Cloverfield is less about 9/11 as an event than about how 9/11 has affected the grammar of cinema: buildings collapse into clouds of rubble billowing down the street, cars are covered in ash, masses huddle as they try to escape across the Brooklyn Bridge. The movie centers upon a clutch of despicable self-absorbed yuppies (naming them is pointless) as they try to duck a giant reptilian monster laying waste to Manhattan between Spring and 59th Streets. Said monster, and said film, are more than a little reminiscent of the 1998 remake of Godzilla, right down to the killer grasshoppers-cum-lice he periodically sheds; the key difference, and Cloverfield's raison d'être, is the Blair Witch camcorder style. The technique redeems the movie, turning it into, uh, Star Tours. You Are There as Yups Flee Through Subway Tunnels, Leap Onto High Rise Rooftops, and Ride The Wonder Wheel (not a spoiler in the bunch, I swear it). Did I enjoy it? Sure, but I like roller coasters, and you would be gravely mistaken if you think that Cloverfield has any deeper messages or pleasures to yield than the Great American Scream Machine. Really, the only problem I have with the movie (other than the done-to-death giant reptile, who is revealed early, all the better to dispense with suspense, minimize disappointment, and get on with the scares) is fact that none of the characters remarks that it's just like they're in a movie; maybe it's too meta, but it's what people actually did say on 9/11.
