Cloverfield

Rating: 3/5
Starring: Michael Stahl-David, T.J. Miller, Lizzy Caplan
Directed By: Matt Reeves

After the third wince of “no human could possibly survive that,” and the twelfth eye roll at “there’s no way he would still be clinging to that camera,” “Cloverfield” starts to grow on you. Perhaps it’s the homey, low-budget feel of a mid-budget monster movie, or perhaps it’s the fond memories of a not-so-jolly green giant, towering over a ransacked Japan. Ironically, that small island turns out to be a much safer bet than Manhattan-if only main character Rob (Michael Stahl-David) had left for his fancy new job there one day earlier.

We follow Rob and his ever-dwindling group of attractive twenty-somethings around a monster-beset New York City. The conceit is slightly different here, though, evincing more than a little bit of a “Blair Witch Project” air: the entire thing is caught on a handheld digital camera, dutifully toted and fortuitously aimed.

Our proxy is Hud (the little-seen T.J. Miller), a dimwitted but lovable jock who doubles as the lowest common denominator for exposition purposes. Hud is documenting the farewell party of his best friend Rob, who is in love with leggy beauty Beth (Odette Yustman). The party is interrupted by what appears to be an earthquake but which turns out to be a large creature of indiscriminate phylum, intent on the destruction or at least disruption of Manhattan. Clamor ensues, we lose a few friendly faces here and there, and Rob sets out to the rescue of trapped and frantic Beth.

Directed by Matt Reeves, the film is the brainchild of producer J.J. Abrams, best known for his work on TV’s “Alias.” He speculated he could make a $25 million dollar film by hiring a virtually no-name cast, using a single $1,500 digital camera and throwing the rest of the budget at special effects.

Even with its modest price-tag, and despite the plot-devicey functioning of cell phones that certainly would not be, tricky camera moves unperformable by mere mortals in dire straights, and the slight feeling of sea-sickness provoked by that tricky camera, “Cloverfield” works. The few innovations keep it fresh, while the familiar ground tread is just well-worn enough to make us comfortable in our shoes. Not that any of the women are, though-they’re all trapped in stilettos.

“Cloverfield” can’t help but draw comparisons to 9/11, featuring, as it does, New York with tumbling towers, ash-filled air and terror-stricken faces. But the parallels are not mean-spirited, nor does it have anything prescient to say about the terrorist attacks-the monster’s massacre being, of course, unmotivated and ultimately unexplained. Not that we’re left searching for motivation; the film makes clear its purpose is not to clarify cause, only to document incident. On that count it succeeds. Indeed, its sharp focus on documentation-Hud at one point defends his camera-happy hand, arguing that “people will want to know what happened”-lends it an air of reliability, relatability and reality that is refreshing-especially for eyes bored of sweeping crane shots and dull, expensive explosions. Not that it lacks the latter, but somehow, when a camera shakes and shies away from a life-threatening fireball instead of leering unfeelingly at it, it’s easier to become part of the action.

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