

When the climax of your superhero movie comes down to two guys talking on a darkened stage, you know you have something special.

In The Hulk, Ang Lee has created a film that replicates the feeling of reading a comic book.  Its compositions deliberately recall the printed page.  Its wipes and transitions suggest the exuberance of a penciller in creative ecstasy.  Its villain kill qualifies among the top three villain kills of all time.

And yet, all that seems almost beside the point.  The Hulk is a film about emotions and their repression, and nothing engenders so much of both as family.  Bruce Banner’s family is about as dysfunctional as it gets, and he has coped with the ensuing trauma through repression and emotional distance.  As played by the extraordinary Eric Bana, he’s a coiled spring.  When he finally releases, when he lets go, it’s as chaotic and cathartic as an argument at Christmastime.

Ok, so hang on: is this a movie about an uptight guy who learns to get in touch with his emotions, or is it a movie about a giant green monster who breaks stuff?  I understand your confusion: I think audiences went in looking for the latter and felt similarly confused when confronted with the former.  But don’t get angry (I don’t think I’d like you when you’re angry): just dig The Hulk for what it is – a movie about an uptight guy who learns to get in touch with his emotions by turning into a giant green monster and breaking stuff.  By the time you get to those two guys on that darkened stage, you’ll have grooved on both tracks long enough to feel at home.  And when of those two guys literally starts chewing the scenery, you’ll be ready.