Ghostface Killah: You chose wisely.
Iron Man not only lived up to the hype, it went beyond the hype. It took the hype, exposed it for the bastard-child it was, and replaced it with the legitimate prince of an opinion.
I kind of liked the movie.
Consider it this way: Was there ever a more perfect casting job than Robert Downey, Jr. as Tony Stark? Hmm, who should we get to play a womanizing, jet-setting playboy who eventually redeems himself to make good on the promise he had exhibited so long ago?
Right, other than John Travolta.
He’s at his funny and charmingest (it’s a word!) best, and for a movie that doesn’t actually have a lot of characters, he more than makes up for that. He’s slightly over-the-top portrayal is to the movie’s benefit, and combines well with a rather subdued Jeff Bridges, a pretty but rather replaceable Gwyneth Paltrow, and a take-it or leave-it Terrence Howard.
Too, for a comic book movie, there’s not a great deal of “action.” There’s a lot, but the actual scenes with Iron Man is pretty much limited to three. Everything else is Downey, and as cool as the effects for Iron Man are, I had no problem with this fact.
Okay, I’ll admit: I have a little man-crush on Robert Downey, Jr.
Clearly, by now, you probably don’t need me to tell you to go see this movie. You either already have, and loved it, or never had any desire to see it (to which I say: Pardon my French, but you’re an asshole).
But one thing that needs to get mentioned is the feel-good moment of the movie. No, it’s not when Iron Man saves the village in Afghanistan. Instead, it’s the moment when the oft-maligned robot helper finally redeems himself. Seriously. People clapped when this thing finally helps Tony instead of hindering him.
The best thing about this movie is that it’s not only one of the best comic book movies ever (up there with Batman, Batman Begins, X-Men, Sin City, and Howard the Duck), it’s honestly a very good movie. It holds a wide deal of appeal, is topical(!), and is well-written. Jon Favreau does a very good job directing it, and has a decent cameo role to boot.
Next up: The Dark Knight.
I wrote a while ago about Michael Lewis’ rather seminal baseball book, Moneyball. Well, I just finished his most recent book, The Blind Side, where he tackles (oh, that’s awful) the evolution of the game of football (that’s not soccer, for all my European readers).
While perhaps not as important as Moneyball, it’s probably the more personal story, paralleling the burgeoning career of Michael Oher and how the game of football got to the point where the left tackle position became a skilled position on par with quarterback and running back.
The reason I say it’s not as important is because Moneyball described the revolution before it started (heck, people are still fighting the revolution), whereas The Blind Side is looking at the results of its sport’s revolution.
In this case, the revolution begins with Bill Walsh, the famous coach of the San Francisco 49ers. Like Billy Beane in Moneyball, the cause for the revolution was essentially trying to figure out how to win without being able to simply buy the best talent available. What Walsh discovered was that by utilizing the short pass and eliminating much of the decision making process of the quarterback, he was able to maximize his returns, no matter who was taking the snaps. So, although most people would consider Joe Montana one of, if not the, greatest QB of all time, when you look at the players before and after him, they were all able to perform at pretty much equally high levels. Now I’m not willing to say that Montana really isn’t as good as people say, but it is interesting how successful some of his no-name replacements were, when he got hurt.
This was what we know of as the West Coast Offense (or, rather, it’s how I’m very simplistically describing the West Coast Offense for the time being), and although it wasn’t necessarily exciting (oooh, another seven-yard pass!), it was fairly effective. What it meant, though, was that the offensive line was suddenly even more important than before, as pass protection was necessary to provide enough time for the QB to make his passes.
This, in turn led defenses to look for ways to get to these now pass-happy offenses, and the most dangerous weapon turned out to be the blind-side rusher, as exemplified by Lawrence Taylor (hence the title of the book).
Which brings us back to Michael Oher. Oher was a monosyllabic mountain of a mystery, who somehow found himself from being virtually homeless in poor, black Memphis to attending one of the wealthiest Christian schools and, ultimately, being adopted by an incredibly rich, white family. The reason he’s so fascinating to Lewis is the fact that he’s not only incredibly big and strong, but he’s also extremely fast and agile. He is, in other words, the perfect combination necessary to play the, now, super-important left tackle position – the man who protects the quarterback from being taken out from behind. As we follow Oher’s journey from the streets of Memphis to being wooed by every major college football coach in the nation, it’s a rather remarkable story.
What makes it really good, though, is Lewis’ access. He is somehow able to go deep into the minds of pretty much every person (and at every level), and yet stays remarkably objective in his viewpoint. For example, although he is sympathetic of Oher’s plight, he doesn’t hesitate to kind of paint Michael, as his fame grows, as a bit of jerk. Same thing with the family that adopted and accepted him, the Tuohys. None of that overshadows what is amazing about these stories – the sacrifice, the hard work, and personal growth – but it definitely grounds them.
I’m just surprised, after the way Billy Beane gets portrayed in Moneyball that people still agree to cooperate with this guy!
If you like football, or just sports in general, you’ll probably like this book. If, like me, you also really like the strategy of a sport, then you’ll like this book, too. But, just as important, if you want a pretty feel-good story, or an insight into race, class, and religion in Memphis, this might be the book for you, too. Lewis is a good writer, a “popular” historian who understands how to weave his narrative into the facts to make us enjoy the story. It helps that he writes about sports, which is one of the more universal languages, but I also happen to think he picks fascinating topics – and fascinating characters.
It is…ahem…a touchdown.
Commence hating of me now.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Frogs and Princesses (Princessi?)
I have to admit, when I started reading, I thought I would immediately hate this novel. What wasn't there to hate? The pretentiousness, the despicable protagonist, the improbable plot? Is there a person more deserving of what befalls him than Harry Driscoll? Of course not.
And there in lies the genius.
While certainly not the greatest book ever, as a first-novel, Adam Davies could have done a lot worse than what he gives us with The Frog King.
So yes, while the cleverness is set to “11,” it is perfectly acceptable – mostly because it's very, very clever. Hmm, want to use a lot of big words? Why not have two characters who are intimately involved with dictionaries? Want to talk a lot about literature? Le's have everyone work in publishing! It would be wrong to say that the way they talk, especially Harry and Evie (the love interest) is inauthentic, because I've had equally ridiculous conversations. It's just weird to see them transcribed onto the page, and, as such, comes off as little unnatural.
Even better, though, is how it all plays out. When we meet Harry Driscoll, he's kind of a lovable loser, a man who seems to have it all and yet nothing at the same time. In a way, he kind of reminds me of Ignatius Riley, the main character in the modern classic A Confederacy of Dunces, in that he's so full of himself and his ideas of his own importance that you start to hate him, but you believe it, too. I mean, how else do you explain the fact that he's apparently a ladies man?
And yes, that's plural. Besides Evie, who is apparently the most amazingly perfect person for him (think of Dante's girlfriend in Clerks), there are all of, what she refers to as, Dates. As in “How's Date?” Again, clever, clever, clever. Except, how does this guy have both Evie and Date? He's a pompous ass, he's been an assistant with no hopes for prospects for six years, he lives in a crap apartment with a psycho roommate, he has questionable hygiene (and its accompanying rash – yes, he has a rash throughout the novel), and he's so poor that he carries ziploc baggies with him to parties in order to sustain himself.
He's a dirty, poor, arrogant douche.
He's also really, really judgmental.
And yet, despite all this, Evie loves him. She loves him despite the fact that he treats her like crap a lot. Despite the fact she cheats on her – a lot – and she deludes herself about it. She loves him despite the fact that he can't (literally can not) say that he loves her back. It gets to the point where I was thinking: If Harry ends up with Evie, I'm done with this whole “reading thing.”
That's where Davies surprised me. I won't say exactly how it ends, but Harry's life does not finish with a “happily ever after.” As unrealistic as it might seem, the ending feels pretty real. More importantly (and the truest testament of Davies writing ability), I actually found myself rooting for Harry and kind of pissed at Evie. Then again, as a lovable loser myself, I always kind of root for one of our own to “make good.”
What's more, I laughed out loud. I've mentioned my feelings about this, but I will sum up my thoughts: Comedy is the hardest thing to do, and writing something that actually makes another person laugh is an amazing talent. More so than making me cry (for instance, I was crying tonight as I watched The Ron Clark Story, but I'm also a big girl).
But that still leaves the biggest flaw – the ending. I just don't think it's as poignant as Davies thinks it is to end with Harry and Birdie, his underage homeless friend, together. While I'm sure it's not meant to be in any way sexual, there really aren't that many hints to dissuade us of this reading. And, uh, that's not cool.
That's just an interpretation issue, though, and one that most people probably don't make (which must say o-so-much about me . . .). But it's there, nonetheless, and I think it prevents the story from fully realizing it's potential. Like I said, though, this was his first novel, and he's definitely caught my eye enough to read his next one, Goodbye Lemon (note, too, that Riverhead, his publisher, must really like this guy, because they're sticking with the rather striking cover design). As a member of the same literary tradition with the likes of Nick Hornby and Jonathan Tropper, this is “dude lit” at its best.
But man, unlike some Harrys, this guy is really unlovable.
On a completely different (read: gay) note, I recently watched High School Musical 2. At first I was concerned that I was going to lose some of the context, having not seen the first one. That fear was assuaged, though, when they started singing. It was then, as I watched Zac Efron's impossible tan and crystal blue eyes, that a new fear arose – that I was now a teenage girl.
I wasn't, though, and so I figured I was man enough to stick it out. You know what? Both the songs and the story really aren't that bad. While the choreography (and sponteneous singing) were quite cheesy (at one point, in the context of a baseball game, two characters sing-argue over the fact that one of them doesn't dance – despite the fact that the whole time, he is, of course, dancing), the kids can actually sing, and whoever wrote the music knows a thing or two about writing pop-rock. Probably the only song that completely sucked was Ashley Tisdale's solo number about being “fabulous,” but, I mean, it's frickin' Disney movie (hence the “frick”).
So I can say this without any reservations: If I was a teenage drama-geek, I would love this movie. Regrettably, I'm not, but I can at least be objective enough to understand why such a person would like it.
That reason: because it's Dirty Dancing. Or, even better, Caddyshack. With singing. And less boobs. Overall though, not a bad use of film.
Could have used some James Dalton, though. Then again, what movie couldn't?
And there in lies the genius.
While certainly not the greatest book ever, as a first-novel, Adam Davies could have done a lot worse than what he gives us with The Frog King.
So yes, while the cleverness is set to “11,” it is perfectly acceptable – mostly because it's very, very clever. Hmm, want to use a lot of big words? Why not have two characters who are intimately involved with dictionaries? Want to talk a lot about literature? Le's have everyone work in publishing! It would be wrong to say that the way they talk, especially Harry and Evie (the love interest) is inauthentic, because I've had equally ridiculous conversations. It's just weird to see them transcribed onto the page, and, as such, comes off as little unnatural.
Even better, though, is how it all plays out. When we meet Harry Driscoll, he's kind of a lovable loser, a man who seems to have it all and yet nothing at the same time. In a way, he kind of reminds me of Ignatius Riley, the main character in the modern classic A Confederacy of Dunces, in that he's so full of himself and his ideas of his own importance that you start to hate him, but you believe it, too. I mean, how else do you explain the fact that he's apparently a ladies man?
And yes, that's plural. Besides Evie, who is apparently the most amazingly perfect person for him (think of Dante's girlfriend in Clerks), there are all of, what she refers to as, Dates. As in “How's Date?” Again, clever, clever, clever. Except, how does this guy have both Evie and Date? He's a pompous ass, he's been an assistant with no hopes for prospects for six years, he lives in a crap apartment with a psycho roommate, he has questionable hygiene (and its accompanying rash – yes, he has a rash throughout the novel), and he's so poor that he carries ziploc baggies with him to parties in order to sustain himself.
He's a dirty, poor, arrogant douche.
He's also really, really judgmental.
And yet, despite all this, Evie loves him. She loves him despite the fact that he treats her like crap a lot. Despite the fact she cheats on her – a lot – and she deludes herself about it. She loves him despite the fact that he can't (literally can not) say that he loves her back. It gets to the point where I was thinking: If Harry ends up with Evie, I'm done with this whole “reading thing.”
That's where Davies surprised me. I won't say exactly how it ends, but Harry's life does not finish with a “happily ever after.” As unrealistic as it might seem, the ending feels pretty real. More importantly (and the truest testament of Davies writing ability), I actually found myself rooting for Harry and kind of pissed at Evie. Then again, as a lovable loser myself, I always kind of root for one of our own to “make good.”
What's more, I laughed out loud. I've mentioned my feelings about this, but I will sum up my thoughts: Comedy is the hardest thing to do, and writing something that actually makes another person laugh is an amazing talent. More so than making me cry (for instance, I was crying tonight as I watched The Ron Clark Story, but I'm also a big girl).
But that still leaves the biggest flaw – the ending. I just don't think it's as poignant as Davies thinks it is to end with Harry and Birdie, his underage homeless friend, together. While I'm sure it's not meant to be in any way sexual, there really aren't that many hints to dissuade us of this reading. And, uh, that's not cool.
That's just an interpretation issue, though, and one that most people probably don't make (which must say o-so-much about me . . .). But it's there, nonetheless, and I think it prevents the story from fully realizing it's potential. Like I said, though, this was his first novel, and he's definitely caught my eye enough to read his next one, Goodbye Lemon (note, too, that Riverhead, his publisher, must really like this guy, because they're sticking with the rather striking cover design). As a member of the same literary tradition with the likes of Nick Hornby and Jonathan Tropper, this is “dude lit” at its best.
But man, unlike some Harrys, this guy is really unlovable.
On a completely different (read: gay) note, I recently watched High School Musical 2. At first I was concerned that I was going to lose some of the context, having not seen the first one. That fear was assuaged, though, when they started singing. It was then, as I watched Zac Efron's impossible tan and crystal blue eyes, that a new fear arose – that I was now a teenage girl.
I wasn't, though, and so I figured I was man enough to stick it out. You know what? Both the songs and the story really aren't that bad. While the choreography (and sponteneous singing) were quite cheesy (at one point, in the context of a baseball game, two characters sing-argue over the fact that one of them doesn't dance – despite the fact that the whole time, he is, of course, dancing), the kids can actually sing, and whoever wrote the music knows a thing or two about writing pop-rock. Probably the only song that completely sucked was Ashley Tisdale's solo number about being “fabulous,” but, I mean, it's frickin' Disney movie (hence the “frick”).
So I can say this without any reservations: If I was a teenage drama-geek, I would love this movie. Regrettably, I'm not, but I can at least be objective enough to understand why such a person would like it.
That reason: because it's Dirty Dancing. Or, even better, Caddyshack. With singing. And less boobs. Overall though, not a bad use of film.
Could have used some James Dalton, though. Then again, what movie couldn't?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Apologies, Again
Man, I'm not a very good blogger. Luckily no one relies on me for any kind of information, let alone reads me on any consistent basis. Still, I feel like I should do better than I do.
Instead, I haven't posted in over a month-and-a-half. I'd say I was trying to drum up demand by keeping the supply low, but that would be lying . . . and delusional . . .
Maybe that's just how I roll.
To be fair, I've been super-busy. To be unfair, I'm incredibly lazy. Or wait -- is that being fair, too? Either way, I proudly present a new post (and hopefully a new commitment to my faithful readers -- thanks Mom!)
I give you: Jamie Lidell.
I'm a moderately big fan of 60s and 70s soul/funk, particularly Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, and Al Green. I mean, who doesn't like those guys? Apparently, Jamie Lidell thinks it's a shame that these people aren't making that kind of music anymore (or, unfortunately, at all), and so he's done something about it. His newest album, Jim, is a fun, sometimes sexy, homage to that time, and his voice . . .
Well, listen to him, and then look at a picture of him. I'm telling you, it seems like there's no way he's actually singing.
Mostly, I would compare him to Stevie -- probably not musically, because Stevie is a genius, but the way the songs sound and the way he sings them could easily have made some of Wonders' better albums. I particularly like "Another Day" and "Little Bit of Feel Good," but really, I enjoy the whole album (except the fact that it's rather short, at only 10 songs). There's a spiritualism -- a little bit of gospel -- that is refreshing in "Another Day," as well as almost kitschy use of birds-chirping. It's ready for a sing-along, and if I still drove, I'd probably clap during the breakdown at red-lights (yes, I was a car-singer -- I'm not ashamed). The way it starts off the album, too, really captures your attention -- you're ready for more like this, and you really get it.
"Little Bit of Feel Good," is the most Wonder-ish of the songs, with a driving funk-guitar and an quasi-snarling, throaty singing that makes it both predatory and sexy at the same time. It's a plea, but also a demand, a lot like Gaye's "Sexual Healing," and it works rather well.
It's "Green Light," though, that really shines (no pun -- oh hell, pun intended!), as this is Al Green's "Let's Get Together -- Part 2." He doesn't quite have the falsetto of those great singers, but he brings the right vibe. It's hard not to notice, too, the "Green" connection (not to be confused with the "Rainbow Conection," which was sung by the same "person" who sang "It's Not Easy Bein' Green").
His videos, though . . .
And another, equally . . . different:
Well, I'll let you be the judge. Personally, I don't think I would ever want to meet this guy, because I fear he might be a sociopath.
But, then again, so is Michael Jackson, and I don't care what any of you say, I'd shake hands with the man who gave us Thriller.
I just wouldn't introduce my children to him.
Instead, I haven't posted in over a month-and-a-half. I'd say I was trying to drum up demand by keeping the supply low, but that would be lying . . . and delusional . . .
Maybe that's just how I roll.
To be fair, I've been super-busy. To be unfair, I'm incredibly lazy. Or wait -- is that being fair, too? Either way, I proudly present a new post (and hopefully a new commitment to my faithful readers -- thanks Mom!)
I give you: Jamie Lidell.
I'm a moderately big fan of 60s and 70s soul/funk, particularly Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, and Al Green. I mean, who doesn't like those guys? Apparently, Jamie Lidell thinks it's a shame that these people aren't making that kind of music anymore (or, unfortunately, at all), and so he's done something about it. His newest album, Jim, is a fun, sometimes sexy, homage to that time, and his voice . . .
Well, listen to him, and then look at a picture of him. I'm telling you, it seems like there's no way he's actually singing.
Mostly, I would compare him to Stevie -- probably not musically, because Stevie is a genius, but the way the songs sound and the way he sings them could easily have made some of Wonders' better albums. I particularly like "Another Day" and "Little Bit of Feel Good," but really, I enjoy the whole album (except the fact that it's rather short, at only 10 songs). There's a spiritualism -- a little bit of gospel -- that is refreshing in "Another Day," as well as almost kitschy use of birds-chirping. It's ready for a sing-along, and if I still drove, I'd probably clap during the breakdown at red-lights (yes, I was a car-singer -- I'm not ashamed). The way it starts off the album, too, really captures your attention -- you're ready for more like this, and you really get it.
"Little Bit of Feel Good," is the most Wonder-ish of the songs, with a driving funk-guitar and an quasi-snarling, throaty singing that makes it both predatory and sexy at the same time. It's a plea, but also a demand, a lot like Gaye's "Sexual Healing," and it works rather well.
It's "Green Light," though, that really shines (no pun -- oh hell, pun intended!), as this is Al Green's "Let's Get Together -- Part 2." He doesn't quite have the falsetto of those great singers, but he brings the right vibe. It's hard not to notice, too, the "Green" connection (not to be confused with the "Rainbow Conection," which was sung by the same "person" who sang "It's Not Easy Bein' Green").
His videos, though . . .
And another, equally . . . different:
Well, I'll let you be the judge. Personally, I don't think I would ever want to meet this guy, because I fear he might be a sociopath.
But, then again, so is Michael Jackson, and I don't care what any of you say, I'd shake hands with the man who gave us Thriller.
I just wouldn't introduce my children to him.
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