Monthly Archive for September, 2009

Abject Failure

Published on September 22, 2009 in Uncategorized. 4 Comments

In a complete reversal of the expected course of events, Megan Fox and Diablo Cody proved unable to summon any kind of box office by combining their rings of power into “Jennifer’s Body.” I’m pleased by this turn of events, but I’m also so surprised that I don’t quite trust it. I thought the movie was crass and stupid to begin with, especially the way in which it purports to be “feminist” and yet literally objectifies its female lead before it’s even done with the opening title card. I wonder if Megan Fox’s agent warned her that people already see her as getting by exclusively on her looks, and that starring in a film which labels itself suggestively by her physical appearance might add fuel to the flame.

Still, I expected to tolerate its glorious box office assent, much like I endured “Bruno” (and then watched with satisfaction as it vanished off the radar). I even thought it possible that I would see it, because the concept by itself would intrigue me, and I still stand staunchly behind the wonderfulness of “Juno.” But when “The Informant” appeared on the radar, I did away with even the slightest care about the thing. Now it seems that everyone else did, too. I’m really quite curious why. Let me list some reasons I thought it might succeed, and then counter them with theories on what seems to have happened instead:

1. Men are morons. Megan Fox has never been anything but a watered-down Angelina Jolie for me, and say what you will about ol’ Tomb Raider, but she is a legit star with real sex appeal and talent. This is why I’ve found my gender’s endless fascination with our friend from “Transformers” particularly tiresome. It worries me terribly that men seem to look at her as some kind of holy grail, some vision of what they wish every female was. Really? This is it? This is Helen of Troy for you guys? Cause to me, she looks like a dolled-up sixteen year old. That’s another thing you can’t deny about Angelina: she looks like, and indeed is, a woman.

Anyway, I was fairly certain that slobbering idiots were going to march blindly into the theater, taking orders from her like an unholy army. Now I find that my people really didn’t take the bait, and I must share in the confusion that a bunch of studio execs are no doubt experiencing. What in the hell happened?

Explanation: I haven’t seen the flick, but let me get all Nostradamus on you here with a prediction: Megan Fox does not get naked. Don’t get me wrong, Dear Reader, I wouldn’t care if she did, but I’m willing to bet she didn’t. The reason this didn’t happen is that her agent would rather be buried alive than allow it to; young starlets stand to gain nothing and lose everything by putting it all out there. You lose the support of millions of mothers whose daughters want to look up to you, the men you’ve been teasing into lust have now seen the goods and are bored, there’s just no incentive to do it when you’re on your way up. I don’t care if the thing is R, everybody knows she’s not cashing in the chips. We’ve all just gotten used to it, and the proof of this is in the fact that it causes so much attention when somebody does. The movie’s ad campaign was kind of hoping it could fool you, but I think the guys of the world called BS. No doubt the posters and TV spots wanted to evoke memories of “Species,” but it was a stupid bluff and it didn’t work. I abhor “Species,” but I do concede that its formula for success is much more sure: get an attractive woman who will bear all, have her do it repeatedly, then allow her to kill men. Now you’re cooking.

Part two of my explanation is more simple: Megan Fox is not a star. People may know the name, but being a headliner in the traditional sense is a lot more complex than that. Consider the fact that many people can’t stand Nic Cage, and yet those same people will be compelled to see a “Nic Cage movie.” There’s just an unearthly magic to it. The ability to get people out of their homes and into the theater on the virtue of your participation alone is a unique mix of charisma, savvy career choices and luck. So far, Fox has gotten to a running start with the third, but the other two take more time. Her name is enough for me to have heard of “Jennifer’s Body,” but it’s a country mile from getting my hard-earned money.

And let’s be frank here: almost all genuine stars are men, because our society is crazy sexist, probably even more so than it is racist. Denzel Washington, George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Nicolas Cage, and (lord of them all) Will Smith, all of these guys can get involved in nearly anything and catapult it right up to the top. This is because men are permitted a wide range of characters, a wide range of genres, all while maintaining a high level of likability. Women, on the other hand, take one step off the beaten path and never draw a crowd again. They can’t be too funny, men feel threatened by that; they can’t be too tough, or word will get around that they’re lesbians; they can’t have sex too many or too few times, either in their personal lives or on the screen. So narrow is the pass they must navigate that they might as well change their name to “Julia Roberts” by the time they get out. Compounding this are even more harsh realities: there are twice as many actresses as actors in Hollywood, and yet the number of male roles outnumbers the female by at least 3 to 1. An incredibly thin margin of body types and physical appearances are permitted, and the vast majority of women are not built to fit them. Becoming a leading man is very hard, but becoming a leading lady is a freaking crucible.

So yeah, you were in “Transformers,” Megan, but you my friend have a long ways to go. I don’t really feel bad for her, because her success (if not necessarily her) stands for the continued glorification of a single, monochromatic type of woman to the exclusion of all others. If she gets uber-famous, then one more super-skinny white girl gets to bark at a PA to bring her a latte. I say, let’s get someone like Taraji P. Henson on top of the world.

2. Women support movies made by women. In these times of trouble, the female gender has to stick together, watch out for each other, and with a flick coming out that is written, directed by and starring ladies, it seems obvious that their comrades should come out in droves for solidarity. Women stick together.

Explanation: No they don’t. Not at all. First of all, women are not idiots, and just because you put one on the poster doesn’t mean you’ve made a movie that speaks to their hopes, fears, and dreams. They are quite used to seeing their bodies objectified by the entertainment industry, and they’ve grown pretty cynical about it. Secondly, sexism comes from everyone, not just men. We participate, but we have a lot of help. Marketing experts will tell you that women are a female celebrity’s worst opponent: they will be quickest to judge and harshest in punishment, seven times out of ten. Watch TV with some chicks, the crap you will hear is amazing. They will rip the actress on a Coke commercial, or a talk show, or the nightly news to shreds, and they’ll do it on sight. It makes sense when you think about it: men are not strong or smart or even numerous enough to hold down women as long as we have without their help.

And honestly, the assumption that putting your movie neck-deep in actresses is going to buy you the senorita vote has been proven wrong again and again. You’re confusing women with their louder, dumber counterparts, who do flock to male-only sausage fests and then suppress the confused, homoerotic feelings that result. Women, who are far more mature about sexuality in general, normally only get interested in a chick flick if there’s a compelling male in the cast as well. He can be supporting, even ancillary, but he’s got to be there. Exceptions exist, Dear Reader, but this is still a valuable rule. Women like men, they aren’t secretly dying to kill them all off (God knows why) and think about themselves all the time.

3. There was something for everyone. It seems plausible that a horror comedy starring women has something for the dudes, something for the ladies. It’s a potential cash cow, because theoretically all the teenagers on dates should be able to agree on it. The girls aren’t going to something as grisly as “Hostel,” but the guys aren’t sitting through “Maid in Manhattan.” So what’s that movie they compromise on? How about a horror flick about hot teenage girls in high school? Sounds perfect.

Explanation: It’s not. I mean I know this is Monday-morning-quarterbacking, but what you actually got from this movie was neither fish nor fowl. “Body” misjudged the priorities of both of its key demographics: I suspect that few if any women actually relate to a demon-possessed Megan Fox, in fact they’re probably repulsed by her, and they don’t appreciate being reminded that this is what they’re expected to be like. Meanwhile, in the hopes that they’d snag the ladies, they padded the key creative positions with girls, and in so doing forgot a very simple fact: men are jerks. If a woman directed, and a woman wrote, and a woman stars, I absolutely give you my word that at this moment in history, my gender isn’t showing up. If you can think of an example that defies this, I heartily encourage you to correct me, for I greatly desire to be wrong. God willing that will change someday, but you can bet the farm on it right now.

Swift Falls the Hammer of Justice

Published on September 18, 2009 in Uncategorized. 4 Comments

About a week ago, a terrifying thing happened to me. I was laying on my couch, blissfully lost in an Xbox game, thinking about the Batmobile. My wife had been sitting at the computer, scribbling furiously in the check book, frowning and occasionally punching numbers in a calculator. I monitored this activity with my peripheral vision, emotions stuck squarely between “Uh oh, I hope she doesn’t notice blank” and “Thank God someone’s actually doing that, because I’m pretty sure it costs money to live in this apartment.”

After a few minutes, she walked over to me with something in her hands that I did not expect: a wad of bills. Not a very thick wad, mind you, but a wad nonetheless. She held them in front of my face, seemingly indicating that I was to possess them. I processed this scene for a long moment, the Ex Comm in my mind unable to reach a solid recommendation. Men are not very intelligent, but we have gradually absorbed the fact that we should be suspicious of a situation involving women or money that appears too good to be true.

My first instinct was that I was running some kind of errand, and that seizing said monies would bind me to the task. Were that the case, resistance would be pointless, because Corelyn’s repertoire of persuasive faces, both scary and adorable, is legend. So I haltingly grasped the bills, squinting suspiciously at my spouse. When she saw that I had pocketed them, she nodded slightly and marched away.

What?

Don’t get me wrong, Dear Reader, I’ve often felt that my husband-ing is on a level worthy of monetary reward. I offer an adorably scrappy appearance, compelling discourse on Batman, and…uh…well I seriously know a ton about Batman. The point is, I don’t think Corelyn giving me money on a regular basis out of sheer, undulating thankfulness is entirely uncalled for. Still, I found myself hesitant to accept that she had actually come around to this fact, as I’d proposed the idea in the past and been met with less than enthusiasm. So I was in a tough spot in negotiating my response. If this really was carte blanche, so be it, but clearly whatever was happening was meant to be automatically understood by me, and I couldn’t risk the spousal blowback caused by buying a lock of Christopher Nolan’s hair off of eBay with money I was supposed to use for groceries. Also, this was no pittance, Dear Reader. Would she really institute a payroll system with an average this high? I was holding in my hand a king’s ransom. I don’t want to say how much. Twenty six dollars.

I decided on a nice, casual “You’re welcome.” Just to see how it played.

Ahem.

“You’re welcome.”

She turned and frowned, “What?”

“Uh…you’re welcome?”

An uncomfortable silence, “Okay.”

Not quite the rapturous attitude I had assumed would be associated with this event. Although, in fairness to her, perhaps the act of paying me for my wonderfulness inspired a kind of humble repose. Maybe she was ruminating on ways in which she could increase her appreciation for–

“You know what that’s for, right?”

There is just so much that women expect you to already know, “Of course.”

“Really?”

Overdid it, act like it’s something you don’t want to do, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Okay. Well that’s it.”

That’s it? I’m supposed to be disappointed by this. But what kind of fool would be disappointed by twenty six unfettered dollars? Nothing left to do now but really put this thing in the field for study. I casually got up and found my keys, then started putting my socks on. One thing my wife has in common with the late Britt is a profound curiosity about where you’re going when you leave the house. Let’s just see what’s what here.

“Where are you going?” she inquired.

“Oh, to Amoeba [a local CD/DVD store].”

“Okay, I guess. Dinner’s in a few.”

Eh, I’m not sure she realizes I’m going to participate in some capitalism while I’m there, “Sure. I’m just gonna grab a few DVDs.”

She looked at me strangely. There was no immediate response, so the money wasn’t for groceries or something lame. But she also didn’t reply, so…somehow, this information is not what she was expecting. I decided one could only suss out the truth by continuing to stoke the fire, so I made my way towards the door.

“Uh, honey, I don’t think you should do that,” she said with a little difficulty.

“Why not?”

“I dunno, it’s only Tuesday.”

What in the hell is going on here? “So?”

“So what if you need something tomorrow?”

…Oh merciful Heavens. It clicked at that exact moment. I stared down at the money in my hand, the princely sum I had cradled like fabled treasure, and the thought rushed in before I even had time to process it: this is all the money I get for the entire week. This wasn’t a bonus, it was a per diem! This was it! I had to cling to this little wad of crumpled bills like a shipwrecked sailor to driftwood! It was a cruel reversal worthy of the Greek gods: I was free at last to spend my money however I liked, but every purchase would henceforth create a twisted Sophie’s choice between physical nourishment, bus fare, and video games—all of which are necessary for my very survival. It was like a “Twilight Zone” episode, the brass section blasting an ominous “dun dun DUUUUNNNN” while I screamed at the horror. And also it would probably be in black and white.

The worst part, of course, is that this is a justice I have deserved for some time. I am far from the worst money manager I know, but my stubborn refusal to adopt a concrete methodology has always kept me on a razor’s edge, living more hand in mouth than I really should. I cannot think of a single thing I regularly desire that costs over $50, but a) that’s still more money than I can spend and b) these little things have a way of adding up. I’ve always felt a sense of righteous indignation that it’s even necessary for me to curtail my habits. What am I, a drug addict? I have the most innocuous, harmless vices in the world. So I buy some CDs now and again! So I don’t plan every purchase I make! How is it that I keep winding up at the end of the month feeling like a strung out hobo begging for change?

But reality is reality, Dear Reader. I’ve gotten much better than I used to be, and even at my worst I would just overdraft now and then, but even a perfectly sensible budget doesn’t work if there’s no intention behind it. You can spend the exact same amount of money in a week, but if you didn’t plan on spending it, if you didn’t know how you were going to deal with it, there’s this weird cosmic inflation that adjusts in, and soon you’re broke. God has informed me of this on numerous occasions, and I have responded by plugging my ears and singing “Lalala,” so He decided to mobilize the Big Guns. As a side note, let’s not tell my wife that I’ve nicknamed her “Big Guns.” Keep that one on the low, Dear Reader.

Mind you, I had to get through all of this while standing before my wife’s steady, Eye of Mordor-like gaze. When I snapped to reality, I was frozen stiff in the kitchen, eyes as wide as dinner plates, staring off into space and rubbing my fingers together. I think I was mumbling the phrase “Catch 22″ over and over.

“Andrew?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t know what that was for, did you?”

SIGHTING!

Published on September 12, 2009 in Uncategorized. 1 Comment

…Today, Dear Reader, yours truly saw Christopher Nolan in the flesh. I really wasn’t prepared for it, and the impact is sort of sinking in as we speak. I’d heard from a friend he was shooting in downtown LA, so I moseyed on over and sure enough, there was a gigantic production going on. I managed to sneak in pretty close, and found myself standing five or six feet from the man himself, with Wally Pfister right next to him. I’m honest to God not sure what to tell you, Dear Reader. I don’t know how I can…explain this moment. I saw him, he was there, I had a mild panic attack. It was pretty much exactly what we all knew was going to happen someday.

I also saw DiCaprio, which was neat in the same way that it’s neat to see a bald eagle. I don’t really freak out about seeing celebrities, it’s enjoyable but it lacks the intensity that a lot of people ascribe to it. But Chris, that was different. As I said to a friend of mine, “Women can scream at men they’re attracted to, and that makes sense. Men can holler at women they’re attracted to, and that makes sense. But I don’t know what the proper behavior is when I sight Nolan. Should I go ahead and yell, ‘I’m in love with your brain’?”

Damn You George Clooney

Published on September 8, 2009 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

It isn’t enough that you have the kind of good looks that only improve with age, or that you make gray hair look good, or that you have a pleasingly masculine baritone, is it? Is it? No, you just have to keep going. You have to have brains, too. You have to have your mitts all over one of the most interesting movies coming out this year (http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/themenwhostareatgoats/). Original, thought-provoking, genre-escaping, fascinating entertainment should be for ugly people. You are an existential ball hog, George. “The Men Who Stare at Goats” is one of the most exciting products I’ve seen come out of Hollywood in years, and here you are all over it. No fair.

What’s that? You’re still not satisfied? Fine. Go ahead. Take the lead voice in Wes Anderson’s new delightful-looking, all-ages-appropriate “The Fantastic Mr. Fox,” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2igjYFojUo) a cheeky throwback to classic stop-motion with hip, modern touches to keep it relevant. Fine. See if I care. But that’s it, Clooney. Simmer down, man.

(http://www.apple.com/trailers/paramount/upintheair/large.html)

…What? WHAT? You’re starring in Jason Reitman’s new film? The Jason Reitman whose debut, “Thank You For Smoking,” was one of the best comedies of the decade? The very same man who discovered Diablo Cody and directed “Juno”? And now I watch the trailer and discover an incredibly enticing, delicate, satirical character piece? A non-traditional preview that lingers on a single moment between two exhausted souls, both trapped by the rigors of their travel-heavy lifestyles? A sharply written, perfectly acted, original yet classic story with the right hint of comedy and sadness?

Damn it, man! This is not cool. I looked you up on IMDb to try and comfort myself with your failures and found “Oceans 11,” “Michael Clayton,” “Good Night and Good Luck” (which you directed, by the way), “Burn After Reading,” “Syriana,” “Oceans 12″ and “Oceans 13,” “O Brother, Where Art Thou,” even “South Park: The Movie” for the love of all that is good and holy what will stop you? I mean you had one embarrassing failure with “Batman and Robin,” and it’s like now you have to be “Mr. Perfect” all the time.

I’ve had enough, sir! I demand you start starring in crap! Why can’t you take a page from your fellow star Bruce Willis? He very considerately punishes himself with four or five terrible films for every quality piece he turns out. He starred in “Sin City,” so then he gave us “What Just Happened,” “Live Free or Die Hard,” “Perfect Stranger” (ouch), “Over the Hedge,” and now “Surrogates,” a movie so bad he won’t even let them put him on the posters. It’s only polite. Nobody likes  an Albert Schweitzer, man; conquering the world and making everyone else look bad. Take a break.

PS: If you’re reading this, George, insert your name wherever it says “Life Cereal” in this clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7s74tYnqnBM

Fire! Fire!

Published on September 4, 2009 in Uncategorized. 2 Comments

It has been brought to my attention that some of you are curious about how the fire is affecting our lives over here. Happy to oblige: we can see some smoke in the sky, and last week the air didn’t feel clean. 

Right. Now to talk about video games!

Just kidding, just kidding. In all seriousness, it’s pretty unnerving, even if the fire is moving away from us, and likely to be contained in a week or two. The cloud in the sky was massive a few days ago, especially as one drove north away from USC. People  complained about the air quality, but I have kind of tough lungs, and I didn’t really notice anything. The sky is definitely much clearer today than it has been, though. No argument on that point. Even for Los Angeles, it was hazy around here this past week. And of course, the unbearable heat and thick, dead air only made the problem worse. It was like revenge for the perfect weather we enjoy the rest of the year. 

Yesterday the authorities declared the Station Fire to be an act of arson. An anonymous “chemical” was found near the spark site, and whatever it is makes the people in charge pretty certain that there was foul play involved. This is actually comforting in a weird way, because I like the idea of a person to blame better than fires that just kick into high gear out of nowhere. A cursory glance over the history books (read: Wikipedia) suggests that Northern Cali has more of a problem with this stuff than we do, which surprises me a little, but there you have it. 

I begin shooting my 508 tomorrow, a five-and-a-half minute short film which I write and direct. Mine is a somewhat existential horror film which utilizes some unique shooting methods, and beyond that I will comment no more. It occurs to me that none of you have ever seen a short film I did at this school. Sorry about that, but not without some reason. I like my first project all right, you can probably take a look if you ask nicely, but my Project Two just…didn’t quite get to where I wanted it. Failure in this artistic medium stings more than it should, because you can do so many things right, work so hard for so long, and still end up with a worthless final product. If you write a bad book, you probably knew that crap was coming, but when your movie sucks it’s like betrayal. Also, there’s no real way to know how good your project is while you’re shooting it. Even if you love your dailies, you’re too neck-deep in the process to see what’s really going on until you hit the Avid. Preparation becomes very important.

Needless to say, I’m quite nervous, as we have a few balls in the air still, and my producer and DP are both overworked as it is. I’m learning that making a movie is just a process of stress acceptance: you must embrace that tension is now a part of your life, a constant companion, before you can endeavor to put together motion pictures. Tomorrow, as always, things are delivered into the Lord’s hands for His approval. Here we go.

An Open Letter to Rocksteady Games

Published on September 1, 2009 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

…Okay, look, we got off on the wrong foot there. I said some things I now regret. I expressed skepticism towards you and your ability to carry my beloved Dark Knight to his first victory in the video game world. I was calloused, even foolish, maybe I was afraid to be hurt; honestly, it kind of reads like a Jane Austen novel now. Can we put this behind us, Rocksteady? Can you forgive me?

Yes, I will admit it: “Batman: Arkham Asylum” is an amazing gaming experience. I said it wasn’t going to be on several occasions, and now I look like an idiot. Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to be this incredible? You could have put out a tighter, more polished demo, or explained the “Freeflow Combat” system in terms that didn’t make it sound like utter BS. Or you could have just shrouded the whole thing in complete secrecy, that would have been fine. What you did scared the hell out of me: you made a bunch of vague references to the player “feeling like” Batman, with no quantifiable explanation for how that would occur. And there were a lot of gargoyles where no one would reasonably build them. It sounded like a bad “Splinter Cell” clone set in a “Bioshock” rip off with an oversimple combat system tacked on. I was worried.

How was I to know that when I picked up the game, every word of your promises would turn out to be true? That you actually did find a way to capture the feeling of being Batman, and that this transcendent experience stems not from any one thing, but a careful summation of the entire experience? What mere mortal could look upon another third-person Batman game and anticipate success? Sure, your voice acting pedigree was great, but so was “Batman Begins: The Video Game’s.” And it’s not like the brain trust behind “The Animated Series” hadn’t tried to make a solid Bat-game before, with results that never rose above middling.

And speaking of the past, look at yourselves, Rocksteady. You guys had made one game before this, and it was a mediocre, disposable first person shooter where you run around Los Angeles beating up protesters. I mean…I still don’t understand how that same company put out a product on this level, so how could I have been expected to process it then? Big-name licenses have always gone to little-respected developers who absolutely waste them, and you must see how this looked like more of the same.

Sigh.

All of this is pointless, though, because you beat me. I tried to read your playbook, but you called an audible on the line of scrimmage. What’s incredible about your success is that no one knows exactly why the game is so good. No single part seems easily identifiable as the cause, on paper it almost sounds kind of cliche, and yet the whole package clicks into place with an almost alarming ferocity. It’s not just good, it’s great. It’s compelling, it’s beguiling, it’s fascinating, it’s addictive. I coyly implied that some of the early reviewers could have been paid off on the grounds that their praise was unspecific, but now I see that they were grappling to define something beyond quantification. Sometimes in the design of a game, when you build on a solid foundation, you find yourself with something so sturdy that it’s almost alarming. “Batman: Arkham Asylum” is a testament to playing by the rules, observing the lessons of the past, sticking with fundamentals. You really do make me feel like Batman when I play this game, Rocksteady. I have no idea how you did that.

Still, the innovation is there, especially in the incredibly nuanced Freeflow Combat system, which has gone from being the source of my greatest skepticism to my favorite single thing about the game. Here is a system that kills two birds with one stone, simultaneously creating a significant challenge and a sense of almost godlike strength. With almost no practice, you can leap into a room full of thugs and put them down. That’s awesome. But at the same time, you’d have to be content to do it very poorly, and that is normally unacceptable, because the player senses the potential for an absolute beat-down to take place. It’s infuriating to get hit when you know you didn’t have to be. Also adding depth as the game progresses are new types of enemies who require special tactics, or a few guys with guns added into the mix. Now you’ve got to think tactically, and the game is very open to let you resolve the situation your way.

The reason I was doubtful of AA’s combat is that I had always assumed a complex, move-specific system a la “Ninja Gaiden” or “Devil May Cry” was the only really deep combat structure that could be made. But this game takes a page from “Super Smash Bros,” in that what it really demands from you is on-the-fly reasoning. You’re not being asked to throw a punch, Batman will handle that, but you are expected to figure out who should get it and when. You have to prioritize targets, improvise to the situation, respond to unexpected threats. The nuances of timing your strikes so that you can flow from enemy to enemy, building momentum and mopping the floor with bad guys, are wonderful. Quite possibly, we’re dealing with the most all-around satisfying hand-to-hand combat ever made. Its mixture of hardcore depth and pick-up-and-play accessibility is nothing short of stunning. And almost every time I get in a fight, Batman does a move or two I’ve never seen before.

Right. Well I’d love to keep chatting, but…uh…I’m going to go play some more.

PS: Those of you who’ve never played, here’s a video sample of the combat. The thing to remember while watching is: anyone, and I mean anyone, would be capable of this level of play within ten minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lOVXrdkq-E