Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Wolvie-Berserker Style
I was lucky enough to see a premier of Wolverine two weeks ago, and I must say it pretty much lived up to my expectations. Although not as great as the first two X-Men movies (come back, Brian Singer!), what Wolverine provided was a fun, action-packed movie that I hope for in a summer blockbuster. Is it like Iron Man or the The Dark Knight in terms of both being fun and excellent? No, not really. But it's got some great fight scenes, and enough funny or exciting moments that I think people who just enjoy good action movies are going to want to see it, regardless of whether or not it's a “super-hero” movie.
My biggest beef with it was there were some completely unnecessarily bad green-screen moments that just made me wonder: where'd the budget go? At one point, Wolverine is walking away from an exploding helicopter, and the fireball that grows from behind him is so cheesy, I almost thought I was watching a Burger King commercial:
These bad-guys are flame-broiled...
just like every Whopper!
Corn-tastic.
Still, I think there are worse things to spend your money on, as it's an entertaining film regardless of its flaws, so go check it out.
I especially think Liev Schreiber does an excellent job in his role as Wolverine's brother (and, ultimately, Sabertooth), and although I didn't swoon like some of the ladies did when Gambit, played by Taylor Kitsch, came on screen, I liked his work, too. I was even shocked that Will.i.am didn't suck balls. Perhaps my biggest disappointment was that Ryan Reynolds had such a small role, as I have a huge man-crush on him.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
In Gran Style (amendment)
This may be a bit of a spoiler, so don't read if you like to know how your movies turn out by watching them.
I just wanted to point out a little more about the hero aspect of Walt: as the movie progresses, and Walt's spirituality has a rebirth (not a poor choice of words, if you think about it), just notice the position they show him in after he confronts the gang for the last time. If that's not purposeful (and, as well directed as the movie is, I can't think it wouldn't be purposeful), then I'm a monkey's uncle.
In other words, I think it's alluding to a certain important Christian figure, namely: Jesus.
I guess my only problem, then, is that are we then supposed to believe Walt is a Christ figure? Because that wasn't really the message I was getting the entire movie.
Still, sometimes I think it's so easy to get away with symbolism as to forget that the cleverness doesn't necessarily make the story better (and in a visual medium such as film, it's even easier to think something looks "cool" and forget its "coolness" doesn't gibe with the message it's sending), so. . .
I forgive you, Mr. Eastwood.
Maybe I'm a Christ-figure.
Or maybe I'm going to Hell for saying that. Mmm, delicious irony.
I just wanted to point out a little more about the hero aspect of Walt: as the movie progresses, and Walt's spirituality has a rebirth (not a poor choice of words, if you think about it), just notice the position they show him in after he confronts the gang for the last time. If that's not purposeful (and, as well directed as the movie is, I can't think it wouldn't be purposeful), then I'm a monkey's uncle.
In other words, I think it's alluding to a certain important Christian figure, namely: Jesus.
I guess my only problem, then, is that are we then supposed to believe Walt is a Christ figure? Because that wasn't really the message I was getting the entire movie.
Still, sometimes I think it's so easy to get away with symbolism as to forget that the cleverness doesn't necessarily make the story better (and in a visual medium such as film, it's even easier to think something looks "cool" and forget its "coolness" doesn't gibe with the message it's sending), so. . .
I forgive you, Mr. Eastwood.
Maybe I'm a Christ-figure.
Or maybe I'm going to Hell for saying that. Mmm, delicious irony.
Friday, January 9, 2009
In Gran Style
And no, it's not a pun because Clint Eastwood is old.
Although, he is, like, really old.
I just saw Gran Torino, and while I don't want to say it's one of the best movies of the year (sorry, The Dark Knight wins that, hands down), it is a fantastic film. What's amazing is what a terrible job the commercials on television do in showing what the movie is about.
Watch this:
Now, let me ask you something: would you think this movie would be hilarious? No, right?
Well, let me tell you: it's hilarious. I laughed pretty much the entire movie, except at the end, when I cried like the little girl I am. But still, until that point, I got to witness what makes Clint Eastwood such a fantastic actor, namely--the ability to make pure fury reserved, contained, joyless, and yet ultimately funny. I'm really not kidding here; this movie will make you laugh.
But it's not a comedy in any stretch of the imagination. It's funny because Eastwood's character, Walt, is such a curmudgeonly, racist old bastard, that you almost can't believe he ever found a woman to marry him in the first place (the movie begins at his wife's funeral). Yet, he plays it so honestly that, like the Hmong girl Sue who befriends him, you connect so powerfully to his inner-goodness, while laughing off his outer-asshole. Think of him as Archie Bunker, but with a dark tour of duty in the Korean War.
That's why the ending is so powerful, too. Because you know it has to end roughly for someone--it keeps building and building towards a violent climax--and so the although it's not exactly shocking, it is perfectly tuned to strike the right emotional chord. So while I don't know if he should win Best Actor, I have no doubt that he's going to be hard to beat for Best Director (he really did get the most out of his actors).
One last thing. I was talking with my friend the other day, who happens to be a high school English teacher. One of the classes he teaches is about the American Hero, and I couldn't help thinking what a perfect example Walt is of this archetype. He's proud, strong, quiet, loyal, cunning, and self-reliant. Sure, there's a lack of the stereo-typical wilderness normally associated with the American Hero, but, in a contemporary spin, one could clearly see the suburbs of Detroit, with the de-gentrification eroding what Walt observes was a fine neighborhood, as a "wild" setting, where savage men terrorize people just trying to carve out a piece of land to call their own. His mission--to not only tame this wilderness, but the understand it, has a familiar ring, doesn't it?
Anyway, when you get a chance, watch this movie--I think you'll be hard-pressed not to find it one of the very best this past year has had to offer.
Although, he is, like, really old.
I just saw Gran Torino, and while I don't want to say it's one of the best movies of the year (sorry, The Dark Knight wins that, hands down), it is a fantastic film. What's amazing is what a terrible job the commercials on television do in showing what the movie is about.
Watch this:
Now, let me ask you something: would you think this movie would be hilarious? No, right?
Well, let me tell you: it's hilarious. I laughed pretty much the entire movie, except at the end, when I cried like the little girl I am. But still, until that point, I got to witness what makes Clint Eastwood such a fantastic actor, namely--the ability to make pure fury reserved, contained, joyless, and yet ultimately funny. I'm really not kidding here; this movie will make you laugh.
But it's not a comedy in any stretch of the imagination. It's funny because Eastwood's character, Walt, is such a curmudgeonly, racist old bastard, that you almost can't believe he ever found a woman to marry him in the first place (the movie begins at his wife's funeral). Yet, he plays it so honestly that, like the Hmong girl Sue who befriends him, you connect so powerfully to his inner-goodness, while laughing off his outer-asshole. Think of him as Archie Bunker, but with a dark tour of duty in the Korean War.
That's why the ending is so powerful, too. Because you know it has to end roughly for someone--it keeps building and building towards a violent climax--and so the although it's not exactly shocking, it is perfectly tuned to strike the right emotional chord. So while I don't know if he should win Best Actor, I have no doubt that he's going to be hard to beat for Best Director (he really did get the most out of his actors).
One last thing. I was talking with my friend the other day, who happens to be a high school English teacher. One of the classes he teaches is about the American Hero, and I couldn't help thinking what a perfect example Walt is of this archetype. He's proud, strong, quiet, loyal, cunning, and self-reliant. Sure, there's a lack of the stereo-typical wilderness normally associated with the American Hero, but, in a contemporary spin, one could clearly see the suburbs of Detroit, with the de-gentrification eroding what Walt observes was a fine neighborhood, as a "wild" setting, where savage men terrorize people just trying to carve out a piece of land to call their own. His mission--to not only tame this wilderness, but the understand it, has a familiar ring, doesn't it?
Anyway, when you get a chance, watch this movie--I think you'll be hard-pressed not to find it one of the very best this past year has had to offer.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Men and Grids of Iron (Keep Reading; You'll Get It)
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.
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.
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?
Monday, February 11, 2008
A Cry for Help
Dear Mr. Statham,
Why do you do this to yourself? Don't you understand how totally money you are? Who can forget the fantasticness that was Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels? Or, in the same tradition (pretty much literally), how great you were in Snatch? Hell, Handsome Rob, while not a big role, was as well-played as any in the fairly decent ensemble cast of The Italian Job.
But now, it seems, you have translated your success into what can only be seen as the onset of acute dementia. War? In the Name of the King? Revolver? Chaos? Who told you these were good ideas? Who told you that these were the scripts that were going to propel you stardom?
Ever heard of Jean-Claude van Damme?
Steven Seigal?
This is the territory you are journeying into.
While it might have been fine for you to make a film like The Transporter – with it's mix of low budget and good action, it was almost destined to be one of those cult-classics that guys are going to flock to (see Swayze and Road House) – that's what you do at the beginning of a burgeoning career. You don't keep making crap when you've already made good movies – at least, you don't consistently make crap. Don't you have a plan?
Perhaps you need to take a step back. Try saying “no” to a few offers. It's okay, try it. You might find it refreshing. Sure, your agent may feel jilted, the studio may be like “But you never say no,” but don't heed that nonsense. You can be your own man. Your own, beautifully bald, Britishy, bad-ass self.
Please, you're better than this. You are a good actor. You can make good movies.
So put that script down. Seriously, whatever it is, I'm positive it's terrible. If you can, take a lighter to it. Make sure you're in a well-ventilated room, so that the fumes from the burning shit doesn't render you incapable of making rational decisions. Such as reaching into the fire to save the script.
That's it. Walk away. Take a deep breath of clean air.
And remember that you are an actor.
Please.
Sincerely,
David
Sunday, December 16, 2007
And Juno Was Her Name-O
There's something to be said about pregnant, teenage girls with quick, dry wits:
They are awesome!
Juno proves this for us. The story of a sixteen-year-old girl who gets pregnant and decides to put the baby up for adoption normally isn't the kind of topic you'd go: Hey, let's make a comedy out of this situation. And yet, the situation is inherently filled with humor, from the awkward teenage sex to the urinating on a stick to the growing huge and waddling through high school – there is an absurdity that calls for something beyond the dramatics. Juno delivers, big time.
A lot of it has to do with the stylized writing. The improbably named (and, let's face it, chances are, not her (yes, her (and yes, I'm doing parentheses inside of parentheses)) real name) Diablo Cody creates a Middle-American world where everyone is both impossibly stuck in the 80's and 90's, but speaks in a dialect that I can only describe as “white-ghetto.” It works brilliantly, in that it both provides a comedic element and adds a level of ironic sophistication. We know it's ridiculous that they speak this way, and it's pretty obvious that everyone in the movie is subtly winking along with us.
What really makes this work is, of course, the acting. I will consistently stand behind the opinion that comedic acting is the hardest thing to do, because it's not just about raw emotion, but about knowing how to connect with people. In other words, drama can drift towards overacting, and still be powerful, because crying and screaming can still evoke a response even if it doesn't seem, in hindsight, overly genuine. Comedy, though, either works or it doesn't. The jokes, especially in a dialogue-driven film, require more than good writing: it requires the actor to be able to deliver it. This isn't stand-up or sketch comedy; it's not even a sit-com. We are supposed to believe that these are things people would actually say in these situations. That means, the delivery has to be natural, there has to be great timing and inflection and expression. While a writer may pen the line, and a director may try to draw it out, it is ultimately the actor who has to make it happen.
Ellen Page, the eponymous character is a excellent. She takes “wry” and “sardonic” to levels of heretofore untold heights. She is at once charming and crude, lovable and distasteful. She can nonchalantly deliver lines about abortions or the process of birth and make us love her all the same. It certainly doesn't hurt that she's adorable, but it's also important to note that she is adorable. She's not gorgeous or a super-model – she is, despite her innate Canadian-ness – a typically pretty American teenager. She's also a superb actor, because she brings out the depth of her character. While Juno appears to be tough and cynical, you can tell that she also a frightened, confused little girl. What makes it so great is that throughout, she is an incredibly strong young woman, but not so over the top that it becomes unbelievable for the situation.
Then, the fact that she's surrounded by an excellent supporting cast makes the movie complete. Her parents, played by J.K. Simmons and Allison Janney (who, I'm convinced, should just be given every role that requires a middle-class Midwestern couple), are both bumbling and sophisticated, never quite the caricature you expect them to be. Janney, as the step-mom, is level-headed and loving, and one of the best scenes is when she berates the sonogram technician. Michael Cera, who plays the Y chromosome in this little passion zygote, establishes himself as the teenage nerd-hero for this decade. His nervous charm allows him to be the everyman high school persona, and he pulls it off without a hitch. Jason Bateman is great as the reluctant, hipster father-to-be, and relative newcomer Olivia Thirlby is a great comedic sidekick for Juno. Even Rainn Wilson, in his brief cameo as the corner store cashier, almost steals the show with his ridiculous commentary on Juno's situation.
In fact, even Jennifer Garner, who I find to be a rather wooden actress, does nothing to detract from the movie for me.
What you get, then, is a complete story. Yes, there are parts that are probably too much (Jason Bateman's role verges on the melodramatic), but on the whole, those little distractions are ancillary to the main story anyway – or, if they aren't, they do not detract from the overall movie. This is a movie that will make you laugh for an hour-and-a-half, even with the touching moments interspersed throughout.
More important, this is a movie that will make you wish you owned a hamburger phone.
And that's simply great cinema.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
No Reservations
Ugh. I know – even I feel a bit queasy about my title. Then again, when puns are making you nauseous, you know they’re doing something right.
So what’s the deal with this movie? Critics seem hell-bent on lashing out at Reservation Road as if a) the movie is claiming to be something earth-shattering and ground-breaking and b) it’s personally offended them. Maybe I’m not the world’s finest critic, but I think what people were expecting from that movie was more than they should have. It is a fairly simple tale of two families connected by a tragedy: one is the victim, one is the perpetrator. On a dark Connecticut road, a young boy is killed in a hit-and-run, and while his family tries to cope with his death (and pursue the “killer”), the driver is trying to work out his own demons – both with his estranged ex-wife, his son, and his guilt.
Yes, it is easy to get lulled into a trap. Based on a highly acclaimed novel by John Burnham Schwartz, it also stars three relatively big name actors – people you would probably see in a trailer and say: Wow, those three? It must be good. And I think that was part of the initial disappointment for some: although it does star Joaquin Phoenix, Jennifer Connelly, and Mark Ruffalo (and, if you want to consider Mira Sorvino a “star,” Mira Sorvino), these are not the actors’ finest roles. While I think they all do adequate jobs with what they are given, after a while, crying and angst is not really the pinnacle of acting: somber is easy; comedy is hard.
Still, they are not terrible either. And, as most movies are the sum of their actors, I think this needs to be brought into consideration. For a movie that is high on melodrama, it’s not overwrought with cheese. It does get a bit cloying that much of the “dialogue” consists of crying and “screeching,” but, I mean, their fucking son just died! How are people supposed to react?
And that’s what bothers me so much about the reviews – this total disregard for the situation of the movie. The plot might ring a bit false, but does the way the actors react to the situations they’re given work? I think, for the most part, the do. Mark Ruffalo, as the murderer, does a particularly good job working with what he has, and his guilt and fear seem completely normal for such an abnormal situation.
I went in with low-expectations. The “word-on-the-street” buzz was such that I was seriously contemplating if I wanted to go. There are moments during the movie that I laughed out loud at the ridiculous coincidences that sprung up – everyone is connected to everyone in this movie. Does this come across as preposterous? Yes – it definitely does. After the first few times, you just know what’s going to happen next – and it does. So, for instance, when Phoenix’s character talks about using a lawyer to help keep on the police, whose office does he end up in? That’s right, the lawyer we already met: Ruffalo’s character. I’d like to be kinder here, but that is the level this movie works at.
But, again, that’s the level the story works at. Think about it this way: if there weren’t all these “coincidences,” there wouldn’t be a movie. Or, rather, there wouldn’t be this movie, based off of Schwartz’s book. Would another movie have been better? Possibly. And yet it’s hard for me to shake off the fact that this was a psychological thriller, and that, unlike a novel (where you get internal monologue), we need to see the emotions in raw forms. Think of it this way: would it have seemed more realistic for people going through this ordeal to just sit down with each other and talk about their problems? Just writing that seems absurd to me. Think about it in another way: is there a good movie version of Crime and Punishment? If there is, I can’t think of it. And the reason for that is because how do you translate a novel about one man’s struggles with guilt into a movie? Remember, too: movies are not books. They are not cinematic novels. They are a completely separate medium that requires a different mindset.
After reading what I’ve written, I am actually a little at a loss as to where I say why I thought the movie was good. I guess it comes down to this: I walked away with a reaction that made sense for the movie. Say what you will, but for us “regular” movie-goers, there are some powerful emotions being thrown around, and I felt them strongly. I wasn’t amazed by this movie. I don’t think I’d ever see it again. I don’t even necessarily expect others to see it.
I just don’t want people to think it’s a bad movie. I think it set out to adapt a novel in a way that works on the big-screen, and for the most part, they succeeded. In a movie about a little kid getting killed, I think it does everything you would expect it to do. Don’t forget, too, that there are plenty of people out there who not only like melodrama, they thrive off of it (hence our culture’s obsession with celebrity gossip). Is the movie Oscar-worthy? Of course not. But it’s not the crap-fest that critics so eagerly dump upon it, either.
More like a crap-tea social.
So what’s the deal with this movie? Critics seem hell-bent on lashing out at Reservation Road as if a) the movie is claiming to be something earth-shattering and ground-breaking and b) it’s personally offended them. Maybe I’m not the world’s finest critic, but I think what people were expecting from that movie was more than they should have. It is a fairly simple tale of two families connected by a tragedy: one is the victim, one is the perpetrator. On a dark Connecticut road, a young boy is killed in a hit-and-run, and while his family tries to cope with his death (and pursue the “killer”), the driver is trying to work out his own demons – both with his estranged ex-wife, his son, and his guilt.
Yes, it is easy to get lulled into a trap. Based on a highly acclaimed novel by John Burnham Schwartz, it also stars three relatively big name actors – people you would probably see in a trailer and say: Wow, those three? It must be good. And I think that was part of the initial disappointment for some: although it does star Joaquin Phoenix, Jennifer Connelly, and Mark Ruffalo (and, if you want to consider Mira Sorvino a “star,” Mira Sorvino), these are not the actors’ finest roles. While I think they all do adequate jobs with what they are given, after a while, crying and angst is not really the pinnacle of acting: somber is easy; comedy is hard.
Still, they are not terrible either. And, as most movies are the sum of their actors, I think this needs to be brought into consideration. For a movie that is high on melodrama, it’s not overwrought with cheese. It does get a bit cloying that much of the “dialogue” consists of crying and “screeching,” but, I mean, their fucking son just died! How are people supposed to react?
And that’s what bothers me so much about the reviews – this total disregard for the situation of the movie. The plot might ring a bit false, but does the way the actors react to the situations they’re given work? I think, for the most part, the do. Mark Ruffalo, as the murderer, does a particularly good job working with what he has, and his guilt and fear seem completely normal for such an abnormal situation.
I went in with low-expectations. The “word-on-the-street” buzz was such that I was seriously contemplating if I wanted to go. There are moments during the movie that I laughed out loud at the ridiculous coincidences that sprung up – everyone is connected to everyone in this movie. Does this come across as preposterous? Yes – it definitely does. After the first few times, you just know what’s going to happen next – and it does. So, for instance, when Phoenix’s character talks about using a lawyer to help keep on the police, whose office does he end up in? That’s right, the lawyer we already met: Ruffalo’s character. I’d like to be kinder here, but that is the level this movie works at.
But, again, that’s the level the story works at. Think about it this way: if there weren’t all these “coincidences,” there wouldn’t be a movie. Or, rather, there wouldn’t be this movie, based off of Schwartz’s book. Would another movie have been better? Possibly. And yet it’s hard for me to shake off the fact that this was a psychological thriller, and that, unlike a novel (where you get internal monologue), we need to see the emotions in raw forms. Think of it this way: would it have seemed more realistic for people going through this ordeal to just sit down with each other and talk about their problems? Just writing that seems absurd to me. Think about it in another way: is there a good movie version of Crime and Punishment? If there is, I can’t think of it. And the reason for that is because how do you translate a novel about one man’s struggles with guilt into a movie? Remember, too: movies are not books. They are not cinematic novels. They are a completely separate medium that requires a different mindset.
After reading what I’ve written, I am actually a little at a loss as to where I say why I thought the movie was good. I guess it comes down to this: I walked away with a reaction that made sense for the movie. Say what you will, but for us “regular” movie-goers, there are some powerful emotions being thrown around, and I felt them strongly. I wasn’t amazed by this movie. I don’t think I’d ever see it again. I don’t even necessarily expect others to see it.
I just don’t want people to think it’s a bad movie. I think it set out to adapt a novel in a way that works on the big-screen, and for the most part, they succeeded. In a movie about a little kid getting killed, I think it does everything you would expect it to do. Don’t forget, too, that there are plenty of people out there who not only like melodrama, they thrive off of it (hence our culture’s obsession with celebrity gossip). Is the movie Oscar-worthy? Of course not. But it’s not the crap-fest that critics so eagerly dump upon it, either.
More like a crap-tea social.
Monday, October 1, 2007
I Didn't See This One Coming
It’s always a bit joyful to rent a movie and find that, more than not sucking, you might actually have come across a pretty decent film.
When The Lookout was being promoted for the theatres, I remember thinking to myself: that looks like an okay movie. It seemed like a slightly odd vehicle for Joseph Gordon-Levitt (as I only really know him from “3rd Rock from the Sun” and Ten Things I Hate About You) because it was definitely a move away from the comedy and/or teen roles he had taken previously. That said, I didn’t go see it in the theatres because a) I live in New York, and movies are fucking expensive and b) if I am going to go see a movie, I want to get the bang-for-my-buck, so to speak: I want to see movies that either utilize the big screen and surround-sound (action, sci-fi, martial arts, etc.) or is so culturally important that I feel it’s imperative I see it immediately (like Superbad, for instance). The Lookout didn’t seem like that kind of movie.
Part of the problem, as I see it, concerning the movie’s success was that the title and trailers seemed to imply something about the movie that wasn’t really central. Gordon-Levitt is barely a lookout in any part of the movie (except, maybe, if you consider that he lives with a blind man, played by Jeff Daniels). The trailers also never mention that Gordon-Levitt’s character, Chris, is mentally handicapped throughout most of the movie. This is such a huge factor in the story, and yet the movie was never sold with that being prominently displayed. Instead, it came across as a crime-thriller, perhaps a bit film-noirish, but not exactly über-innovative. Good, but not “fresh.”
But the movie is “fresh.” Gordon-Levitt’s handicap is the result of a decision he made that went wrong, so there is both sympathy and distance from him as a character. He plays it both charmingly and as an asshole, making the character feel complete and adding tension to pretty much every scene. The most important feature, though, is his difficulty with memory and sequencing (placing things in a narrative order), and this plays out – as my one friend mentioned, repeatedly during the movie – in a very Memento-like way. Similar manipulations from other characters, similar needs for memory devices, all come together in similar ways in both movies. And yet, The Lookout, in not being about remembering the past, but instead coping with the present, provides a completely different take.
Besides Gordon-Levitt, there’s a great performance by Matthew Goode, a British actor who plays American Tough to perfection. Like any good villain, he’s both menacing and charismatic as Gary Spargo, and although it’s obvious from the beginning that he’s using Chris for his handicap and his job at the bank, there’s nevertheless a bond that he creates between the two that sucks you in.
Jeff Daniels, playing Chris’ blind friend Lewis, also does a good job, although a little clichéd at times. His mentor/protector/comic relief role is perfect for Daniels, and yet I was not completely certain if the character was perfect for the movie. It provided a grounding point for Chris – the family when his own family seems so distant – but there was something about him that didn’t seem to mesh with the overall story. Perhaps it’s simply their age difference that gives off an odd vibe.
The biggest detriment, though, are two of the bigger characters in the movie: Luvlee, played by Isla Fisher (of Wedding Crashers fame), and Bone, played by Greg Dunham (a newcomer). Dunham plays the character well, as the dark, mysterious killer who has almost no lines but provides the murderous can-do spirit that Gary needs to keep everyone in line. The only problem is: who the hell is he? Nothing ever gets explained about him – such as how Gary knows this guy – and while he adds a bit of creepiness to the movie, he also detracts from some of the realism. He’s almost too ghoulish to be believable.
With Luvlee, there’s much the same problem. Used by Gary to lure Chris into the scheme, her biggest moment is when she is confronted by Lewis. Unfortunately, we never get a resolution to that confrontation. We see Chris in bed, listening, but the closest we get to him approaching Lewis about the conversation is when he tells Lewis he’s moving out. Worst of all, though, the director keeps showing us Luvlee and Gary being somewhat intimate (affectionate?) whenever Chris isn’t around and yet this relationship is never explained. In fact, about two-thirds into the movie, Luvlee leaves, and we never see or hear from her again.
Still, on first viewing, there’s enough to keep your attention. You do get wrapped up in story and in the way the director sets up the scenes. It was only later, as the credits rolled, that I was left wondering about the girl. Bone, although perhaps not as used as a shotgun-above-the-mantle should be, is generally explainable, and so in the end, you get a unique twist on the bank heist movie. It is dark, it is character driven, and quick enough to help you get past any hang-ups you might be formulating. Ironically, despite its short length, there is an awful lot of time spent on development, which is an overall plus.
I’m glad I didn’t see it in the theatre, and I don’t think there’s enough replay value to own it, but I definitely recommend you renting it.
When The Lookout was being promoted for the theatres, I remember thinking to myself: that looks like an okay movie. It seemed like a slightly odd vehicle for Joseph Gordon-Levitt (as I only really know him from “3rd Rock from the Sun” and Ten Things I Hate About You) because it was definitely a move away from the comedy and/or teen roles he had taken previously. That said, I didn’t go see it in the theatres because a) I live in New York, and movies are fucking expensive and b) if I am going to go see a movie, I want to get the bang-for-my-buck, so to speak: I want to see movies that either utilize the big screen and surround-sound (action, sci-fi, martial arts, etc.) or is so culturally important that I feel it’s imperative I see it immediately (like Superbad, for instance). The Lookout didn’t seem like that kind of movie.
Part of the problem, as I see it, concerning the movie’s success was that the title and trailers seemed to imply something about the movie that wasn’t really central. Gordon-Levitt is barely a lookout in any part of the movie (except, maybe, if you consider that he lives with a blind man, played by Jeff Daniels). The trailers also never mention that Gordon-Levitt’s character, Chris, is mentally handicapped throughout most of the movie. This is such a huge factor in the story, and yet the movie was never sold with that being prominently displayed. Instead, it came across as a crime-thriller, perhaps a bit film-noirish, but not exactly über-innovative. Good, but not “fresh.”
But the movie is “fresh.” Gordon-Levitt’s handicap is the result of a decision he made that went wrong, so there is both sympathy and distance from him as a character. He plays it both charmingly and as an asshole, making the character feel complete and adding tension to pretty much every scene. The most important feature, though, is his difficulty with memory and sequencing (placing things in a narrative order), and this plays out – as my one friend mentioned, repeatedly during the movie – in a very Memento-like way. Similar manipulations from other characters, similar needs for memory devices, all come together in similar ways in both movies. And yet, The Lookout, in not being about remembering the past, but instead coping with the present, provides a completely different take.
Besides Gordon-Levitt, there’s a great performance by Matthew Goode, a British actor who plays American Tough to perfection. Like any good villain, he’s both menacing and charismatic as Gary Spargo, and although it’s obvious from the beginning that he’s using Chris for his handicap and his job at the bank, there’s nevertheless a bond that he creates between the two that sucks you in.
Jeff Daniels, playing Chris’ blind friend Lewis, also does a good job, although a little clichéd at times. His mentor/protector/comic relief role is perfect for Daniels, and yet I was not completely certain if the character was perfect for the movie. It provided a grounding point for Chris – the family when his own family seems so distant – but there was something about him that didn’t seem to mesh with the overall story. Perhaps it’s simply their age difference that gives off an odd vibe.
The biggest detriment, though, are two of the bigger characters in the movie: Luvlee, played by Isla Fisher (of Wedding Crashers fame), and Bone, played by Greg Dunham (a newcomer). Dunham plays the character well, as the dark, mysterious killer who has almost no lines but provides the murderous can-do spirit that Gary needs to keep everyone in line. The only problem is: who the hell is he? Nothing ever gets explained about him – such as how Gary knows this guy – and while he adds a bit of creepiness to the movie, he also detracts from some of the realism. He’s almost too ghoulish to be believable.
With Luvlee, there’s much the same problem. Used by Gary to lure Chris into the scheme, her biggest moment is when she is confronted by Lewis. Unfortunately, we never get a resolution to that confrontation. We see Chris in bed, listening, but the closest we get to him approaching Lewis about the conversation is when he tells Lewis he’s moving out. Worst of all, though, the director keeps showing us Luvlee and Gary being somewhat intimate (affectionate?) whenever Chris isn’t around and yet this relationship is never explained. In fact, about two-thirds into the movie, Luvlee leaves, and we never see or hear from her again.
Still, on first viewing, there’s enough to keep your attention. You do get wrapped up in story and in the way the director sets up the scenes. It was only later, as the credits rolled, that I was left wondering about the girl. Bone, although perhaps not as used as a shotgun-above-the-mantle should be, is generally explainable, and so in the end, you get a unique twist on the bank heist movie. It is dark, it is character driven, and quick enough to help you get past any hang-ups you might be formulating. Ironically, despite its short length, there is an awful lot of time spent on development, which is an overall plus.
I’m glad I didn’t see it in the theatre, and I don’t think there’s enough replay value to own it, but I definitely recommend you renting it.
Friday, September 14, 2007
It's Been a Long Time/Since I Left You/With a Dope Beat to Step To
It’s been a while, hasn’t it folks? (Anyone who knows who originally rapped that lyric gets a prize).
I apologize. It’s not easy being me: so much demand, so little time.
All lying aside, I’ve got a lot to say, but perhaps not the most time to say it in, so these might come off as a bit condensed today.
To begin, let me discuss what will undoubtedly be the most quoted movie on college campuses this year. I’m of course speaking about War.
Actually, I’m talking about Superbad, the latest installment from producer Judd Apatow, the man who brought us The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I haven’t seen Knocked Up, but I hear it’s very good. I have seen the other two, and I think they might be two of the funnier movies ever made.
That said, I will hold off placing Superbad on the uber-pedestal for just a second. Why? Because, let’s face it: we’ve seen this movie before. As funny as it is, as clever as it is, this is by no means an original story. Let’s see, where else have I seen a teen sex-comedy that get’s interrupted by a series of wacky adventures?
How about:
Dazed and Confused
The Trojan War
Can’t Hardly Wait
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Hell, you could probably throw Go into the mix, too.
The fact is, the one-night-to-make-it-happen shtick is all well and good, but it is not exactly a genius move. No matter what, though, those comparisons (and really, watch The Trojan War, Dazed and Confused and Harold and Kumar and tell me you don’t see similarities with Superbad) are rather arbitrary when it comes down to the fact that Jonah Hill is a hilarious clown and Michael Cera might possible be the most perfect Everyman since Michael J. Fox. Hell, Fox was probably more obviously charming than Cera; Cera’s gift is that he is disarming.
And then he talks nonchalantly about porn while eating his breakfast.
Still, the best parts of the movie revolve around the cops and McLovin. Although definitely more implausible than any other aspect of the movie, the relationship between the three works so well, and the ultimate reveal in the bedroom makes it come back down to Earth enough to work.
Personally, I’d recommend The 40-Year-Old Virgin over Superbad. The chest-waxing scene might possibly be the single funniest scene in American cinema – not sure why I’m singling out “American” cinema, but maybe it’s because so many foreign films come across as unintentionally funny (see Bollywood for examples). But it is also a poor comparison to make. Yes, I believe in the body of Apatow’s works, one outshines the other, but these are both incredibly funny (and funny because they generally “real” – the comedy comes from believing in the characters as being legitimate) movies. I’m sure once Knocked Up comes out on DVD, I’ll say the same thing about it.
In another medium, we enter the audio realm. Some of you may have heard of the “feud” between 50 Cent and Kanye West. If you haven’t, here’s a quick summary:
Both albums came out on September 11 (it’s a Tuesday; albums come out on Tuesday; don’t think too much about the significance of the date), and before they did, 50 Cent said that if Kanye sells more albums than him, he (50) would retire.
Before the albums dropped, I implored people to go out and buy Kanye’s album. Not because I think 50 Cent is a bad rapper (which I do), but more because I wanted 50 to be a liar – and have nobody care.
Let’s face it: do we really believe when celebrities say they are going to “retire?” Heck, even athletes, people who have physical timelines on their careers, have reneged on retiring: Michael Jordan and Roger Clemens are two of the more prominent examples. More close to home for 50 is Jay-Z, who after his phenomenal Black Album, announced his retirement, only to come out a few years later with the rather un-spectacular Kingdom Come.
The point is, a guy named 50 Cent should know it’s all about the money. As such, if you know you can sell millions of dollars worth of records, there’s no way you’re going to walk away from that because of a “bet.” Especially if it takes seemingly little effort on your part (more on this in a moment) to create said album. Mr. Cent, no one is buying your bravado.
The fact remains that I also think he’s a bad rapper (I think I might have mentioned this before). In rap, there are certain things I think make someone successful. First and foremost are beats. Except for the single “In da Club,” not one of his singles really strikes me as having incredible hot beats. Some of them are “all right,” but nothing jumps out at me as being “ooo, I have to download that.” Right after beats, you have flow. Some might say lyrics would go here, but flow, being a musical element, is more about initial connection than lyrics. The first time you hear a song, you normally don’t “hear” all the lyrics. You are too busy absorbing the beat, absorbing the hook, to be truly immersed in the words. Flow, the rate and syncopation of the wording, is something a bit more tactile and elementary. 50’s flow is rather mundane. Yes, I’ve heard him rap relatively fast (relative to Twista or Big Pun, for instance), on the single “She Wants It” for example, but because his voice is slurred and monotone, it comes off as lacking emotion, and therefore a sense of speed.
And clearly voice is an important component, too. With his lazy sound (resulting from being shot a few times), you wonder how into the words he’s singing he really is. Which brings us to lyrics. Perhaps I’m overly sensitive here, but rap should be about word play. Simply rhyming is for Dr. Seuss. The ability to craft clever phrases, to write those “Oh!-lines” (as in “Oh shit! Did you hear that?”), helps separate the boys from the men.
50 simply doesn’t do any of this for me. Yes, “In da Club” was a hot song. But I’m pretty sure if I had Dr. Dre giving me one of his greatest all-time beats, I could write a Number One single.
Seriously.
If you doubt this, take Jay-Z’s last hit, “Show Me What You Got.” Listen to that song (with the amazing Just Blaze beat), and then listen to Li’l Wayne freestyle over it.
Wayne kills it.
Which leads me to Kanye’s album.
Kanye, if you don’t know, was a producer before he became a rapper. After his first album, College Dropout, came out, though, no one doubted the guy could rap. His own great beats, combined with good flow, clever lyrics, and catchy hooks created a unique and exciting sound.
And an ego to match.
But he followed up on his success well, and his second album, Late Registration, was equally as good, if not in some cases better. His ability to wrap the intelligence, hubris, and humor all together combined well with an oddly preppy persona to turn him into a superstar.
Which might be why Graduation, his third album, doesn’t achieve the same greatness. I think he kind of mailed it in. Now, I’m sure he’ll say it’s a great album, but, with all due respect, he would be kidding himself. It starts off well, giving you single-quality songs for pretty much the first half. And then, all of a sudden, it’s like the music stops. Not the album, but the musicality of the songs. By the time you get to a good beat again, you’re wondering what has been happening, and then you hear the lyrics, and it’s essentially Kanye alternating between giving Jay-Z the finger and giving him a blow job.
All of this makes me feel like maybe I’m doing a disservice to 50 Cent. But no, I think I’m right in saying you shouldn’t buy his album.
I just don’t think you should buy Kanye’s, either. Download “Stronger,” “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” and “Champion,” and save yourself at least 10 dollars (depending on where you buy music and/or download it).
To take a little turn to the audio left (or right, there’s nothing inherently symbolic about which direction the turn is), there is one musical moment that struck me as being very well done.
Now, as I expect titters from the immature amongst you, remember: I like it anyway.
That said, I just wanted to mention that I saw Justin Timberlake’s “FutureSex/LoveShow” on HBO, and it was amazing.
I’m not being hyperbolic here. It is “amazing.”
Timberlake, as a performer, is a cornball. He’s a ham, he’s goofy, and he’s kind of a dork.
But that’s only when he’s not singing and dancing. Because boy can that kid sing, and boy can that kid dance.
It’s one thing to say: Oh, he was in ‘N Sync, so he’s just a studio musician. Everything is doctored. I hate to disillusion you, but he is a seriously talented person, and his live performance proves that.
What works for him so well is that he doesn’t sing outside himself. In other words, he knows his limitations, and he doesn’t try to go past them. That’s not to say he has a ton of limitations to begin with, but it just shows how he has brought himself to be technically sound with is craft.
Perhaps just as impressive is the fact that, in addition to singing and dancing, he also plays three different instruments. Granted, how high the levels on his particular instrument was (as compared to those of his band) is left to be seen, but it certainly looks like he’s playing the right notes (if you look at where his fingers are in relation to the two other guys when he’s playing the keyboard-guitar – that’s right, he rocks out on the keyboard-guitar – and you’ll notice they are all playing the same keys).
More than that, though, it’s simply the fact that his two solo albums have some fantastic songs on them. Whether it was him or others who wrote them is beside the point: he performs them well. It also helps that he’s clearly having a good time on stage. He’s not just “going through the motions.” He definitely has chemistry with the dancers, with the band, and with his background singers. The people click, the music is good, and everything seems to work.
My only complaint is that, knowing the show was going to be on HBO, and the fact that it was performed in New York, wasn’t there any way he could have gotten T.I. and/or Clipse to come do their verses on “My Love” and “Like I Love You,” respectively? I know he doesn’t have them on the tour, but it’s not unheard of to have special guests show up – and you have to think HBO might be willing if it makes the show better. Maybe they were busy, though. Still, it would have made a great show even greater.
So, if you feel the need, check your man-hood at the door and watch this concert. Remember this: guys used to go to Michael Jackson concerts. That’s what this is like, in that Timberlake is an artist of that caliber. Sure, he appeals to the ladies, but should that stop you from enjoying a good show? Because if that’s your argument, than by the same token you wouldn’t watch a movie with Brad Pitt in it, including Fight Club (a male-oriented movie if there ever was one).
And that’s just super gay.
I only wish he would have sung “Dick in a Box” . . .
I’d like to finish on a short but serious point:
I have not read everything you have. I have not seen all the same movies as you. I have not been to all the museums you’ve been to.
This does not make me a bad person. In fact, I’ve probably read many books, seen many movies, and viewed numerous pieces of art that you’ve never experienced. What this means is not that either one of us is deficient in our cultural attainments, but rather that there is so much out there to explore and enjoy and discuss.
So, the next time you are talking with someone and when a book is brought up that they haven’t read, don’t get exasperated. Don’t act shocked. Because it’s not that big of a deal. I haven’t not read it to spite you; I simply haven’t read it. It doesn’t mean I won’t read it. It’s just that at this moment in time, my life-path has diverged from yours.
This is a good thing. We should all be different. In the end, if it’s meant to be a meaningful relationship, we’ll find other commonalities. If not, we can just be two people who haven’t read the same things. But, again, it’s not that big of a deal. It happens.
I’ll fucking get to reading it when I get to it.
Okay?
I apologize. It’s not easy being me: so much demand, so little time.
All lying aside, I’ve got a lot to say, but perhaps not the most time to say it in, so these might come off as a bit condensed today.
To begin, let me discuss what will undoubtedly be the most quoted movie on college campuses this year. I’m of course speaking about War.
Actually, I’m talking about Superbad, the latest installment from producer Judd Apatow, the man who brought us The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I haven’t seen Knocked Up, but I hear it’s very good. I have seen the other two, and I think they might be two of the funnier movies ever made.
That said, I will hold off placing Superbad on the uber-pedestal for just a second. Why? Because, let’s face it: we’ve seen this movie before. As funny as it is, as clever as it is, this is by no means an original story. Let’s see, where else have I seen a teen sex-comedy that get’s interrupted by a series of wacky adventures?
How about:
Dazed and Confused
The Trojan War
Can’t Hardly Wait
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Hell, you could probably throw Go into the mix, too.
The fact is, the one-night-to-make-it-happen shtick is all well and good, but it is not exactly a genius move. No matter what, though, those comparisons (and really, watch The Trojan War, Dazed and Confused and Harold and Kumar and tell me you don’t see similarities with Superbad) are rather arbitrary when it comes down to the fact that Jonah Hill is a hilarious clown and Michael Cera might possible be the most perfect Everyman since Michael J. Fox. Hell, Fox was probably more obviously charming than Cera; Cera’s gift is that he is disarming.
And then he talks nonchalantly about porn while eating his breakfast.
Still, the best parts of the movie revolve around the cops and McLovin. Although definitely more implausible than any other aspect of the movie, the relationship between the three works so well, and the ultimate reveal in the bedroom makes it come back down to Earth enough to work.
Personally, I’d recommend The 40-Year-Old Virgin over Superbad. The chest-waxing scene might possibly be the single funniest scene in American cinema – not sure why I’m singling out “American” cinema, but maybe it’s because so many foreign films come across as unintentionally funny (see Bollywood for examples). But it is also a poor comparison to make. Yes, I believe in the body of Apatow’s works, one outshines the other, but these are both incredibly funny (and funny because they generally “real” – the comedy comes from believing in the characters as being legitimate) movies. I’m sure once Knocked Up comes out on DVD, I’ll say the same thing about it.
In another medium, we enter the audio realm. Some of you may have heard of the “feud” between 50 Cent and Kanye West. If you haven’t, here’s a quick summary:
Both albums came out on September 11 (it’s a Tuesday; albums come out on Tuesday; don’t think too much about the significance of the date), and before they did, 50 Cent said that if Kanye sells more albums than him, he (50) would retire.
Before the albums dropped, I implored people to go out and buy Kanye’s album. Not because I think 50 Cent is a bad rapper (which I do), but more because I wanted 50 to be a liar – and have nobody care.
Let’s face it: do we really believe when celebrities say they are going to “retire?” Heck, even athletes, people who have physical timelines on their careers, have reneged on retiring: Michael Jordan and Roger Clemens are two of the more prominent examples. More close to home for 50 is Jay-Z, who after his phenomenal Black Album, announced his retirement, only to come out a few years later with the rather un-spectacular Kingdom Come.
The point is, a guy named 50 Cent should know it’s all about the money. As such, if you know you can sell millions of dollars worth of records, there’s no way you’re going to walk away from that because of a “bet.” Especially if it takes seemingly little effort on your part (more on this in a moment) to create said album. Mr. Cent, no one is buying your bravado.
The fact remains that I also think he’s a bad rapper (I think I might have mentioned this before). In rap, there are certain things I think make someone successful. First and foremost are beats. Except for the single “In da Club,” not one of his singles really strikes me as having incredible hot beats. Some of them are “all right,” but nothing jumps out at me as being “ooo, I have to download that.” Right after beats, you have flow. Some might say lyrics would go here, but flow, being a musical element, is more about initial connection than lyrics. The first time you hear a song, you normally don’t “hear” all the lyrics. You are too busy absorbing the beat, absorbing the hook, to be truly immersed in the words. Flow, the rate and syncopation of the wording, is something a bit more tactile and elementary. 50’s flow is rather mundane. Yes, I’ve heard him rap relatively fast (relative to Twista or Big Pun, for instance), on the single “She Wants It” for example, but because his voice is slurred and monotone, it comes off as lacking emotion, and therefore a sense of speed.
And clearly voice is an important component, too. With his lazy sound (resulting from being shot a few times), you wonder how into the words he’s singing he really is. Which brings us to lyrics. Perhaps I’m overly sensitive here, but rap should be about word play. Simply rhyming is for Dr. Seuss. The ability to craft clever phrases, to write those “Oh!-lines” (as in “Oh shit! Did you hear that?”), helps separate the boys from the men.
50 simply doesn’t do any of this for me. Yes, “In da Club” was a hot song. But I’m pretty sure if I had Dr. Dre giving me one of his greatest all-time beats, I could write a Number One single.
Seriously.
If you doubt this, take Jay-Z’s last hit, “Show Me What You Got.” Listen to that song (with the amazing Just Blaze beat), and then listen to Li’l Wayne freestyle over it.
Wayne kills it.
Which leads me to Kanye’s album.
Kanye, if you don’t know, was a producer before he became a rapper. After his first album, College Dropout, came out, though, no one doubted the guy could rap. His own great beats, combined with good flow, clever lyrics, and catchy hooks created a unique and exciting sound.
And an ego to match.
But he followed up on his success well, and his second album, Late Registration, was equally as good, if not in some cases better. His ability to wrap the intelligence, hubris, and humor all together combined well with an oddly preppy persona to turn him into a superstar.
Which might be why Graduation, his third album, doesn’t achieve the same greatness. I think he kind of mailed it in. Now, I’m sure he’ll say it’s a great album, but, with all due respect, he would be kidding himself. It starts off well, giving you single-quality songs for pretty much the first half. And then, all of a sudden, it’s like the music stops. Not the album, but the musicality of the songs. By the time you get to a good beat again, you’re wondering what has been happening, and then you hear the lyrics, and it’s essentially Kanye alternating between giving Jay-Z the finger and giving him a blow job.
All of this makes me feel like maybe I’m doing a disservice to 50 Cent. But no, I think I’m right in saying you shouldn’t buy his album.
I just don’t think you should buy Kanye’s, either. Download “Stronger,” “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” and “Champion,” and save yourself at least 10 dollars (depending on where you buy music and/or download it).
To take a little turn to the audio left (or right, there’s nothing inherently symbolic about which direction the turn is), there is one musical moment that struck me as being very well done.
Now, as I expect titters from the immature amongst you, remember: I like it anyway.
That said, I just wanted to mention that I saw Justin Timberlake’s “FutureSex/LoveShow” on HBO, and it was amazing.
I’m not being hyperbolic here. It is “amazing.”
Timberlake, as a performer, is a cornball. He’s a ham, he’s goofy, and he’s kind of a dork.
But that’s only when he’s not singing and dancing. Because boy can that kid sing, and boy can that kid dance.
It’s one thing to say: Oh, he was in ‘N Sync, so he’s just a studio musician. Everything is doctored. I hate to disillusion you, but he is a seriously talented person, and his live performance proves that.
What works for him so well is that he doesn’t sing outside himself. In other words, he knows his limitations, and he doesn’t try to go past them. That’s not to say he has a ton of limitations to begin with, but it just shows how he has brought himself to be technically sound with is craft.
Perhaps just as impressive is the fact that, in addition to singing and dancing, he also plays three different instruments. Granted, how high the levels on his particular instrument was (as compared to those of his band) is left to be seen, but it certainly looks like he’s playing the right notes (if you look at where his fingers are in relation to the two other guys when he’s playing the keyboard-guitar – that’s right, he rocks out on the keyboard-guitar – and you’ll notice they are all playing the same keys).
More than that, though, it’s simply the fact that his two solo albums have some fantastic songs on them. Whether it was him or others who wrote them is beside the point: he performs them well. It also helps that he’s clearly having a good time on stage. He’s not just “going through the motions.” He definitely has chemistry with the dancers, with the band, and with his background singers. The people click, the music is good, and everything seems to work.
My only complaint is that, knowing the show was going to be on HBO, and the fact that it was performed in New York, wasn’t there any way he could have gotten T.I. and/or Clipse to come do their verses on “My Love” and “Like I Love You,” respectively? I know he doesn’t have them on the tour, but it’s not unheard of to have special guests show up – and you have to think HBO might be willing if it makes the show better. Maybe they were busy, though. Still, it would have made a great show even greater.
So, if you feel the need, check your man-hood at the door and watch this concert. Remember this: guys used to go to Michael Jackson concerts. That’s what this is like, in that Timberlake is an artist of that caliber. Sure, he appeals to the ladies, but should that stop you from enjoying a good show? Because if that’s your argument, than by the same token you wouldn’t watch a movie with Brad Pitt in it, including Fight Club (a male-oriented movie if there ever was one).
And that’s just super gay.
I only wish he would have sung “Dick in a Box” . . .
I’d like to finish on a short but serious point:
I have not read everything you have. I have not seen all the same movies as you. I have not been to all the museums you’ve been to.
This does not make me a bad person. In fact, I’ve probably read many books, seen many movies, and viewed numerous pieces of art that you’ve never experienced. What this means is not that either one of us is deficient in our cultural attainments, but rather that there is so much out there to explore and enjoy and discuss.
So, the next time you are talking with someone and when a book is brought up that they haven’t read, don’t get exasperated. Don’t act shocked. Because it’s not that big of a deal. I haven’t not read it to spite you; I simply haven’t read it. It doesn’t mean I won’t read it. It’s just that at this moment in time, my life-path has diverged from yours.
This is a good thing. We should all be different. In the end, if it’s meant to be a meaningful relationship, we’ll find other commonalities. If not, we can just be two people who haven’t read the same things. But, again, it’s not that big of a deal. It happens.
I’ll fucking get to reading it when I get to it.
Okay?
Monday, July 23, 2007
Do You Believe in Magic?
Gee, what could this post be about?
Actually, it's not exactly what you think, but pretty darn close.
I’m sure Warner Brothers was waiting for this to feel legitimate, so I’m sorry I kept you waiting: Go see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Like the end of one of the first seven days of Genesis: it was good. Just to let you know – there won’t be any spoilers in my review. I don’t think it’s necessary, and since I’m telling you to go see it, it seems pointless to then tell you about specifics.
It’s possibly the best of the five movies, mostly because the acting of the children has continued to improve in each one (with perhaps the exception of Emma Watson, who plays Hermione a bit too stiff. Some of her reactions and emotional displays come off as forced, and you can tell she’s acting instead of being reactive. Still, I think that’s a matter of a director working with his/her actors and getting the right shots – some of my criticism of Watson’s acting is that the scenes go on too long, making her reactions appear unnatural – such as when she and Ron are laughing after Harry’s encounter with Cho). What’s incredible is that these children (all relative – if not complete – nobodies before these movies) are surrounded by a who’s who of British actors – all of them in essentially bit-roles. Amongst the Oscar winners are Ralph Fiennes, Maggie Smith, and Emma Thompson, and the other names are just as impressive: Robbie Coltrane, Alan Rickman, Jason Isaacs, Michael Gambon, David Thewlis, Gary Oldman, and newly-cast Helena Bonham Carter (I’m realizing that as I write these names, they may not all jump out as being recognizable, but I guarantee you’ve seen them in movies other than Harry Potter). Also newly cast in bigger roles are Imelda Staunton as Dorothy Umbridge (who she plays perfectly), and Evanna Lynch as Luna Lovegood, who I thought was brilliant (although, like the casting of Emma Watson as Hermione, is probably prettier than the book implies, but that’s Hollywood). Considering the limits of the script, the actors do a very good job.
It is those limits that I’ve been hearing about so much in complaints about the movie, although more the fact that the movie is not “true to the book.” This is false. The movie is incredibly true to the book, in that it does what it can with what it has (in other words, time and money). While it is a fact that the movie cuts out great swaths of the story Rowling wrote, the essential conflict is kept intact and done so in a satisfying manner. When you are trying to condense 700 pages into a two-and-half hour movie, cuts have to be made. I agree it is a shame that elements of character development are left out either partially or completely – why Harry is so angry, Ron and Quidditch, Neville and his parents, Chang and Cedric – almost all of those aspects are brought into the movie in one way or another.
More importantly, despite what people say, you can’t make a longer movie. Sure, hard-core fans may sit through a four hour film, but such a movie would alienate a less-devoted but no less curious majority, let alone casual viewers. I don’t know if I’m the completely accurate in my assessment here, but it seems to me that: 1) people can’t sit through four hours of movie, 2) don’t have four hours to watch a movie, and/or 3) simply aren’t interested enough to watch a movie for four hours. A four hour movie would be financially a poor decision (an answer I know never satisfies fans, but it is reality, folks), and I question the ability to add a number of the missing elements and make an interesting movie (oooh, Harry’s studying for O.W.L.S!).
I’ve discussed my adherence to my man McLuhan’s idea of “the medium is the message,” and as such, I find it necessary to point out: films are not live-action novels. They are two different mediums, and therefore can do things that that the other can’t do. People approach how they interact with the mediums differently, the mediums give information differently, and the technology that produces and disseminates them are different. A movie can’t include everything a novel can because it would then be too much.
You can’t bookmark a movie (remembering that movies are produced to be seen in movie theatres, not on DVD players).
What everyone should be happy with is that the movie maintains the inherent Harry Potterness that Rowling wanted, while keeping the movie (and the movies – remember this is a piece of something larger, too) in a coherent, forward-moving, direction. If you keep that firmly in mind, the movie is very satisfying. Heck, the scenes with Luna are worth the price of admission alone.
If you want to see comparisons of the movie with the book, check out this site. Although not set up as well as I would hope, the analysis is spot on (this will spoil the movie, if you haven’t seen it): Geeks of Doom – Harry Potter 5
And here’s the same for Goblet of Fire: Geeks of Doom – Harry Potter 4
In other Potter news: haven’t read the last book yet, but I did just pick it up. So you have something to look forward to (although I have another book I’m reading before I get to it, so you might have to wait).
Just a reminder: “Psych,” “Eureka,” and “The Closer” are a couple of weeks into their seasons, and they might be the best shows on television, so check them out.
“Psych”: USA, Friday, 10 p.m. (Eastern Time, of course. Might as well be Only Time).
“Eureka”: Sci-Fi Channel, Tuesday, 9 p.m.
“The Closer”: TNT, Monday, 9 p.m.
Another reminder: Carlos Mencia is still not funny. He's not a "Mexican Dave Chappelle." He's kind of an idiot.
And not funny.
Did I mention that?
Actually, it's not exactly what you think, but pretty darn close.
I’m sure Warner Brothers was waiting for this to feel legitimate, so I’m sorry I kept you waiting: Go see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Like the end of one of the first seven days of Genesis: it was good. Just to let you know – there won’t be any spoilers in my review. I don’t think it’s necessary, and since I’m telling you to go see it, it seems pointless to then tell you about specifics.
It’s possibly the best of the five movies, mostly because the acting of the children has continued to improve in each one (with perhaps the exception of Emma Watson, who plays Hermione a bit too stiff. Some of her reactions and emotional displays come off as forced, and you can tell she’s acting instead of being reactive. Still, I think that’s a matter of a director working with his/her actors and getting the right shots – some of my criticism of Watson’s acting is that the scenes go on too long, making her reactions appear unnatural – such as when she and Ron are laughing after Harry’s encounter with Cho). What’s incredible is that these children (all relative – if not complete – nobodies before these movies) are surrounded by a who’s who of British actors – all of them in essentially bit-roles. Amongst the Oscar winners are Ralph Fiennes, Maggie Smith, and Emma Thompson, and the other names are just as impressive: Robbie Coltrane, Alan Rickman, Jason Isaacs, Michael Gambon, David Thewlis, Gary Oldman, and newly-cast Helena Bonham Carter (I’m realizing that as I write these names, they may not all jump out as being recognizable, but I guarantee you’ve seen them in movies other than Harry Potter). Also newly cast in bigger roles are Imelda Staunton as Dorothy Umbridge (who she plays perfectly), and Evanna Lynch as Luna Lovegood, who I thought was brilliant (although, like the casting of Emma Watson as Hermione, is probably prettier than the book implies, but that’s Hollywood). Considering the limits of the script, the actors do a very good job.
It is those limits that I’ve been hearing about so much in complaints about the movie, although more the fact that the movie is not “true to the book.” This is false. The movie is incredibly true to the book, in that it does what it can with what it has (in other words, time and money). While it is a fact that the movie cuts out great swaths of the story Rowling wrote, the essential conflict is kept intact and done so in a satisfying manner. When you are trying to condense 700 pages into a two-and-half hour movie, cuts have to be made. I agree it is a shame that elements of character development are left out either partially or completely – why Harry is so angry, Ron and Quidditch, Neville and his parents, Chang and Cedric – almost all of those aspects are brought into the movie in one way or another.
More importantly, despite what people say, you can’t make a longer movie. Sure, hard-core fans may sit through a four hour film, but such a movie would alienate a less-devoted but no less curious majority, let alone casual viewers. I don’t know if I’m the completely accurate in my assessment here, but it seems to me that: 1) people can’t sit through four hours of movie, 2) don’t have four hours to watch a movie, and/or 3) simply aren’t interested enough to watch a movie for four hours. A four hour movie would be financially a poor decision (an answer I know never satisfies fans, but it is reality, folks), and I question the ability to add a number of the missing elements and make an interesting movie (oooh, Harry’s studying for O.W.L.S!).
I’ve discussed my adherence to my man McLuhan’s idea of “the medium is the message,” and as such, I find it necessary to point out: films are not live-action novels. They are two different mediums, and therefore can do things that that the other can’t do. People approach how they interact with the mediums differently, the mediums give information differently, and the technology that produces and disseminates them are different. A movie can’t include everything a novel can because it would then be too much.
You can’t bookmark a movie (remembering that movies are produced to be seen in movie theatres, not on DVD players).
What everyone should be happy with is that the movie maintains the inherent Harry Potterness that Rowling wanted, while keeping the movie (and the movies – remember this is a piece of something larger, too) in a coherent, forward-moving, direction. If you keep that firmly in mind, the movie is very satisfying. Heck, the scenes with Luna are worth the price of admission alone.
If you want to see comparisons of the movie with the book, check out this site. Although not set up as well as I would hope, the analysis is spot on (this will spoil the movie, if you haven’t seen it): Geeks of Doom – Harry Potter 5
And here’s the same for Goblet of Fire: Geeks of Doom – Harry Potter 4
In other Potter news: haven’t read the last book yet, but I did just pick it up. So you have something to look forward to (although I have another book I’m reading before I get to it, so you might have to wait).
Just a reminder: “Psych,” “Eureka,” and “The Closer” are a couple of weeks into their seasons, and they might be the best shows on television, so check them out.
“Psych”: USA, Friday, 10 p.m. (Eastern Time, of course. Might as well be Only Time).
“Eureka”: Sci-Fi Channel, Tuesday, 9 p.m.
“The Closer”: TNT, Monday, 9 p.m.
Another reminder: Carlos Mencia is still not funny. He's not a "Mexican Dave Chappelle." He's kind of an idiot.
And not funny.
Did I mention that?
Sunday, May 20, 2007
It's Pretty Darn Long and Convoluted
I haven’t written in a while, and I don’t necessarily have anything exciting to say at length, so I’m going to write a little, but a couple of times. Blogging Lite, I call it.
First up: Sister Act II. Great movie. Okay, “great” might be an over-statement, but as a staple TBS movie, it’s gold. A “TBS movie” being not only a movie that is played regularly on TBS, it is a movie that you can start watching from any point, and continue to the end, without missing any useful content. This is possible either because there is no useful content, or because the movie is so familiar that you already know what you’ve missed. For me, Sister Act II falls into both categories.
The things that make it such a good movie go beyond Whoopi Goldberg dressed up as a nun. It’s deep and insightful about the plight of inner-city schools. It’s basically a Stand and Deliver with less Latinos and more singing. Kind of like Natalie Wood starring in West Side Story.
And it’s actually the singing that’s so great. Sure, it’s a little slow in the beginning – these kids are way too “street” to sing. But sure enough, the super-hip Whoopi is able to convince them to give it a shot. Doing her best Harold Hill impression, she “la las” them into an amazing choir. And amazing they are. When they first perform, they are timid and shy, especially the soloist, who doesn’t seem to know how to sing at all. By bringing them back into focus, though, not only can they start to sing, but Ahmal, the soloist, turns out to be simply phenomenal. He tears the roof off with his rendition of “Oh Happy Day.” When he hits the high note that surprises everyone, if you don’t feel chills, then you have no soul (both literally and figuratively).
And then, of course, you have the finale, where they do the hip-hoppingest version of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” (Ninth Symphony), showing up the super-strict, traditional choir who sing the “same” song.
Everything comes together, we see Lauryn Hill is gonna be a super-star, and best of all, they save the school! Now, I went to a public school with a fantastic chorus, and I can honestly say that when the district almost went on austerity, no amount of fancy singing awards was going to kept those boys and girls in maroon jackets (it just so happened we had a championship football team and enough sports boosters willing to raise money until the next budget election to keep us rolling in the arts).
What’s so weird is that the movie was definitely a vehicle to showcase Lauryn Hill’s talents, but also to display Ahmal’s, played by Ryan Toby. But we all saw Hill’s assent into stardom, and yet Toby was left to the wayside. Or was he . . . ?
You see, Toby eventually resurfaced in the hip-hop/r&b group City High. He was one of the two guys you didn’t care about while watching Claudette Ortiz singing (you might remember the song “What Would You Do?”). So you see, Hill wasn’t the only one to make it (and Toby did it without becoming kind of a nut-job).
Also, if you pay attention, you’ll notice Jennifer Love Hewitt doing her thing—post- “Kids Incorporated”, pre-Trojan War—her three best works.
Lastly, the full title of the movie is Sister Act II: Back in the Habit.
It’s a pun. Pun’s are awesome.
‘Nuff said.
Now that I have a roommate, I find myself watching a lot more shows that I normally wouldn’t.
Reality shows.
Now, before I discuss these shows, I do want to point out that I wasn’t actually “forced” to watch television, but that instead of doing, say, anything else, I paid homage to that glowing black box.
Except my “box” is flat. God it’s beautiful . . .
Anyway, last week I saw the finales of two shows, the ubiquitous “Real World,” and “America’s Next Top Model.” Honestly, I don’t have a lot to say about the two shows, because they pretty much speak for themselves (literally), but I will say this:
1) Renee clearly should have won
2) Davis set back gay rights a couple of years
3) Everything in Tom de Zengotita’s book Mediated is completely true
Okay, number three is kind of a shameless plug (or, would be shameless if you knew anything about me, so maybe it’s just a plug), but it’s a great book if you want to understand the world we’re living in. It’s a little deep at times, but it’s got a pretty easy-going style.
Which leads me to . . .
Academic papers.
My semester is finally over, and having got my final papers back, I received one constant criticism (albeit in varied form): “colloquial style.”
Apparently, the way I write my papers (which I guess is kind of like how I’m writing right now), isn’t cool with the academic community. It’s not professional-sounding.
Oddly, though, I hear that as meaning: people can actually read it and understand it.
Case-in-point: I mentioned my problems with Emmanuel Levinas in a previous post. Here’s a guy who obviously had an idea, and went out of his way to tell the world about it. Or did he? Because, let me tell you, the world isn’t reading Levinas. That might be because they never heard of him, but it could also be because they can’t read Levinas. Even with someone more famous, such as Foucault, Sartre, or Nietzsche, very few people can actually read and understand their writing (“few” being a relative term). And yet apparently these guys are dropping pretty important knowledge. So where does that leave us?
Turning to others to translate for us. To bring us closer to understanding, say, Levinas’ understanding. But what happens when the “others” are just as impenetrable as the original?
Hubris.
Hubris?
Academic hubris. What I mean by this is that the “Academy” feels that it is the keeper of the Knowledge (capital “K”). Because their livelihood depends on being counted on to decipher these texts for us, it is imperative that they in turn encode their understanding so that they can preserver their role as “explainers.” Sounds like a conspiracy, doesn’t it? And yet it isn’t too far from the truth. “Acadamese” is essentially a technical jargon that you have to be trained to understand, and writing an academic paper becomes less about educating the masses as it is about displaying your ability to adhere to a system (for a cool example of how this worked, read this. You are automatically limiting your audience to people who understand your language.
Apparently, most of the world does not fit in that category.
Now, this may seem a bit ranty, but it just seems odd to me that a “conversational style” is an unacceptable form of discourse. I mean, if the Ideas are there, and they are presented with evidence to back them up, then who cares if it’s in the form of casual prose or a comic book? I don’t mind getting graded off for my content, but my form? What does form have to do with knowledge?
Answer: Nothing. It’s elitism and it’s snobbery.
It’s also kind of stupid. Think about it from a marketing stand-point: what is the value of a book that no one (relative) is going to read? Obviously technical matters, such as scientific papers, tend to be inherently dry, but even that has found a popular audience. Do you know who Stephen Hawking is? I rest my case. So think what you could do with the humanities. Imagine having a great idea on how to interpret a piece of literature, and writing up the idea in such a way so that everyone who reads that book thinks of your idea. Wouldn’t that be great? Moreover, isn’t that the point? To make your idea a part of the literature so that the two are inseparable, thus making your mark and ensuring your position. Which is, of course, the second point of marketing, in which you sell yourself. Style is the way in which writers distinguish themselves from other writers (in conjunction with content). And yet, I’m reading comments on my papers about topic sentences, anecdotes, and figures of speech.
Granted, there were also comments about content, but that’s besides the point—or, at least, part of the point, but not exactly something I wanted to share. But maybe I should. Because I think that maybe if I rocked the house with my research, my style wouldn’t be so much of an issue. However, I didn’t actually do that poorly on these papers, meaning that in the end, my theories weren’t too poorly articulated, and it was my style sticking in their craw, if only a wee bit.
The weird thing is that books like Hawking’s and de Zengotita’s have had success. Clearly there is research, clearly there are ideas, and yet they are written so that people can actually understand them (especially consider Hawking’s, whose A Brief History of Time, which sold quite well, was re-written as A Briefer History of Time, to make the theories even more accessible). I’m not saying I’m writing ground-breaking stuff, but at least someone without a graduate-level education could get to the crux of my papers.
Maybe that’s “selling out.” But last time I checked, universities were going away from the tenure system. Who’s more likely to be given a professorship in the future: the person who publishes Acadamese papers in journals, or the person who publishes best-selling books? I’m not saying I can even belong in either of these categories, but I’m thinking this: If I was the president of the university, I’d probably want the “name” on my faculty, because it might be easier to loosen the purse strings that bolster the endowment if I can trot out the guy who was on “Oprah” instead of the lady who presented at the International Conference on Poems Written About Left-Handed Haberdashers (I’m willing to bet that such poems exist, if not the conference itself).
In Death of a Discipline, a book that kind of falls on the Academic-side of this argument, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (say that name five times fast) calls for those who study Comparative Literature to join forces with those who engage in “Area Studies,” combining, re-thinking, and re-working the approach of these disciplines to be able to do a more thorough (and better) job. At a couple of points, she makes clear that this will not be an easy process, but in the end, this evolution will greatly benefit the studies.
Where I agree with Spivak is that it will be beneficial and that there will be resistance.
What I’m proposing though is not a “combination” of two disciplines, but a de-mystification of all disciplines.
Or maybe I just don’t want to have to change how I write my papers.
The bathroom at my job has a plaque that says:
Plan Ahead: It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
For some reason, I have a problem with this. First off . . . come on. Plaque in the bathroom? Is that necessary? If I want to read in a bathroom, I’ll bring my own material. Or, at least if you’re providing, try some magazines or something. I don’t want to be inspired on the toilet. I’ve got some things on my mind already. That’s why churches have pews, not stalls.
Second, what is the plaque saying, anyway? Yes, on a factual basis it wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark (and by the way, I have some problems with the fact that there are two “Arks” in the bible, and the more important one is less famous -- heck, if it wasn’t for Indiana Jones, some of us still might not know about it. I mean, couldn’t God have come up with a different word for these two artifacts? Then again, he did leave it up to Adam to name everything, so maybe we should just blame the Son of Man). But that’s not the point of the plaque. The message is that Noah, by building the Ark, had the forethought to be prepared for the Flood. That he was being prepared like a proto-Boy Scout.
Here’s my issue with this: He had God telling him to build the Ark! I’d plan ahead too if Yaweh sent me a personal e-mail detailing exactly what I needed to do if I didn’t want to die a horrible death.
So I guess my problem is not so much the message (as trite as it is), but the context. It’s not exactly fair to compare my getting a presentation ready with Noah building the Ark. Not really the analogy I would have went with.
Unless my job is trying to tell me to plan ahead about my time in the bathroom. In which case I guess I do make sure there is toilet paper.
I guess that went pretty long anyway. I should write my prefaces after I write the post.
First up: Sister Act II. Great movie. Okay, “great” might be an over-statement, but as a staple TBS movie, it’s gold. A “TBS movie” being not only a movie that is played regularly on TBS, it is a movie that you can start watching from any point, and continue to the end, without missing any useful content. This is possible either because there is no useful content, or because the movie is so familiar that you already know what you’ve missed. For me, Sister Act II falls into both categories.
The things that make it such a good movie go beyond Whoopi Goldberg dressed up as a nun. It’s deep and insightful about the plight of inner-city schools. It’s basically a Stand and Deliver with less Latinos and more singing. Kind of like Natalie Wood starring in West Side Story.
And it’s actually the singing that’s so great. Sure, it’s a little slow in the beginning – these kids are way too “street” to sing. But sure enough, the super-hip Whoopi is able to convince them to give it a shot. Doing her best Harold Hill impression, she “la las” them into an amazing choir. And amazing they are. When they first perform, they are timid and shy, especially the soloist, who doesn’t seem to know how to sing at all. By bringing them back into focus, though, not only can they start to sing, but Ahmal, the soloist, turns out to be simply phenomenal. He tears the roof off with his rendition of “Oh Happy Day.” When he hits the high note that surprises everyone, if you don’t feel chills, then you have no soul (both literally and figuratively).
And then, of course, you have the finale, where they do the hip-hoppingest version of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” (Ninth Symphony), showing up the super-strict, traditional choir who sing the “same” song.
Everything comes together, we see Lauryn Hill is gonna be a super-star, and best of all, they save the school! Now, I went to a public school with a fantastic chorus, and I can honestly say that when the district almost went on austerity, no amount of fancy singing awards was going to kept those boys and girls in maroon jackets (it just so happened we had a championship football team and enough sports boosters willing to raise money until the next budget election to keep us rolling in the arts).
What’s so weird is that the movie was definitely a vehicle to showcase Lauryn Hill’s talents, but also to display Ahmal’s, played by Ryan Toby. But we all saw Hill’s assent into stardom, and yet Toby was left to the wayside. Or was he . . . ?
You see, Toby eventually resurfaced in the hip-hop/r&b group City High. He was one of the two guys you didn’t care about while watching Claudette Ortiz singing (you might remember the song “What Would You Do?”). So you see, Hill wasn’t the only one to make it (and Toby did it without becoming kind of a nut-job).
Also, if you pay attention, you’ll notice Jennifer Love Hewitt doing her thing—post- “Kids Incorporated”, pre-Trojan War—her three best works.
Lastly, the full title of the movie is Sister Act II: Back in the Habit.
It’s a pun. Pun’s are awesome.
‘Nuff said.
Now that I have a roommate, I find myself watching a lot more shows that I normally wouldn’t.
Reality shows.
Now, before I discuss these shows, I do want to point out that I wasn’t actually “forced” to watch television, but that instead of doing, say, anything else, I paid homage to that glowing black box.
Except my “box” is flat. God it’s beautiful . . .
Anyway, last week I saw the finales of two shows, the ubiquitous “Real World,” and “America’s Next Top Model.” Honestly, I don’t have a lot to say about the two shows, because they pretty much speak for themselves (literally), but I will say this:
1) Renee clearly should have won
2) Davis set back gay rights a couple of years
3) Everything in Tom de Zengotita’s book Mediated is completely true
Okay, number three is kind of a shameless plug (or, would be shameless if you knew anything about me, so maybe it’s just a plug), but it’s a great book if you want to understand the world we’re living in. It’s a little deep at times, but it’s got a pretty easy-going style.
Which leads me to . . .
Academic papers.
My semester is finally over, and having got my final papers back, I received one constant criticism (albeit in varied form): “colloquial style.”
Apparently, the way I write my papers (which I guess is kind of like how I’m writing right now), isn’t cool with the academic community. It’s not professional-sounding.
Oddly, though, I hear that as meaning: people can actually read it and understand it.
Case-in-point: I mentioned my problems with Emmanuel Levinas in a previous post. Here’s a guy who obviously had an idea, and went out of his way to tell the world about it. Or did he? Because, let me tell you, the world isn’t reading Levinas. That might be because they never heard of him, but it could also be because they can’t read Levinas. Even with someone more famous, such as Foucault, Sartre, or Nietzsche, very few people can actually read and understand their writing (“few” being a relative term). And yet apparently these guys are dropping pretty important knowledge. So where does that leave us?
Turning to others to translate for us. To bring us closer to understanding, say, Levinas’ understanding. But what happens when the “others” are just as impenetrable as the original?
Hubris.
Hubris?
Academic hubris. What I mean by this is that the “Academy” feels that it is the keeper of the Knowledge (capital “K”). Because their livelihood depends on being counted on to decipher these texts for us, it is imperative that they in turn encode their understanding so that they can preserver their role as “explainers.” Sounds like a conspiracy, doesn’t it? And yet it isn’t too far from the truth. “Acadamese” is essentially a technical jargon that you have to be trained to understand, and writing an academic paper becomes less about educating the masses as it is about displaying your ability to adhere to a system (for a cool example of how this worked, read this. You are automatically limiting your audience to people who understand your language.
Apparently, most of the world does not fit in that category.
Now, this may seem a bit ranty, but it just seems odd to me that a “conversational style” is an unacceptable form of discourse. I mean, if the Ideas are there, and they are presented with evidence to back them up, then who cares if it’s in the form of casual prose or a comic book? I don’t mind getting graded off for my content, but my form? What does form have to do with knowledge?
Answer: Nothing. It’s elitism and it’s snobbery.
It’s also kind of stupid. Think about it from a marketing stand-point: what is the value of a book that no one (relative) is going to read? Obviously technical matters, such as scientific papers, tend to be inherently dry, but even that has found a popular audience. Do you know who Stephen Hawking is? I rest my case. So think what you could do with the humanities. Imagine having a great idea on how to interpret a piece of literature, and writing up the idea in such a way so that everyone who reads that book thinks of your idea. Wouldn’t that be great? Moreover, isn’t that the point? To make your idea a part of the literature so that the two are inseparable, thus making your mark and ensuring your position. Which is, of course, the second point of marketing, in which you sell yourself. Style is the way in which writers distinguish themselves from other writers (in conjunction with content). And yet, I’m reading comments on my papers about topic sentences, anecdotes, and figures of speech.
Granted, there were also comments about content, but that’s besides the point—or, at least, part of the point, but not exactly something I wanted to share. But maybe I should. Because I think that maybe if I rocked the house with my research, my style wouldn’t be so much of an issue. However, I didn’t actually do that poorly on these papers, meaning that in the end, my theories weren’t too poorly articulated, and it was my style sticking in their craw, if only a wee bit.
The weird thing is that books like Hawking’s and de Zengotita’s have had success. Clearly there is research, clearly there are ideas, and yet they are written so that people can actually understand them (especially consider Hawking’s, whose A Brief History of Time, which sold quite well, was re-written as A Briefer History of Time, to make the theories even more accessible). I’m not saying I’m writing ground-breaking stuff, but at least someone without a graduate-level education could get to the crux of my papers.
Maybe that’s “selling out.” But last time I checked, universities were going away from the tenure system. Who’s more likely to be given a professorship in the future: the person who publishes Acadamese papers in journals, or the person who publishes best-selling books? I’m not saying I can even belong in either of these categories, but I’m thinking this: If I was the president of the university, I’d probably want the “name” on my faculty, because it might be easier to loosen the purse strings that bolster the endowment if I can trot out the guy who was on “Oprah” instead of the lady who presented at the International Conference on Poems Written About Left-Handed Haberdashers (I’m willing to bet that such poems exist, if not the conference itself).
In Death of a Discipline, a book that kind of falls on the Academic-side of this argument, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (say that name five times fast) calls for those who study Comparative Literature to join forces with those who engage in “Area Studies,” combining, re-thinking, and re-working the approach of these disciplines to be able to do a more thorough (and better) job. At a couple of points, she makes clear that this will not be an easy process, but in the end, this evolution will greatly benefit the studies.
Where I agree with Spivak is that it will be beneficial and that there will be resistance.
What I’m proposing though is not a “combination” of two disciplines, but a de-mystification of all disciplines.
Or maybe I just don’t want to have to change how I write my papers.
The bathroom at my job has a plaque that says:
Plan Ahead: It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
For some reason, I have a problem with this. First off . . . come on. Plaque in the bathroom? Is that necessary? If I want to read in a bathroom, I’ll bring my own material. Or, at least if you’re providing, try some magazines or something. I don’t want to be inspired on the toilet. I’ve got some things on my mind already. That’s why churches have pews, not stalls.
Second, what is the plaque saying, anyway? Yes, on a factual basis it wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark (and by the way, I have some problems with the fact that there are two “Arks” in the bible, and the more important one is less famous -- heck, if it wasn’t for Indiana Jones, some of us still might not know about it. I mean, couldn’t God have come up with a different word for these two artifacts? Then again, he did leave it up to Adam to name everything, so maybe we should just blame the Son of Man). But that’s not the point of the plaque. The message is that Noah, by building the Ark, had the forethought to be prepared for the Flood. That he was being prepared like a proto-Boy Scout.
Here’s my issue with this: He had God telling him to build the Ark! I’d plan ahead too if Yaweh sent me a personal e-mail detailing exactly what I needed to do if I didn’t want to die a horrible death.
So I guess my problem is not so much the message (as trite as it is), but the context. It’s not exactly fair to compare my getting a presentation ready with Noah building the Ark. Not really the analogy I would have went with.
Unless my job is trying to tell me to plan ahead about my time in the bathroom. In which case I guess I do make sure there is toilet paper.
I guess that went pretty long anyway. I should write my prefaces after I write the post.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
I'd Make a "This was my SAT score" Joke, But I Don't Think That Makes Sense Anymore
In bowling, they’d call it a perfect game. If you hit it for your career, you’d be a Hall of Famer.
It’s 300. It was dope.
Dope-a-holic rex.
I liked it a lot.
First off, let’s give Frank Miller props. He made sure that Batman wasn’t a nipple-wearing jag-off, he made it so that people under the age of 25 know who Mickey Rourke is (which is questionable in its goodness, I know, but still. . .Diner. The popcorn. Mickey
Rourke), and he did it again with this movie about Sparta.
You know, of “This is Sparta!” fame.
Gerard Butler, who (which surprises the hell out of me), sucked crap as the Phantom in The Phantom of the Opera (the movie on the whole was pretty bad, save Emmy Rossum (hooray, cute girls!)), was really good as King Leonidas. What little dialogue there was in the movie, he delivered well, and I’m amazed he could talk after production, because everything was in that growly, shouty voice. Very impressive beard, too.
In a role much better than what he was given in Lord of the Rings, David Wenham did a great job as Dilios. Not that he was bad as Faromir, just that the role itself wasn’t that good, because Peter Jackson kind of made Faromir a dick/pussy. He wasn’t the Faromir of the books. In this movie, though, Wenham has a chance to make a character that does a job that doesn’t disappoint. He should be in more stuff.
The acting, though, wasn’t really what was important (although, of course, acting is always important). The key thing in this movie was the visuals. Like Sin City, the movie truly played up its graphic novel legacy, and the colors were surreal and yet believable. The armies, the action, the costumes – it is all staged to show fantasy. For example, the Spartans have the most impressive collection of six-packs since Delta Tau Chi threw their toga party. Seriously, those guys are ripped. I don’t want to get into another homoerotic thing so soon after my last post, but, I mean, Greece. . .
That aside (or that in the forefront!), the movie is awesome. The story is pretty basic David versus Goliath meets Braveheart fare (and it’s important to realize that Braveheart, with perhaps Glory, is the predecessor of this heroic, battle genre of movie: The Patriot (Braveheart Goes West), Gladiator, Troy, King Arthur, etc. -- perhaps, unsurprisingly, all movies I do not think are that good), but it’s not supposed to be anything overwhelming in that regard. It’s supposed to be about cool slow-mo action sequences, a little bit of breasticles (I’m sure that’s a word), and a tall-ass, half-naked dude with a ton of piercings and an impossible deep voice.
I know it might sound like I’m making fun of this movie, but I’m really just knit-picking (the one exception being some of the home-front political machinations – but even those aid the story). I loved this flick, and I can’t see why anyone wouldn’t. It’s violent, but not super gory, it’s sexy without being pornographic, and it’s fantastic without being absurd. It’s just a simple story with amazing graphics and competent acting.
I only wish I had seen it in IMAX.
It’s 300. It was dope.
Dope-a-holic rex.
I liked it a lot.
First off, let’s give Frank Miller props. He made sure that Batman wasn’t a nipple-wearing jag-off, he made it so that people under the age of 25 know who Mickey Rourke is (which is questionable in its goodness, I know, but still. . .Diner. The popcorn. Mickey
Rourke), and he did it again with this movie about Sparta.
You know, of “This is Sparta!” fame.
Gerard Butler, who (which surprises the hell out of me), sucked crap as the Phantom in The Phantom of the Opera (the movie on the whole was pretty bad, save Emmy Rossum (hooray, cute girls!)), was really good as King Leonidas. What little dialogue there was in the movie, he delivered well, and I’m amazed he could talk after production, because everything was in that growly, shouty voice. Very impressive beard, too.
In a role much better than what he was given in Lord of the Rings, David Wenham did a great job as Dilios. Not that he was bad as Faromir, just that the role itself wasn’t that good, because Peter Jackson kind of made Faromir a dick/pussy. He wasn’t the Faromir of the books. In this movie, though, Wenham has a chance to make a character that does a job that doesn’t disappoint. He should be in more stuff.
The acting, though, wasn’t really what was important (although, of course, acting is always important). The key thing in this movie was the visuals. Like Sin City, the movie truly played up its graphic novel legacy, and the colors were surreal and yet believable. The armies, the action, the costumes – it is all staged to show fantasy. For example, the Spartans have the most impressive collection of six-packs since Delta Tau Chi threw their toga party. Seriously, those guys are ripped. I don’t want to get into another homoerotic thing so soon after my last post, but, I mean, Greece. . .
That aside (or that in the forefront!), the movie is awesome. The story is pretty basic David versus Goliath meets Braveheart fare (and it’s important to realize that Braveheart, with perhaps Glory, is the predecessor of this heroic, battle genre of movie: The Patriot (Braveheart Goes West), Gladiator, Troy, King Arthur, etc. -- perhaps, unsurprisingly, all movies I do not think are that good), but it’s not supposed to be anything overwhelming in that regard. It’s supposed to be about cool slow-mo action sequences, a little bit of breasticles (I’m sure that’s a word), and a tall-ass, half-naked dude with a ton of piercings and an impossible deep voice.
I know it might sound like I’m making fun of this movie, but I’m really just knit-picking (the one exception being some of the home-front political machinations – but even those aid the story). I loved this flick, and I can’t see why anyone wouldn’t. It’s violent, but not super gory, it’s sexy without being pornographic, and it’s fantastic without being absurd. It’s just a simple story with amazing graphics and competent acting.
I only wish I had seen it in IMAX.
Friday, March 30, 2007
It may be Fire, but is it flamin'?
I saw the movie Fire last night, and all I can issue is a paragraph of disgust. I was appalled at the way the women in the movie acted, as if lack of instant marital bliss was enough of a justification for the revocation of ones vows, traditions, and customs. Call me old fashioned, but the sanctity of marriage is a holy union, and one that is not taken lightly. And yet the two women, Sita and Radha, are not only discontent with their marriages, but discontent with everything that makes them Indian as well. Exposing their weaknesses, while exploiting their husbands’ lenience, they fall into each others embrace as if it is the most natural thing in the world! Living in sin, the two find “comfort” with each other, meanwhile displacing the family dynamic, including causing the expulsion of their faithful servant Mundu and upsetting poor, voiceless Biji. In fact, except for the part when Biji spits in Radha’s face, there is no redeeming part of this movie other than when Radha catches on fire. It’s only a shame she doesn’t die.
It’s also a shame if you agreed with anything I just wrote in the paragraph above. As fun as misogyny, homophobia, and the preservation of ”quaint traditions” might be, there has to be a point where you realize that being a narrow-minded bigot is both unattractive and a little crazy.
Let’s face facts:
1) When is it ever bad when two hot women make out?
And, more seriously (but, to be honest about myself, not too much “more seriously”)
2) Who the hell are you?
Listen, I’m not an expert on hermeneutics (and right off the bat, if you use the Bible to justify your arguments about any topic, and don’t know what the word “hermeneutics” means, you should probably take yourself immediately out of the running to be part of this conversation), but I’m pretty sure that the New Testament (the part of the book where Jesus shakes up and clarifies the practices and beliefs from the Old Testament) never says anything about ripping on other people for what you yourself perceive to be transgressions. There is no call for “sin shouting,” as it were. In fact, when I think back to the eight years of religious education I so joyfully sat through as a child, three main points seemed to have been drilled into my head time and time again:
1) The Golden Rule: Love others as you would love yourself
2) He who is without sin cast the first stone (which therefore eliminates everyone from casting stones)
3) Parents do not appreciate having to pick up their child for making “funny” comments during religion class. Apparently it’s a little embarrassing.
Aside from the third one, the rules that Jesus brought down to Earth were about love and compassion, forgiveness and understanding. And while I think it’s pretty heinous to even think about homosexuality or queerness as being a sin in the first place (and I try not to comment on my hyper-links, but the music alone is worth going to the previous link - it's hilarious), even if it is, it’s not anyone’s place to say so. I realize this might seem offensive to pretty much everyone, but I think it’s important to understand the whole picture, and I see it as this:
If your beliefs are teaching intolerance of others, then what’s that say about your beliefs?
Going back to the movie itself (which, if you’re still reading, you must be thinking to yourself: How the hell do you talk about cinematography after that little diatribe?), it was actually quite stunning in its simplicity and beauty. The dialogue is sparse (which is good, if only because the sound editing was pretty atrocious – of course, it might have been dubbed, but if so, it looked like the actors were speaking English), but effective. The use of color and light created the exotic and erotic well. And of course the parallelism between the repeating story of the god Ram, Sita, and the trial by fire with the actual narrative helps show why it is so important that Radha doesn’t die in the fire. Her love, in the end, is pure, and despite that, she must be exiled. It is interesting that the character named Sita in the movie and the character in the folk-story do not line up. I’m not quite sure what the point of that was except maybe to make it not so obvious, and therefore, blatantly cheesey.
Probably more important than anything is that although the movie is about discovering and giving in to desire and physical pleasure, the very acts are rarely seen. If they are, it is only through glimpses and muted scenes, showing how very unimportant the sex act is after all. It is the desire that is important, and that’s why Sita says to Radha: “There is no word in our language that can describe us. How we feel for each other.” Showing sex would be a way to try to define it, and you really can’t. Oddly enough, the most graphic sexual act are the two scenes in which Mundu masturbates while watching porno in the presence of Biji. I think it’s telling that these scenes are both disturbing and comical.
A few things did bother me about the movie, but they are more technical matters more than anything. First, although I had a good idea what the movie was about, I was still surprised that not enough had transpired to indicate that Sita was in love with Radha. It seemed very sudden to me. That might tie into the fact that I felt the movie was a bit disjointed at times. Scenes were provided almost as snapshots instead of continuous narrative, and sometimes I thought more information might have done us, as the audience, a bit of good. But overall, the story was provided as a powerful whole, and I’m glad I saw it.
Still, I'm not sure I recommend it, at least not as a piece of entertainment. It's not entertaining, but informative. But it is also only informative as an archive, because it's over a decade old. To put it another way, it's a good movie, but a possibly dated one: we can still learn from it, but I think the cultural impact it would have today is almost more about the Indian rather than the queer. And maybe that's the point in the first place.
It’s also a shame if you agreed with anything I just wrote in the paragraph above. As fun as misogyny, homophobia, and the preservation of ”quaint traditions” might be, there has to be a point where you realize that being a narrow-minded bigot is both unattractive and a little crazy.
Let’s face facts:
1) When is it ever bad when two hot women make out?
And, more seriously (but, to be honest about myself, not too much “more seriously”)
2) Who the hell are you?
Listen, I’m not an expert on hermeneutics (and right off the bat, if you use the Bible to justify your arguments about any topic, and don’t know what the word “hermeneutics” means, you should probably take yourself immediately out of the running to be part of this conversation), but I’m pretty sure that the New Testament (the part of the book where Jesus shakes up and clarifies the practices and beliefs from the Old Testament) never says anything about ripping on other people for what you yourself perceive to be transgressions. There is no call for “sin shouting,” as it were. In fact, when I think back to the eight years of religious education I so joyfully sat through as a child, three main points seemed to have been drilled into my head time and time again:
1) The Golden Rule: Love others as you would love yourself
2) He who is without sin cast the first stone (which therefore eliminates everyone from casting stones)
3) Parents do not appreciate having to pick up their child for making “funny” comments during religion class. Apparently it’s a little embarrassing.
Aside from the third one, the rules that Jesus brought down to Earth were about love and compassion, forgiveness and understanding. And while I think it’s pretty heinous to even think about homosexuality or queerness as being a sin in the first place (and I try not to comment on my hyper-links, but the music alone is worth going to the previous link - it's hilarious), even if it is, it’s not anyone’s place to say so. I realize this might seem offensive to pretty much everyone, but I think it’s important to understand the whole picture, and I see it as this:
If your beliefs are teaching intolerance of others, then what’s that say about your beliefs?
Going back to the movie itself (which, if you’re still reading, you must be thinking to yourself: How the hell do you talk about cinematography after that little diatribe?), it was actually quite stunning in its simplicity and beauty. The dialogue is sparse (which is good, if only because the sound editing was pretty atrocious – of course, it might have been dubbed, but if so, it looked like the actors were speaking English), but effective. The use of color and light created the exotic and erotic well. And of course the parallelism between the repeating story of the god Ram, Sita, and the trial by fire with the actual narrative helps show why it is so important that Radha doesn’t die in the fire. Her love, in the end, is pure, and despite that, she must be exiled. It is interesting that the character named Sita in the movie and the character in the folk-story do not line up. I’m not quite sure what the point of that was except maybe to make it not so obvious, and therefore, blatantly cheesey.
Probably more important than anything is that although the movie is about discovering and giving in to desire and physical pleasure, the very acts are rarely seen. If they are, it is only through glimpses and muted scenes, showing how very unimportant the sex act is after all. It is the desire that is important, and that’s why Sita says to Radha: “There is no word in our language that can describe us. How we feel for each other.” Showing sex would be a way to try to define it, and you really can’t. Oddly enough, the most graphic sexual act are the two scenes in which Mundu masturbates while watching porno in the presence of Biji. I think it’s telling that these scenes are both disturbing and comical.
A few things did bother me about the movie, but they are more technical matters more than anything. First, although I had a good idea what the movie was about, I was still surprised that not enough had transpired to indicate that Sita was in love with Radha. It seemed very sudden to me. That might tie into the fact that I felt the movie was a bit disjointed at times. Scenes were provided almost as snapshots instead of continuous narrative, and sometimes I thought more information might have done us, as the audience, a bit of good. But overall, the story was provided as a powerful whole, and I’m glad I saw it.
Still, I'm not sure I recommend it, at least not as a piece of entertainment. It's not entertaining, but informative. But it is also only informative as an archive, because it's over a decade old. To put it another way, it's a good movie, but a possibly dated one: we can still learn from it, but I think the cultural impact it would have today is almost more about the Indian rather than the queer. And maybe that's the point in the first place.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Correcting my friends (Politically)
Last weekend, I got into a “friendly” (because we always remember, eventually, that we are friends, despite the heat and disgust we might feel towards each other at the time) argument about the formation of images and the crafting of messages.
Or, at least, I think that’s what we were talking about. These things tend to spin wildly out of control.
What it came down to was a discussion of why I would never see Borat. My friends, who know me quite well, insisted it was my kind of humor. I insisted it was America-bashing, and that while satire is fine, it is the custom of satire to bring the king down to our level.
As Chase, in the beautiful piece of cinema Drive Me Crazy, points out: “We laugh when the debutante slips on the banana peel, not Tiny Tim.”
While the people in these movies may deserve our ridicule, it is because (at least in my opinion) the people were set-up to be suckers. I don’t care that Sascha Baron Cohen and his lawyers provided waivers – they were counting on human nature to overcome that hurdle. These people were not fully aware of the situation, and thus conned into revealing things they probably (and I acknowledge the “probably”) would not have, and ultimately made to look like fools by a professional clown (which isn’t a disparagement, but rather a way of identifying what Baron-Cohen does for a living).
We argued about that.
At some point we got to Fahrenheit 9/11, and once again I proclaimed I would never see that movie. Oddly enough, despite its clearly anti-Bush rhetoric (which I don’t necessarily disagree with, just despise for its simplicity – in my mind at least; you may wish to question me on that), my dislike of the movie stems from a dislike of Michael Moore and his blatant subjectivity (he said ironically). Baron Cohen, who I think can be genuinely funny and insightful, has a movie I won’t watch for specific reasons. Moore, who I find thoroughly detestable, has a movie I won’t see because of what amounts to strict irrationality.
It should be noted that this dynamic isn’t surprising, and yet I feel I’m not always conscious of it, and that is not really a good thing for someone who aspires towards objectivity, even in my opinions. In other words, I’m trying to be open-minded, but too often my fingers are in my ears, and I’m shouting “LA LA LA LA LA!!!”
-- This condescending description of how opinions work brought to you by David --
Moore, who was both attacked and defended through the invocation of such inflammatory names as Coulter and Limbaugh, led to my friend asking if I ever read Al Franken’s latest book. I scoffed.
The reasoning behind my scoff was because I’m oddly allegiant to conservatives, in spite of some of my overwhelming liberal tendencies (you try to shut down political evolution with six years of university under your belt). I believed (and still believe) that it is one thing to criticize the talking-head morons on the Right, but it is another to do so in a way that, in turn, creates the perception that you are making fun of the beliefs of half the country.
Remember that word: “perception.” It is important because what I tried to argue (in other words, I argued and tried to get across) was that it would ever matter what Franken’s message was, because of the medium in which he chose to convey it. This had pretty much always been my position regarding avoidance of inflammatory (seeming) Liberal rhetoric, but having recently been inundated with copious amounts of Marshall McLuhan, I think I finally localized my argument into a semblance of coherent, rational thought.
As such, I was very proud of myself and equally bewildered by my friends’ inability to not only grasp my argument, but to not bow to the magnificence of my logic. It’s very bothersome.
My contention was that by framing his argument via the humorous essay (in book-length form), Franken is producing a text that is automatically abhorrent to the very people he’s trying to convince. His arguments could be sound and irrefutable, but if the idea is to convince the Right that their unelected spokesmen are full of it, he chose exactly the wrong medium. His proposals are preaching to the choir, because they are the only ones who would ever be inclined to read it.
At some point during this argument, someone (me) brought up An Inconvenient Truth. To set this up, it must be noted that I saw this movie because I was a global warming skeptic, having just read Michael Crichton’s State of Fear. My friends thought I was an idiot (and I’m man enough to admit that they were right. . .to a point, but that’s a whole other conversation), so I suggested I’d watch the movie if they read the book. I saw the movie, but my “friends” (yeah, those lying bastards are in quotes for the rest of this paragraph), didn’t read the book. But that’s not really super-important right now.
What is relevant is that the movie was not only about Al Gore’s ideas, but starred Al Gore. This is where my problem lied (lie? lay? laid? Goddamn verb tenses!), because to me, Al Gore is such a polarizing figure. This may surprise some people, as it surprised my friends, because to many, Gore is practically a harmless figure in the political arena, but to Conservatives, there is no person more heinous than William Jefferson Clinton, unless that person is Hillary Rodham Clinton. After that, though, there is hatred by proxy, and Gore, through association with the Clintons, is a figure that brings out irrationality in a lot of normally level-headed folk. My thought was how this affected his message. Because by making a movie that appears to be Al Gore talking about global warming, instead of a movie about global warming, he effectively alienates a segment of the population that needs not be alienated.
This is not about skepticism. I’m sure there were/are skeptics in both parties, and no movie is going to be strong enough to shake someone with a solid belief. But there were people on the fence from the right who could have been convinced, but were repelled by Gore. Repelled by Gore and his antagonistic title. Repelled by a politician at a politically-charged time.
Despite the fact that the movie is not political, per se (obviously it’s political, but it’s not about national, Red versus Blue politics), it comes off as being political by people who want to see it as political. Al Gore on the screen makes it electorally political. The problem with that is that the movie is supposed to be about global warming. It is a universal issue that needs universal (and immediate) coverage, but instead looks like an overt attempt to re-enter the political arena. It plays as political, and not as scientific, especially to people who haven’t (and because of the reason stated above, won’t) seen the movie.
My suggestion, then, was for Al Gore to have stepped aside and allowed a less politicizing figure to narrate the story. At the time, I was advocating a “neutral” movie star (personally, I was gunning for Will Smith, because that guy is box-office gold!), but I’ve started to realize that although that might have brought slightly more people to the theatre, it might have provided fodder (as my friend argued) for the movie’s critics. So instead, I think perhaps a no-name actor, or better yet, a Conservative scientist, using Al Gore’s script and slides, could have done a better job at selling the movie. If the idea is to spark action against global warming, then why does it matter that Al Gore did the work putting this together? What’s more important: Al Gore getting all the credit, or global warming being exposed to a mass audience? I know which side of the fence I’m on, and I’m pretty sure which side of the fence my friends are on. I think it’s just harder for them because they don’t see how distasteful Al Gore can be to some people.
Remember, though: It doesn’t matter if you understand the reason, it matters that you are prepared to act on it.
Of course, last Wednesday, Gore was on television, testifying to Congress, so maybe this is a moot point. Still, in a world where our lives are practically dictated by Madison Avenue, wouldn’t a sounder marketing strategy have created a better opportunity to get the facts out in the open? I just think that the idea wasn’t even considered.
Don’t get me wrong, either. I’m using Gore’s movie here because that’s what I talked about with my friends, but this goes for almost all political texts (texts as in movies, books, essays, columns, and radio shows), in which the end result is not to truly create change, but to sell a product. It is politics as commodity, where you preach to the choir knowing full well that they will lap it up, even though it means cutting off the opposition, and often-times antagonizing them (inadvertently or not). Limbaugh is loathsome to the Left because he plays the game so well. Franken is loathsome to the Right because he tries to play the game.
And Gore is bothersome, because he didn’t realize that he was still in the game.
Or, at least, I think that’s what we were talking about. These things tend to spin wildly out of control.
What it came down to was a discussion of why I would never see Borat. My friends, who know me quite well, insisted it was my kind of humor. I insisted it was America-bashing, and that while satire is fine, it is the custom of satire to bring the king down to our level.
As Chase, in the beautiful piece of cinema Drive Me Crazy, points out: “We laugh when the debutante slips on the banana peel, not Tiny Tim.”
While the people in these movies may deserve our ridicule, it is because (at least in my opinion) the people were set-up to be suckers. I don’t care that Sascha Baron Cohen and his lawyers provided waivers – they were counting on human nature to overcome that hurdle. These people were not fully aware of the situation, and thus conned into revealing things they probably (and I acknowledge the “probably”) would not have, and ultimately made to look like fools by a professional clown (which isn’t a disparagement, but rather a way of identifying what Baron-Cohen does for a living).
We argued about that.
At some point we got to Fahrenheit 9/11, and once again I proclaimed I would never see that movie. Oddly enough, despite its clearly anti-Bush rhetoric (which I don’t necessarily disagree with, just despise for its simplicity – in my mind at least; you may wish to question me on that), my dislike of the movie stems from a dislike of Michael Moore and his blatant subjectivity (he said ironically). Baron Cohen, who I think can be genuinely funny and insightful, has a movie I won’t watch for specific reasons. Moore, who I find thoroughly detestable, has a movie I won’t see because of what amounts to strict irrationality.
It should be noted that this dynamic isn’t surprising, and yet I feel I’m not always conscious of it, and that is not really a good thing for someone who aspires towards objectivity, even in my opinions. In other words, I’m trying to be open-minded, but too often my fingers are in my ears, and I’m shouting “LA LA LA LA LA!!!”
-- This condescending description of how opinions work brought to you by David --
Moore, who was both attacked and defended through the invocation of such inflammatory names as Coulter and Limbaugh, led to my friend asking if I ever read Al Franken’s latest book. I scoffed.
The reasoning behind my scoff was because I’m oddly allegiant to conservatives, in spite of some of my overwhelming liberal tendencies (you try to shut down political evolution with six years of university under your belt). I believed (and still believe) that it is one thing to criticize the talking-head morons on the Right, but it is another to do so in a way that, in turn, creates the perception that you are making fun of the beliefs of half the country.
Remember that word: “perception.” It is important because what I tried to argue (in other words, I argued and tried to get across) was that it would ever matter what Franken’s message was, because of the medium in which he chose to convey it. This had pretty much always been my position regarding avoidance of inflammatory (seeming) Liberal rhetoric, but having recently been inundated with copious amounts of Marshall McLuhan, I think I finally localized my argument into a semblance of coherent, rational thought.
As such, I was very proud of myself and equally bewildered by my friends’ inability to not only grasp my argument, but to not bow to the magnificence of my logic. It’s very bothersome.
My contention was that by framing his argument via the humorous essay (in book-length form), Franken is producing a text that is automatically abhorrent to the very people he’s trying to convince. His arguments could be sound and irrefutable, but if the idea is to convince the Right that their unelected spokesmen are full of it, he chose exactly the wrong medium. His proposals are preaching to the choir, because they are the only ones who would ever be inclined to read it.
At some point during this argument, someone (me) brought up An Inconvenient Truth. To set this up, it must be noted that I saw this movie because I was a global warming skeptic, having just read Michael Crichton’s State of Fear. My friends thought I was an idiot (and I’m man enough to admit that they were right. . .to a point, but that’s a whole other conversation), so I suggested I’d watch the movie if they read the book. I saw the movie, but my “friends” (yeah, those lying bastards are in quotes for the rest of this paragraph), didn’t read the book. But that’s not really super-important right now.
What is relevant is that the movie was not only about Al Gore’s ideas, but starred Al Gore. This is where my problem lied (lie? lay? laid? Goddamn verb tenses!), because to me, Al Gore is such a polarizing figure. This may surprise some people, as it surprised my friends, because to many, Gore is practically a harmless figure in the political arena, but to Conservatives, there is no person more heinous than William Jefferson Clinton, unless that person is Hillary Rodham Clinton. After that, though, there is hatred by proxy, and Gore, through association with the Clintons, is a figure that brings out irrationality in a lot of normally level-headed folk. My thought was how this affected his message. Because by making a movie that appears to be Al Gore talking about global warming, instead of a movie about global warming, he effectively alienates a segment of the population that needs not be alienated.
This is not about skepticism. I’m sure there were/are skeptics in both parties, and no movie is going to be strong enough to shake someone with a solid belief. But there were people on the fence from the right who could have been convinced, but were repelled by Gore. Repelled by Gore and his antagonistic title. Repelled by a politician at a politically-charged time.
Despite the fact that the movie is not political, per se (obviously it’s political, but it’s not about national, Red versus Blue politics), it comes off as being political by people who want to see it as political. Al Gore on the screen makes it electorally political. The problem with that is that the movie is supposed to be about global warming. It is a universal issue that needs universal (and immediate) coverage, but instead looks like an overt attempt to re-enter the political arena. It plays as political, and not as scientific, especially to people who haven’t (and because of the reason stated above, won’t) seen the movie.
My suggestion, then, was for Al Gore to have stepped aside and allowed a less politicizing figure to narrate the story. At the time, I was advocating a “neutral” movie star (personally, I was gunning for Will Smith, because that guy is box-office gold!), but I’ve started to realize that although that might have brought slightly more people to the theatre, it might have provided fodder (as my friend argued) for the movie’s critics. So instead, I think perhaps a no-name actor, or better yet, a Conservative scientist, using Al Gore’s script and slides, could have done a better job at selling the movie. If the idea is to spark action against global warming, then why does it matter that Al Gore did the work putting this together? What’s more important: Al Gore getting all the credit, or global warming being exposed to a mass audience? I know which side of the fence I’m on, and I’m pretty sure which side of the fence my friends are on. I think it’s just harder for them because they don’t see how distasteful Al Gore can be to some people.
Remember, though: It doesn’t matter if you understand the reason, it matters that you are prepared to act on it.
Of course, last Wednesday, Gore was on television, testifying to Congress, so maybe this is a moot point. Still, in a world where our lives are practically dictated by Madison Avenue, wouldn’t a sounder marketing strategy have created a better opportunity to get the facts out in the open? I just think that the idea wasn’t even considered.
Don’t get me wrong, either. I’m using Gore’s movie here because that’s what I talked about with my friends, but this goes for almost all political texts (texts as in movies, books, essays, columns, and radio shows), in which the end result is not to truly create change, but to sell a product. It is politics as commodity, where you preach to the choir knowing full well that they will lap it up, even though it means cutting off the opposition, and often-times antagonizing them (inadvertently or not). Limbaugh is loathsome to the Left because he plays the game so well. Franken is loathsome to the Right because he tries to play the game.
And Gore is bothersome, because he didn’t realize that he was still in the game.
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