J.J. Abrams has always been something of a collaborative filmmaker, with his back catalogue of hits and critical successes consistently feeling like a genuinely cumulative effort. Whether it’s big budget remakes of classic anorak-favourite television shows steeped in years of constructed history and expectations (Star Trek, Mission: Impossible III), or cherished high-concept cult, in the broadest sense, television shows of his own invention (Alias, Lost, Fringe), there’s always a sense that the man is open to ideas and input from everybody and anybody on set, and ready to lend an ear to the rising talent he, and his production company Bad Robot, surrounds himself with.
While this generally works out for the best, there is also no denying that Abrams’ pet projects can sometimes suffer from an unnecessary fussiness that pulls away from clever and concise to grandiose and tangled. When his twists and thrills become the story, rather than adding to it, the audience loses the affection earned at the beginning, their enthusiasm for shocks and awes ebbing as his stories reach their convoluted coda and get, ahem, Lost in their own grandeur.
As such, it is important that Abrams chooses wisely whom to work with, and here, with Super 8, a nostalgic sci-fi romp that rekindles memories of summer favourites of yesteryear, he’s gone right to the source of the summer blockbuster itself, Steven Spielberg. And it almost works perfectly.
