It’s Christopher Nolan’s birthday today. He’s 39. Happy Birthday, Chris! I’m going to do a post about your movies soon in honor of this, and I’m sure one of my readers might skim it! Then, if all goes as planned, you can stumble across it one night, decide I am your new protege, and we can be best friends and I can come to your birthday party and you’ll give me the Batmobile. Oh yes, it’s all coming together.
Monthly Archive for July, 2009
We keep saying that Obama, being as inexperienced as he is, will inevitably stumble clumsily over a learning curve, and with the Gates arrest we’ve finally seen it happen. Whoopsie daisies, dude. Since the opposition has been determined to call everything he does novice-y since before January, I’ve most disregarded the John McCain-esque “you just don’t say that” stuff I keep hearing. But this time, is anyone really going to deny he made a mistake? If you can make a compelling case, let’s hear it, but with a few day’s thought I’m pretty sure we all agree that he just put gasoline on a flame. His PR people must have been banging their heads against desks all week. I read a statement from him where he claimed that he should have “calibrated” his words differently. Huh? How exactly does one “calibrate” the word “stupidly”? Is there any tone of voice that takes the bite out of that one?
And look, I’m not here to tell you that what happened to Gates was the best police work in the world, but at the very least we all have to concede that no one’s ever going to know for sure what took place. It was one of those messy incidents that everyone projects all over: some people look at it and say “there go those crazy liberals,” some jump to “damn racist cops.” Everyone is so freaking sure, which is how you can be certain that no one really knows. Reactionaries on both sides sound off like the end of days, and then the whole thing melts off and rots in our subconscious. I’m getting exhausted just thinking about how Glenn Beck and Al Sharpton plan to run this thing into the ground. Here we go again, Dear Reader.
And all of that is without the leader of the free world blowing off some steam in front of everybody. I suppose his refusal to properly apologize in the aftermath could signal one of two things: maybe he’s stubborn, or maybe the comment was a deliberate play. Perhaps there was some kind of voter base he was performing for, and he fancies himself crazy as a fox. He’s not. If you want to appear to have a hard line on racial profiling without any substantial legislation, you need a Rodney King-style screw-up with witnesses and irrefutable evidence. You need to kick a downed dog, and kick it hard; some may say you’re overdoing it, but that’s the point. This is not Rodney King. This is an ugly little fiasco, it has no snickering, Disney-style villains to crusade against. Stable that white horse, man, ride in for a different damsel. I’m sure there will another one, there’s little denying that unfair racial profiling still occurs in this country. It’s not nice, and we don’t protect it anymore, but it happens.
With that being said, I have serious doubts about Gates’ version. If you look at the two stories as narratives, his just…doesn’t feel right. It would very credible if we were talking about a cop lashing out and striking him, doing something in anger that he could later deny. But hauling the dude into the police station, where there are other cops and attorneys? Why would this supposed white devil do that? What’s the endgame? Just because you say that it’s “racist” doesn’t necessarily mean it shouldn’t somehow make sense. Even a KKK member would usually only commit hate crimes they had some plan for getting away with. How does the cop benefit from dragging this situation into the light by taking you in? Or is your position that an officer of the law—who has taught seminars on racial equality for years, by the way—got so blindingly full of racist fury that he just had to arrest a black man? Although I’m exaggerating the argument, I do so because I find neither scenario plausible. And while I concede that the officer’s version casts its villain as a little over the top as well, I at least can understand why. This man is learned expert on black history, he knows about the discrimination our society has effected on his people for hundreds of years, and he’s being interrogated for breaking into his own house. On a bad day, that could send me over the edge, too. So Gates got angry, maybe refused to show ID on principle, and the officer on the scene overreacted to “contempt of cop.” That I can believe, especially since it sits squarely between the conflicting accounts. But like I said before: I can’t really know, and neither can anyone else. If Akira Kurosawa’s “Rashomon” left me with one important message, it’s that the truth eludes people not because we always lie on purpose, but because we perceive so differently.
So now Obama wants to sit the two down for a beer. Uh, sure, whatever you say, man. Personally, I think he should out-and-out apologize. He overreacted, it happens, but freaking fess up to it. I can’t stand when authority figures refuse to own up where they clearly should. It’s so pretentious, your position does not preclude you from honesty. All he’s done is “regret” how his words “were taken,” which is a crass way of saying, “I’m sorry you can’t handle it.” And again, I don’t fathom any other way to take the phrase “acted stupidly.” Are you going to look me in the eyes and tell me we all just misunderstood what “stupid” means? Maybe he’s felt like there have been too many apologies coming out of his administration lately, and I’m sorry to hear that, but bite the bullet. I have a lot of respect for our law enforcement, and I find it objectionable for our President to talk about them that way.
Say you’re sorry.
Although I’m uncertain if it technically falls within the purview of my normal work, my internship finds me manning the reception desk today. It’s a surprisingly tense job, to be honest with you, because there’s such an abundance of protocol, all of which must be executed in rapid order. I think people can tell I’m panicking up here, wildly throwing the wheel port and starboard, no constellations in the sky.
But moving right along, Dear Reader, I saw a wonderful film last night. Those of you who possess powers of Netflix should mosey on over to the “Instant” section and view a little flick called “Double Indemnity,” a Billy Wilder picture from ’44. It’s classic California noir, sinister and foreboding with just the right edge of absurdity. You never take it too seriously, but it spins a compelling web, and the dialogue crackles like the characters all had ten minutes to think out their conversations before having them.
I’m gradually becoming a fan of noir, after a few rough patches between the genre and I. The first time I tried to watch “Chinatown” (which is technically a “neo noir” I suppose) was a few years back, and at the time I was even more ignornat about cinema than I am now. I struggled with it, and then some kind of time commitment pulled me away and I never felt compelled to return. I had enjoyed “Touch of Evil” much more, but it had been years since I saw it, and for some reason I felt little desire to visit it again. I began to wonder if our relationship wasn’t ill-fated, something that would have disappointed me profoundly on account of the fact that I love German expressionism and anti-heroes, and both of those things are cornerstones of noir. The way things got better was a little backwards: I discovered neo-noirs, even third and fourth generation neo-noirs. Many of them left little impression on me, but three became all-time favorites: “Blade Runner,” “The Usual Suspects,” and “Bound.”
The first, of course, is Ridley Scott’s highly existential sci-fi detective story. Although coming to understand this masterpiece was a long journey, the arrival was well worth it. “Runner” taught me about the hypnotic qualities of noir, and this was an invaluable piece of instruction. I had assumed that since the genre was literally drenched in darkness both thematic and visual, I was intended to be put on alert, to watch defensively. But Ridley’s lesson was that noir wants to wash over you, to burn in your throat like whiskey. There is not a single drop of rock and roll in it, everything is jazz and blues (if you’ll ignore the obvious historical connection between the first and last).
On top of that, “Blade Runner” was the movie that definitively expanded my horizons beyond likable and/or charismatic protagonists. Many other films had tried to win me over on this, but Harrison Ford’s brilliantly disillusioned Deckerd broke the camel’s back. He wasn’t charming, he wasn’t smooth or in good shape, and although he was a decent detective, his methods were conniving and sneaky; ol’ Rick got farther from being able to take a punch than being able to throw one. Worst of all, he didn’t have any triumphant self-awareness about his shortcomings like Richard III, he was an average guy who thought of himself as more capable than he was.
But these are the men who populate noir: not just sexy villains that everyone loves like Hannibal Lecter, but legitimately cold-hearted low lives with no amazing talent to offset it. Men who lie to themselves first and foremost. Ugly reflections of the most deluded parts of human nature. For many years such characters made no sense to me, but the complexities of adult life (or the brief part of it I’ve experienced so far) teach you that it is people like this you should be afraid of becoming. They are decent enough, or at least not particularly bad, until they find it in themselves to make that one little wrong decision…
I have said many times that “The Usual Suspects” is the best neo-noir of all time, and I maintain that assertion. It is best in two ways: firstly, on merit alone with no concern towards genre; it is simply a better piece of film making than even the most esteemed of its colleagues, “L.A. Confidential.” Secondly, but just as important in this discussion, “Suspects” perfectly captures the key components of noir, and does so with such grace that you’d be hard pressed to notice. Most entries in this genre are loud pieces a la “Brick,” screaming their identity until you can’t miss it. I have no problem with that, but I admire this a little more.
Roger Ebert once said that the point of noir is that there are no heroes. “The Usual Suspects” epitomizes this, as its entire cast of protagonists are thieves and murderers, who in the end are all slaughtered by another thief/murderer because he is much better at it than them. What’s remarkable about the film is how it manages to involve you so completely in these men’s lives, while simultaneously never quite permitting them to be…loved, exactly. You care what happens to them to such an intense degree that you can scarcely keep your seat, but their untimely demise feels correct anyway, and you don’t mourn them even slightly. They were terrible men.
Some have complained that “Suspects” does not “look” adequately noir, and this is ridiculous. Much of its daytime photography would be right at home in the sun-drenched desperation of “Indemnity” and “Chinatown,” and the night stuff, particularly on the boat, is so expressionist you might think Fritz Lang shot it. Everything about this movie is noir, and yet so few people outside of the film community seem to notice. I think this is why “Suspects” was so important for me: it got me acquainted with the tone and texture of the genre in a subtle, permanent way.
“Bound” is as noir as it gets, albeit the Wachowski Brothers (making an incredible debut just prior to “The Matrix”) dropped in lesbians just for good measure. The two leads are no one’s idea of how gay women actually behave, but there’s something almost adorable about two comic book geeks reveling in fantasy. The first thirty or so minutes is more or less about our “heroes” beginning an affair, and while it has a very real over-the-top charm, it would be a disaster in a film that asked for open sympathy towards its characters. Fortunately, all “Bound” requires is that you agree to the following: these ladies are smart, determined, and in a lot of danger.
Although I won’t spoil anything, the central plot revolves around Gina Gershon’s Corky and Jennifer Tilly’s Violet attempting to rip the mob off for a cool $2 million. The plan is ingenious, and possibly largely thanks to Violet’s status as trophy girl for a local mob goon (the wonderful Joe Pantoliono). Once the first quarter of the movie is over, a gritty ticking clock thriller emerges from the enjoyable but silly trash. Where we had cartoony lesbians exchanging throaty dialogue, suddenly we’ve got headstrong women fighting for their lives, improvising, manipulating, flying a little too close to the sun. It’s a psychological showdown of relentless intensity, and it’s totally grounded. Even if you enjoyed the beginning, you have no time for it now.
If “Bound” departs from its origins at all, it does so by being a little too thrilling. There’s no time to sit back and ruminate on double-crossing dames, or how everyone’s in on the take, or any of those wonderful pessimistic noir adages, because there isn’t even time to freaking breathe. In every other regard, though, “Bound” is daddy’s little girl, totally committed right down to the shooting style.
I saw all of these movies with absolutely no intention of rekindling a flame with noir, and because of this they were able to impart smidgens of wisdom and guide me towards their ancestors. The next time I watched “Chinatown,” it clicked. That led to “The Maltese Falcon,” which led to Humphrey Bogart in general. Now things were beginning to move, but I wasn’t all-in until I saw Hitchcock take a whack at it with “Dial M for Murder” (some debate that one, I think it counts), “Vertigo” and “Strangers on a Train.” Boom, sold.
I’m not well-versed in the genre by any means yet, but I think there’s a good chance that someday I will be. I always knew we were meant to be together.
-Hiring Sam Raimi to direct a “Warcraft” movie should be awarded with a Nobel Prize. It’s so rare to hear movie news so good, so exciting, that you literally want to jump up and down. “Warcraft” helmed by Raimi? Yes, please. I picture a campier, wilder “Lord of the Rings,” a fantasy action picture with roots in B-cinema. Now there’s a fresh take I could get excited about.
-Kissing bandmates during a concert is lame. At a recent U2 concert, Bono and the bassist (Adam Clayton, is it?) got a little mouth-friendly. Jane’s Addiction also used to do this (big shock), as well as the whole Madonna/Britney Spears thing, etc. Does anyone else feel that this is in incredibly poor taste? Even when Springsteen makes out with his wife in front of everybody, I dislike it. You’re on a freaking stage! There are thousands of people watching! As a rule, any sexual activity you engage in is now disgusting and weird. Blegh.
-Conan O’Brien is sucking wind. His numbers are terrible, and I am absolutely flabbergasted. The poor guy, he’s getting beaten by Letterman. Letterman. I have never met a single individual who likes this man. I know they exist, and indeed there may be millions of them, but I think it’s significant that I have completely unintentionally remained totally free of them my entire life. The only other groups of people this applies to are satanists and Scientologists, so it doesn’t bode well.
What the hell is going on, people? The prince and lord of Late Night Television steps up to his birthright, and we give him the cold shoulder? I demand we all start watching, and then calling Nielsen to tell them so. Immediately. If he gets knocked out, or even remembered poorly in the long run, I will never forgive all of you. NEVER.
-Microsoft Excel could stand to take it easy. I’m not denying that “Excel” is a quality program, but sometimes its nature is so punishing to the self-teaching user that it borders on intolerable. The problem is, there are occasionally changes you make with a single keystroke that the software forbids you to take back. If I arrange a list alphabetically, there is no readily apparent apparatus to return the items to the order in which they were entered. Like, ever. And don’t even get me started on the format shenanigans of the cells; one errant dash, and “Excel” decides you’re entering dates and begins right-justifying everything, or inserting “July” on every “7,” and so forth. Yes, I can remove this in the “Format” tab, but it still irritates me. I wish the program wasn’t so damned keen on being a step ahead of me.
Of course, the “Excel” wizards can make the thing do jumping jacks, and I confess I’m not one of them. But can’t I just be left to my simple ways, without the higher echelons of functionality coming down off of Olympus and changing my crap around? I know my grasp is clumsy, but why won’t the software work out a truce with me, like “Word” and “Powerpoint” do? When I’m ready, I will call on you to auto-format everything I do, but for now I’d just like to get in and get out unharmed. As it is, using “Excel” is more or less like diffusing a bomb: one wrong move, irrevocable consequences.
-Cats cannot be trusted. Mark my words, Dear Reader: when the chips are down, their whole species is going to rise up against us. I don’t buy their act for one minute. They saw dogs living the sweet life, they decided to play along, but when I look in their little cat eyes I know that we are nothing more than a means to an end. Most cat owners I know have to beg their pet just to touch them, have been randomly clawed for no reason, and won’t even see the thing for days on end.
The best part is, these people always tell me their relationship is more “complex” than one you could have with a dog, that cats earn “respect.” I get a giggle out of this. What on earth are you talking about? It’s a cat. It poops in a box you set on the floor, then dopes up on name-brand opium you buy it at “Petsmart.” If this is a complex relationship, then your personal life is in strange order.
I am also told that dogs are “annoying.” I suppose if I owned a cat, pure and selfless love would become foreign to me as well. And the idea that they “slobber” or “hump your leg” is grossly overstated: some breeds do that, plenty are incredibly laconic and do not. There is every imaginable size and temperament of dog available. What almost every dog will do is bark at intruders and throw their own bodies in front of yours if they sense danger. You’re not going to get that treatment from a feline. They don’t call them “cat burglars” for nothing.
Of course, I’m just messing around, millions of people are happy with their cats, and why should that bother me? But in the spirit of playful rivalry: cats are lame.
Except for you, Penny. You’re all right.
-Obama rocked the business at the NAACP talk. You can’t deny it. Or yeah, some of you probably can, but I don’t care. The dude suddenly remembered that he is the first President in our history who is invulnerable to charges of racism, and then he got up in front of the NAACP and called it like he saw it. A lot of people bristled like porcupines, but it did not matter, because no one gets to call him ignorant. And it’s not that I enjoy anyone being critical of the black community, but with hell-hounds like the ACLU waiting to sue you blind for the slightest comment, it’s incredibly rare to see someone speak their mind.
A white President could not, and maybe should not, say those things. But God bless America, we finally have a black man in office. Without trivializing the accomplishments of JFK and LBJ, I don’t think a white commander in chief could ever command the kind of credibility that this country needs to improve race relations. I’m sure many of them have wanted to, but in some ways it’s just not their place. Maybe that’s unfair, but again, it’s reality.
Of course, simply being a black President is far from enough, but it does put you in a position unique from your predecessors. The question is: what do you do with it? So far, it seems like Obama intends to stir things up, and I’m okay with that.
Believe what you’ve heard, Dear Reader, yours truly is entering a week-long period of wife-lessness. Every now and then when I was a child, my father would enter such a spousal hibernation while my mother was on some business trip, and although he went into each one with a positive attitude, by the time we were driving to the airport you could sense the desperation. Husbands need their wives, we come to depend on them more than we’d care to admit. Some people like to joke that this absence mainly affects the cleanliness of the house or the quality of dinner, but the truth is far more insidious: the real gap is emotional, psychological.
The worst part is that when the lady departs, you are suddenly free to commence all the ridiculous activities you are constantly griping that she won’t let you do. For about a half of a second, you think, “Sweet!” And then you start doing them, and slowly two things dawn on you at once: firstly, they aren’t as much fun when no one is around being annoyed. Secondly…they’re not really that great in the first place. It’s a sobering moment most of us try to ignore, stuffing our faces with terrible food and telling ourselves that we’re having a wonderful time. As far as rebellious stands go, it’s pitiful.
What are these activities, you ask? Let me list them:
1. Video games. Let me tell you something that is true: video games are only half as fun when there’s nothing wrong with playing them. No, don’t argue with me, Dear Reader, we both know it’s true. I can shoot a thousand aliens and/or zombies with a rocket launcher, but without Corelyn going “Ewww, how can you PLAY this?” it just isn’t the same.
2. The guys. Ah yes, “the guys.” As soon as the wife is gone, we always talk about how much time we’re gonna get with “the guys.” Problem is, “the guys” can only stand each other for relatively brief periods of time before fist fights break out. Women, apparently, can innately sense these limits, and have developed a habit of forcing us to go to the grocery store just a few minutes prior, sparing us our disillusionment.
3. Disgusting food. Ask yourself seriously how much time you’d like to spend in various positions around a toilet bowl, then re-assess this so-called “pleasure.”
4. Whatever radio station I feel like. A remarkably tame pay-off when compared to the fuss we put up when a woman (gasp) changes the station. You get to the end of that Metallica song she hates, and…uh…that’s sort of it. Now it’s time for three hours of commercials.
5. Sovereign Control of Room Temperature. Okay, this one is actually pretty good.
6. Unlimited Access to Lavatory. I mean, I guess it’s nice to not wait that extra minute to take a leak, but an isolated relationship with the wash room forces every man to a horrifying conclusion: we are the cause of all the bad things here. It’s not like my wife leaves foul odors around the toilet, or smeared tooth paste in the sink, or blood on the floor. Suddenly we begin wondering if she spends so much time in there because she’s trying to mitigate the disasters we affect upon every visit.
Except stray hair. That’s on you, ladies, and you know it.
7. Very Few Errands/Chores. With the ol’ ball and chain removed from the premises, one immediately concludes that an incredible amount of loafing is going to occur in tandem with an absolute famine of chores. This is true. But we never stopped to consider why those chores were being asked of us, we just assumed they eminated from some perverse need to torture men who look happy. We did not study their causes, nor acknowledge their completion’s effects.
So now, two days into our so-called renaissance, there is a dark brown obelisk in the litter box and the roof has collapsed; I can’t even imagine what those of you with children experience. The chores are all worse because we waited too long to do them, and we don’t have anyone giving us helpful deadlines and step-by-step instructions anymore. We used to call it “bossy,” now…we feel a little differently. Things are looking grim for our hero.
8. Domination of the Bed. Ah, at long last! It’s all mine! I think I’ll put my arm over there! And there! And my leg over here! Aaaahahahaha…ha…hm…can’t really get comfortable on the other side, I’m not used to it. Ugh, is this the pillow she uses? It’s terrible. Wow, I do not care for the way the sunlight hits me in the eyes from over here, either.
…All right, what was that noise? Easy, Andrew, it’s nothing. There’s nobody here, it’s just an empty room. A big, dark, cavernous, foreboding–what the hell was that noise, there it is again!
Okay, okay, I’ll sleep in the middle. Aaaah, right in the middle, all the space in the world…kind of feels weird, actually. The bed sort of slopes towards the middle, I feel like I’m napping on top of a freaking canyon. If only I could lay on this side, and someone else laid on the other si…
Damn it.
And, scene.
So there you see, Dear Reader, the cold hard truth. Married men like being married men, and any false-eyed wistfulness for bachelorhood is puffed-up talk.
Still, I take comfort knowing that Corelyn is off having fun with her mom and sister, joining them on their New England road trip. No doubt those three lawless rebels are out there right now, on the run from the law and living on a prayer.
And I’m still going to play a lot of Xbox. HaHA!
Bwahahaha, how I love to watch my opponents fall at my feet. You may have opened to solid numbers, “Bruno,” but you dropped a whopping 80% in your second weekend, practically guaranteeing that you never even flirt with a domestic gross in the $100 millions. Many are speculating as to the cause of this, but I offer a simple scenario. Imagine, if you will, the hypothetical water cooler. Conceive in your mind two males, age 18-35 (unquestionably the pic’s target demo), gathered around that office oasis, wearing neatly pressed collared shirts and shooting the breeze on Monday morning.
Dave: Hey Bob, how’s it going?
Bob: Going good, Dave. How was your weekend?
Dave: Oh, it was all right.
Bob: Say, didn’t you see that “Bruno” movie?
Dave: Sure did, Bob!
Bob: Well, spill the beans! How was it?
Dave: Oh it was great!
Bob: Really? Cause I was on the fence…
Dave: No, dude, go see it! There were like fifty penises!
Bob: Wow that sounds gr—wait…what did you say?
Dave: Penises! Fifty of them!
Bob: Oh, I…oh.
Dave: Man, they finally made a movie that satisfies the heterosexual male’s desire to look at wangs.
Bob: Uh…yeah…I guess…
Dave: I mean, I think I speak for all of us when I say that I’m absolutely johnson-starved by most movies. I just sit there going, “Where are the penises?” Don’t those fat cats in Hollywood know how much heterosexual men love testicles?
Bob: Dude, I’m not really with you there.
Dave: What? Come on, everyone loves a good penis.
Bob: I’m pretty sure they don’t. Boobs, dude. You’re thinking about boobs.
Dave:…Crap, you’re right. I can’t fathom wanting to see a gigantic wang on a movie screen. Suddenly it occurs to me that “Bruno” should have no appeal to me whatsoever, especially since comedies like “The Hangover” are out.
Bob: Well, maybe the gay community will like it.
Dave: Unlikely, seeing as the makers have all but gone out of their way to piss off and alienate most mainstream homosexual communities.
Bob: Who in the hell is going to go watch this thing?
Dave: Me, apparently. I don’t know why I did it, it just felt like I should. But now that it’s done, I’m neither going back nor telling anyone else to go.
Aaaaand, scene.
It’s true, Dear Reader, than in failing to get the universal support of the gay community, “Bruno’s” makers shot themselves in the foot. This movie needs champions, and heterosexual men are only perverted enough to go out of curiosity, they won’t keep coming back. And they might not even like it that much, because they don’t relate to Bruno at all, or if they do they’re sure as hell not going to admit it. Now you can make a movie about a homosexual person or persons and do some real business, but why would you not court the gay community hand and foot while doing so? “Bruno” may not be an accurate representation of them, but it is a hyperbole of their existence, and so they are the ones most likely to recognize and appreciate the subversive fun at hand. You needed them behind you one hundred percent, guys, and from what I can tell you scarcely even bothered. And let’s not forget, people like me are going to take our cues from the gay community as to what’s in good taste/fun, and what isn’t.
I’m doing the film a favor talking about it this much, because the damned thing has already evaporated from public consciousness. I guess I’m hoping that a general sense of disappointment may be better for Baron Cohen’s career than what he’s got right now, which is a silent dismissal. And he’s a funny guy, I’d like to see him do something that exuded a little more class and substance, maybe get some real use out of his enormous talent. But the ball is squarely in his court now.
I’ve seen a couple of movies recently, thought I’d let you know in comparatively brief reviews what I thought of them.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
RATING: B+
I liked it, nice work. Director David Yates is starting to get really comfortable in his position, and his camerawork is more confident than last time around. The special effects have stepped up a notch, and Quiddich games finally look like they’re actually happening. This is also the first HP film where Daniel Radcliffe completely owns the role; he’s always looked perfect, and his slightly wooden acting has been forgivable since Harry himself is a little awkward, but something clicks into place in this performance that has never been there before. There is charisma and gravitas going on here, and while I lament that this couldn’t have surfaced sooner, I also appreciate that Radcliffe has clearly been trying to step up his game with each new entry. Emma Watson, who was the shining star of the first few flicks, is for some reason getting more and more uncomfortable with each go. She’s still good, but there are moments where it seems like her training is too theatrical, and she puts too much (in the words of Calculon the acting robot from “Futurama”) “AAACCTTINNG TALENT” into moments that should be played gently.
I’m not even going to bother telling you that Alan Rickman is the man as Snape, but I’m quite surprised by how Michael Gambon has improved as Dumbledore. While some might say he gets a bum rap for replacing the late Richard Harris, I think he has been guilty of straying too far from Rowling’s masterful image of the Headmaster, turning him into a bizarre, unsympathetic, almost violent person. However, something is finally working right this time around—maybe the script is better tuned to him, maybe he’s listened to his feedback, but whatever the case I’m okay with him. (SPOILER) I still wish he would have cared more about the benevolent, loving side of Albus, but I can’t deny that he sent the character out in style. (END SPOILER)
Public Enemies
RATING: C-
Sigh. I kept thinking about that line from Macbeth: “Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” This is a very long movie with a lot of characters who love, fight, and die, but the filmmakers never even approach making any kind of statement about any of it. It’s all flat. Some have been fooled into thinking that Johnny Depp’s John Dillinger is a three dimensional character, but he isn’t. He’s charismatic, sure, and Depp squeezes every drop the script gives him, but the story still starves because there’s an absolute famine on those pages. It’s all mind-numbingly rote: Dillinger escapes, Purvis hunts him, Purvis catches, Dillinger escapes, Purvis hunts him, over and over, and all the while it feels like director Michael Mann thinks he’s too cool to say anything about what’s going on. There is not a single discernible character arc in this picture, everybody comes out the same way they went in, even if they’re dead when the damned thing’s over. Worst of all, Christian Bale’s Purvis and Depp’s Dillinger have absolutely no relationship of any kind. They don’t like one another, they don’t hate one another, they just point guns and fire. Perhaps Mann would argue that this is “historically accurate,” but this is a movie. If you’re going to do a picture about two men at war, you do not have any excuse for giving them nothing to say to one another. You don’t get to have your cake and eat it, too: you can’t put a drab, uninteresting plot in front of me and then get all Pontius Pilate on it, acting like it isn’t your fault just because you read it in a book.
My other significant gripe is the camerawork. Mann elected to shoot “Enemies” with a combination of HD cameras (mainly the F-23 and Ex-1), a bold choice for a period piece. While I admire his gusto, I can say without hesitation that his gamble failed. Nine times out of ten, the pixelated image quality is enormously distracting, and the night time scenes are so bad they border on unwatchable. There is also a bizarre insistence on close ups and extreme close ups in every scene that really hampers the clarity of the picture, as if Mann is trying to out-Bourne “The Bourne Ultimatum.” What the hell was he thinking, covering dialogue scenes with a fast zoom on Christian Bale’s cheekbones? Arrrghh!
That said, the whole thing goes off with gloss and professionalism: the bank robberies are staged like ballets, and there’s one spectacular shoot-out that occurs around a cabin in the woods which may just be worth the price of admission. Bale and Depp both work hard, Billy Crudup is great as J. Edgar Hoover, and the dialogue is written with razor sharp precision. Marion Cotillard is absolutely enchanting as Dillinger’s girl, and probably the only truly rounded character in the whole piece (I can only imagine how magical the movie would have been if she was the central character, and all these robbers and G-men were just supporting). There are positive things to say here, so the movie is not a complete wash, but there’s too many misfires to ignore. Making a good movie is not about being flawless, it’s about knowing which flaws you can risk and which you can’t. Michael Mann, a brilliant and accomplished director, should have known not to risk a vapid story or hazy lensing.
As a side note, his next movie better hit hard, because this is the second time in a row he has made a mindless, meaningless crime picture. A few years back, he gave us “Miami Vice,” which also suffered from a complete absence of character or meaning. “Enemies” is unquestionably better, since it has a great action scene and top-shelf actors, but it’s disquieting to know that I can’t write “Vice” off as a fluke. What are you doing, Michael?
Many things going on in the world of entertainment, Dear Reader. I feel an obligation to keep you up to speed with them.
The New Harry Potter. Everyone’s holding their breath: can this thing make bank with no new books coming out? Can it still draw them in when everyone knows the ending? The smart money says “absolutely,” since the reviews have been very good and the ticket sales have been strong. So, for the moment, it seems like Warner Bros. can rest easy. But honest to God, I’m not totally convinced they can ride the wave forever. They’ve decided to split “Deathly Hallows” into two movies, and that’s a very wise move, but by the time they get these effects-laden, ultra-expensive monsters into the multiplex a couple of years down the road, will things have quieted down? I mean it hasn’t been that long since the last book came out, but it will have been years by then. I’m still worried for them.
Bruno. It didn’t kill. It did better than they “expected,” which is of course ridiculous, since studio execs always deliberately under-expect their profits. But the reality is, the movie just came and went. There is no question in my mind that “Bruno’s” respectable but shrug-worthy $30 M haul represents a failure to capitalize on the lightning-in-a-bottle phenomenon of “Borat.” I guarantee you they spent that much on the advertising campaign alone. Fortunately for them, Sacha Baron Cohen’s movies are overwhelmingly cheap to make, so it’s not like they’re taking a loss, but they’re also not rolling in bedspreads made of $100 bills.
Personally, I still kind of blame the ad campaign, which couldn’t go two seconds without mentioning “Borat.” There’s something pathetic and desperate about that, honestly. I understand that some people aren’t going to recognize the guy, and you need to get the word out, but it went too far. And although I have zero plans to watch the movie, those who have tell me that the over-the-top, gross-out nature of the flick borders on desperate. I have not met or read anyone who didn’t feel at least a little turned off by it. “Bruno” is really no different, in that way, from “Transformers 2″: it wants to force your love. It’s the kind of art that is made by accountants, trying to quantify enjoyment. As a person who owns and thinks somewhat highly of “Borat,” I’m going to pass.
Honest to God, no one even cares about the gross-out stuff. The most repulsive scene in “Borat” (you know the one I mean) is almost universally skipped, everything else is what made the movie work. Similarly, the scenes people talk about with fondness from “Bruno” have little to do with gay sex, so why were the people behind the movie so convinced they had to push the envelope? All they got out of it was a divided gay community, and it would have unquestionably bolstered the box office numbers to have their support. It just pet peeves me when people try to be offensive. I know that some art is revolutionary, I recognize that a great piece of entertainment often needs to push your standards, but I find it so loathsome when that’s the only trick you’ve got. It makes you come off like the kid in high school that would do anything to be liked. It’s just sad, I feel like you’re showing me your true colors, and they’re pretty dull.
Left 4 Dead 2 Controversy. It just rages on. “Left 4 Dead” is a survival shooter released last year in November by Valve, a company of impeccable quality. A brand new IP for them, it was quickly seized by long-time Valve devotees and newcomers (like myself) alike, and even though there was a limited amount of content, the replayability was very high and we were promised lots of downloadable add-ons. So now here we are, less than a year later, and instead of DLC we’re getting a full-priced sequel. “L4D2″ features all new maps, new characters, new zombies, but the engine is the same, and there’s no question that it’s going to feel familiar. Many Valve fans are incredibly upset, as many as 30,000 of them are claiming to boycott. All the while, the company has been patiently insisting that the new game will be worth the hard-earned cash.
Personally, I’m not even going to hesitate to scoop up the sequel, but I concede that it’s a strange move. The better part of a decade elapsed before they sequeled “Half Life,” or “Team Fortress,” or any of their other mainstream IPs, so it’s clearly a new business model for them to do this now. Many are revolted that Valve could be doing this “just for the money,” but even if they are, I’m still going to support them. In the era of Wii, we’re already seeing video games erode into the same watered down, focus-group obsessed crap that movies have become. All the money is in getting the casual gamer, the guy or gal who picks up a game once or twice a month. Personally, I dread this future. For so long, we gamers were left to our devices, and our relationship with the studios who made our entertainment was close-knit. There was no casual market, everything was designed for the hardcore, and we truly didn’t know how good we had it.
Soon, I wonder if there will be a market for games like “Dead,” where unique art styles, daring ad campaigns, and game mechanics designed for hundreds of hours of longevity rule the roost. We are so accepting of niche markets in this industry, games for specific subsets can actually get decent budgets. And gamers are ruled only by what is fun and available, you don’t have to have a star or a famous name attached to your project. Take a look, for example, at this ad campaign for Valve’s own “Team Fortress 2,” a competitive online shooter where players select one of a dozen or so different classes to play as (engineer, soldier, medic, heavy, etc). Each class has pros, cons, and a huge amount of personality, all of which is driven home by a wonderfully-implemented cartoon art style. Will there be room for this anymore?
(FYI: They’re a little violent, but it’s all cartoon violence)
Look at that. You try to tell me with a straight face that there is a serious market for 1950s Cold War cartoons. It’s a niche, and niches are the most wonderful kind of liberating. But now, with more and more Americans taking notice of the video game industry, I fear we are going to lose the boldness, the bravery that made games like this possible. Companies like Valve may find themselves with slimmer profit margins, as everything goes the way of “Wii Fit” (blegh). I’m not convinced this sequel is a cash-grab, but even if it is, I don’t care. I’ve got your back, guys.
I am sitting in a chair. But not just any chair. I have somehow found my way into the seat that begat all other seats. The armrests are at a perfect height, and made of a deliciously soft rubber. The cushion beneath me employs a gentle concave structure; it supports without being loud about it. And the back is firm, holding my posture with comfortable rigidity, yet sliding backwards to allow me my occasional stretch or semi-recumbent daydream.
Who designed this thing? Where is the genius who made it possible? Come here so I can bow at your feet, you have fashioned the Sistine Chapel of desk chairs. You may think such praise is odd for just a chair, Dear Reader, but I know you’ve gone through having a bad one. It ruins everything: the squirming, the sore feeling when you get up, that loud squeak every time you shift your weight. To accomplish a great chair is to provide an invaluable component of any workday. There are so many places in life where excellence is not properly recognized, even though they are often invaluable for healthy living. Why do we lavish praise on splotches of paint on a canvas, and not the guy right next to us who changes our life for the better? What has the Mona Lisa done for you lately?
Unrelated note, I’m sure many of you share my conviction that family values are crucial for a healthy, moral society. If that’s the case, may I humbly request that you go grab yourself the new TIME Magazine, which features a front-page article called “Unfaithfully Yours,” by Caitlin Flanagan. The article is a master stroke, a bruising essay on the waywardness of our society’s priorities, and a desperate call for us to change our lackadaisical attitude towards marriage and parenthood. Don’t worry, you’re not in for some Bill O’Reilly scream-fest, it’s just forceful honesty in a time when that is desperately needed.
Look it up.
Hey there, Dear Reader. You know what I love? Favorite things. I have so many favorite things, it’s almost exhausting keeping up with them all. But the benefit of it is that every now and then, I can regurgitate these carefully catalogued, constantly updating gems onto you! Whee! Today, the prognosis is grim: favorite…VIDEO GAMES.
Yes, some of you scoff. Some of you openly mock this brave new artistic medium. Those same people then proceed to a local movie theater and pay $15 to watch ten minutes of advertisements before two hours of mind-numbing disappointment. A mediocre video game will usually provide 20 hours of solid enjoyment, and at full retail price (which is more expensive than most games), you’re paying $6 for every two hours of actual fun…and there are no messages from the sponsors. Hypothetically speaking, a very good video game—especially one with a multiplayer focus—can easily push out 100 hours of genuine enjoyment, in which case the rate drops to less than $2.
In this strange land that some of you look down on, all of the following are generally true:
1. Sequels are better than originals. Certainly not an infallible rule (cough Devil May Cry 2 cough), but the average re-up in the gaming world is a significantly improved product. The technology improves, the game play tightens, the feedback gets absorbed. For some reason, Hollywood is obsessed with focus groups but utterly calloused towards the guy at the water cooler who could tell you what was wrong with your product in two seconds. The gaming industry actually listens, and holds itself accountable.
2. Reviews are correct. Even though gaming journalism gets in bed with the corporate machine like nobody’s business, the review structure has remained oddly intact. Games that get full-page ad space on IGN.com will still get ripped to shreds when the press copy hits their desk. More to the point, game designers and publishers really care about these ratings; some marketing firm working for the new “Tomb Raider” got caught deliberately trying to alter its score on Metacritic.com. There is some documented proof that your average ranking correlates to your sales, because everyone cares and everyone is watching.
And it’s not like game reviews use the vague crap that movie journalists resort to, everything is hard evidence: there’s too many glitches, the weapons aren’t balanced, the controls are uncomfortable. The subjectivity margin is way, way lower than what you’re used to on Ebert and Roeper. I don’t blame movie critics for their weatherman-like inability to predict your satisfaction, it’s just how the cookie crumbles, but there’s no denying that ratings are better suited to this world.
3. Innovation actually takes place. If you watch a movie from a decade ago, you’re dealing with stuff pretty similar to what you’ve got now. The cell phones are ridiculous-looking and a few haircuts have gone out of style, but a flick shot on 35mm in ’95 is still on par with (if not ahead of) everybody today.
A video game from 1995 is like a different planet. The acceleration of new ideas in this field is so rapid that it’s almost unhealthy. It took the cinema decades to start timidly playing with sound, but in that same space of time, our plumber friend Mario went from 256 colors in two-dimensions to high def, realtime generating 3-D environments, particle effects, motion control, facial and vocal recognition, and online play with people all over the world. Hollywood is patting itself on the back for beginning to hesitantly embrace streaming delivery methods, but Valve’s Steam, Penny Arcade’s Greenhouse, and Xbox Live have been doing it full-speed since before the technology was even good enough. They are desperate to innovate, movies seem desperate not to.
4. Problems get fixed. Yes, it’s true, Dear Reader, that a video game is not a static product in the way that a movie is. Not anymore. If a level is too difficult, or a character plays funny, it’s almost become a joke to shrug it off and say, “They’ll get it in the patch.” And they will. Video games embrace and use field testing, and not that BS kind that Hollywood does where a member of each ethnic group sits in a dark room with a scorecard. Actual field testing. The development cycle has fully embraced the fact that it has a phase after “release.” You don’t see this kind of dynamic, customer-oriented growth in motion pictures.
Whoops! I got off on a tangent there and didn’t actually give you my favorites. Next time, Dear Reader. Next time.