Never Mind the Bats

On Hiatus

2011-07-05T10:07:00.000-07:00

Well guys, here we are again. I apologize for my long absence-- this last year has been super-busy, and every time I'd sit down to slam out a review I'd get over-excited by all the ideas that have been floating around and never make it back to finish what I'd started. But here I am now, on the other side of much of the madness, with abundant free time and the inclination to drop some solid reviews and cultural commentaries. Unfortunately, I won't be doing so here. Mind the Bats has been awesome- I do believe that it's around four years old by this point, which doesn't relate to awesomeness except for the fact that it's been keeping my attention for that long- and it's been a whole lot of fun watching these little reviews slowly evolve into something resembling writing of merit, but it's time for this specific project to come to an end, at least for now. Perhaps it's the Internet-permanency link to those (now embarrassing) original posts full of awkward phrasing, or perhaps it's just time for a new, broader focus than just snarky movie reviews. Honestly, a lot of it has to do with my personal dissatisfactions with Blogger as a platform-- as much as social media is detestable for whatever reason, it can get kind of lonely to keep writing these things with no real way of letting people spread the word, and as I prepare to possibly make a go of writing professionally, word is what I'd kind of like to be spread, even though I loathe self-promotion. So, I'm pretty much picking this up and moving it over to Tumblr, where the user interface is much more friendly and folks, if they like what they see, are free to reblog. I hope that the change isn't too heartbreaking for y'all, my five or so devoted readers. I'm certainly going to miss this little corner of cyberspace, but who knows? Perhaps we'll be back again someday.

So until next time gang, I'll see you over at that other place. Keep on keepin' on.

Thug Life Aesthetics

2010-09-21T21:06:00.001-07:00

Right, so don't take this as a replacement for the long-promised, possibly-never-happening post in which I deliver my two cents on hip-hop, specifically the Tupac-Biggie schism (I'm starting to realize that I don't really know that much about hip-hop, and until I can educate myself suitably, I'm not about to spout off in an informed way on the internet). But I'm still gonna touch on Pac for a quick second here: I was just sitting at my desk, listening to "Me Against the World" and thinking about why I enjoy Tupac as a rapper. For me, it's the fact that his rhymes form a solid narrative with relative effortlessness that really does it(yeah yeah yeah, over-intellectualizing popular art, but this gets interesting). Sure, he can be clever when he wants, but I rather appreciate the restraint he uses. It makes his track almost subtle, if not in theme. Contrast this with some MF Doom, which I've been listening to at length after the discovery of Madvillain; there's a thing on the internet linking famous rappers with famous authors, and the Doom analogue was Pynchon, which is about right. Absurd rhymes, notable for their lyric quality and bizarre humor/imagery, reveling in the construction of couplets. That ain't Tupac, he's got a story to tell. And (another reason why I love him) Tupac's story is that of humanity. He does rap about gang life and the dangers of being a young black man in the late 80's/early 90's, something that I personally don't happen to know intimately about, but in his rhymes Tupac opens and universalizes the experience via the emotive powers of music. I couldn't remember the entire rhyme off the top of my head, but in "Me Against the World," when he's talking about how thugs get lonely too, that really clicks viscerally within me. Yeah, college students don't feel like they're embattled with the universal powers in the same way thugs on the streets of LA do, but Tupac doesn't alienate. He opens these feeling up to empathy, and by doing so creates deep emotional resonance in his listeners. And then I realized, this is exactly why "hard" songs are worth listening too-- Tom Waits, for example. Tom Waits may not fall right next to Tupac on the realism spectrum, but they both tackle really deep emotions. Just look at all those train songs. Tom is singing about people who have really hit rock bottom there, and instead of trying to gloss over or solve these problems, he's saying hey, let's give grief its proper time. By listening to one of his down-and-out ballads, we're taking some time to sit down and really feel for all the folks out there waiting for that train to bring them home, the people who've really messed up and are just starting to try and bring it back up. And, in spending two to five minutes in peaceful auditory meditation on this theme, we're really getting in touch with humanity in the collective sense. It's way too easy to wall off individual experiences-- oh, Biggie's angry because he's had a rough life and is dealing with heavy mental/emotional issues-- in the way we consume art. What guys like Tom Waits and Tupac do is put us, for a brief moment, in the mental shoes of that lonely thug in South Central, or that semi-mythical traveling salesman cum boozehound. Life is a hard thing to bear, and we tend to make it through with a whole lot of help from our social herd. Tom and Pac just make that herd a bit bigger from time to time. Now, how's that for universalizing gloomy themes in gangsta rap?

Everyone feels a little "vs. the World" at some point

2010-08-30T08:43:00.000-07:00

And that is where I think "Scott Pilgrim vs. The World" finds its strength-- dealing with exes, one's own feelings, and all that other Lifetime Movie Network stuff in the real world feels like a struggle, so why not turn it into the ultimate nerd fantasy of arcade-game combat with super-powered exes? That's charm right there guys, and that's what keeps the movie afloat. Edgar Wright did his best with someone else's story and MIchael Cera's inertial screen presence (meaning that he always plays Michael Ceera), and he came away with a pretty good movie. It's certainly visually stimulating, with lots of comic book word-effects to accompany Scott's actions and a bright color palate, and there are some really fun actors at work (the gay roomie, the drummer girl and Young Neil were all quite appealing to me), but at the same time the whole story kind of boils down to this metaphor of combat as a form of dealing with things and typical awkward/quirky humor. But I only say these things because I have a great deal of respect for everyone involved and think that things could have gone a whole lot better: Edgar Wright, for example, probably would have done some cutting homage stuff with a kind of dark social twist, were he not beholden to someone else's story; Michael Cera was probably instructed by higher-ups to keep the awkward stuff, even though I hear that the character in the comics is supposed to be a super-cool dude instead of lovably awkward; and I have yet to read the comics, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they're even more wildness and less traditional talk.

But hey, criticism isn't fun unless it's panning something really bad, and this movie wasn't really bad. If you lose yourself in the alternate universe, it's actually quite fun: Michael Cera apparently knows all sorts of action moves, Toronto is a place where it's kind of concrete-y and dark a whole lot but also has a thriving video game reality thingy, and there's even a question of alternate realities that pops up near the end, if you pay attention (I actually missed the last two minutes, for full disclosure's sake, so something awesome may have happened, but I had reached the point where I could see what was going to go down and had pressing business to take care of). But you know what? I'm going to contradict my earlier statements right now. If a movie could have been greater, everyone involved deserves dudes like me posting semi-pro reviews telling them what went wrong and how. So here's the deal: fill out character backstories. I wanted to know more about Scott and the drummer girl from his band, and really wanted to hang out with those characters. More of the gay roommate: he was really funny and a kind of mentor-type dude. If you're gonna meld video game reality and awkward teen emotion movies, go all the way with the video game stuff and then we'll forgive the whining: yeah, that pretty much says it. Think about how much more entertaining Juno would have been if it was all in 2D and progressed by levels; that could have been "Scott Pilgrim." And Michael Cera: if you hope to work as an actor past the age of 25, you're gonna have to diversify your characters, champ. I loved you as George Michael, we all did. It's just that, unless it's for the Arrested Development movie, it's time to play other characters. The indie kids are dying, evolutionarily displaced by hipster scum. We are starting to live in days of cruel ironic detachment or bro-ish over-enthusiasm. You can lead us in the next step, Michael Cera, by breaking from the shy and cutely awkward schtick. Play a bastard with an icy-black heart, someone who kicks puppies and drives a BMW (BMW drivers are dicks). Play a remote and emotionally traumatized war vet, struggling to reconnect with his family (the AD movie? Twenty years after the events seen in the TV show? Make it happen). Play someone new, Michael Cera, and respect will come flowing in. I know that people will always be awkward, and that the indie kids in retrospect were infinitely preferable to these new-fangled hipsters (indie kids: charmingly optimistic and dreamy. Hipsters: dicks), and that innocence and wonder and joy will never die out. As long as there are people, there will be awkward relationships, shy boys and headstrong girls, and all the other staples our generation has come to accept from you. But let someone else lead the charge, Michael Cera. Become the spurned ninja assassin that Scott Pilgrim should have been. I'll be waiting for that moment. Until then, I'll keep watching your enjoyable teen movies. Just expect more of the same from me.

Writing Quirky Titles Is Becoming Difficult, Guys, So Here's "Cyrus"

2010-07-27T17:02:00.001-07:00

I don’t have that much to say about “Cyrus,” possibly because it’s been out forever and probably because I just don’t have much to say, but I feel obligated by the powers of the Internet to give it a paragraph or two, for form’s sake. So, what will I say? This was a grown-up version of mumblecore (which, as you may remember, is a movement based around informality and almost voyeuristic plots and camerawork, so I’m not even sure grown-up mumblecore is possible, but whatever), done by directors whose names I can’t look up because I’m writing this away from a computer, but I think they were the dudes behind “Humpday;” anyways, people with strong mumblecore street cred. By this point, the word “mumblecore” is starting to sound funny in my head, so I’m jumping paragraphs for sanity’s sake.

The descriptor grown-up is applied here because these guys got to play with a trio of established professional actors, all of whom I happen to admire: John C. Riley, doing his best lovable everyman, Marisa Tomei, nothing at all like her character in “Treme” but still really good, and Jonah Hill as her really creepy and clingy son. The plot, in true mumblecore fashion, concerns the mundane: John goes to a party to try and get out of a post-my-wife-divorced-me-and-is-getting-remarried funk and meets Marisa Tomei, and they hit it off and see each other a few times and everything looks bright and sunshiny (and the movie’s already twenty minutes in and pretty funny; sequences with John trying to meet women at the party are unbearably funny in the most awkward ways), and then along comes Jonah/Cyrus, Marisa Tomei’s twentysomething-year-old son. He’s eerily mature, uncomfortably so, and then he starts messing with John. This is where the movie takes off and gets weird: John and Cyrus play mind games as John and MT’s relationship builds and prospers, and it’s all fun and awkward games until people start getting truly upset, then the movie goes and resolves everything a trifle predictably and we go home. So, what makes people want to see it? Charismatic actors being likable or really unsettling (I like John C. Riley even more having seen “Cyrus”), some inspired moments of uncomfortable humor, and the pleasure of voyeurism that the entire mumblecore movement taps into: other people are funny and their problems are worse than mine right now! But at the same time, we’re all really similar deep down inside and it could easily be them in the audience and me on the screen! Of course, it’s an illusion, especially when the Big Names get involved (I don’t think John C. Riley actually sublets crappy apartments, but I could be wrong), but it’s well done. So, “Cyrus” isn’t an instant comedy classic in the vein of early Apatow, nor is it a beloved modern cult classic like “Sarah Marshall” or “Harold and Kumar,” but it’s much more enjoyable than you’d think, provided you can stomach/laugh at uncomfortable moments. And it had the power to cheer me up after a nasty day, which is what movies are supposed to do, thus reaffirming my faith in the magic of film during this summer of sparse pickings.

David Simon and the New Orleans Board of Tourism

2010-07-16T23:41:00.000-07:00

Nah, this isn't an article or interview or head-to-head deathmatch, just another oddly worded title. And the urge to post today comes from a desire to turn this aimless energy into something productive and thoughtful, namely finally getting my thoughts about the first season of "Treme" down so I can move on while also burning off some creative steam. Cool, let's get right to it.

At one point, I had all kinds of insightful things to say about "Treme" that were going to tackle tough questions raised in interviews and other reviews, but they're all long forgotten. So maybe it'd be best to make it super-personal and address that title, which came from my own personal response to basically every episode of this show: "I'm moving to New Orleans. That's all there is to it, I'm [expletive removed, because I'm starting to try and keep it semi-professional] going." But unlike Jules and Amsterdam, it isn't the one thing that's dragging my daydreams towards the idea of a future in New Orleans, it's everything, even the post-massive natural disaster suffering. Okay, that sounds pretty bad, but bear with me: "Treme" is what, to my young and impressionable little brain, the real New Orleans is like, because what better way to see a city through its people dealing with the consequences of a hurricane? Exactly. And that's what I've been getting at: "Treme" is great because of its characters. Well, and some other things too, but the characters are basically the meat and bread of this show. See, unlike "The Wire," a show I'm legally bound to refer to here because we're talking about David Simon, "Treme" doesn't have a super plot-driven story. Now, bear in mind that I'm one of those guys who will tell you that "The Wire" is probably one of the greatest shows in the history of the medium of television (something I fully intend on doing in great length once I finish the 5th season, which is what I'm up to now), and who will stand up and argue that part of what makes that particular show excellent is the detailed cast of characters, their complex morality, their stories and personalities, and how all of that becomes a part of the story. But at the heart of it all, "The Wire" is about the results of the things these characters do; a lot happens in a season, and it's very much about the journey. But not much has happened over the course of this first season of "Treme," activity-wise. People move around, have interactions, do things like go down to Texas or end up in jail, but nobody stages drug sweeps or makes investigations or kills other people (and if they did, I sure as hell wouldn't ruin it here for you). Here's a good comparison: a lot of the first season of "Treme" surrounds people's preparations for Mardi Gras and the outcomes of the things that happen on that day. A lot of the first season of "The Wire" is about trying to bring down a drug ring in West Baltimore through all manner of wiretaps and police work. At the end of the day, "Treme" is about how the characters interact with each other and grow, while "The Wire" is about information and actions, and how this changes other information and other actions.

Glad I've pontificated at extreme length. For those of you not yet alienated, let's move on. The characters are the major draw for "Treme." Almost everyone is written and acted with a warmth and humanity that is instantly winning (I will probably never be able to see Steve Zahn in anything without thinking of Davis, for example). There is humor, there is life, and there is anger; this is a show of emotions, and how they've been stirred by the catastrophe. And what makes everything so winning is that, in spite of some minor theatricality inherent in television, these seem like truly real people, and that in turn makes their lives what real life in New Orleans is like, and because everyone, through their highs and lows, trials and triumphs, etcetera etcetera is so real and full of life, it makes the prospect of living in New Orleans highly appealing, the vivacity of it all. Of course, that may have something to do with the fantastic second line scenes, and the music, and the food, and all that stuff (in our cast of characters we do have a Mardi Gras Indian Chief, a chef and a good number of musicians, so there's a bit of bias). Speaking as a man who's never been down to New Orleans, it seems rather idyllic, even in the throes of recovery. Thus our title: David Simon, for me, has worked as the best advertiser the city could ever dream of.

But I'm drifting way off target. I pretty much said it all in the comparison paragraph: "Treme" is one of the warmest and most optimistically human ("The Wire" can be kind of tough-realty bleak, and I hear similar things about "Generation Kill") David Simon productions around, quite accessible and a true pleasure to watch. It does polemicize about the infuriating ignorance the rest of the nation chose to send down Louisiana way, and there are some truly downer moments, but it's all part of the cliched rich pageant of life. And all the little things are just right- jokes, good musical interludes (that actually progress the story!), cool images, and wonderful, wonderful relationships that build and mature in odd and pleasing ways. I think episode eight was probably the single most joyous piece of television that I can remember watching, ever. Bottom line: way to go David Simon, you have succeeded in making a show about life in a special place at a critical time that doesn't feel exploitative or fake in any way. "The Wire" still earns my vote for the best ever television show, but it's like comparing "The Big Lebowski" and "Chinatown." One is a masterpiece of American cinema that tells a tough story, an the other is a masterpiece of wonder and joy. This has become a little overwrought in its praises, so I'll end things for real now.

Graffiti Is Harder Than It Looks

2010-07-07T22:42:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a while now since I saw the Banksy movie ("Exit Through The Gift Shop" if we want to use correct titles today), so here's hoping I can pull some coherent thoughts together on a movie that's left most every theater by this point. Problem is, I don't quite know where to begin: it was an immensely pleasing documentary, but a documentary in the Banksy style where you aren't even sure what's right and what's wrong. If we assume that the mysterious hooded and voice-altered figure really is Banksy and that all the other characters really are who they're supposed to be (although it is tempting to believe other things, but my mid-film hand analysis proved Banksy and Mr. Brainwash, your as-of-yet-unintroduced title character, to be separate people, and besides, does it make any difference whether these people are who they say they are?), then the movie reads as the story of street art, as told from the perspective of Thierry, a French dude living in Los Angeles. Thierry gets involved in the scene back in France through a street artist cousin who later introduces him to other prominent artists in Europe and America, eventually leading to Banksy himself. The conceit that leads to the movie, though, is that Thierry is an obsessive videographer, meaning that while running around at night with these dudes putting up graffiti he was also filming (awkward sentence construction). This leads to an astounding wealth of raw footage chronicling the birth of a scene, footage that Banksy ends up turning into a movie when Thierry proves himself unfit to direct by creating an unwatchable and seizure-inducing attempt at film. As Banksy takes control, he tells Thierry to go try his hand at being an artist; thus Mr. Brainwash was born.

This is where things switch tone. Up until this point, Thierry was our anchor, the man who was figuring out this complicated world of street art with us, a friend. But the film always had a kind of distant attitude towards him, and right about when he introduces his version of the movie things get a bit nasty. After all, everything previous had been pretty much objective, what with Thierry figuring out the world of street art, and talking head bits with Banksy and other dudes like Shepard Fairey served to back up everything that he was observing. But once Thierry started producing art, subjective stuff, it was time for the big voices of the street art world to speak up, and their voices are less than favorable. I won't really get into the specifics, as that would spoil the meat of the movie for you guys, but the bottom line is that Thierry/Mr. Brain Wash, his street art persona, are less than successful. In fact, I'd go so far to say that Mr. BW is basically a reflection of most things that are wrong with the creative world today: his work is derivative, he hires others to produce it, he lacks a real reason to create street art beyond the desire to emulate and achieve success, and his only strong skill seems to be self-marketing, which leads to a great series of interviews with the Los Angeles public talking about how they think Mr. BW is awesome, even though he clearly is not and they clearly have no idea what he's all about. Hype! It's so cool.

Banksy comes out with a line around this point in the film, something like, "I used to tell everyone they should make art, but then I met Thierry. I don't tell that to everyone anymore." And I guess that'd be one of the major themes of this movie, a cautionary tale about how to go about creating art. On the one hand, sounds like the man is saying that Real Art is for the pros, so piss off. But in fact, when you look at that statement with the rest of the first half of the movie, talking about the rise of the movement and all that, it seems to be more of a "be real with your art" message. Mr. BW's problem isn't the impulse to create art, it's his intentions and motivations. His work is empty, shallow, commercial. Basically everyone else's art has a bit of spiritual flair, be it anti-authoritarian mischief, cutting social commentary, or just something cool displayed ephemerally in the public world. I think what the ambassador meant to say was that everyone should still create art, but they should do it on their own terms and for themselves. If you hone your craft and develop a weltanschauung (just wanted to use the word), then possibly fame and gallery shows will follow, but by that point it won't really matter, 'cause the art will be something that you do for yourself and for it's own artistic sake, and will thusly remain untainted. I suppose there's some more in there about the nature of public consumption of art (we like it pre-hyped and marketable, presented in a big gallery party so we can be seen enjoying it), and the bits about the origins of the scene are almost straight documentary, but that's about all I've got for direct themes.

Indirectly, there's some weirdness about the ethics of what Banksy did. Because let's face it, he took Thierry's footage and then made a movie about what a tool Thierry is, and might possibly be prospering. But this falls back into the category of Weird Things That One Could Think About Too Much, like the accuracy of any of the history of the movement stuff, whether it's really Banksy, what he's getting at by producing a movie like this (teasing us, defying the public to unmask him?), and even whether Thierry is just a character. The mind reels though, so it's safe to leave it as possibly troublesome but only mildly uncomfortable while watching Banksy rip on our filmmaker. Thing is, that ripping is really funny; the whole movie is really funny. And the editing, music, and all those other stylistic things are also slick and super-cool, as befitting a hip street artist's movie. It's a real pleasure to watch, and despite Banksy's admonitions inspiring. Perhaps the best way to breed the next generation of graffiti artists is to show them how it isn't done.

Next on my writing agenda: thoughts on the end of "Treme," and possibly a movie to come in the next week. I really just end with these to remind myself of what I ought to be doing.

"Now This Is What The Music Industry Is All About!"

2010-06-27T23:34:00.000-07:00

Just a quick review of "Get Him To The Greek," while it's all fresh in my contemplative little head: in the Apatow-associated-but-not-produced pantheon, better than "I Love You Man," but not quite "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." Definitely worth an evening's attention and diversion though. That was the super-short wrap-up I composed in my head earlier today; now here's my reasoning. "Greek" may tread in the same character footsteps as "Sarah Marshall," but I found "Greek" to be somehow less personable and relatable. Maybe it was the fact that the people's problems seem somehow more abstract/contrived: Jonah Hill, we can immediately tell, has relationship issues lurking just below the surface, but at the same time he's nearly completely blameless; Russell Brand, returning as Aldous Snow, has deeply ingrained personal problems that are messing up his life. These problems will somehow be solved, as in all Apatow-affiliated productions, with some deep soul-searching scenes and awkward humor, and we know this when we buy the ticket in the first place. Yet there was a complexity to "Sarah Marshall," the closest relation, that I could really dig on. Jason Segel must have really had his heart destroyed at some point, because it shows in his writing, but being a funny dude he can convey the situation of wanting to be with/semi-stalk the woman who dumped you, then finding someone else who's cool, but not being entirely sure of what anyone wants, least of all yourself, and then the first girl ends up wanting to get back together, and you don't want to hurt anyone, and BOOM! You've used too many commas in a sentence describing the total mess that is the essence of the "Sarah Marshall" relationship diagram. Of course, Jason then went and abstracted the whole thing to a degree for humor, and then glamorized everything by making Sarah Marshall a Kristen Bell-played TV superstar who runs off to Hawai'i, but that heart of confusion is still there, and that's what makes "Sarah Marshall" realer for me. I just preferred Aldous as a two-dimensional sex machine, an ego with a libido, who could spout off and be funny. Sure, even Rockstars have feelings, but the movie simplifies things a bit to accommodate the dual focus of Jonah and Russell (and sorry for switching between actor names and character names so freely this evening), leaving us only with empathy. Sure, they're likable enough dudes, but there's not the same question of "should Peter get back together with Sarah or stay with cool new girl whose name escapes me right now?" Maybe it's because "Sarah Marshall" has become what Tarantino would call a hang-out movie, where I watch it to chill with the characters. I'm invested in Peter's life for those two-ish hours, and get caught up in his psyche. With "Greek," I kind of just pitied Aldous and Jonah Hill's character for having to deal with him.

Anyways, that's my long-winded explanation for why I like "Sarah Marshall," cleverly disguised as comparative review. For all that, though, "Greek" was still pretty good, because even if I didn't click with is as emotionally as a certain other movie we've discussed at length today, it had the benefit of more Aldous Snow and an excellent Sean Combs as Sergio, music producer and batshit insane dude. Seriously, without Diddy to balance everything out, I would have written things off as Sarah Marshall-sploitation. But Diddy we have, so Diddy we shall enjoy. Every scene with him is wonderful, and the other actors do a fine job in their own rights. Some inspired sequences, more Infant Sorrow songs (always a plus), and a good-time vibe, what's not to like in an evening's entertainment?

Up next: a hopefully thoughtful review of the Banksy movie.

On the Perils of Self-Induced Overhyping

2010-06-23T23:20:00.000-07:00

Well, I seem to have done too much heavy duty thinking and pondering this evening, as I've reached one of those states of extreme philosophical introspection. Let's see what it does for a complex movie review, that of "Winter's Bone." I think I closed my last review mentioning that I was really excited for this movie; that's a bit of an understatement. Ever since I read about it in the Cannes reviews, I've been getting little-kid-before-Christmas excited for this movie. I tried to sell it to all my friends, I raved about it to my family, I criticized the trailer for being overly sensational without having ever seen the movie, and in general I developed a few too many expectations. So it was too late for me when I tried to take a more reasonable stance the evening of the movie, as I had already overhyped "Winter's Bone" to a point where I wasn't sure exactly how I'd feel about it. And I'm still not sure how I feel, in spite of certainty that it was a good movie.

I suppose it didn't help that I missed the first ten minutes, which led to a nagging feeling of having missed a good chunk of initial pacing. But my knowledge of the plot helped see me through the rest of the movie: Ree, a girl of about seventeen, looks after her two younger siblings in the chilly meth-cooking district of the Ozarks while her mother languishes with some kind of mental illness. Trouble (always trouble!) shows up in the form of a sheriff (or someone, this is the part I missed), informing Ree that her long-gone father was arrested and put their property up for bail. Long-gone meth-cooking fathers being what they are, Ree places little faith in the idea of him showing up for his court date, so she sets off through the neighborhood to try and find word of her daddy, so she can force him into showing up, thereby saving the house and her ability to care for the family. Another critic referred to her journey as a kind of Odyssey, and that's really stuck with me, so I'm pirating it right now: Ree's quest and the slightly creepy half-relative folks she has to deal with are... Odyssey-like? I really wanted to say Odysseus, but that hardly sounds right.

Cutting past that rambling, the story now takes off in the slow and subtle way of atmospheric mysterious journeys. Things unfold steadily, side-characters come and go regularly with their various agendas, and gradually everything takes the form of a world where life is a struggle and folks get by as best they can, which means keeping secrets and family ties equally strong. Danger abounds, of course, but Ree acquits herself admirably: she is played with a kind of matter-of-fact courage by Jennifer Lawrence, doing a fine job. But she does have a little help along the way, most notably from her Uncle Teardrop, played by John Hawkes. Teardrop was one of the better characters, in my humble opinion, an enigmatic man who seems to have mastered this cruel Ozark world through a combination of toughness and slight insanity. I'm starting to find it hard to describe things to y'all without possibly ruining anything, so let's cut the professionalism and get down to subjectivity. I thought this was a good movie; it moved at the slower pace that I like, especially when there are as many details and relationships floating around as there are here. Ultimately, I thought it all got down to be about the journey instead of the exact details of Ree's father (surprise!). It all boiled down to her ability to ultimately deal with the pressures of raising her siblings entirely alone and in the face of extreme adversity, and that took iron courage, something that you don't see relayed this convincingly much at all, especially not these days. And then there was the counterpart of Teardrop, who had already survived to the point of becoming entirely enmeshed in the adversity, something that I thought was especially moving in the closing scenes. Ree has to learn to rise above it all and deal, and Teardrop rose to the point where he had to come crashing back down.

But those are just my thoughts. What I really came here to try and talk about today is the idea of self overhyping, which is really what I think happened here with "Winter's Bone." Part of it is that I really wanted this movie to floor me, yet I walked out contemplative. Another part is that I found myself almost forcing joy and engagement to the point where I'm still not sure whether or not this was the movie or the idea of what I thought the movie was going to be. And this is tricky, especially for your run-of-the-mill aspiring movie critic. I want the truthful objectivity I had for "Micmacs," a movie I had heard was good from someone I trust. When you walk in with no expectations, you have a blank slate to chart your opinions on. But what of my marred slate for "Winter's Bone?" Truth is, I probably won't be able to figure it out until I end up re-watching it in a year or so, and hopefully then I won't be watching with an eye to please myself again. What I think we must do in this case is chalk the experience up with an asterisk: it was good, but a disappointment for strange internal reasons that have nothing to do with the film. The peril of self-induced overhyping is the excitement of anticipation, which contrasts sharply with the contemplative pleasure of a movie like "Winter's Bone."

I have rambled but good at this point, so I'm going to cut off abruptly and leave that last sentence as my last sentence. Movie review backlog has already developed, so expect one of "Exit Through the Gift Shop" as soon as I can motivate to do a decent job.

Micmacs is probably French for Joy

2010-06-13T23:05:00.000-07:00

Actually it's supposed to translate to "shenanigans" or "shady dealings" or something loose and slangy like that (say other reviews/synopses; any French-speakers in the audience today?), but I kind of like my interpretation better. After all, how often can you walk into a movie theater and then leave absolutely sure that your eleven bucks went to the pursuit of pure joy and happiness? 'Cause that's kind of what seeing "Micmacs" was like for me. Here's the lowdown: director of "Amelie" has done himself an action movie, but a light/quirky/"Amelie"-esque action movie (his name is Jean-Pierre Jeunet for the curious). Danny Boon, the French comic actor, stars as a kind of aimless young dude who lost his father to a land mine explosion, and then suffers an accidental brain injury when a bullet from a drive-by ricochets and lodges itself in his skull, leaving him susceptible to sudden instant death. All of this goes down within minutes. After coming out of the injury-coma, our young dude, whose name is Bazil, finds himself without a home or possessions or really much of anything. His post-discovering-my-life-as-I-knew-it-is-gone walk of sadness leads him do a quirky old dude who lives in a junkyard and presides over a big and happy family of other oddballs, all of whom have special abilities (one makes mechanical contraptions, another is a contortionist). For a few minutes they live happily in their junkyard house, salvaging stuff and being pleasantly odd, until Bazil stumbles upon the offices of the corporations that made both the land mine AND the bullet in his skull, conveniently across the street from each other. Righteous anger brewing, Bazil kind of blindly strikes out to do something about the grave psycho-emotional injuries he's suffered from these corporations, each headed by a Bad Dude, and before you know it he's planning, with a little help from his friends, how to best set these two corporations/Bad Dudes against each other, to show them a lesson.

All of that isn't just me being weird with my storytelling or even taking creative editing liberties. All of that exposition really does happen in the first twenty-odd minutes, and at roughly that pace. Events slide smoothly into each other; long sequences of Bazil raging at his losses in a pouring rain as dramatic music plays (possibly over a hazy montage of remembrances of his life pre-bullet and land mine) are blissfully absent. We get a shot of Bazil, comprehending that THESE are the very corporations responsible for his discontent, and then boom! He's wandering the halls, looking for trouble. This energy, this pulse of life is what makes and sustains the film. It's a bit of a conceit, but the movie has this magical aura about it from the very first minute. Chalk it up to the score and art direction and all that stuff; this is magical realism in the Franco-"Amelie" style. And the beauty is that, because we can see that it's a fanciful story, we buy into it willingly and immediately. It creates the same kind of joy that I felt as a kid watching old Chaplin or Keaton movies-- yeah, dudes in real life don't actually do stuff like turn with the board on their shoulder and hit the other two dudes in the face, but it could happen, and perhaps the world would be a more wonderful place if it did, so of course I'll laugh and enjoy it. The silent movie comparison is probably the most apt, as the jokes in addition to the atmosphere of enthrallment with film as a medium share a whole lot with a less cynical era of moviemaking.

I'm waxing, but deservedly so. This movie is awesome, a delight in basically every way, and comes highly recommended. For our moment of universality and semi-academic thought, let's stop and think for a moment as to why on earth there aren't more action movies that are this fun and pleasing. It probably has something to do with this feeling I've been trying to describe through all of this rambling, the fact that this is whimsy of the inner-child-pleasing variety; none of your self-conscious adolescent whimsey, tinged with feelings of unrequited love (the worst kind, yet somehow quite pervasive) and insecurity, and none of your slightly cynical hipster-and-older whimsey, which comes off as slightly creepy. Another reviewer likened "Micmacs" to a Rube Goldberg machine, which is right on the money. The sum of the parts comes together completely to do something that wasn't precisely necessary, but with such flair and good nature that it instantly becomes necessary. Sure, parts of the machine are just there for show, and it could all have been a whole lot simpler, but it is what it is, and we love it. Contrast this with the machinery of your conventional summer action movie: big stars, enhanced explosions, otherworldly locations, all put together with the cold efficiency of economics. The sum of the parts is designed to appeal to as many moviegoers as possible in some very complex way, but the complexity really only relates to the equations involved, as the story is usually creatively and emotionally shallow. Let's not even get into the other realm of action movies, where things seem to continue to get grittier and darker as time goes on. That machinery is definitely militaristic, in the mean way of weapons favored by warlords in dangerous parts of the globe. I think the metaphor is pretty much played out by this point, but let's spell it out anyways: action movies, you don't need explosions and sex and violence and one-liners to be fun. In fact, I think that if you put some of that stuff aside for a while and instead chose to focus on the other things that make a movie fun, then we might get something spectacular on a regular basis. So go ahead, just try it out for a bit. Maybe you'll realize that being cool isn't about slick appearances, but instead relates to something that comes from within.

Some pretty wild sentence construction going on there, but it's okay, I'm not picky. I also saw "Babies" a while ago, but don't have much to say about it that you can't already intuit from the trailer. It's entertaining and cute. It features a lot of babies. It probably would make an awkward date movie. The end. Now, onwards to seeing a movie that has had me all worked up for a while now, "Winter's Bone."

Mother, Among Other Things

2010-05-18T16:22:00.000-07:00

I've been pretty negligent with you guys lately, what with the usual distractions and all, so sorry 'bout that. But not really, because there's nothing to be sorry for, except the fact that I've forgotten a lot about what I wanted to say about today's (well, late March/early April's) movie. I was going to skip this one, but in between getting excited for this summer and free time to enjoy movies again and reading coverage of Cannes, I felt the urge to write. The only challenge is that I don't really have anything to say, so my plan for now is to kind of babble for a while until I make some kind of conclusion. Does that sound like a plan? I've had a lot of fleeting ideas lately, but every time I come to post they all fade away. So this'll be my way of trying to lure them back. Cool?

And so, predictably, it's been at least a week since I wrote even that paragraph. Excellent. Revising my ideas a tad, I think that today (and probably for the next few posts until I tire of this tactic) I'll focus less on the actual thing I'm talking about and instead seek to get at a big idea, which today will be Magic in Film. Call it a holdover from a semester spent doing some culture theory and intense literary analysis. So, how does this all relate back to "Mother?" I think that the director, Joon-ho Bong, is one of the most masterful filmmakers of our current time (right now) and capable of creating movies that go way beyond the pretty images/predictable story thing that gets pumped out so frequently these days, which may actually be making audiences devolve and is certainly wasting their time. But that's bile and anger for another day. "The Host," the other movie I saw by Bong, was a really good take on the bigass monster destroys cities genre, with a bunch of nasty messages about the medical profession snuck into the giant tadpole destruction. It was scary and interesting, but it also had cinematic life. There was an atmosphere that went with "The Host" that I can still sort of pull up mentally, having not seen it since theaters, which is (I think) one of the hallmarks of a successful movie: it creates its own world, with its own sights and sounds and presumed-but-inaccessible smells, that you can successfully lose yourself in and that sticks with you for years. Good books (and video games too, you could argue) do this as well: a masterful narrative needs a world to live in, so it creates its own.

All of that is kind of a longwinded approach to the point that "Mother" also has its own world-vibe going on, and it's this Bong-distinctive world-vibe of beautiful images and a slightly haunting story populated by a variety of interesting people. I suppose I could be a bit more insightful if I was Korean, but as an outsider I can only try to identify based on pure human empathy with our characters, a mother and her slightly retarded son. The story is set in motion when the son is accused of murdering a local girl, but the mother is our driving force, a tenacious amateur detective essentially battling a world of people who don't really care. But I'd hardly call this a detective story; it may share many of the conventions (clues, indifferent police chiefs), but "Mother" is really more of a soul-wrenching drama about people struggling to fight the good fight and do what's right (to put it in a simple rhyme). The characters are deep, the story engaging in the fine tradition of quality mysteries, and by the end I was involved to the point where I became truly upset with some of the choices our characters made. But what really sets "Mother" into an orbit of great film is Bong's masterful directorial touch that merges awe-inspiringly beautiful shots to this engaging story. Images of people dancing in fields and rainy dark alleys that achieve this degree of visual poetry need to be experienced to be understood. So that'd be my verdict on "Mother," if you want it straight-out: see this movie. It's not for the faint of heart, but it's really good.

And that, tying it all together, is what Great Film should really do: take a potentially upsetting story and elevate it to one of those universal emotional truths that make the scary/sad stories worthwhile. Because, after all, movies are their own unique brand of storytelling. Instead of the traditional verbal art of yarn-spinning or the beauty of the written word found in books (not to mention all the unique nuances that the specific forms bring to and use to alter the basic fabric of the Story), film is meant to use images as well as words and sound and acting to tell the tale. This creates a very different experience, almost that of viewing another possible permutation of the real world for 90-odd minutes, but has an almost magical quality when successfully pulled off. This would be that quality of film magic, and I think it comes from the otherworldliness of watching a movie. They proceed at stately pace, seem somehow familiar, and yet exist only as a series of film stills and in the imagination. This creates a more visceral experience, but one that must be carefully constructed. So many terrible movies exist and are immediately written off as fake, dreck, unimaginative pieces of Hollywood self-indulgence. But when true mastery comes along, it builds a world slowly, subtly, using elements that we are instantly familiar with (fields, human beings, a little music) to draw us in. And then at some point a switch flips, and we're in the world of that movie, wondering not who the actor is but what the character will do. It's a beautiful feeling, and I think that's what we need more of today: "Casablanca" over "Prince of Persia." There was a time when it seems that more movies were magical in this way instead of strictly commercial, and I think that's what that Cannes coverage inspired in me. There are still people out there making great movies, movies that actually have some of this magic, and they should be treated as the cool gender-neutral-Dudes that they are. Let's see if we can't raise some appreciation for old-school movie awesomeness.

How's that for a welcome back to the blog?

Harmony Is An Odd Name

2010-03-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

Life's been pretty busy lately, but not really busy with the sorts of things I like to write about here. I've debated posting about my continual worries regarding the troubles of the world, thoughts about art and the world derived from reading Adorno, celebrations of "old"/outdated media, like radio and newspapers (inspired by lots of stuff), the future, the joys of the idea of independent filmmaking, and what have you. My mind's been a pretty busy and overwhelmed place lately, so it was high time for a break. And breaks, of course, mean weird little indie movies...

... and preposterous amounts of procrastination. My apologies. So, a few weeks later, let's get down to the weirdness and charm of this movie. Seems kind of like I'm on a mumblecore kick, except for the fact that I can't really use that term with any authority, because (and this is the preposterous logic class I'm taking right now) I don't know what comprises the identity of the term "mumblecore." Anyways, I think this movie is pretty close: very amateur, about weird people, filmed handheld on what looks like a shoestring. At first, this seems kind of like a movie people could make in high school/college, i.e. pretty damn informal. Sound is off, lighting and camera work are weird, and the general tone seems like, as someone once said, something someone in a film course would think is really cool. Until that charm goes to work, which takes only about twenty minutes. Most of this is the weird little story and the actors. Basically, we've got this: Harmony is a dude who was dumped by his girlfriend in the first 30 seconds of the movie's exposition. The film chronicles his break-up moping/coming around. And it's kind of awesome: equal parts "Office Space" and super-informal indie shenanigans. I'm doing a kind of bad job explaining, but those are the basics. But, as in all things, it's all about how the story is told. Harmony gets through his funk with music and a general negative attitude that, combined with his deadbeat/failure friends, makes for some awesome jokes. Yes, this is a comedy, no strange drama. The jokes are good and frequent without being lowbrow or "Juno"-indie. And, in the end, our resolution is pleasing and uplifting without being corn-syrup levels of sickeningly sweet. There's not much more than that to a good movie, except perhaps exceptional acting. Exceptional is a strong term, but I'll go so far as to say that the actors, mostly underground (the lead is a musician from an obscure band), deliver superb performances, at once familiar without being derivative. Good stuff, and well worth a watch if it moves to an indie theater near you.

So that's the short of "Harmony and Me;" perhaps it's worth noting that people say that it gets even better after multiple re-watchings. Sorry I couldn't do a super-detailed job, life got in the way of timely completion. Which brings me to my next, unrelated closing point: what would y'all think of me dragging in more rants/commentary about life and things? I've been worrying about the Problems of the World lately (as I've mentioned, obliquely), and sometimes feel like I could sit down and write some kind of essay about things. And by essay I mean post, which is basically an equivalence relation in the context of this blog (sorry, logic again). But hey, lots of those problems tend to come from art and its relation to society and our lives. For example, I was doing some mental composing on my walk home this evening about why on earth everyone on this campus would decide to go to the big/sweaty dance party, where people are doing the same vapid thing that they do at every party, instead of a radio station-run dance party with live DJ doing a sick set of danceable musics? It's mind-boggling how terrible people can be, and how often these people will, for lack of a better term, suck. It's settling, settling for the easy pleasures of the pack instead of dealing with a three minute walk and a slightly more empty party, with a much better vibe. I just don't get it. These are the kinds of questions I'd like to work out with you guys, because I'm quite frankly confused so much of the time these days. Anyways, just a thought/heads up, in case these sorts of things start coming your way. I've got another review to do, but that may be for tomorrow, and hopefully I'll catch a few more movies before summer to keep you all engaged. Because that's the ultimate goal, isn't it? Engaged readers. Do me proud guys, with your passive readership.

Mumblecore Moments

2010-02-02T21:38:00.000-08:00

So I just watched "Humpday" a couple of days ago, on DVD, and wanted to just talk a little about mumblecore, and why it's so weird yet inspiring and potentially awesome. Without spoiling the central conceit of the movie, "Humpday" basically explores a shared point in the lives of two old friends where, for different but entirely plausible and not too unrelated reasons, dissatisfaction abounds. Nice sentence. One guy is married and looking at a future that's not as wild/adventurous as he had imagined, and the other is an artist and free spirit back from doing fuck knows what in Mexico, realizing that his shenanigans are largely meaningless. Now, get a couple of A-list actors, a budget, some fancy director, and you'd probably get a shitty Oscar-baiting drama, complete with ponderous score and a handful of guaranteed tearjerker moments as you, the audience, get to watch human existential crises pared down and writ large, simplicity to touch even the most simple. But instead, we get mumblecore, more of a style than a genre, where little-known actors slouch in sets that could very well be the house next door, mumbling (there's your root) and stumbling through a script that, if not so subtly acted, would come off as magnificently mundane. I'm also guessing that some improv goes on, and I'm realizing that I'm getting a little flamboyant in my prose, but I think you get the picture. The spectacular thing here, though, is twofold: the awkwardness and the realness, combined into Life. What I mean to say, less pretentiously, is that mumblecore takes this drama (which sounds kind of lame) and gives it that spark of realness, the kind that makes you look at your friends afterward and say, "That shit is real, man. That's how things go down in Real Life." It's almost like found drama (to borrow from my reading of Infinite Jest), in that it's almost like living another person's life for 90 minutes; there's that tinge of creepy voyeurism, but at the same time there's the distance of film. These people, strangers before the opening credits rolled, are now your friends, and you can identify and empathize with them like they're real folks there. The awkwardness, often used for comedic effect, becomes even more profound, because you can imagine sitting there, in that chair, and trying to have that very same conversation. Realness is a fickle thing in art, but when achieved it's something magical. I'm sure there's plenty of shitty mumblecore out there, and I really didn't talk about how "Humpday" was a bizarre comedy in so many ways, but I just wanted to think about (by writing) what made that viewing experience so strangely contenting and amusing. Oh, and inspiring-- just a few dudes, a camera, and a little inspiration... movie.

'Sup Guys

2010-01-19T16:54:00.000-08:00

Man, I don't even know where to begin. Probably the most important order of business right now is the drastic visual change we've just gone through, largely because I thought that it was time for our little site to look a bit prettier on this big, scary internet. So hopefully you guys still can dig it, and I'll probably keep tweaking it in the near future. Blogger is a bit of a pain to work with if you've got something other than their predetermined templates in mind, so I spent most of the afternoon wrestling with this sucker. Anyways, I think it's pretty cool, and hope you like it too.

What else is up? Not much, but that in itself is something. I'm back and collegiate right now, listening to Beatles RockBand in a dorm room right now, which doesn't actually translate to anything related to this corner of the internet right now. However, other than revamping the site, I've got a few little things planned for the future. I'd really like to keep the Bali blog momentum/focus going, but that would require subject matter. It's not a thematic plan, but you can expect more of these quasi-meditative posts on theme and genre and that sort of thing. I'm starting to enjoy it, and quite frankly you guys don't need me hashing out all the plot details and other obvious stuff whenever I review something. But I'm still going to try and keep up with the Tartar Sauce, once I get back and settled with the internet. And I think it'll work out; we're just different enough so that I can devote different energies to both while not cheating the other.

Cool, glad you all cared about that enough to stick with it. Substantively, I skipped a movie for probably the first time since I started the blog, "Sherlock Holmes," largely because I ran out of time and focus and all that good stuff. It's hard coming back from abroad. I might get to it in a belated fashion, but on the Tartar Sauce. In the mean time, I've yet to get to a movie out here, but I aim to (once the indie selection gets good), try and get a few more than usual in this spring. And I've been really slacking on music as of late, but I've been having plenty of epiphanies to keep me going. Problem is, I missed the new music train whilst in LA, so it'll be a while until I get something worthy of review/thought. But, as always, I aim to get back into that scene. 'Cause music is super awesome.

Right. And how are you guys, my few/proud/brave? Ready for another round of rambling reviews? Dealing with the visual transition and huge text blocks okay? Glad you could make it again. I'm looking forward to this immediate future of pop-culture shenanigans.

An Appeal for Charming Roguishness

2009-12-26T12:55:00.000-08:00

I don't know how Wes Anderson manages it. He seems to have the skill to make a movie that, without fail, will look visually stunning (in that hypersaturated Wes Anderson way), have a solid soundtrack (in that indie Wes Anderson way), and manage to be deeply pleasing/amusing/comforting without being uproariously hilarious all the time. Must be a gift. Anyways, the Wes Anderson touch is still strong in our second installment of "Movies I Missed When I Was In Another Country," "Fantastic Mr. Fox." Again, it's been out for a while, you've probably already seen it or heard lots about it, so let's get right down to subjective analysis of what made this so pleasing.

But I suppose I can't resist a little plot summary. George Clooney, appropriately, voices the titular Mr. Fox, a charming devil of a man-animal with a weakness for grand thievery. He's retired, after a promise to Meryl Streep (wifey) to quit the dangerous life of stylish crime they lead, but you know how these things go. Eventually the allure of three huge super-farmers becomes too much, and old Foxy can't resist the challenge of stealing their precious products. And again, as these things tend to go, our hero runs into trouble when the farmers, lead by smart and evil Michael Gambon, try to track him down and avenge their loss violently. This imperils the rest of the forest animals, leading to some deep questions about reckless antics, a last big plan, and the Wes Anderson stop-motion equivalent of the shootout at noon.

Once you get used to the wild movements of the stop-motion puppets (a bit more frenetic than claymation, but somehow more peaceful than straight animation), the movie becomes immensely pleasurable to watch, kind of a orange-tinted dreamscape. The music, despite the English countryside setting, borrows heavily from American folk (I thought) and is jaunty, and the voice acting is stellar. But what really distinguishes "Mr. Fox" from your run-of-the-mill well done animated piece is the weird combination of the melancholy and the subversively optimistic. Wes Anderson tends towards the former (and much of his style of dialogue, the self-deprecating meditation on love and self and uniqueness, remains, especially in the Jason Schwartzman character), and Roald Dahl tends extremely towards the latter; surprisingly, the combination produces wonder, like an unlikely chemical equation. Things get bleak from time to time, but there's an undeniable sense of righteousness, even as Mr. Fox loses his tail. We all know that such things will not stand, and that a counteroffensive will be planed with all the dashing charm present in such a fox.

Which leads me to our point, mentioned in the title: one could look at this movie as an allegory for industrialization/big corporations vs. country farmers, or the struggle between animal instincts and polite society. But what I saw tends a bit towards the romantic: Mr. Fox, fantastic as he may be, is one of the last true charming rogues and debonair adventurers in a world where such gentlemanly virtues are disappearing fast. I find myself bemoaning the loss of adventure in the world more and more these days, but this doesn't entirely relate to the taming of the world. An essential component of the adventure is the adventurer, the sort of person just crazy enough to strike out for uncharted horizons purely for the sake of exploring the unknown. These individuals can be mercenary, insane, driven, or any number of adjectives that, when applied to a man's character, lead him to set out for the vast unknown. But one subset of the adventurer has always been the dashing man of action, equal parts gentleman and explorer, possessed of enough panache to sustain himself for weeks without food or pleasant company. His drive relates to some subtle internal recklessness, boredom with the tamed world some may say, but also to a different way of processing his world. Why not go home a different way? Why not see what happens when we do this? The spirit of adventure isn't entirely about the result, but the process, a kind of curiosity to seek the unknown.

And here is where our appeal for charming roguishness comes in: the world is becoming a smaller place. Bold explorers of old, the type who were really only at home braving the elements for months at a time with only the clothes on their backs and a really huge knife, are less and less needed, and may very well be a dying breed, regulated to living of the fringe and laughing as the end of society draws near. But we, as human beings, still need an element of adventure, which in turn requires people to go and seek this adventure. We need people to point out the excitement that lurks behind the mundane, people that can describe our exploits in such glowing terms as to make us feel that we braved Cape Horn. And of course, it helps if they can deliver a good toast, know a little about wine, and act like a gentleman (or lady; my apologies for the male-centric use of "him" in this rant). And this is what Mr. Fox represents: he may be a role model, in the fine Cary Grant tradition, of dashing yet slightly dangerous seeming men of the world, but he is also at heart a sort of adventurer straining against his tame desk job as a newspaper columnist. His need to steal mirrors our own need to see our exploits as extraordinary. He speaks to the unquenchable desire in the collective hearts of living things to feel fulfillment, and for humans (or anthropomorphized foxes) that fulfillment comes from adventuring, braving the unknown or unusual. And so his struggle is our own, his dangers the (cinematically dramatized) risks that one must take to sleep soundly at night, his very existence a sort of appeal for the existence of more like him: Mr. Fox, through his actions and reversals, but most importantly through his attitude, represents a type of person that we need now more than ever. May his presence serve as an inspiration and appeal to the youth of today to don their corduroy coats, snap their fingers, and light out into our constructed unknown in search of invented adventures, all the while remaining a gentleman.

Yeah, that's about all I have to say. I just might add a mini review of "Police, Adjective," a recent Romanian release that I had the misfortune of sleeping through: it is a very slow and dry police movie, not quite a drama and not quite a comedy. Yet there is a purity in the long silences, a beauty in the slightly bleak long shots, and there are a few inspired sequences between the detective and his wife about life. I think it's kind of a meditative and at least enjoyable pause from the hustle and bustle of things. But it is very, very slow, so be warned. If not, you might have the same experience I had of confusing my half-dreams with the plot, and then wondering what my friends are doing in the movie, or what happened to the old woman. But that in itself might be interesting.

Developing Countries Look Like Home Now

2009-12-20T17:23:00.000-08:00

So I'm back, freshly returned from the wilds of Bali, Indonesia. It was wild, wonderful, amazing, adjective, and all that cliche study abroad stuff; in short, every inch the adventure I had hoped it to be despite my vocal complaints beforehand. That entire story is chronicled (and still being chronicled, as I'm not quite done letting go) over at my stunning associate's site, Fear and Loathing in Bedulu. Now that I've assured my loyal readers in this part of the world that I'm alive and well, let's get back to what we do best: reviews of movies in a belated fashion.

Catching up with movies missed, we'll be writing about "The Hurt Locker" today, one of the few movies that I wanted to see still in theaters somewhere (thank the Golden Globes dudes for that, I think. Or SAG?). Anyways, this one's been out for a while, so this is going to end up being more impression-y. Basically, what we've got here is another movie chronicling the latest conflict, our little perpetual Iraqi involvement, but a fresh angle in that the film focuses on a few soldiers, specifically a bomb squad. Our two noble support tech guys, Sgt Sanborn and Spc Eldridge, have to deal with a new supervisor, one SSgt. Will James. With fewer than forty days left in their rotation, Sanborn and Eldridge just want to make it home alive; challenge is that James is a bit of a cowboy, and comes in after the former squad leader dies from taking a risk. Shocked and more than a little scared for their own lives, Sanborn and Eldridge react badly to James' risk-heavy madman approach to diffusing IEDs. And so things get down to business: the movie focuses on the psychology of soldiers fighting unfathomable odds (a more obtuse way of avoiding the phrase "invisible enemy"), and to a lesser extent the camaraderie of a group of egos (well, mostly Sanborn and James fighting over protocol) all on the same side.

"The Hurt Locker" is certainly a realistic movie, as one woman in the audience remarked loudly a couple of times, and that realism is one of its great strengths. Although we don't have faux-documentary style footage, the camera still shakes like a head in a helmet as our boys scatter for cover on a dusty street (although not sickeningly), and the writer/director team puts their time in country to good use (I forget who spent time imbedded) by serving up technical jargon. My main objection here is that I was thinking it would end up a bit more like "Apocalypse Now," probably because James reminds me so much of Bob Duval's Col. Kilgore. But instead of mysticism, we get psychology, which is nice in its own right. I have a feeling that "The Hurt Locker" will take a place of honor in the pantheon of Iraqi conflict movies of the future, but we're still missing a masterpiece.

Let me see... we've got plot, realism, objections. Other than that, I don't have much else to say. This one is definitely memorable, but not something that'll prey on the consciousness for days. There are inspired sequences, such as a run-in with British or Australian paramilitary contractors in the vast desert, that kind of distill the jaded sense of fear that must develop during a rotation, but the real meat is maddening bomb diffusing. Tight and thrilling movies don't come any realer than a sequence in a crossroads where one wire just leads to another.

Hmm... a bit rusty, but it's an inaugural effort. I've already got another review in the tubes, and hope to get to current release stuff with "Police, Adjective" before I head back east. In the mean time, thanks for tuning back in. It's good to be home.

Science Fiction Double Feature

2009-08-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

It's been a fine summer for Sci Fi movies (based on a sample size of two), so without any lengthy expositions let's get down to it. The movies for today are "Moon" and "District 9," seen within a week of each other due to the wonderful timeliness of my local movie theater and my friends who are willing to go drive to see current release films. The former is an exercise in genre, with a standard plot extremely well told, while the latter changes the rules and delivers a gritty and occasionally legitimately morally disturbing twist on alien stories as we know them.

So better late than never, let's start with "Moon." Unfortunately, I can't reveal which of the regulation science fiction plots "Moon" deals with for fear of revealing the story, but rest assured that it's familiar territory. However, it's not the story, it's how you tell it, and Duncan Jones (co-writer/director and apparently the son of David fucking Bowie) certainly knows how to tell a story. Sam Rockwell plays Sam (funny that), lunar resource miner. He's nearing the end of a three-year stint doing this mining stuff with no human company; instead, he has Kevin Spacey-voiced robot/helper GERTY, a more benevolent version of HAL (the comparison has been made before but is inevitable). But then there's an accident, and things start to get weird with the arrival of a second Sam, this one beginning his three-year stay. As original Sam's health declines and second Sam starts getting suspicious about fishy goings-on at the base the plot unfolds, and this is where I leave you to eventually see the movie. It's a little complex, but if you pay attention everything falls into place nicely, and there's a strong message of hope and sticking-it-to-the-man in the end. Another message: corporations are evil and exploitative. It's even a little thought-provoking, but mostly just a breath of fresh air for legitimate science fiction, even more production considering the extreme low budget (only really evident in a few iffy CGI moments). The acting is superb though- Kevin Spacey was born to voice robots, and Sam Rockwell does an incredible job playing the multiple parts. There must also be some fancy editing involved, as evidenced in the fact that original Sam can brawl with second Sam and all that I can worry about is that second/angrier Sam will hurt original Sam. So that's a testament to editing, camerawork and acting there. Definitely a good film though, beyond the limitations of genre stories, and well worth a look.

Staying with the promising young filmmakers theme (and hopefully with fewer parentheticals and hyphenated phrases), let's turn our attention to "District 9," a twist on the "aliens have landed" story full of social commentary and apartheid imagery. Another co-writer/director, Neill Blomkamp, is certainly visionary, although uncomfortably so. We get a world in which the aliens that land aren't bristling with hostility or boldly seeking to contact our civilization; instead, something has gone wrong, and a big ship full of sick/leaderless aliens lands over Johannesburg. Humanity doesn't know what to do with them, so we treat them as third-class citizens and shuttle them into a nice apartheid slum. Enter Wikus Van De Merwe, government bureaucrat in charge of moving the aliens now known as "prawns" (a nice bit of derogatory slang for the vaguely crustacean beings) into another encampment. Wikus takes on his task with zeal, finding ways of convincing the prawns to agree to eviction. The film at this point is documentary-styled, lending even more realism to what is a very gritty movie (the CGI is hardly intrusive at all, save some of the gory splatter effects that come later). But soon things get ugly: Wikus stumbles upon a canister and, in his zeal, gets squirted by mysterious alien technology goop and starts getting sick. When it turns out that he's manifesting prawn physical characteristics, the government contractor he works for essentially repossesses his body and whisks him off for a battery of unpleasant tasks. Here's where things get pretty unbearable. Not only does the film switch to conventional dramatic formula (no more documentary-style talking heads or "live footage"), but the social commentary and moral implications become unbearably heavy. The scenes in which Wikus is forced to test alien weaponry, especially on a live prawn, are both the worst as far as evil medical experiments since "The Host" (that I've seen) and make the soul squirm in revulsion. Sure, commentary is good, but is it necessary to be so damn explicit? Other scenes up to this point were also pretty bad, like brutality in the slums and casual hatred of the prawns; but things get better after this. Wikus meets up with another prawn, owner of the goop, and the two form an ass-kicking alliance so that they can both get the goop and turn Wikus back into a man (and so the prawn can, you know, do his own thing). This enables the commentary to take a new direction as Wikus becomes a reluctant freedom fighter (there's an especially Halo-esque assault on a building that's truly spectacular), but the message remains buried under a lot of gritty action that's hard to handle on a deep, emotional level.

In the end, I award "Moon" the distinction of better picture, because it has a bit more warmth and joy. Sure, both are fun and innovative (I use the word broadly) science fiction films, but "Moon" just had a little more joy about it. "District 9" may have pushed more limits, but the ultimate bleakness of the picture and the commentary were just a little too off-putting for my taste, which I like to think is geared towards the subtle. Both are fine films, just beware the sheen of violence designed for mass appeal.

So that's the last from me for a while I believe. I'm off to Bali in a few days, a fine place I'm sure, but one without lots of Western Popular Culture, which is of course the meat of this little blog-thing. Unless I feel particularly inspired by some form of pop culture over there, I think I'll be checking back in here in December, hopefully with lots of wonderfully weird indie-but-not-overly-so fare. Otherwise I've got the link for my Bali blog in the sidebar there, so if you want to check in with my trials and trepidations, feel free to go ahead. Otherwise we'll see how this western boy does in South Asia. Until December, over and out.

Indie Grows Up

2009-07-24T08:50:00.000-07:00

I'll start this review with a little digression about the nature of indie, because I seem to be falling deeply in love with the digression as a way to make an incredibly convoluted point in my reviews. So I've come to the conclusion that many may have already reached, namely that there is a difference between indie kids and people who are really and truly Indie (not Indiana Jones, just capital-I-for-emphasis Indie) and that difference is the element of self-consciousness. Indie kids are the type of kid who go out of their way to be wacky and alternative and generally different in a quirky way, because they think it will make them appear cool and therefore give their lives meaning. Then there's a subcategory of individuals who do so in a semi-ironic fashion, known as hipsters, who focus more on the absurdist/awful side of being different and seek to showcase their own good taste by pretending to enjoy things that are clearly awful; the danger here is an overdose of irony that leaves none of the original good taste (if there ever was any) visible, resulting in walking caricatures. And lastly we have the core of my argument, that there is a type of person who is really and truly Indie, but they achieve this distinction by being so naturally and effortlessly indie that they actually cease to be considered as such (it also helps that their taste tends more towards the whimsical and unusual in such an ingrained fashion that their breed of indie is nowhere nearly as offensive as their irksome wanna-be counterparts). And it is because these people cease to be considered indie that their distinction is so ephemeral, yet every bit as pleasurable as what the first type of indie kid strives to be. The word "indie" has been looking weird on the page for a while now, so let's get to the review.

For a case in point demonstration of these different breeds of alternative lifestyle, please see "Juno" and then today's film, "Away We Go." "Juno" has become the quintessential indie movie because it tries so goddamned hard to be quirky; the quirk is forced. I actually found the movie enjoyable (minus soundtrack), but the after-hype and surrounding cult have become unbearable. Keeping all this previous history in mind, as well as my views on the subject of indie kids, it's understandable that I thought "Away We Go" would be similarly forced. The posters looked very "Juno"-cutscene-esque, and the trailer made it seem way depressing. So I entered said film with more than my fair share of usual skepticism, and was blown away. Not only does "Away We Go" diverge from indie stereotypes by being so naturally and subtly quirky, but it also centers on a pair of whimsical kids (who happen to be adults) growing up, further removing us from the angsty adolescent world of the stereotypical indie kid. And my god is it well told, as a story: full of fear and trepidations and joy and old friends and generally possibly the most hopeful take on growing up that my young mind has had the good fortune to stumble upon in these impressionable times when that part of the future looks really fucking scary. You'd probably like some plot now: John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph are a charming interracial couple about to have a baby. When John's parents abandon them indirectly/passively by deciding to move away, the two find themselves footloose and fancy free to go off and find a neighborhood to raise the baby. This leads to a road trip of visiting old friends and acquaintances and trying to come to terms with Real Life kicking in the door of their peaceful, simple indie-without-trying existence. Some of it is hilariously awkward, some of it just plain funny in an adversarial sense, some admittedly contrived (one joke in particular, but it's one of the best), but mostly just heartwarming, and with a large dose of pathos/sensitivity. Krasinski and Rudolph do great work here, and the script is outstanding (I figure that if I notice how fine and natural the dialogue is without feeling forced, it must be a baller screenplay, so hats off to you Dave Eggers). And the movie is also nicely shot and composed, lots of good colors and a cooly colored atmosphere, and the soundtrack is subtly indie, lots of one dude who has a mellow voice and is very accomplished with his acoustic fingerpicking ways.

That's not to say that there aren't a few overly drawn out segments, and that the side-characters are perfect and as real as our heroes, but it's not every movie that can make the bleak adventure of growing up seem so fun and exciting. The movie is best summed up in a final scene, where John is on a trampoline late at night, making phone calls on a friend's behalf in an angry way, when Maya goes and finds him, then the two have a ever-so-slightly quirky conversation that's actually quite deep and forward-looking, and then they fall asleep. There's something so poetic, I can't really do justice to the floaty feeling of deep contentment I had for the rest of the evening, nor the sense of excitement I feel for that period of my life, still yet to come. So the bottom line is go and see this movie, it's soul-warming and uplifting and funny, and will hopefully elevate your spirits for a few days down the line.

That's all from me for now, peep the Tartar Sauce for my first official posting with those guys. This one just seemed a little closer to the Mind the Bats heart, so I decided to give us some business. But don't worry, even though I'm doing some writing with them now I'll still come back to my roots with regularity, dropping things like this on you, the strange little indie films that I so adore and my odd rants. Because I remember where I'm from. Closing time now, gents, last rounds.

Magical Realism

2009-07-17T10:43:00.000-07:00

What a cool phrase, and what a really satisfying type of fiction. I just read One Hundred Years of Solitude and it was unbelievably baller, got me thinking about magical realism, all that good stuff. But that's not what our post is about today. Instead, I bring you a review of a more literary bent: The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet, by Rief Larsen, a damn fine book and well worth your time. Unfortunately, book reviews aren't as much my thing as movies, but I'm feeling adventurous and think I'll give it a shot. For those of you who like comparisons, think The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, but instead of an autistic eighteen-year-old explaining the world with little diagrams, we have a precocious twelve-year-old genius cartographer, T.S., whose maps greatly enhance what could be simply distilled to a coming-of-age story. Only it's a bit more complicated than that: T.S's coming of age is vastly more subtle than what we've become used to when we hear the phrase "coming of age;" the story is almost as much about his worldview as it is about his character coming to terms with events both within his family and the world of adults, who are attempting to recognize his genius with some grand Smithsonian prize. It's also a rousing tale of adventure with a heavy pseudo-magical tinge to it, which is where we get out post title: to me, magical realism isn't about the magic. It's that kind of story where things tend to happen in ways that don't fit in with our ordinary laws of how the world works, and often not with the laws of physics. In One Hundred Years of Solitude, this took the form of a house that was almost a living breathing character, minor miracles of a non-religious sort, longevity, and a general feeling of awe and amazement. In T.S. Spivet, the magical realism takes a form more akin to the active imagination of a very smart twelve-year-old boy, something that I found incredibly charming. And even the book starts to bog down with a story within a story i the middle (arguably the only weak point), the confluence of wonderful events in the end more than make up for any digressions sustained in the middle. This is, in my humble opinion, one of the finest books I have read by a recent author in my recent memory, which is why I review it so glowingly. Now go out there and experience some magical realism of your own, find it in your little life, and start peeping The Tartar Sauce more frequently, 'cause I got a posting there now for keeps. Over and out.

Easy Review

2009-07-06T18:46:00.000-07:00

It should have been a play, plain and simple. And of course it was, in the beginning, based on a Noel Coward play. The movie today is "Easy Virtue," something that showed an odd sort of promise back in the trailer, but then ultimately failed in practice. I am not a theater dude, and my knowledge of Coward plays is limited, but to me they are predominantly dialogue driven, fast paced, and kind of manically/whimsically fast in a style reminiscent of PG Wodehouse (who might have actually come after Coward, not sure, but my analogy stands). The movie lacks all of this: the dialogue occasionally breaks free of the tedious pacing, but for the most part any comedy and whimsy are stifled by terrible directorial techniques, unnecessary camera work (focusing in and out, overly complicated shots, wild panning and crane work) and the inability of Jessica Biel to really act at all. Her accent was the one thing that really and truly managed to piss me off; there was one scene where she seemed to be deliberately overenunciating her S's and it pierced my brain like a knife. There's a bunch of other stuff I could call her on like lack of comedic timing, lack of compassion/empathy and that stuff, but there's no real need to, because the characters really have no greater meaning in the plot. The young English dandy who falls for Biel brings her home, and then there's some half-assed drama about losing the family estate, and then there's mad tension between the rest of the family (minus Colin Firth) and this American trying to steal the young dandy away, but none of it matters. In the end, all plot ends are left hanging, and although the ending is satisfying you really don't need to watch the entire movie, just the last twenty or so minutes for a nice dance scene and some good moments with the butler (the movie's other saving grace) and some nice music. In fact, that's a pretty solid recommendation: just catch the last twenty minutes on TV sometime, and you'll get everything out of this movie you need to. But the overall experience wasn't bad, just not good. The music is fine, and (as I keep saying) Colin Firth and the staff are amusing to watch. Still, it would have been infinitely superior to see it as the original play (assuming that the play doesn't have such a gimp ending) with Firth and the jazzy soundtrack.

And this is old news by now, but we've got another guest postie at the Tartar Sauce that you guys can check out at your leisure. Cool cool.

Hungover

2009-06-30T13:16:00.000-07:00

Seems an appropriate title for an inappropriately late review of "The Hangover." Because it was so very long ago that I watched said movie, I'll stick to impressions in an effort to save face and keep the writing pure. It's a bromance of sorts, but with subtler personal changes than in "I Love You Man," and even though said changes are only slightly less obvious, that little bit makes all the difference. Bare bones plot summary: standard issue groom, two of his best friends and his awkward, soon-to-be brother-in-law (too many hyphens) hit up Vegas for a bachelor party to end all bachelor parties. We witness the approach, hotel check-in, and then first drink of the night, and then watch a sped up shot of the skyline going from night to morning, and then get to see the aftermath of the debauchery. The biggest consequence is that the groom has gone missing, leaving approximately two days for the friends to find him, bond, sort out their differences, mature, and have a hell of a funny time. The comedy is broad and physical at times, including a rather unnecessarily crude scene with tasers, but is occasionally smarter and sharper than the mass median style it promises (such as when brother-in-law Zach Galifinakis has a dramatic music, slow motion, old west-style showdown during the aforementioned taser scene). This is comedy in the broadest sense, but not comedy without a sense of humor. For every time someone suffers physical trauma or for every drunk joke or for every other sort of stupid but funny moment there... well, the ration isn't exactly 1:1, but the fine moments like a Mike Tyson cameo make up for the other stuff. And the acting ain't bad either- Zach Galifinakis does a great job being weird and uncomfortable, Ed Helms is good as the uptight friend, the douchebag friend (too lazy to look him up) does a nice job of slowly toning down his brashness, and the supporting cast also shines, especially Heather Graham. And the character transformations are entirely suitable, especially that of douchebag friend, whose self-confidence, originally a major defect, turns into practical resourcefulness as he turns his considerable skills of douchieness to recovering his lost friend. Although Ed Helm's rejection of his whippedness may be more satisfying. Bottom line: it may be a comedy engineered towards the bros, but we can learn to live comfortable alongside our broseph bretheren. Last note: the music selection is a pretty godawful combination of top 20 pop and terrible rap songs, save Kanye's "Can't Tell Me Nothing," which Galifinakis did a music video for. I thought that was a super-clever in joke.

Okay. I haven't forgotten Pac-Biggie, but it's really hard to find an angle for that. I promise more recent movies and reviews in the near future. Cool stuff, let's get to it.

Ya, Odd Horten. And guesties.

2009-06-07T00:54:00.000-07:00

Y'all lucky, you get two posts for the price of one today. Our good friend Jake over at the Tartar Sauce (a more reputable blog of pop culture and all that is good) hooked us up with a little guest post gig. So for thoughts on up, direct your attention that-a-way. For strange yet pleasing Norwegian films, you've come to the right place.

It never really feels like I'm home until I see a foreign or indie movie at the local indie theater, so you could call this our homecoming review. Welcome back to the wonderful world of little-known joy and rewarding cross-cultural immersion. Forgive what could sound pretentious. Our movie today is "O'Horten," a very strange and dreamlike movie that is also deeply pleasing in an odd way (and no pun very much intended). The movie chronicles the adventures of Odd Horten, a Norwegian train conductor who has just retired. That's basically all there is to a premise; the rest of the movie follows Odd on the path that retired life takes him, occasionally funny and occasionally meditatively symbolic. The entire movie moves at a very subdued rate, and nothing is really explained, yet the beautiful images and unusual charm of Odd and his journeys yield a very consistent sense of wonder and pleasure. This is proving a very difficult movie to review, because like a dream the individual qualities tend to pale in description, while all that is left is a vivid memory. The amusing scenes are usually awkwardly incongruous, like a situation when Odd is detained while passing through an apartment (to get into the building he had to enter another apartment via scaffolding) and ends up falling asleep, only to be awoken by the family's morning routine. Or the retirement festivities, where the train engineers perform a bizarre chant and then sit around trying to guess the model of various trains by recorded sounds. Then there are moments that seem to be extremely pensive or spiritual, like an involvement with a lively old drunk who proves to be more mysterious than he lets on, or a sequence where Odd brokers a deal to sell his boat. And the images... lots and lots of trains and snow and slow, peaceful movement with twinkling lights in that profound northern darkness. This is bewitching filmmaking; all that prevents this from being a perfect movie is the mystery, which I certainly wouldn't change because it makes the film as wonderful as it is, although probably transient in the memory as a dream. Either way, definitely worth the watch. It is a very subtle and Scandinavian movie, and the lilt of the Norwegian dialogue is almost as comforting as the end feeling of peace. Retirement is certainly an adventure, but not one with explicit goals or understanding, and this story is glorious.

I still haven't forgotten about Pac vs. Biggie, and I also have a review of "Drag Me to Hell" pending, although the experience was overwhelming so I need time to figure out an angle. All together there's a pleasant sense of busyness around here, so stay tuned.

A Word from the Management

2009-05-05T19:33:00.000-07:00

A few things, for the few readers I still have left. First, apologies for the poor quality of the second to latest post, and for the growing incoherence of the latest post (which actually bears looking at; I'm rather proud of the opening essay-type schpiel, and the review has a solid message/impression amidst the incoherence). I blame a practice I've picked up of either reviewing movies long after I've seen them, and therefore forgetting lots and lots of key details and exactly what critical thoughts I had, combined with another practice of starting reviews and then forgetting whatever direction I had going at the time. I'll try and repent for my ways. Second, I usually slow down a bit during the not-summer, but this year the summer will be slow as well, due to the fact that I won't be spending lots of time in a major cultural or metropolitan area, and therefore will be deprived of regular access to my lifeblood of weird indie and foreign films, as well as whatever dreck the studios put out that manages to entertain me. So summer will be a bit slower. Third, a teaser. I finally got my hands on some Tupac, and now have lots of uninformed/amateur/purely musical opinions about his music, especially compared to Biggie. So the feud will live on, just as soon as I get some time to sit down and spout off about rap. Because I know you all are fascinated.

So to sum up, check out the last post if you haven't already. I kind of like it, at least in the beginning. And I'll work on improving the quality of reviews, at least bringing it up to our previous standards here at the site. Because semi-professionalism is all we can hope for on the internet. Cool? Cool. Over and out.

Way Close to Home

2009-04-28T17:55:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a peculiar trend in cute little indie comedies these days, especially those that deal with teenagers, college students, or those who have just stepped into the scary world of adulthood. Some of these aren't so indie ("Superbad"), cute ("The Wackness") or even really late teen college-y (arguably "Juno"), but they all deal with similar themes: love and the eternal teenage condition. Protagonists invariably end up confusing love, sex, meaningful relationships, and all those desires associated with the growing up. Then they get frustrated and have to deal and, depending on the feel-good levels of the movie, live happily or bitterly ever after. Arguably the coming of age love-sex drama has been around for years, as in "The Graduate," but there's a greater sense of... nostalgia? Wistfulness? It's something a little deeper than angst. The indie coming of love comedy deals with this deeply romantic notion of love, in the literary 18th century way, and how it fits in with the modern hyper-sexed world of popular culture. And it is in this context that we have this peculiar generation of young people, coming into adulthood, who clash with these harsh expectations as the harsh realities fall into place. "The Graduate" was more about the banality of that society (plastics) and rebellion within the system. Ultimately the dude in that movie realized that he wanted the daughter, not Mrs. Robinson (rebelling more in her own right than he was) and did the right thing for love. But now we move on to movies like "Adventureland" (today's film! Finally), where the rebellion is all gone; the bitter reality of these dark times leaves no room for rebellion, only adaptation. The trick, as the protagonists of the indie coming of love comedy know, is to adapt while remaining true to that sensitive spark of romanticism. This is the plight of our generation. Some, like Luke in "The Wackness," get beaten down by the realities and learn a hard lesson. (Arguably, "The Wackness" is definitely not an indie coming of love comedy. It's way more about '94 and coming of age, but the relationship element is still somewhat relevant to this discussion. It just lacks the whimsy and sensitivity to fall into the ICOL category; Luke is jaded to the point that his sensitivity is less important than the need for a friend. That movie is far more complicated though, and I'd argue that the sensitivity element, if it were filmed alone, could have been the core of a solid, if bleaker ICOL movie. Hooray for parentheticals). Others, like our boys in "Superbad," realize that they don't actually want to fulfill their cultural obligation and have lots of sex. They want love, and the film, while resolving their friendship-love, sets things up nicely for wholesome relationships with their respective women as Curtis Mayfield plays in the background. So to sum up all of these thoughts, the ICOL comedy is definitely a phenomenon of our generation. There's a little nostalgia for the past, which is why so many of them either take place in past decades or have strong overtones of years past (the 70's vibe of "Superbad," or the 80's setting of "Adventureland"), and that nostalgia is arguably a representation of the sensitivity and romanticism at the core of these movies. We want to live in simpler times, when we would have been free to drive from Berkeley to Santa Barbara to Los Angeles and back again in the course of an afternoon in pursuit of love while Simon and Garfunkel play in the background. There is none of that freedom now (even though Ben wasn't exactly free to do so back then either). Or so it seems. While the world seems less open, and relationships seem more bleak, the spirit that caused that dude to drive up and down the coast in pursuit of a girl still exists in all the young people with their buried and suppressed sensitivities today. We are nostalgic, but the romantic notion lives on. Thus the ICOL movie. It's a phenomenon, but it's also a healthy expression of eternal human decency of spirit. I wonder how the spirit will manifest as times get darker or potentially better.

Wow, that was kind of a discourse on cultural phenomena. So now let's get down to the business of reviewing a product of said phenomenon. "Adventureland" is a pretty good movie, with a "Superbad" meets "Juno" kind of vibe, but an aesthetic closer to "Little Miss Sunshine." In other words, firmly indie. Our boy James, recent college grad with a degree of a literary bent, finds himself on the job hunt, and of course ends up at the only place that will hire him: an amusement park, Adventureland. It's a disappointment, shattering all the post-collegiate illusions of grandeur James had in mind. But he quickly makes friends: Joel, a Russian Lit major, seems to be a dire warning of what could happen should the job get to James. Frigo, an asshole, is a nasty reminder of James' friends and life growing up, and is also an asshole (there's a great running joke involving the back of Frigo's fist and James' balls). And probably most importantly, there's the woman of his dreams, Em. And here the movie gains meaning: James is, like so many brave young men in film these days, a capital-v Virgin. However, and here is where "Adventureland" earns its heart, this isn't due to any awkwardness or inability, despite a penchant for Michael Cera behavior. James is a hopeless romantic, and only wants to loose it to a girl he really and truly loves. So that's the subtext. The real meat of the movie is the courtship that springs up almost immediately between the two, and all those wonderfully painful difficulties that arise along the way. For everything, of course, can't run smoothly: Em is boning a late-twenties/early-thirties dude who works as a handyman at the park and is vastly cooler (seemingly) than everyone else. Yeah, shit kinda blows for James. But he handles his challenges with good grace and style, and in doing so, as the cliches have it, grows into his adulthood. Only not so much. More of a coming to terms with the way the non-cozy world of adulthood immediately post college than anything.

But don't worry, it's actually pretty funny along the way. Bill Hader shows up as the park manager to provide some much needed comic relief, and does it with great style and a great moustache. I don't remember his wife's name, or the name of the actress who played her, but she complements him well. The jokes take a kind of awkward tone, or audaciously lowbrow in the dick jokes Frigo makes, but the humor is genuinely warm and loving. Warm is probably the one-word review for this movie: the humor, the visuals, and the characters. Joel is a wonderfully weary and nerdy guy with a deep Russian soul to complement the literature he loves so. Frigo is an asshole and immature, but at the same time strangely earnest and loyal. Ryan Renolds (that cool-ish handyman dude) may be kind of sketchy and morally distasteful, but deep down he's still trying to be cool even though his life has lead him down the path to local nightlife, seducing younger girls, and working at an amusement park. Em is startlingly enigmatic and almost falls prey to becoming a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, except for the fact that she's a.) the most underdeveloped of all the characters, b.) too moody and sarcastic, and c.) really just a girl, kind of messed up after a life of being the socially cool girl, who just wants to end up with the right guy. And that right guy, James, does his best to jump the Micheal Cera mold. He may be awkward, but in the end he finds his balls, and he broods a bit more, and all of his interpersonal relationships seem to be initially centered around his possession of lots of marijuana.

I'm starting to wax poetic and read far to into the movie, and this review has taken over a week to write, a significant chunk done at two in the morning, so I should wrap up. Basically, "Adventureland" has that annoying indie self-acknowledging style, but it also has a warmth of character and sentiment to make up for its derivative elements. (The soundtrack is also quite fine, with the Velvet Underground featured prominently, and a lot of other late 80's post-punk/alternative/whatever genre that would be to really set the mood). But what sets this apart from all other indie relationship comedies/dramas is that this is a courtship that actually glorifies the hopelessly romantic dudes out there. "Adventureland" glorifies their struggle, and ultimately shows that there are few things out there that can resist the romantic impulse. The good dudes win out in the end, and forgive me for taking that message positively instead of cynically this time around. Just goes to show that even a slightly derivative premise can earn distinction with an earnest message.

Movie Reviews With Low Self Esteem

2009-04-10T18:19:00.000-07:00

So it's time for our big spring break movie review roundup. And by big I mean two movies, both comedies and vaguely relationship-oriented. And without any further ado, here we go.

Beginning with the less technically accomplished but nonetheless funny alternative "I Love You Man"... let's begin? Poor sentence construction there, but anyhow it was a pretty funny movie. Paul Rudd does a fine job as the straight man (interesting turn from his usual Apatow roles as wacky side characters, if my Apatow knowledge serves correctly), a "girlfriend guy" who, looking down the barrel of an upcoming wedding realizes he has no close male friends. And so he must turn to a series of man dates, destined for comic failure, until he meets Jason Segel, this time the wacky character, doing a very Dude turn as a bachelor still trying to hold on to his wild and single lifestyle as his friends move on with their lives. Odd couple dynamic ensues, the two learn from each other, and everything resolves nicely. The movie is fairly predictable, and its messages are familiar in this age if the adult male coming of emotional age comedy, but there are some very funny jokes in there, and they come at a pretty consistent rate. Besides, Rudd and Segel have a great dynamic, and watching their banter could be a movie in its own right. What makes this only a pretty good movie, though, is the bizarre sense of false authenticity that floods the film. Very unnecessary placement shots to really establish that This. Is. Los. Angeles. are kind of jarring to a resident of the city, as is the persistent flood of references to places and landmarks that crops up in every character's dialogue (come on writers, nobody really has to mention that the bar is by Venice Beach, just to say that it's in Venice or off Ocean would suffice. Rookie move). Then there's also the weird inclusion of a whole lot of Rush, including a staged concert and multiple covers, and Lou Ferrigno being himself even though I'm fairly certain he's well enough out of the pop-culture spotlight that he can't be here out of respect, but the fact that he is treated so reverentially is weird. Whatever, it's entertaining and feel-good, although probably ultimately forgettable save a few jokes.

Less amusing but deeper and more thoughtful is "Sunshine Cleaning," by the "Little Miss Sunshine" people (I look forward to their future "Sunshine" titled productions). Amy Adams, struggling to hold her life together, falls into the business of cleaning up crime scenes, and enlists her rebellious younger sister Emily Blunt to help out. And, encouraged by father Allan Arkin and advised by a one-armed cleaning supply shop dude, things start working out. But in the world of Indie, nothing works out for long. Personal drama and sheer incompetence rear their ugly heads, and although the business is doomed, it works as a sacrifice in the ultimate solution of a few familial problems (although not all- the movie is remarkably ambiguous in its resolution). I'm doing a poor job of explaining here, so let's get this much clear: although the comedy centers on the cleaning business, the emotional meat of the movie lies with Adams' trouble with her precocious son and dead-end affair with her now married high-school boyfriend, Blunt's attempts to find personal fulfillment and grow out of her permanent rebellious teenager mindset, and to a lesser extent Arkin's role holding the whole show together and looking after Adams' son while convincing him that he isn't weird. That doesn't sound fun at all actually, but it is, and ultimately uplifting. It will probably make you a better person too. I would refer you to other reviews of this just to get done with a rather poor review of a fine movie, but I still have some pride. This is a well acted movie with heart and warmth, exemplified in a scene where Blunt, attempting to connect with the daughter of a woman whose house the cleaners have had to deal with, takes her to a bridge, sticks her head through the train tracks, and yells and laughs as the train whizzes right above her head, sparks flying. It's beautiful, it's profound, and at the same time kind of amusing. That's the kind of movie this is.

Well, that was going poorly. Time to wrap things up, but not before some pop-culture miscellany: Doonesbury fans in the audience, how pleased are you with the Alex-Toggle romance? Five stars there, you're filling our hearts with joy Trudeau. Also, Tom Waits has a lot of songs about trains, all of which, though mournful, are damn fine and soulful. That's probably been pointed out before, but whatever. And we're on to the finest season of The Wire yet, with the Pogues song count now firmly at 3. Well done all around.

Redemption of the Musical

2009-03-10T17:27:00.001-07:00

No movie today guys, just some pondering I've been doing, specifically related to the musical, or Musical Comedy to use the bastard's full title. Now, it used to be that I was one of the foremost opponents of the musical. Sit me down in front of a choreographed yet supposedly spontaneous song and dance number meant to further the plot and I would tear it apart, light it on fire and then proceed to urinate on the ashes (metaphorically speaking). I loathed, despised musicals of any shape or size. That is of course a lie; I like "My Fair Lady" and tolerate a few others, namely the classics that everyone watches as a kid (who can hate on "The Music Man?" Not even I), but even so still found them a bit... ponderous, awkward, whatever it is about them that makes my skin crawl. And of course, when it comes to despising musicals, one cannot forget the abomination known as "High School Musical," the latest evil to come from Disney. HSM, to me, symbolized everything that was wrong with the musical: the colors, the inanity, the irksomely catchy and upbeat pop songs, the requisite spontaneous dance numbers and the maddening conclusion where everything turns out for the best. HSM made me despise life.

So it is the height of irony that High School Musical, specifically the third iteration and the Mexican version (certainly examples of the ridiculousness of musicals) have made me reconsider my position on the entire matter. My shift came slowly; you might remember an earlier post where I mentioned that my judgment was still out on HSM 3 because I couldn't sort out my feelings. I haven't been thinking about that chapter, or hadn't at any rate until I was having coffee with a professor, a man whose opinions I respect (about 18th Century literature, and therefore everything) and who I consider to be very intelligent and a Good Man, so needless to say I was shocked when he mentioned, in a discussion of who remembers what, that he was a fan of HSM, having accidentally stumbled upon one of the first two films on TV and watched it to completion, spellbound. Needless to say, I was disappointed, and then promptly went on to watch the Mexican version (similar story arc, but different plot and characters/actors) with the same friends who made me watch the third movie in theaters. And god help me if it wasn't hysterically absurd. Bear in mind that the Mexican version, with requisite pop stylings, features mostly reggaton tunes. Oh reggaton, how hysterical. And then the next day, reflecting upon what I had seen and talking with the very same friends, I realized that HSM ceased to disgust me.

This is far from enjoying HSM, mind you. Now, instead of resisting the power of the upbeat emotions and absurd resolutions, I find myself fascinated as to how such a thing could come about; I want to study the phenomenon, to fully understand it's completely alien motivations. And then I made the huge realization that this absurdity is the power of the musical, the hook that draws people in. It's hyper-unrealistic, true, but that's what lures viewers (rhyme!). Musicals are the ultimate in escapism, the ultimate in fluff humor, and thus their popularity and enduring existence. And for years I'd been resisting the pull, unwilling to admit that I was entertained with the rest of the masses by the unfortunate creations that ruled my life when I played in the pit orchestra back in high school. I feel as if I have achieved musical enlightenment, now that I understand their purpose (obvious, right? Not so much when you're resisting) and can sit back and be safely fascinated.

Of course, this isn't to say that all musicals are good. I still believe that most of the musicals out there are ineffably mediocre bordering on terrible ("Lil' Abner," while terrifyingly absorbing, was also not terribly good as far as a story, and lost a lot of the satirical power of the comic strip to camp), and I will always hate Stephen Sondheim for writing "Into the Woods," with one of the most annoying scores ever and such a self-consciously witty feel to the writing that it pained me physically. But now I have no shame in saying that I am entertained by previously mentioned musicals, as well as stuff like "Brigadoon" and probably "South Pacific," which have the virtue of stories in addition to the songs. Oh, and Lars von Trier's "Dancer in the Dark," a two and a half hour long anti-musical starring Bjork, is still the most depressing thing I have ever watched. But, pulling out of my personal opinions and ranting, I feel that I can now accept good musicals as legitimate films. My skin will still crawl a little when the leap into song to expound a point, but in the same way my skin crawled with awkwardness when I first watched, say, "Superbad" and cursed the incompetent Michael Cera for not getting with that girl so awkwardly. And as for HSM, I still won't go so far as to say that I like them, and I quite frankly disapprove of the surrounding cult that Disney is consciously spawning, but I can now appreciate the movies in the way I do a spectacularly terrible action movie. There is certainly something to be said for absurd optimism and positive feelings over absurd negativity and violence; it kind of warms the soul a little to see some singing and dancing.

Yet Another Biopic (This Time With Homosexuals!)

2009-02-22T11:02:00.000-08:00

At this rate we might be running out of famous people with stories to tell. Not really, but there have been a hell of a lot of biopics in the past few years, or maybe it just seems that way. But when well done, a good life well told is something grand. And "Milk" does a fine job of telling that story, especially as everyone knows how it's going to end walking in. But the life and times of Harvey Milk is a story worth telling, and especially well-told here by Gus Van Whatshisname (this one's going to be less professional, as I can't remember much of Milk and am feeling especially loopy today). So Oscar-boy Sean Penn is our bud Harvey, in an apparently Oscar-winning performance. Meta-review mockery aside, he did a damn fine job of getting Harvey's body language and diction down perfectly and precisely; it's a mean feat to make audiences forget that you're a big Movie Star, but Sean Penn did it, and I was thinking of Harvey and not that dude who played Spicoli and Sam from the first minute. The story picks up right in the thick of the action, with Harvey moving to San Francisco to start a new life, and quickly getting involved in politics, rising to fame and prominence, and then inevitably making an enemy and becoming a needless martyr to the struggle for gay rights. Seriously, this was quite the timely movie in light of recent losses along the lines of Prop 8, and I'm astonished as to how anyone could still believe that the homo-sexuals are tryin' to poison our upright Christian lifestyles with their sinful livin' and Satan worshipin' ways. Sean Penn isn't the only star, as everyone else does a really good job too, with no notable weak performances (shout out to Cleeve, who was the man). Director Gus mixes the real life and movie footage effectively, and the story takes a really nice pace with Harvey's "In the event of my death" voiceover narration. It was a very good movie, probably more Best Picture material than "Slumdog," but at the same time less than enjoyable (I feel no need to see it again in the near future, but I'm certainly glad I did). And like any good movie about Making a Difference, it really makes you (the viewer) consider what you would do if tasked with leading a minor revolution and standing up in the face of the oppressors. Made me, at any rate. But even more importantly, it did what any really good movie should do and put some baller songs on the soundtrack, and used them appropriately: Bowie's "Queen Bitch" and Sly and the Family's "Everyday People." Nothing makes a movie great like a well-used Good song.

Mad Good and Uplifting

2009-02-16T19:10:00.000-08:00

Is how I initially described "Slumdog Millionaire" to some people who had not heard about it, way back in the dark days of November or early December. And it's a pretty fitting tagline for the movie, so long as you take into account the occasional heavy atrocities and downers that Danny Boyle chooses to throw at his audience.

So, brief plot for those of you who remain blissfully un-hyped about the film: young Jamal Malik is arrested, tortured, and interrogated for presumed cheating on the Indian "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," because there is obviously no way a kid from the harshest slums could have known all the answers leading up to that magical final question. And now for your suspension of disbelief moment, our central conceit is that each question somehow corresponds to a dramatic moment in young Jamal's short but disaster-packed young life (what are the odds?). And so we get a movie told in flashbacks moving towards an inevitable climactic Final Scene, told in a fashion so we experience Jamal's tragic saga as the interrogating officer does, and are moved as he is. But lucky us, tortured young men automatically make sympathetic protagonists. Anyhow, get around this really big conceit, and if you don't you have no soul or sense of fun, and the movie opens into a wonderful old-fashioned love story slash carousing adventure worthy of some 17th century romantic, but with poverty in India.

Cool. So everyone's basically analyzed this one to death, so I'll just throw out my perceptions, kind of a review of the reviews. I've heard "Slumdog" either getting a lot of heat for not paying enough attention to the social issues at hand and generally exploiting India, or overly hyped as being a transcendent work that sheds new light onto the human soul and is generally the best thing ever. Both are wrong (major cop out), and for the simple reason that not every movie has to have a big message or motive. The point of "Slumdog" is to tell a story, an epic love story, that just so happens to be set against a background of extreme poverty and violence. Of course, this setting merely adds to the scope of the saga, but it was never the focus. And at the same time, it's simply a good movie, possibly even very good, but not an instant classic. One of the things I hate about a mediocre movie year and the general trend in media and the fucking internet (I really hate the internet, which now makes this a blog of self-loathing) is how any time anything is remotely good it becomes overhyped almost instantaneously, which leads to a backlash when people see these movies and feel disappointed. I luckily dodged that bullet with "Little Miss Sunshine," "Juno" and "Slumdog," but I'm pretty sure I've suffered through some heavy disappointments. Anyhow, it's a Danny Boyle movie, meaning that it's really good as far as entertainment/pathos go, and has slightly deeper messages than your usual studio piece of trash (by the way, Danny Boyle has earned major points in my book lately. His only movie I'd seen before recently was "Trainspotting, which absolutely floored me. But this winter, having seen "Slumdog" and then "28 Days Later" in rapid succession, I've gotten a real feel for his style, and it's incredibly viscerally engaging and clever. So good). So yeah, that's pretty much my take on "Slumdog," a really good story, well told and great to watch. And although there is some occasional unnecessary violence and blatant emotional manipulation, it all adds to the grandiosity of the story. Oh, and be prepared to listen to the soundtrack quite a bit on your local NPR type station for the next few months. I have a feeling that it'll keep being played until a few weeks from the Academy Awards. By the by, I've got this down for Best Director, "Milk" for best picture, and Mickey Rourke (based only on the trailer, haven't seen "The Wrestler" yet) for best actor. Over and out.

Swedish Vampires

2009-01-28T14:38:00.001-08:00

Billed as somewhere between horror and drama and described frequently as the anti-"Twilight," the Swedish film "Let the Right One In" is everything that horror movies should aspire to, specifically not being that horrific. There may exist people that enjoy endless gore and generic suspense conventions, but a masterfully done horror drama (drorror? hama?) awakens within us fears about the human condition, not sudden desires to lock our doors at night and sleep with baseball bats for the next few weeks. "Right One" does an excellent job of exactly that in the story department, pitting two confused pre-teens against the challenges of growing up, but at the same time mixes things up with some five-star suspense and occasional bouts of absolutely brutal violence.

Wow, that sounded pretty intellectual. Changing tones a bit, our story is one of growing up, as a lot of movies seem to be these days. Young Oskar is a lonely lad, plagued by bullies at school and seemingly friendless. He also has the disturbing penchant of playing with a knife when alone, imagining wreaking a terrible vengeance on his peers. Looks like a troubled childhood school killing movie so far, until Oskar meets young Eli, a nice girl of his age (they look twelveish) who moves in to the apartment next door. She's a self-confident girl, forthright and looking wholesomely Scandanavian, who also seems to be in need of a friend. The two talk on the jungle gym in front of the apartment complex at night, slowly building a relationship. Oh yeah, and there's this old dude who lives with Eli, right? And when the film isn't showing the budding friendship cum romance, we follow him as he stalks around Sockholm killing people for Eli and draining their blood. That's some straight-up Dexter shit there, and it keeps the movie's tone in creepy territory without becoming too horrific.

The two stories, vampire and coming of age romance, meld together nicely as Eli's vampiric mode of take no shit from nobody thought slowly helps Oskar confront his demons (bullies, same difference) and grow up, and in return Oskar provides Eli with a friend in moments of need. This need comes from a community effort to try and figure out who killed one member of a circle of coffeshop hangout types, for which you should read vampire hunt. The conclusions to said hunt and Oskar's growth come at roughly the same time in a brutal but extremely satisfying conclusion, showing exactly how much these twelve year olds need each other. Kind of touching actually, if you overlook the violence.

It's a pensive kind of horror, very Scandinavian in that not too much time is spend dwelling on the fear, more on the suspense. It's clear that the vampirism in Eli kind of mirrors the grief in Oskar, and the movie asks some pressing questions about humanity's need for violent types of resolution. This is under a glorious surface of falling bodies, cat attacks, immolation, and severed limbs. I wasn't exactly sure how to respond to all this other than to become extremely excited. It would be a perfect movie, down to the little details like Oskar's perpetually runny nose and how the vampire never needs to wear cold weather clothes outside, save for one huge "what the fuck" moment. It's half a second, probably unnecessary, and kind of throws the whole movie. That's not to say don't see it, though-- it's truly great, and will make you question everything your "Twilight" obsessed friends tell you about vampire romance.

The Business

2008-12-21T15:38:00.000-08:00

Well, I've got a few weeks off from the usual hustle of things, so it looks like we're back in the movie reviews business. I apologize for some of the bad writing late in the summer, specifically in our misguided attempt to review older movies, and in a few other places here and there. Not quite sure what happened, but it's always easier to write better in hindsight. Refining the scope of this little web thing (as I'm always doing) I think we'll stick to reviewing new movies and music, and recommending (meaning briefer and more subjective reviews) old stuff that I deem necessary. I think the only movie I missed reviewing was "HSM 3: Senior Year," which is okay because I can't come to terms with my feelings about that movie yet and therefore would not have been able to write a professional review. I am in the process of writing a review for "Let the Right One In," also known as the anti-"Twilight," but we'll see when that gets done. In the mean time, Hi! Glad to see your smiling faces again.

EDIT: Whoops, forgot about "Burn After Reading." Basically a quick amusing movie, but disappointing considering that it came from the Coen brothers. Come on guys, time to step your game up. And a show to recommend: Dexter. Not the animated one about the precocious kid scientist, but the one about the serial killer/forensics analyst with a blood fetish. It starts out really creepily, but once you get to know Dexter and get over the brutal killings, it's an amazing show. Very stylish opening credits, phenomenal characters, and really darkly funny while still being a serious crime drama. Five stars.

I Wanna Be Inside You, Homes

2008-08-03T22:55:00.000-07:00

It's not every day that stopping by this little corner of the internet is worth your while, but today is not every day. Today, my friends, is a very special day in the history of this little webthing. Today I present to you a review, hopefully splendid, of the upcoming film from Judd Apatow's team, "Pineapple Express," gloriously ahead of schedule. So far ahead, in fact, that none of the other film critics have published their reviews yet. That probably has something to do with this "real job" concept, complete with "deadlines" and "other shit to do than review movies in advance and gloat about it." But that's all crazy-talk. So before we jump right to it, allow us to offer a hearty "dees Nuts in yo Mouf" to all those unqualified bastards and rookies who manage to get paid for doing this. Cool? Cool.

With a film like "Pineapple Express," you have to make some allowances. Plausibility, for example, is not the strong point of a film described by the director as an action movie stealth-marketed as a stoner comedy (slightly paraphrased). But for fans of both genres, or really either, the movie is an enjoyable romp in the vast realms of ridiculousness. Back to plausibility, or lack thereof, the main conceit of the film is that a murder witness can be traced back to his dealer because, at the time of the crime, he was smoking an extremely rare strain of weed, the Pineapple Express of the title. This guy, one Dale Denton (Seth Rogen), is a process server stopping by to issue some subpoenas. He's a nice Seth Rogen type of guy, kind of confused and a little gruff, but because he really likes smoking herb he comes off as an alright dude. Unfortunately, in the case of this murder, the subpoena-ee was busy killing people, so Dale flees back to his dealer Saul's apartment. Saul (James Franco) is also an alright guy, one who has clearly smoked entirely too much marijuana but makes up for it with this boyish charm and naivete. Why Saul's apartment and not, say, Dale's 18-year-old-high-schooler-girlfriend's house is another one of those questions best left unanswered. If neither of these central plot development points trouble you, then the rest of the movie should fall nicely into place. The two buds go on the lam in that haphazard way that only stoners can, and through a series of (could it be?) improbable coincidences shit gets real, and then explodes.

Of course, as in all Apatow productions, the characters are emotionally deeper than their inspirations and equivalents in other films. As Dale and Saul stumble further and further into harm's way a sort of buddy-cop film dynamic shows up. The two didn't ask to be paired up, they have their disagreements, but that bond of friendship develops that can only come from engaging in epic shootouts and car chases with another dude. Much of this is thanks to Saul, who in his childish dealer mode seems tired of strictly professional relationships with his clients and wants a friend in Dale. Unfortunately Dale can be a bit of an asshole; he thinks Saul is pretty worthless as far as escaping certain death goes (probably true), but he also needs a friend. You can't go through life process serving alone and bitter, even if you have a slightly creepy relationship with your clearly younger girlfriend. All of these dynamics are brought to life by the splendid job done by James Franco, who is without question the finest performer in the picture. He is the very image of the spaced-out dealer, mumbly and perpetually happy in the face of adversity, and generally hilarious. Seth Rogen is always a pleasure, but admittedly tends to play the same character. However, I hit upon what makes him so great: the little things he says when he's confused, which is a lot in this type of film, and his diction. Promising but not yet fully realized, Danny McBride is pretty good as Saul's friend and connection to his supplier Red. But the show is absolutely stolen by Craig Robinson as a hired thug out to kill our heroes. He's overly emotional and childish, but with a gun, and is indescribably great.

There are a few weak points, namely some unsatisfying villains and an ending that doesn't really end, but hey? Who cares? Stoner-comedies (and action-comedies for that matter) rarely have diabolical masterminds at the helm, and the end may not wrap up everything, but as the director points out, it's supposed to re-emphasize that the film is patently ridiculous, so stop thinking so hard. And how is the ridiculousness better evidenced than in the escalating action scenes? There's a really long fist-fight, a car chase, and then a balls-out explosive shootout at the very end; things escalate to the point of utter madness. But that's the whole point. Like "Hot Fuzz," "Pineapple" is kind of a sendup of the very films it so lovingly recreate. As they say, we have the technology, why not rebuild him bigger and better? Actually they don't say that at all. And there's no real moral behind it. Absolutely glorious.

Random Old Stuff!

2008-07-31T17:46:00.000-07:00

So originally we had some kind of policy about only covering first-release movies, just to give this project scope or whatever. Actually it was probably out of laziness and the realization that if a movie has already been out for a while, people will have had lots and lots of time to talk about it. Seeing as how we're already in an epic struggle with established film critics, this didn't make much sense. But last night I reconsidered my position. There's a lot of old movies that people forget about, and I like to think that I can provide a sort of elevated layman's opinion about them. So now we are proud to introduce three really short opinions about some older movies I have seen over the summer.

Let's start with what inspired it all, Sergio Leone's "Duck You Sucker." How can you not want to go out and see that movie? And especially when you consider that it may be the only western partnering a dynamite-throwing IRA terrorist and a rough-and-tumble bandito in the Mexican revolution. Aside, apparenty Sergio thought that "duck you sucker" was american slang that everyone threw around, something that James Coburn (bearing an uncanny resemblance to my high school music teacher) kept having to remind him was patently false. Anyhow, it's a strange film, with moments of uber-camp violence combined with social commentary on the structure of revolutions, and then long sequences of soul-wrenching war atrocities about halfway through the film. It's really fun though, especially the sequences where bandito Juan (Rod Steiger) gets to run wild. As my friend pointed out, it's weird because he rapes a woman in the beginning of the film, kills and plunders, but in the end we're rooting for him to pull through. To be fair, said woman did provoke him in the glorious opening sequence where he poses as an ignorant peasant, but it's still not good.

The unconventional western vibe is further emphasized by long sequences in which James Coburn's Irish revolutionary/mysterious dynamiteslinger has flashbacks to Ireland. Some explain his character's involvement in their revolution, most are in slow motion, and all are accompanied by really 60's etherial synthesizers. But possibly the most misguided sequence of them all comes at the very end, where in the middle of a particularly dramatic moment James Coburn flashes back to running through a super-green field (Sergio didn't exactly get the feel of Ireland right) with his best friend and a flashback girl. They run in slow motion before James catches up with the girl and they start making out. Unfortunately for the gravitas of the moment, James Coburn is obviously 20 years senior to both the other people in this scene, and he's very obviously and grotesquely sucking face with this girl. The slow motion doesn't help- it makes the flailing arms of running and all the character's open, presumably laughing mouths look ridiculousness. The friend is left to stand by and awkwardly laugh in slow motions while James necks forever, before they look at each other as if to start in- and then James goes right back at it! Eventually the girl gets sick of this and turns to the younger friend, and as the music slows down and gets sad we see James' slow motion laughing face (uncomfortably close-up, as is Sergio's trick this film) slowly fade to a frown. This goes on for five minutes. I kid you not. Meanwhile, back in Mexico, there's death and destruction and gravitas, but Ireland will forever be wildly inappropriate flashbacks and hysterically laughing audiences. Come on Sergio, this is what Editors are for.

Now for something shorter, I rented a great French film noir called "Elevator to the Gallows." It's Louis Malle doing some really fine work. There's a tight plot, beautiful images, and lots of really noir-sy moments of people chain smoking or walking down rainy cobblestones at night. It's baller. And best of all? Miles Davis wrote the score. How genius is that? Music doesn't get much more film noir than Miles. I kind of want him to score my life.

And lastly, from early summer, the glorious "Escape from New York" and it's second iteration, "Escape from LA." I say iteration and not sequel because the plot is almost exactly the same. John Carpenter himself (director) was at the double-feature screening and admitted to having phoned in the second script. And then he left before we watched "LA," probably because phoned it in doesn't exactly describe the level of repetition. It's as if he took every instance of "New York" and replaced it with "LA," and changed the character names around, had the set and effects people ramp up the violence and make the setting wilder (he had a budget the second time around), and let it slide. Okay, it's not that apparent, but still, it's quite familiar. The plus side is that I can do one plot summary: Snake Pliskin (Kurt Russel!), all around badass with a mysterious past, is finally caught and presented with a choice: death, or risky mission to an island-city that the now-totalitarian government has designated as a dumping ground for unsavories. The mission entails getting an object with something important back for the government. In exchange they let him go with a pardon. The catch? There's a virus or bomb or some shit that will kill him in a designated time frame if he doesn't get back in time. Snake then gets thrown in there, meets the locals, does the badass thing, and then there's some message, a climactic fight, and some plot twist at the end just to keep everyone on their toes and further reaffirm that yes, Snake is a baller. It's campy, it's 80's, it's glorious. I recommend seeing both back to back, just because it's so great to watch the parallels.

I've got a treat for all of you this weekend, but I'll save that as a special surprise.

Burnin' in the Darkness

2008-07-22T12:59:00.001-07:00

So I've been having some trouble approaching this review for "The Dark Knight," a movie that is quickly turning into the summer's greatest commercial success (and will probably be one of the few big commercial successes of the summer that objectively deserve the money on the grounds of artistic merit). The problem is (here comes the meta-review) trying to come up with something new to say that accurately reflects our opinion of "Dark Knight" without recycling bits from other reviews, and still remaining reasonably witty and professional on top of all that. Our big challenge here at Mind the Bats is that they don't to advance screenings for just anyone, and that we also enjoy reading other reviews for the different opinions and in many cases good writing (it also helps screen out the bad movies and time-wasters). This, combined with lack of deadlines, results in a situation where there's a mess of half-baked ideas floating around with no real direction, making it difficult to weed out what's ours and what's everyone else's. Well, now you know the secret to writing these things, so I guess you don't really need to come here anymore. Way to go me. Irrelevant nonsense about the creative process aside, it's probably time to get into the real thing.

Well, in tone and depth the Dark Knight is at the opposite end of the spectrum from the other really good superhero film of the summer, "Iron Man." But while that was largely a character-driven bit on the rise of Robert Downey Jr.'s Tony Stark, exploring the origins and with plenty of light action and some good laughs thrown in, "Dark Knight" is an honestly dark look at the nature of human depravity. There is no camp, no cornball dialogue. The film is gloomy, heavy, and dead serious. But it's also amazingly good and very noir-sy. And ultimately hopeful, not in the sense of a happy ending but in the sense of continuing the struggle against evil and crime. And damn me if it's not absolutely amazing. Okay, that's probably a bit too strong, but it's definitely excellent. I've been trying to think of a film that captures the darkness of tone but at the same time the general elation an excitement that you feel for days afterwards, and I couldn't until "Chinatown" just came to mind, but that isn't even the same. Jake Gittes doesn't kick as much ass, and Christian Bale isn't as world weary, but as far as tone goes yeah, it's like that.

This is almost exclusively the result of one of the greatest villains ever, Heath Ledger's Joker. A superhero film is nothing without its nefarious bad guys, but they usually have some crazy scheme about blowing up a planet or using lasers to control everyone's minds. Heath just doesn't care, and seems to like killing. A lot. It's not a healthy combination in a man, which is probably why the man is such an ice-cold opponent. Also on the subject of Jack Nicholson, his joker was pretty good, but too human. Humans have a past, humans have some kind of motivation. Heath's Joker is as inhuman as possible. And for once this awakens in the slumbering consciousness of the American moviegoing public a genuine dread (well, most people won't understand why they're cowering because they're launchpieces): how do we react when confronted with an opponent with inscrutable motivations? Know thy enemy has been one of those sayings that pretty much defines the human condition; what happens when we have no way of fathoming the depths of our enemy, while he is all to adept at understanding us? Heath does a phenomenal job of channeling this malice into a corporeal form. His Joker sounds (anyone with me here?) a little like Woody Allen, but from the depths of hell. He moves spastically, always kind of hunched over, further adding to the impression of danger but also making him seem larger than a man should seem. And the shit he does... if that isn't enough to freeze the blood in your veins, maybe his sadistic glee is. The Fear really hit home for me when, at one point, Heath climbs out of the wreckage of a huge truck and lurches down a deserted street towards Batman, ecstatic in his anticipation of evil. He's like some kind of unstoppable demonic juggernaut, bent on destroying whatever he can get his hands on.

That, my friends, is what makes the movie, the absolute evil in a city that swiftly stops caring about the good. The story reveals this in different ways, like through Aaron Eckhart's Harvey Dent, crusading against evil but caught up in the quagmire of processing/prosecuting set up by society, but that's the basic theme. It's solid storytelling, and after trying to add something to segue several times that's all I can say. Visually this is a balls-to-the-wall action spectacle in many places, car chases and extractions early on in the film being the main highlights, and is beautifully bleak and rain-washed when people aren't fighting. The actors do a great job, from Bale's asshole playboy Bruce Wayne, to Michael Caine as Alfred (always a pleasure sir), to Morgan Freeman (the same to you sir) as Wayne's logistics and equipment specialist, to Gary Oldman doing a solid job as straight cop Jim Gordon, to the already mentioned Heath and Eckhart. The score also deserves noting, as it's equally heroic and moody.

Well, that just about wraps things up. It sets a new standard for no longer mindless summer fare, not to mention the inevitable sequel (please have Christopher Walken as the Penguin). Heath's performance defines the movie. It makes us question our relationship to evil. And it's exciting. What more could you ask for? A magic trick? Well, there's a disappearing pencil act for you in there. Enjoy it.

Not So Timorous Beasties

2008-07-17T23:51:00.000-07:00

So two posts in the same fucking day! You guys can't even handle it. (Edit: apparently you can. Forgive me for being cocky and not finishing this in the same day. I got really excited and then really burned out). Full disclosure: I'm way behind on my movie reviewing backlog (well, was with two movies), had a lot to say about "The Wackness," and can't write decent reviews too long after seeing a movie. So now we shift gears with and audible grating noise to "Hellboy II." This one was, quite frankly, a disappointment, and largely because I went into it expecting the wrong things. What I thought I heard and interpreted from the trailer (pretty wild and slightly misleading; perhaps we'll start analyzing trailers more often) was of some glorious uber-camp reimagination of the original "Hellboy," which looked kinda mediocre, but with trippy Guillermo del Toro beasties and flights of fantasy. It is all that, but without the uber camp. Instead we get what I can only assume is a faithful imagination of the original story, which is all well and good unless you wanted camp enough to kill a grown man.

So the facts: this is a sequel to a movie about a paranormal demonic superhero in one of those shadowy government organizations set aside to fight the paranormal. Knowing nothing of the mythology/original movie, there's a little backstory about being rescued from Nazis (hate those guys) and raised as a human. So the big guy apparently has a heart of gold and a solid appreciation for the American way of life. Yay. Also a turbulent relationship with Selma Blair and a desire for fame and adoration, apparently. This movie sets Hellboy off to stop a prince dude who wants to awaken a mechanical golden army and... kill all humans? Rule the world? Bring things back the way they once were? It's not really clear. Activating this army requires a crown, and the prince must go, get crown pieces, wear crown, find army, kill and pillage. Hellboy must stop this, along with his team of paranormal friends, Abe and Selma Blair, and a Seth McFarlane voiced German dude. Abe (Doug Jones, a del Toro regular in the role of strange creatures) is some kind of aquatic fish-man, Selma Blair (character Liz) lights on fire, and Seth (character Johann Krauss) is made of gas inside of a suit. Oh, and Jeffery Tambor is the straight man/regular dude/bureaucrat. This of course opened the film up to a host of Arrested Development jokes in my mind, but none of them are relevant/memorable out of context. Well, there's your plot, simple and straightforward. Along the way Hellboy (Ron Perlman, lest I forget, which would be unforgivably unprofessional) comes to term with his public, relationship to humanity, and relationship with Selma Blair. Cool? Cool.

The main problem I had with the production was the dialogue. Something as simple as having the characters open their mouths and spout off about defeating evil has never been so mundane and generic comic book-styled. There are even long portions that just sound like rehashed fantasy standards, which is unforgivable in an otherwise dazzling production. Now this wouldn't be a problem were it not for the slower pace of Hellboy, which means that we, the audience, have to listen to this tripe a lot. It's not bad enough to be unintentionally funny and not smart and wisecrack-y enough to work as post-camp in the style of Indiana Jones or many others that go for the same mood. Pity, because the other half, the images, are really amazing. The prince is a really great action-villain and does some baller shit with swordfighting, while del Toro allows his talent for imagining beasties and sets run wild. Particularly amazing is a scene with the Angel of Death (Doug Jones again), as well as a battle with tooth fairies and that troll market scene that everyone raves about.

It's not that this is a bad film, just not what I (and probably a few of you out there) were expecting. Ron Perlman is an immensely charismatic and engaging Hellboy, and the visuals are stunning, but we wanted ridiculousness, something that is lacking from this spectacle. Fans will probably delight, but I wanted more. There is one scene that really shines as I hoped the entire film would, and that's a sequence where Perlman gets lovesick, fights Seth McFarlane (who has a lot of fun with the German thing), gets roaring drunk and has a duet with Doug Jones. It's ridiculous to see these two creatures pounding brews and listening to love songs, but at the same time warm and engaging. Hopefully the entire film is like this for fans of the strip.

So remember that comment about analyzing trailers? Yeah, that was foreshadowing. For one truly great thing that came out of Hellboy was the preview for Death Race. And my god what an amazing preview it is, everything one could hope for out of a movie called "Death Race." You can almost see the creative process slowing down to a linear level: "Alright. We want to make a movie about racing, but it has to have people shooting people in it." "Dude! Let's put a machine gun on the car!" "Yeah, but what about conflict?" "Dude! He can shoot people in the context of a race!" The entire premise opens itself up to hypotheticals, all of which will probably be better than the actual movie itself, but who cares? Let the hype begin now, and do yourself a favor and go back and watch that preview again, just to construct some alternate plots for yourself.

Mad Word

2008-07-12T01:15:00.000-07:00

Are we ready for 90's nostalgia yet? What really makes a coming of age story a comedy or drama? And who honestly gives a fuck? I had promised myself that I wouldn't turn this review into a defense, but after all the hate "The Wackness" has suffered it's time someone stood up in favor of said picture. But doing that ever-so-professionally, we'll just have to write a Jesus-brilliant review of the sucker, because ranting is bad.

Anyhow, so "The Wackness" was being billed as the "Juno" of this summer, hype that it fortunately and unfortunately failed to live up to. While Juno was a pretty snarky and sarcastic twee comedy about one girl's coming of age via pregnancy, The Wackness is a heavy dose of nostalgia for '94 and classic hip-hop combined with a social misfit's becoming a man, complete with all the comedy and melancholy that comes with being a teenager. This is definitely not a precious film soon to become the darling of film critics everywhere like Juno was (much to the disgust of those who appreciated it for the sarcasm). For lack of a better term the Wackness has some balls, and isn't afraid to show it's hero's life going to shit. But more on that later. Plot summary: Luke Shapiro (Josh Peck of "Drake and Josh" infamy, now decidedly not for kids) is a social misfit just like any other, just graduated from high school and confronted with his future. The catch is that he's also sells weed, and lots of it. Far from being a creeper, Luke is just overly professional with his peers, seeing them as clients instead of friends. He acknowledges that this sucks to his therapist/customer Dr. Squires (Ben Kingsley), but has his 90's rap to keep him company. Our conflict comes in when Squires' stepdaughter Stephanie starts hanging out with Luke over the summer. She's a promiscuous socialite in need of a friend to hang out with over the summer, and Luke needs friends period. Unfortunately Luke, like so many brave men of his generation, can't tell where the friendship line ends and the romance line begins, especially with a girl like this. In addition to this plot, Doc Squires is having a hard time with his life and is also in need of a friend. Luke and Squires start hanging out, and their friendship grows into a weird sort of co-dependency where these two miserable souls keep each other afloat. Oh, and Luke's parents are fighting because his dad is in danger of loosing the house after bad business dealings.

Wow, so we have a friendless dude in need of companions, also confused about his relationship with one of his friends, and another grown man who is falling apart, and a family falling apart. So how does a guy deal with all of this? By dealing, of course! The solution to everything seems to be in selling more weed, which serves to propel the film forward merrily. But the movie is actually far more complex than reviews/advertising let on. The preview poses it as a kind of comedy of the teenage struggle (namely getting some) in the fine tradition of a Judd Apatow production. As an aside, watch that trailer again. That's a damn good trailer, better even than the actual film. It's everything that people promised the Wackness to be, has some of the film's finer moments, touches on major plot points, and serves as a sampler of the glorious 90's hip-hop on the soundtrack. It also fills the viewer with a sense of joy and elation, which is all we could ever hope for from a trailer. They're sort of like a subgenre of films in themselves, trailers, and when well done can be just as amazing as a feature film, and at a fraction of the time! There's something for the academics to start looking at. Anyhow, this is not an easy film to classify. There's some humor, some of it pretty damn funny, mostly in the awkward teenager or stoner comedy tradition, but at the same time it's a pretty real love story and a buddy film, all with that nasty heavy stuff going down as Luke's family falls apart.

The love story element is what probably turns many viewers off, but it goes down exactly the way this shit goes down in the real world. Luke finds himself far to enamored with Stephanie, probably because she's the first girl he's fooled around with this seriously. She, of course, doesn't feel anything like that, and freaks out when he shares his feelings. This leaves a completely destroyed Luke and a slightly guilty Stephanie, both trying to come to terms with emotions that aren't supposed to come up when teenagers do stupid shit. But hey, that's what happens to so many brave young men of the generation; it's life. Luke actually deals with it in a totally righteous way (shan't spoil for you guys) that goes along nicely with him turning into a man. But it's not really uplifting and not Hollywood-satisfying, thus a possible cause for alienation (I personally like it when relationships behave according to the real world laws of human interaction and was proud of the Wackness for its realism, so there).

Finer than this failed romance is the strange friendship that grows between Luke and Squires. We've already looked at how Luke's life sucks in great detail, but Squires isn't doing so hot either. He seems to be a second rate psychiatrist more interested in blazing than anything else, and it quickly becomes apparent that his marriage is failing pretty rapidly and that he hates his job. In Luke Squires sees a second chance, an opportunity to relive his youth vicariously, which results in a series of adventures. The "creepy old guy" seems destined to just drag Luke back into boyhood with his crazy antics, but what really happens is that both these friendless guys find support in the other. They develop a preternatural understanding of each other's condition, and as they seep deeper and deeper into despair the friendship grows and nurtures inversely. It's actually pretty deep and touching, but in a male-bonding-with-lots-of-drugs-and-debauchery kind of way. As for that despair, there's quite a bit of it. These peoples' lives suck rather objectively at times, so just be forewarned that it's not all hip-hop and herb.

Of course, this analysis of deeper themes and elements doesn't really do justice to the humor or the nostalgia. Although the Wackness isn't a straight-up comedy it definitely has its moments, something that I've said before but need to reiterate. It's the humor that makes everything bearable, and it helps to think back and remember what it was like being an awkward teen and fully appreciate all the tension, the different identities, and everything that "Superbad" nailed perfectly (it's a little off here as the film caters slightly to the darker elements of that age). It also helps to have a fondness for such fine features as "Half Baked," because there's lots of that around here. As for the nostalgia, one of the main areas of hate that we've encountered in reviews, fuck 'em. I'm definitely ready to remember '94 as a bomb-ass year full of great music and a different attitude. I like the grainy golden light that pervades everything in this movie, the slightly dated slang, and the rather obvious references to the time and place. In addition to all the other stuff about becoming a man and dealing with relationships, the Wackness is an appreciation of a very particular time and place, and so help me I love it.

Now to wrap up a few odds and ends: the soundtrack is beyond great. It's all the best things that were happening in one of the best years in hip-hop in the same place. So legit. We touched on the visuals, the humor, the plot, so now for the acting: pretty good. Josh Peck still has a way to go, and can be a little ponderous at times, but it works within the context of the character. I was all ready to declare Ben Kingsley as a harbinger of disappointment after "You Kill Me" if I didn't end up liking this, but his creepy old man shtick works here because, hey, he's playing a very creepy old man. Although he does do this weird thing where it seems like he's trying to screw with the other actors as he reads his line, just a kind of intonation and pacing thing. Method Man is great and underused (2 scenes!) as Luke's Jamaican supplier, but the best side character (which is saying something because I'm going through a Jamaica-obsessive phase right now and really liked Method Man) is Jane Adams as Elanor, one of Luke's clients, a really spacey burnout with some of the funniest moments in the movie. So I think that's about all for the Wackness, except to add that it really does serve as a coming of age film. Luke really does mature from awkward lurk-child to bitter young man ready for redemption and new things in life. It's a good film, down in parts (as is life), but ultimately satisfying and uplifting in it's own little way, and impressive for trying to tackle so many things at once. As Method Man would say, it's got big aspirations (add Jamaican accent). It's also pretty bombaclot, and mad sick. Word.

One (Robot) Love

2008-07-02T23:27:00.000-07:00

Oh Pixar, you sly dogs. Only you could find the lighter side of climate change-induced destruction and turn a post-apocalyptic robot movie into a love story with a surprisingly optimistic outlook for humanity. The fact that "Wall-E" is so good, and that the rest of America is similarly enamored with this benevolent little beeping box, fills me with indescribable joy and hope. I just don't know how they do it. So, the movie today is "Wall-E," the saga of what essentially is a trash compacting robot who develops a charming personality, falls in love, and tries to save humanity from their own sins of indulgence. Quite a burden for the little guy, especially considering that he doesn't actually talk. The fact that he does all of this with such good grace, in his own naive robot way, is what makes the movie so wonderful. Wall-E's only challenge is that, along with his upbeat personality, he has developed a need for love (possibly fueled by his "Hello Dolly!" obsession). His cockroach friend is more of a buddy than anything, and the trinkets of humanity that Wall-E stashes away in his home/lair only serve to further add to his loneliness. But, as movie trailer cliches would say, all of that is about to change. Or Until one day, depending on how you like your cliches, when true love falls out of the sky (or is deposited on your planet by visiting spaceship, to be precise). The lucky lady is named Eve, and although robots are probably gender neutral it's clearly apparent that she is a lady. And a classy one at that, strong willed and trigger happy, stylish in her all-white getup with emotive blue eyes (an aside, all the robots have amazingly human eyes or lenses or whatever they are, but the distinction goes to Wall-E himself, with his permanently surprised and inquisitive little eyes permanently peering around in wonder). Wall-E, of course, is smitten, and slowly wins Eve over in a series of amusing yet heartfelt sequences. Their little robot courtship is as touching as anything human, and you all know how much I can't stand sentimental nonsense and don't use the phrase "touching" lightly. But of course the movie can't end that easily; Eve's objective on earth is to find evidence of photosynthesis, and when she inevitably finds a plant she shuts down and is transported back to her spaceship, where humanity resides in all of its consumer glories. Wall-E, in the fine tradition of the lovestruck, follows her back through space, and slowly wreaks havoc on the ship looking for his girl. In the process he unveils corporate conspiracy, reawakens humanity to the wonders of living, and becomes a robot freedom fighter. All because the little guy just wanted someone to hold hands with.

Of course, because this is a Pixar production there is some strange ulterior philosophizing going on that definitely does not have any place in a kids movie. But that's why these are better than kids movies: intellectual depth. Wall-E is not nearly as heavy as "The Incredibles," which was clearly not a kids movie with all of its Nietzschean undertones about certain people being better than others and the dangers of mediocrity. Instead we get a three-fold theme, if I am correct: straight-up messages about conservation and ecology, a warning about corporate greed and the consumer mentality, and lastly and most importantly a message about the powers of personality. The corporate and ecological sermons are pretty clear, but relevant and related. Pixar seems to be warning us about how rampant consumerism and mindless servitude to advertising are blinding us as a society, eventually destined to lead us down the road to ruin. An unwillingness to change our lifestyles will result in planetary disaster, and the corporations will try and spin it off as another moneymaking opportunity. There are some definite shades of Idiocracy here, with the merging of business and government and the slow evolutionary decline of humanity, but it's definitely a more upbeat picture. For all the post-apocalyptic imagery the film ends on a positive and hopeful note; it's as if Wall-E is saying "Fuck you, Werner Herzog, the species will be okay." But not, because that's a bit harsh. Anyways, it's nice, and the change is all brought around by the third theme, personality. Wall-E's personality, to be precise. The little guy seems to be able to break through anyone's defenses in that wholesome robotic way of his, and by doing so he manages to bring out the best in everyone. From Eve, who needs to loosen up a little about her directive, to the captain of the ship, who becomes intrigued by dirt after Wall-E shakes his hand, to the host of robots and humanity that encounter him in his escapades, Wall-E manages to divert everyone from their hopelessly conformist ways, allowing them to appreciate life and do what's right. Jules Winnfield had it right back when humans still sat in diners and traded banter: personality does go a long way.

So between that great plot and the well-integrated themes, Wall-E would be a pretty good film on its own. But throw in beautiful imagery, great visual and referential gags, superb sounds and a lot of love and you get a great film. It's wonderful to see that a kid's movie can be so compelling for adult audiences as well, and even more wonderful that our culture as a whole seems to have embraced Wall-E the way they usually do mindless summer fare. It shows just as much hope for our species as the film does, and that's just what we need now.

A Few Words on Werner Herzog

2008-07-01T22:05:00.000-07:00

Insane would be the first that comes to mind. Absolutely stark raving mad, possessed of a complete antipathy for his subjects, opinionated, and a total badass all follow in close pursuit. Thing is, he's got this odd combination of being a heartless bastard who uses documentary films for his own twisted and subjective ends, but at the same time is oddly charismatic and captivating in that general way of crazies, so his movies manage to entertain and are most definitely interesting. Which brings us to the short review of "Encounters at the End of the World," his latest effort about Antarctica. And not much else either. The focus of this "documentary" is as mysterious as Werner's aims in creating it, but the film explores the culture of those brave souls who decide to live and work at, well, the end of the world. There's beautiful footage of the frozen wastes and underwater alien landscape, interviews with various scientists and laborers, and Werner's own continuous narration voicing his thoughts and opinions on pretty much everything. As far as describing the overall message of the movie, Werner seems to be simultaneously celebrating these last adventurers in an already conquered world while deploring the few touches of civilization found in Antarctica, meditating on humanity's dwindling future on this earth, and his own inscrutable objectives and meditations on nature. It's deep and thought provoking, if a little bleak, and as we've already mentioned the images are glorious, but that's never the real reason to watch a Herzog movie. Anyone who has had the good fortune to listen to his narrations (or better yet hear him speak, as some of my friends did) knows that a Werner endeavor is about experiencing the incredibly bizarre way his mind works and to revel in his latest insanities. It's not clear whether these moments are to be laughed at or pondered over, but they're hilarious, such as when Werner, observing a scientist making a groundbreaking discovery, asks in all seriousness, "Is this a great moment?" Or better yet, when he starts interviewing a man in a building (that, if the narration can be trusted, Werner and crew started prowling around in uninvited) completely mocking and discounting this man's story in voiceover narration. This unveiled contempt for interview subjects is revisited for another woman who Werner ends up calling a freakshow (to make her long and convoluted story short), and when he leaves the cameras rolling for a good 20 seconds after the subject has finished speaking, resulting in uncomfortable silence and awkward stares. It's all great. But the entire film is probably best summed up in an opening quote that I can't even begin to paraphrase for humor's sake, so I present it to you verbatim... or I wish I could if I could find the direct quote. So here goes as best as I can remember: "The National Science Foundation had invited me to Antarctica even though I left no doubt that I would not come up with another film about penguins. I made it clear to them that my questions about nature were different, such as why certain species of ants keep tree aphids enslaved to milk them for their sugar? Or why does not clearly superior animals subjugate others? A chimpanzee could climb on the back of a goat and ride into the sunset. But it doesn’t. Why?"

My deepest and most sincere apologies to you and Werner for not being able to find that quote in its entirety, but I trust the message gets across just the same. Also, my apologies for the poor quality of that last review. Definitely not up to our usual standards, which is a shame because it was a legitimately good movie. Moral: don't wait too long before reviewing. That said, I'm debating some layout changes here for Mind the Bats, as the current setup is getting a little hard to read and the title makes little to no sense (for the curious, our namesake is a bastardization of a Hunter S Thompson quote "No point in mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard would see them soon enough."), although it has grown on me. Ok, title stays, but colors may return in a new easy to read layout and the pictures may need changing around. And we are now all caught up with movie backlog.

Mongol, or How I Learned How to Stop Worrying and Love An Endless Series of Hardships and Downers

2008-06-23T19:34:00.001-07:00

Also known as "Ghengis in Love," "Mongol" is the story of the great warlord's early years, which surprisingly were a series of really harsh happenings, man. From the near-spoiled childhood befitting his status as son of his clan's Khan, Ghengis is soon forced to spend the next several years of his life (and a good half hour to full hour of screen time) running away from the new Khan after his father is poisoned, being captured and beaten, escaping, running more, and somewhere in there growing up and reconnecting with his wife, mutually chosen when they were about eight. If it sounds weird, it is weird, as far as considering the story objectively goes. This is all told in flashback as Ghengis sits rotting in a prison after being sold into slavery, a chapter of his life I wasn't aware of, and then progresses on for another half hour or more after the story catches up. The film ends as the saga we all have some distant knowledge of (most likely from Age of Empires) is just beginning, which sort of sums up the overall tone of the entire movie. Seemingly important chunks are left unexplained, such as how Ghengis raises a rather sizable army, while the other Khan takes the time to threaten child-Ghengis with being nailed to "the wooden donkey," a construction that looks oddly like a cross and is never explained, something odd as the donkey must have been constructed and placed in the scene with a purpose, only to be forgotten after about three seconds of fame.

That's not to say that the movie isn't spectacular. There's a gloriously epic feel to the film that reminds me of 30's era British films about the conquest of India or the like. The heroes are bold, the sets grand, things unfold at a stately pace, and anything that doesn't make sense in the details is forgotten in the overall sweep of the tale. But this is a clearly modern effort, from the high camera angles to the stylized sped-up action sequences that take place with a sort of clinical attention to detail. This isn't your trashy 300-style epic, despite some (Mongolian?) metal over the end credits; rather this is a re-imagining of your "Sparticus" or "The Four Feathers," only at the same time completely original. This is truly entertaining, both satisfying in violence and pathos while taking it's time and managing to keep a certain energy of expectation throughout. This is smart filmmaking and very well done, even if one gets the sense of a few historical liberties being taken. It is long but satisfyingly so, a bit more serious than your typical summer fare but worth a glorious glorious look.

Mixed Bags

2008-06-14T13:02:00.000-07:00

That Indy review took about a week of intermittent writing to do, but there wasn't much good playing in the theaters so I've got nothing for everyone this week. Actually, that's a lie. I went to see "Kung Fu Panda" on a misguided whim (last time I'll doubt Joe Morgenstern's sage wisdom) and got some music that, although not new, bears mentioning.

To start with Panda, I might as well say that nobody should expect comedy from this movie. Styled as one of those talking animals movies that can lure adults with smart pop-cultural humor, it isn't, plain and simple. The few jokes there probably appeal more to small children, and the rest seem really belabored. Expect physical comedy and a lot of fat jokes and overblown kung fu parodies. The plot is a vehicle for heavy-handed moralizing (something that we frown upon here at Mind the Bats), beating into small children's heads the notion that everyone is special and has the inner power to face adversity. I mean, I understand the idea of giving kids some moral direction completely, but does it really need to be so unsubtle and take up most of the latter half of the movie? In spite of these glaring flaws, the movie is glorious to behold in all of its wonderful computer animation, especially a little opening segment thats more cartoonish and artsy, and the fight scenes are exhilarating as any.

As for that music, the band is Breakestra, and they are phenomenally funky. LA based, unbelievably tight, still performing, these guys are a return to that glorious 70's sound. Now I love the Bamboos and other current groups, but they lack a little of the soul and energy that pretty much any no-hit wonder from the glory days (I probably have no qualifications for calling the late 60's-70's the glory days, but who cares?) was sure to have in spades. The first CD, the one I picked up, the Live Mix part 2, is a collection of covers and possibly original stuff that seems to be the stuff that hip-hop backing tracks are made of. Apparently ?uestlove of the Roots is a fan and used them for samples, largely from the actual tape the Mix Tape part 1, but whatever. These guys are solid.

In other news, I saw Mongol yesterday and it was baller. I will review it in short time, but this is relevant because I saw the preview for what will be one of my favorite movies of the summer, bar year: the Wackness. Try and find the redband trailer, because it's mindblowingly good. Drug dealing, hip hop, coming of age, New York area in '94, wow. I don't even care that people have already started to poison it by saying that it'll be the Juno of this year (nowhere near Indy and whiny enough), or by the fact that it stars one of those adolescent freakshows from daytime TV, Josh Peck (and Mary-Kate Olsen in a minor role). He looks like he's busting out of the vise of child star, and nothing can ruin this movie for me. Or you. Lastly, this. It's hard to voice my displeasure at the Boondock Saints phenomenon like this. Mindless fanboys read it and weep, those of us who watched it and saw occasional strokes of brilliance in an otherwise absurd production laugh uproariously. And out.

Aliens? Really Guys?

2008-06-02T22:20:00.000-07:00

Indiana Jones is one of those objectively fun and exciting summer blockbusters that everyone will probably end up seeing in some incarnation. I'm really impressed that they had the guts to bring the franchise back for a fourth outing, considering that Harrison is an old dude right now, but that's just a testament to how many younger viewers went out and rented "Raiders of the Lost Ark" or "Last Crusade" (1989, almost 20 years ago is how old this series is) and though they were good enough to spend ten bucks on an older version of the same stuff. Or maybe I'm underestimating the selling power of Shia. Anyhow, this latest Indy "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" manages to capture a lot of that same energy and adventuring joy that made the old movies such classics, but at the same time achieves a level of ridiculousness similar to "Transformers" as far as plot and suspension of disbelief go.

This little escapade takes us to the wonderful world of post-WWII red scare and wholesome youths, where we find Old Indy at the hands of evil communists trying to steal artifacts from a very familiar warehouse (with a neat cameo appearance of that one ark thing from that one movie, you know, the one that melts faces). Apparently the commies have taken over where the Nazi's left off in screwing with the artifacts of the free world in attempts for world domination, specifically an artifact that, oddly enough, one of Indy's colleagues had been... well, what do they do, hunting? Working on? At any rate, Indy must once again leave that dusty Ivy league school where he teaches probably all of three weeks a year (a class that sounds more like high school- how many college profs ask students to read their textbooks while they leave the room? And you can tell it's the 50's because of the solitary token black guy in the back of the classroom making things progressive). Regardless, Indy must now hie and away to South America, where this crystal skull and his old colleague await him. Oh, and young Shia Le Boeuf (spelled correctly? Do I care?) joins him just for kicks, some kind of strange motorcycle thug/archeologist dropout. Anyways, he's young and he's got attitude. So thank god for that. And this sums up our backstory, setting the stage for high speed chases and international daring-do that, not to spoil anything, will lead Indy into a series of lost temples. And there are aliens, but more on that later.

The acting is pretty standard for what could be expected. Harrison tries to bring back that sneering demeanor of his, and it's mostly there, but he is older now and seems to be okay with that. It's a more world-weary Indy, something that might not necessarily be best for the series. Shia plays the same likable young guy that he was in transformers, although less awkward/frustrated because there is no real romantic tension for him to deal with. Cate Blanchett is the top evil commie and seems to have fun hamming it up. There's also the lady from "Raiders of the Lost Ark" who shows up kind of randomly as a nod to all the fans who remember the old movies, which is kind of nice but again, she kinda old now. However, the focus was never on the acting. The same wild chases and fight scenes in which everything that could possibly look cool and elevate the tension to an implausibly higher level happens are still there (good sentence construction here!), which gives this latest and possibly final Indy the same great energy and excitement that seems to be lacking from so many movies these days. Spielberg really does it best.

However, that suspension of disbelief that was so easy to come by in the earlier movies is a little strained now. CGI seems painfully evident, one wonders how a team of Ruskies can operate with what seems like complete impunity on US soil, and every physics-defying stunt that makes those spectacular chase scenes work raises immediate skepticism, like when Indy survives a nuclear bomb blast by sealing himself in a lead-lined refrigerator and being hurled for at least half a mile, then getting out and dusting himself off. Oh, did I mention the aliens? This time around there is the suspicion that the titular crystal skull has something to do with aliens. Indy has officially jumped the shark here. I mean, come on, we believed biblical relics and the like, but aliens as the precursors to Mayan civilization? Seems a bit far-fetched.

That's certainly not to say that the movie wasn't entertaining, my new criteria for judging film. It most certainly was, funny at parts and exhilarating most of the time, a return to the gleeful camp lost sometime in the mid-90's. Definitely worth a look, but viewing of Raiders is extremely encouraged to fully understand the homage to a homage.

Back In It

2008-05-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

Wow, summer. It kinda sneaks up on you, but once it's here it feels like it's been forever. That's a very good thing. Pause for a minute and bask in that glow.

Good. Now I bring you not one but Three (3) summer movie reviews, all debatably late and with varying levels of coherence. Most of these are now old releases, so I'll just do impressions, but consider this a warmup for great things to come. Because (sing it) Schooooooool's out for summerrrrrrrrr! Sorry, that was unprofessional.

Ok, anyways. At the top of the list (oldest) is "Run, Fatboy, Run," Simon Pegg's latest endeavor, although not directed by Edgar Wright and missing Nick Frost in any supporting role. The Shaun of the Dead feel is missing, namely in the sense that although this is a romantic comedy it doesn't run through a list of romcom cliches and references, building something effective and at the same time satirical. Instead we get a pretty decent stab at lovelorn plot and stuff that builds into a solid slapstick movie graced with the presence of Dylan Moran, filling the sidekick role that Frost usually takes. This, in my humble opinion, makes the movie, which would otherwise be considered substandard Simon Pegg or an average British import, because Dylan Moran is god. Instead of squandering his gifts as in Shaun of the Dead, Moran gets to show off his full range of douchebaggery and surreal commentary, echoes of Black Books in full effect. Some of the best jokes come from his deadbeat antics, especially while pantsless. I can't recall much right now, but it is certainly worth a look. The story is pretty traditional, and the music rather good (with, of all things, Amy Winehouse doing a Toots and the Maytalls cover over the final credits. Odd.) See it for Dylan, stay for the slapstick.

But we all expected that Fatboy would be acceptably funny, so on to one of the bigger surprises, "Iron Man." Is that two words? Whatever. This was an objectively great movie that really surprised all expectations for a superhero movie. The credit really goes to Robert Downey Jr. as the man himself. What a phenomenal portrayal of a character, suitably sarcastic and witty yet at the same time believable when it comes time to repent/sermonize/save the world. Also, the man has shrapnel in his heart held in place by an electromagnet. How badass is that? I recognize that that's just the character, but still. What a great job. Also equally amazing is Jeff Bridges, the dude himself, as the villain. He had some biblical name, but names are the first thing to go when I haven't seen a movie in a while. He can now add a second legitimate performance to his record to follow Lebowski and try and redeem Tron and that 70's version of King Kong. Such a good job of being evil, really subtly done yet suitably comic-like. The other characters are all pretty good, the explosions are awesome, there's loads of humor, and while everything sets up for a sequel (stay to the end of the credits for the scene that further explains sequeldom!) the story is simple enough for non-comic readers while still being interesting. Definitely recommended, and maybe even for a second viewing if you can justify it.

Lastly is "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," from the Apatow stable of excellence although not directed by the man himself. This one is old news, so I'll just give impressions. I missed all the D in the first 10 minutes, so that wasn't an issue. The traditional Apatow formula of man-boys growing up still works, and there are definitely mad laughs to be had from everyone. The leading ladies are stunningly attractive and the side character of the titular Sarah Marshall's rocker new boyfriend is great, although not as scene-stealingly funny as everyone had me be. Those distinctions go to the Hawaiian hotel employees, all of whom get some of the best lines. It's hopeful, it's hilarious, it's summer. Probably the best thing until the Pineapple Express comes out in August.

Those were some mediocre reviews to say the least, but now they're done and I can rest. Trust me when I say it can only get better from here. Summer movie season has just begun.

Man for Our Times

2008-05-05T21:46:00.000-07:00

It has been a most unusually chill and laid-back day here, so I'm taking some time to drop some of my deeper thoughts on you. Of course, they're not that deep and pretty much exclusively movie related, but I think it's sort of interesting and so may all you loyal readers (5).

Anyways, I've been watching the trailer for "Pineapple Express" a lot lately, which I will hype again here, and finally saw "the 40-year-old Virgin" for the first time yesterday. That's a lot of Seth Rogan for one man, but I don't mind. He's great, sort of a hapless stoner buddy who says ridiculous things but really has your back all along. And then today I was watching the first 20 minutes of "The Big Lebowski," primarily for selfish and personal reasons but really just because I needed Sam Elliot's opening speech, and I realized why Seth Rogan is so loveable. He's the Dude for our times. Now the comparison isn't between Jeff Bridges and Seth Rogan, or between the Dude and the individual characters Rogan plays, but between that immortal character of the Dude and the underlying Seth Rogan-ness that all of his Judd Apatow characters share in common (and to an extent his character in "Freaks and Geeks," but not as much).

You see, Jeff Bridges is a pretty diverse actor, even if the only really good thing he's done was Lebowski, because "Tron" and the 70's remake of "King Kong" don't count. To be fair, he's supposed to be legit in "Ironman," which I will see, but the defining Bridges performance is the Dude, who has grown into a larger-than-life character with a life and mystique of his own. If you're as Lebowski obsessed as I and think "What would the Dude do now?" or find yourself having Dude moments, you realize that he has become the poster man-child for an entire lifestyle. Seth Rogan, in all of his hapless helpless stoner bud roles, has managed to tap into this very Zen attitude that the Dude shares. If you watch both for long enough, and really think about it, you'll start to pick up on the parallels. The way the characters handle situations, the way they speak and handle themselves, it's all pretty Dudelike. Of course the Dude is definitely more of a Zen master than any of Rogan's characters to date (I could be wrong), all of whom have the weaknesses of mankind in them to fulfill Apatow's goal of deeper emotional messages in his comedies. Curing these weaknesses usually means maturing, which is always portrayed as a step away from Dude, but the point still stands that what makes these Seth Rogan characters so appealing is that kernel of Dude within them all. Look for it next time you re-watch anything he does and be comforted that the Dude's spirit is still out there in this world of studio blockbusters and an increasingly evil Hollywood, takin' it easy for all us poor sinners.

Well then, I just managed to throw out a semi-intellectual discussion of Dudeism in film and pack in ridiculous Lebowski references. My day of chill is pretty much complete. Anyhow, I thought that was kind of interesting, hope you enjoyed.

Accidentally Untitled

2008-04-30T09:53:00.001-07:00

Wow, two posts in one month. You guys are pretty lucky. But this isn't really substantiative, because I don't have that much to say when I don't see movies every week. There is hope though, and to continue hyping that happy time when I will return to witty reviews, here's a preview for Seth Rogan's latest endeavour.

My god, it's like Harold and Kumar do "Hot Fuzz." Only really really good. I found this one in the AV Club's hater column, and so help me I find nothing to hate. Contrary to whatever critics say I will be there to see this movie. A stoner movie with action cliches and Seth Rogan, who is in the fine tradition of helpless potheads a very likable man, make prime summer viewing. It will probably be stupid. Maybe bitingly funny though. But I will be there laughing helplessly, and so should you.

We can't exactly justify a post of subpar writing just to introduce a trailer, so that's why I saw Girltalk last weekend. And I'll be damned if that wasn't one of the best concerts I've ever been to. I'm not sure whether he does live mixing or not (someone said he does, and he was doing something at his plastic-wrapped laptop), but regardless it was funny when instead of "one more song" someone shouted "press play again!" For those who don't know, Girltalk is one DJ who does mashups, which means taking elements from various popular songs and artfully combining them to create something better. It's actually pretty intellectual, because there is an element of recognition of the various components of songs that makes mashups interesting, but by combining so many into a unified whole the focus is no longer on the individual lyrics or beats but the cohesive sound as a whole. And for a little anti-intellectualism, it was also very sweaty and amazingly fun. I've been to punk rock shows that weren't as packed. Of course it wasn't as violent, but still, bodies were packed to the front of the room in a drunken dancing frenzy as Girltalk laid down a continuous flow of grooves and beats. It was awesome.

And last weekend I made the best impulse buy ever, which I share with you here: Big Willie Style, for three dollars. Simply incredible. Well, here's to mediocre posts and good times.

Here We Go Again

2008-04-13T18:09:00.000-07:00

Well kids, it's been a very long time since those Academy Awards, but we did pretty well for ourselves, although I'm late enough so that even I don't care enough to do a rundown of how accurate my uninformed predictions were.

There's not much to say as of now, because I haven't really seen many recent movies lately, but I will give some impressions of "There Will Be Blood," the last really meaty thing I have seen. And I say Wow. Not the capitalization. This was one hell of a movie and possibly should have beat out "No Country" for best picture there. It's been a while, but my impressions were generally favorable. Daniel Day Lewis (DDL) does an indescribably phenomenal job as Daniel Plainview, oilman. His voice is this wonderful combination of Sean Connery and George Sanders (Shere Khan from the original Jungle Book, possibly the greatest Disney movie of the ages), all gravely and old-timey. He oozes malevolence, descends wonderfully into madness, and still manages to surprise at the end. His buried emotions, or lack thereof, make him a complex character actually worth watching. It's not about what he does, as is usually the case in the big-budget summer fare (a season soon coming, look for some suitably damning and sarcastic reviews in a few months), but who he is. Paul Dano is actually annoying and forgettable in the role of a similarly soulless preacher. The cinematography and locations are stunningly dusty and epic. As an aside, I think it's great that the smoke from a scene where the crew burned an oil well down interrupted filming for "No Country" several miles away for a few days. The story looses momentum as Plainview grows madder and madder, and my musical friends tell me that the score is simplistic and repetitive, but those are small complaints for a great movie. Oh, and the last 20 minutes are undoubtedly the best from any movie in the past 10 years. I won't spoil them, but all I could say after that is Wow.

So remember Afroman? The dude who sings "Because I Got High" (http://youtube.com/watch?v=305vRNoofr8) and "Colt 45?" Yeah, I saw him live. Not much to say, other than that it was ridiculous. I actually timed it perfectly so that I only saw him perform those two songs before the show got broken up, but it was great. Nothing like has-been rappers who never really were. Although I do love "Because I Got High." Kind of catchy.

That's about it. One semi-legit concert and a movie from months ago. I'll end, though, by saying that this season of South Park is very very good, so if you haven't started watching yet get on that. Especially the "cheesing" episode, where the hallucinations are possibly the greatest since Terry Gilliam got his hands on Fear and Loathing.

Return of the Oscar Pick

2008-01-30T16:21:00.000-08:00

So it's that time of year again where we get to make uninformed predictions about them Academy Awards. Since I started this post some three to four weeks before now and never finished, the Oscars are now upon us. This will be extremely brief, informal, and generally lacking in the semi-coherent structure and thoughtful witticisms that pervade the posts here at Mind the Bats. So without further ado, the categories that I feel confident speculating on:

(Note that I haven't been up to usual moviewatching standards this year, and haven't even seen "There Will Be Blood" yet. Still, it's perfectly legit to make uninformed opinions. And if any of them are right, all you speculators can suck it long and hard).

Best Picture: either "No Country for Old Men" or "There Will Be Blood." There's a lot of people out there cheering for "Juno," but I doubt it. While "Juno" is an excellent movie, with many deep and profound messages about childhood and stuff, it was just too sarcastic and cheeky to get the Oscar. Of course, I could be very wrong, and the academy might fall in love with the precocious wit of this little indie thing, but I doubt it. "No Country" and "Blood" are more deep and profound, tackling equally deep questions about humanity, and are done by very good directors with stellar performances. They aren't particularly upbeat, but nonetheless are incredible movies. I'd put my money on "Blood" right now just based on hearsay, but also look for "No Country."

Best Actor: without a doubt Daniel-Day Lewis. I haven't even seen this movie, but I can call it just based upon Dan's previous work and critical acclaim. It'll be like "Last King of Scotland" and Forrest Whittaker last year: when a dude becomes the villain, he gets the Oscar. Game, set and match.

Supporting Actor: probably Javier Bardeem, for his wonderfully creepy role in "No Country" as a cold-blooded killer/angel of death. Again, a really strong portrayal of a villain, especially a legitimately terrifying one, is a great performance. Even if "No Country" gets shafted by all the other pictures, look for Javier in this category.

Director: can't call due to the lack of any amazing feats of direction, not seeing all the films, and a deep and abiding love for the Coen brothers after "The Big Lebowski."

Original Screenplay: Diablo Cody for "Juno." This was an amazing script, by a newcomer no less, with great snappy dialogue that really made the movie what it is. It's just like "Little Miss Sunshine" last year (a comparison I should have thrown down in the Best Picture category), where a really good indie film with deeper messages gets picked up by the academy but really doesn't feel like Best Picture material. Both also had stellar scripts. This one is basically in the bag, especially if the academy melts and gives it Best Picture.

So that's all I can do this year. On the band scene, I finally saw a legit band perform, Vampire Weekend. I know they're indie, but it was a free concert, and they've realized something that other indie bands haven't: popular sells. Their songs are catchy yet refreshing, and they aim to have a lot of fun. And fun sells. Their blend of indie and sort of Afro-Beat melodies also really appeals to me. Definitely pretty good is the verdict. And that's all for a while. We'll probably do a post-oscar wrapup, and get you a review of "There Will Be Blood" as soon as I see it.

Calmer Than You Are

2007-12-05T12:16:00.001-08:00

Before we begin, this needs to be addressed: http://www.avclub.com/content/feature/cheap_toy_round_up_2007/1.

Good. That settled, my apologies for the very long wait. And I suppose the Lebowski-inspired title that has no relation to the topic of this post. I've just been in a pretty Dude frame of mind the past week and couldn't think of anything decent to lead off with. So anyways, I had promised you all sterling reviews of multiple films in rapid succession. That didn't exactly happen. I never got out to see American Gangster and watched The Darjeeling Limited too long ago to give a decent review. So we're just gonna do some short impression-style reviews of those two and Juno and call it a night.

So Darjeeling was seen a while ago, yes. Being a Wes Anderson movie, it is about family, incredibly stylish, has a really laid-back pacing and some damn good music on the soundtrack. The thing about Wes Anderson, though, is that his movies aren't really funny in a Superbad sort of way. They're amusing throughout and leave a nice warm feeling of contentment afterwards. Darjeeling certainly delivers here. The brief story is that three brothers go on a journey through India to discover themselves and meet up with their estranged mother. As could be expected, things don't really go according to plan, and a series of misadventures predictably ensue. The acting is pretty good in that Wes Anderson semi-detached hipster vein, but nothing much gets resolved as far as plot goes, and our brothers seem largely unchanged by their experiences, if more at ease and laid back. But for all of that it still manages to be insanely upbeat and pleasing, no doubt aided by the visual splendor of the shot composition and that soundtrack again. I'm not sure which friend I was discussing this with, but there should really be an Academy Award for best compiled soundtrack.

Now the gears shift audibly and with a slightly painful metallic noise to No Country, which was a shitshow and a half. And I mean that in the best possible sense of the word. The Coen brothers (there's your Lebowski linkage) have returned to their gritty roots for this... man, I don't even know how to describe it. Western epic of inevitable fate and violence comes pretty close. Anyhow, this is really heavy and intense, but oh so good. Short story: hunter finds a lot of money at a drug bust gone to hell and takes off with it, earning him the pleasure of being followed by an avenging angel of death known as Cizurgh (spelled correctly? who cares?), who also has the distinction of having the creepiest indeterminate accent. And who is in fact the ultimate badass. And then Tommy Lee Jones shows up as the sheriff trying to stop this madness from going down and gets to narrate a lot of southern wisdom in a great gravely Texas twang. Pretty much this movie is amazing: big shots of open country, suitably epic scope and pacing, and stellar acting and characters, particularly in the case of Tommy Lee (possibly a career defining role). The story is rather unforgivingly dark and bleak, and the film never exactly resolves itself, but it still manages to be great.

And lastly there is Juno, another little indie film. I'm getting tired so we'll wrap this one up quick. You know the story: teen pregnancy, but teen keeps baby to give to adoptive parents. The charm here comes from the cheeky audacity of the script, which is insanely sharp and cool-sarcastic. And it was written by someone named Diablo. What's there not to like? To with the script is Ellen Page's fine performance as the titular Juno, hitting that perfect note of teen well versed in sarcasm as a second language. Also with Michael Cera, being predictably awkward and great as the father, and Jason Bateman as the adoptive father. This little Arrested Development mini-reunion isn't exactly legit, as the characters never interact, but it gives the film mad credentials, as does the direction of the guy who did Thank You For Smoking. This one is also really upbeat, but in a more sentimental way, which you all know I'm not exactly a fan of. And there's a bit much of the acoustic-whiny vocal indie music on the soundtrack. But this is probably the best comedy I've seen since Superbad, but in an entirely different way. Highly recommended.

Cool, that felt good to do. I'll try and get out to see something new again. Back in the city of Angels, the Aggrolites have a show tomorrow. It should be good. Otherwise, I'm good. Over and out.

One Year

2007-11-28T12:52:00.001-08:00

Well, I was planning on putting out an anniversary post on the day, but in usual Mind the Bats style we're a bit behind. Oh well. So it's been one year here on the blogging scene, and we think that deserves a little self-congratulation and introspective analysis. But first the congratulations: well done, us. Cheers! We're still around!

Now to everything else. I suppose a history is in order: we started a year or so ago as a full spectrum culture blog with promises of spontaneous philosophizing. Early posts were rambling and personal to a degree, but still professional. Reviews were highly subjective and not entirely informative or critical, and prone to the occasional Deep Thought on life or somesuch. But there was a slow degree of evolution to the present incarnation, with some fine gonzo moments to capture the ridiculous spirit of some of the events we've covered. And it's been a glorious ride indeed. For a sort of "best of" sample, check the "Grindhouse" review, one of the few that I have been pleased with even while writing it: http://mindthebats.blogspot.com/2007/04/yes-he-was-fucking-head.html.

In the present incarnation, we're still managing to keep up the irreverent yet warm style that's happened. And as always we maintain a certain degree of professionalism. Things quickly went from wide-spectrum culture postings to music and movie review (and the occasional concert) with pop-culture commentary and editorials sprinkled in with the intros and main reviews. In my opinion, the movie reviews have really been the soul of Mind the Bats this past year. They've grown from personal impressions to wild stream-of-consciousness critiques ("The Wind that Shakes the Barley" was the peak of this trend) to the current manageable thoughts. That's not to say that the music hasn't been fun, but because we haven't really done many reviews of new music I can hardly justify self-congratulation on that front. We'll try to keep up with fresh releases for you guys in the coming year. And maybe we'll even go retro and throw out a book review, if I happen to read something amazing that you must know about.

That's it for now, and sort of emblematic of the typical Mind the Bats post- rambling, with some good ideas, changing focus a few times and then realizing it in a brief and sharply written conclusion. I apologize again for the lack of new reviews, but the way life's been working now there hasn't been much cultural to throw out. Professional standards forbid writing about everyday life-rocking, but it's something that everyone should be doing regardless. Anyhow, let's end this. I'm planning on seeing "American Gangster," "No Country for Old Men" and "I am Legend" in December when things slow up a bit, and maybe getting some fresh music to let you know about. Until then, stay strong. It's been a good year.

Triumphant Return?

2007-10-18T11:33:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's been a while. But I'm back, sort of, with some solid musical reviews and apologies for my continuing absence. For the five of you who I think actually read this regularly (probably none of you after all this time), life has temporarily removed me from a cultural hotspot, which means that we don't get out to see many movies, go to many shows, or even have a decent record store to get new music. It's all well and good, but culture is what we thrive on here at Mind the Bats, which accounts for the brief shutdown. So my apologies to anyone remotely interested. Now let's get back on it.

I have for your reading pleasure today reviews of two new(ish) CD's: the soundtrack from "Superbad" and the Aggrolites' latest, "Reggae Hit LA." Both are mad good. Let us begin with the Aggrolites, as it's a sort of dirty reggae kind of day.

The Aggrolites do wonderful things with their music: they have managed to capture the gritty elements of reggae and combine them with a modern rock, almost punk feel and presentation to create a form of reggae that is relevant without sacrificing the good-time vibe of legit reggae. They also put on a damn good show and are all insanely accomplished musicians. That said, one of my issues with the Aggrolites has always been that they don't have the same energy in a studio environment. Part of what makes them a great band is their ability to get a crowd gong, their call and response lyrics and the driving dance beat causing a sort of wild energy buildup in the crowd. In the studio this doesn't really happen- I remember a very disappointing rendition of "Someday" on a British radio show that I heard that didn't do them full justice. But on "Reggae Hit LA" the Aggrolites have a much more energetic vibe. There's a sort of Toots and the Maytalls quality, with lots of background noise and shouting that make it sound like one joyous jam session. This is definitely their most solid album yet. The band sounds funkier than before, which works, and has also toned down some of the oppressive organ effects (their organist is one of the best ever, a complete demon onstage, but the high-pitched synth organ parts just grate on my nerves. It's a bit of a problem). It's consistently good, and has some really amazing tracks on it ("Lucky Streak" and "Reggae Hit LA" are my personal favorites). Hopefully these will become as central to the live shows as "Someday" and "Mr. Misery," possibly the band's crowning glories. To cut through all this rambling, this is a newer and funkier Aggrolites, but with the same heavy reggae vibe that makes them amazing. Definitely worth a look, and owning.

I'm going to make the "Superbad" soundtrack review shorter, as we already commented on the awesomeness of the music in the film review. One thing that the liner notes reveals, though, is that the guys in charge of recording the original tracks got Bootsy fuckin' Collins to play bass, the guy that started with James Brown and went on to Parliament. The rest of the studio band is of a similar pedigree. And there's a second track from the Bar-Kays that's even better than the slightly repetitive "Soul Finger," a song by The Roots, and some stuff that didn't make the final editing cut. It's truly funky good, and almost as necessary as the What It Is box set for serious funk fiends. Nice alliteration there.

In other news, "American Gangster" will be amazing. I call this in advance and look forward to bringing you a review. On a slightly less musical note, the Soulja Boy phenomenon requires commenting upon. This has to be one of the most entertaining songs with accompanying dances yet, which makes it. For those of you who don't know it or can't do it, learn the Soulja Boy dance. Not only is it an impressive party peice, but it's fun and mostly easy to fake. There are videos on the youtube, or find someone to teach you. Without the dance, the song is generic hip-hop at its worst, significant only because of the internet's involvement as a distributing agent. But it's kinda fun. And as a last last reccomendation, start watching "The Mighty Boosh," one of the greatest surreal British cult TV shows ever. Season One was weak, Season Two is the best thing ever, and Season Three is coming in November. And save the episode "Old Gregg" for whenever, because it is the best. Ever. Cheers.

Routine Maintenance

2007-09-09T10:39:00.000-07:00

Just keeping the flame alive. Due to the routine hectic-oscity of life, I haven't seen much of anything new to impose upon you guys, and nothing really noteworthy has happened for one of those philosophical posts that always leave me feeling slightly soulless.

Yet all is not lost! For I bring you tidings of one of the greatest bad movies ever produced for the straight-to-DVD market. This is, of course, "Shark Attack 3: Megalodon." The fact that a "Shark Attack 1" and "2" were actually produced still floors me. For fans of laughably terrible movies, this one has it all- gratuitous violence, poorly executed CGI (and in a movie produced in 2002, no less!), random bouts of soft core, and some of the most painfully conceived dialogue ever written by chimp at keyboard, all delivered in voiceover by a variety of hack voice actors. The actuall acting was done by a Ukranian no-star cast (it could have been another former Soviet-bloc country, but I remember seeing film credits for Ukraine as a location), except for the three D-list Americains who take the title roles. The plot, if it could be called such, involves some nonsense about a shark and fiber-optic cables. And I do NOT in any way, shape, or form wish to ruin the film's crowning glory, which is quite possibly one of the greatest lines ever delivered by man. You'll know it when you see it, and then probably rewind it to see it again. And maybe a third time depending on your ability to operate a remote controll while choking with laughter. Even though it isn't Mind the Bats policy to review DVD's, this deserved an honorable mention.

And such is life. Our weather observation for the day is that humidity is absolutely bollocks to have to deal with, and the east coast got nothin' on LA. We may also do some layout change- I'm getting tired of the current setup, and our title makes less and less sense to me as time goes on. But whatever. Out.

SuperPun (Make Your Own Witty Title!)

2007-08-23T22:50:00.000-07:00

Because film reviews are what we do best here at Mind the Bats, we bring you (the clamoring public) more. If "clamoring" means "mildly interested" and "public" can be applied to about five people. Anyhow, we have two film reviews, which are probably going to be the last for a while due to several circumstances beyond our control. Call it the end of summer. But these two are one hell of a way to go on hiatus: "The King of Kong" and "Superbad." And with that let's get cracking.

We'll start with "Kong," a legitimate documentary about the world of competitive arcade gaming. Specifically, it's about the original Donkey Kong, a game we are told is one of the most difficult and brutal ever created, and the competition for the highest score ever. This competition really only involves two men: Billy Mitchell, the man who set the ridiculously high record back in the 80's, and Steve Wiebe, the man who decides to beat this score. Although this is a documentary, it proceeds a lot like a feature film, which is to say in a very linear fashion complete with plot twists and backstory. What makes "Kong" so compelling, though, are the characters. Steve makes a great hero: knocked around by the world, seeking a little glory for himself, but never arrogant or overcompetitive. To put it simply, he remains a nice guy. Billy, on the other hand, has to be one of the greatest villains ever committed to film. You can't write characters as nasty as Billy, now a hot sauce entrepreneur. Conceited, cutthroat, and competitive to a fault, Billy is the sort of scheming mastermind favored in those 60's spy films. In addition to the characters and the music (correct usage of both "In the Hall of the Mountain King" and "Flight of the Valkyries"), "Kong" sheds some light and insight on the world of competitive gaming, which has been around for years and often makes Halo fanatics look like an old ladies' bridge circle. As could be expected, there are lots of guys that are just way to into video games (the movie focuses exclusively on arcade gaming) and get super intense about them, but there are also a surprising number of plain assholes. And the wonderful side character of Walter Day, referee, who has a penchant for yoga and folk guitar and manages to defy all classifications. But the main point of the whole picture is the quest for glory, which is immensely gratifying. But even though the filmmakers do a splendid job of turning Billy and Steve's rivalry into more than a game, the point still stands for everyone else. It's just a game, guys. Just a game.

With the creation of "Superbad" it seems Judd Apatow can do no wrong. Now, I haven't seen "The 40-year-old Virgin" yet, but "Knocked Up" was great, as you all may already know. "Superbad" is even better than "Knocked Up," which is pretty hard to accomplish. The amazing thing is how these movies can have such terrible trailers but in fact be fatally hilarious. And I mean fatally in the positive sense. Linguistics aside, the plot revolves around Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan's (Michael Cera) quest to get booze for a party, and thusly get with the girls of their dreams. Don't make the mistake of assuming that the movie is about the quest to get laid- as one of my friends stated, that is the central theme to everything. There's the usual deeper significance, but we'll deal with that later. Seth and Evan need the help of their, for lack of a better term, jerkoff friend Fogell (the extravagantly named Christopher Mintz-Plasse), possessor of a fake ID and now immortally known as "McLovin." Fogell proceeds to get involved with two cops of dubious moral fiber, Officer Slater (Bill Hader) and Officer Michaels (Seth Rogen, who also co-wrote the script, which one supposes is semi-autobiographical when the protagonists share first names with the writers). And from here on out it's pretty much a comedy of errors. There are some damn funny scenes in here, such as Seth's childhood story about a phallic drawing obsession (trying to be discreet here), the hold-up of a liquor store, and the actual use of the fake ID.

But the show is really stolen by Slater and Michaels, and by extension McLovin. Nearly everything these guys get involved in is absolutely amazing, and the officers get some of the best lines (on having a gun: "It's like having two cocks. If one of your cocks could kill someone," and while breaking up a party: "Prepare to be fucked by the long dick of the law!") Rogen and Hader do such a good job with the cops that it should be illegal, and I could almost watch them for the entire film. But if I did that I'd miss out on some of the equally amazing things Seth says, especially the immortal exchange "You know, you scratch our back we scratch yours." "Funny thing about my back, it's actually on my dick." What I'm trying to prove here is that the dialouge, which was just as good in "Knocked Up," is the primary attraction and source of humor for these pictures. And it's amazing, wonderfully vulgar and excessively crude, so absurd and unexpected that we can't help but laugh. This is masterful work. As is the ability of these pictures to carry a surprisingly deep message, which for "Superbad" is all about the deep bonds of friendship. We care about Seth and Evan, we feel their bond and sense their sorrow at parting for college. These guys are old friends, and the film pays testament to the strength of their relationship. (As an aside, I really like how Judd Apatow can make movies like this that redefine old genres and are often even more funny. He took on both the parenthood and romantic comedy situations in "Knocked Up" and revamps buddy flick and teen comedy here. "Knocked Up" wasn't really in the true spirit of either genre, so there is little hope of it becoming a classic of the style, but "Superbad" is definitely a teen comedy. It is my humble hope that it will become one of the defining classics of our generation.) And because you all know I hate morals and couldn't stand to end a review that way, there's also a funky good soundtrack. It honestly sounds like something that I would have culled from lots of rare groove compilations (and even has one track of the wonderful funk bible known as the "What It Is" box set), which really made the movie. Anything that funny with that much funk simply has to be seen.

And so we end. I'll see about putting more stuff up soon, but don't expect much for a while. Until then, stay strong.

Bourne Again

2007-08-20T16:08:00.000-07:00

As usual, it's been awhile, so we've got a nice meaty post here. I saw the Bourne movie, and then the Buzzcocks at Sunset Junction, as well as the OJs, and there's even a new TV show to review. So let's get to work, but not before crediting my brother with the post inspiration. As he spends so much time checking this thing, he might as well get some recognition. It was also too good a lead to pass up.

So: the new Bourne movie really isn't bad for what boils down to one big chase scene. The present incarnation, "The Bourne Ultimatum," puts the mysterious Jason Bourne up against the task of discovering his true identity. Having neglected to see the first two, I feel like I missed out on some backstory at some point, but not that much because the backstory is that Bourne has no backstory to speak of. Or a secret one. Anyways, this search for a past puts Bourne (Matt Damon, need you even ask?) up against one of those shadowy government security agencies so favored by thriller writers and conspiracy theorists; the agency wants Bourne dead on the grounds of national security. And there we have our conflict. Resolution comes through violence, and plenty of it. It's not James Bond-style airbrushed violence, but it's not Tarantino-style gritty violence. The action comes fast and furious, with plenty of hand-to-hand combat. The quality of violence can be seen as a reflection of the quality of film. This isn't your run-of-the-mill crappy blockbuster thriller, but it isn't a great Graham Greene-inspired realistic thriller. The writers have wisely chosen to ignore what could have been Bourne's anguish at his lost humanity and any pretense at a romantic subplot and instead focus purely on the escalating game of cat-and-mouse between Bourne and the agency, particularly the head (David Strathairn, well done role) and the resident Bourne expert (Joan Allen). As the movie gathers steam, there's hardly a wasted moment, with little room for self-indulgent monolouges even at the climax. The ending does tend to set itself up for the inevitable sequel, but otherwise the filmmakers opt for a tightly wound little movie. As for the action, there are some very good sequences, the best of which is a chase between Bourne, an assassin, and a girl that helps Bourne for reasons detailed in an earlier film. The sequence culminates in a fast and furious duel, which is pretty good. Like the rest of the movie. Underused are the assassin characters, known as "assets." I want to know their stories- from what the film lets us see into their lives, these guys hang out in low-rent apartments, awaiting a text message consisting of the face and location of individuals that need to be killed. The assets then grab their tools, go kill someone, and presumably head home to watch some TV and eat dinner. We get some inkling of their identities near the end, but too much goes unexplained. A day in the life of one of these presumably sociopathic government killers, now there's a movie idea.

Now for Sunset Junction, the big street fair out in the Hollywood area. From what I understand, this is a pretty-well attended annual festival that attracts some big-name tallent. I showed for the Buzzcocks, who did a very passable set despite combating the anti-rocking properties of age. They played favorites like "Boredom," "Breakdown," and "Orgasm Addict" to a crowd of similarly aging punks and young blood alike. One guy actually fainted, but that was more from the heat than anything. And he was in the crowd, not the band, as I realize I should specify. The lead singer was having some problems with his voice, and the principal guitarist had technical difficulties with his guitar, but they seemed fine, if a little on the overbearingly loud side. The real find of the night, though, was the OJs, a very soulful trio and backing band of whom I had never heard before. They do vocals like a combination of early Ray Charles and Marvin Gaye, and as they said, they have been accused of producing that baby making music, a claim which they did nothing to deny. Indeed, I felt like making some babies myself after listening to their complete set. As I had never heard of these guys before, I can't tell you their individual names or the names of any of their songs, but it was some great music, and a satisfying end to the evening, especially their final song. And the one singer was doing a damn fine job of MCing. Good fun.

As for that TV show, "The Company" on TNT is a pretty amazing early Cold War thriller about conflicting CIA and KGB agents. Alfred Molina is in it and doing a superior job, and the rest of the actors range from decent to good. It's definitely got atmosphere, and the first hour was commercial-free. It's showing in three two-hour slots, of which two have already aired. It may have some heavy-handed acting at times, but it's head and shoulders above the rest of the sleaze on television these days. They'll probably do a re-run soon, so watch for that.

And for the usual seasonal closer, keep enjoying the fine summer weather. We're in deep summer right now, so its time to do everything fun that you haven't managed yet before fall. The beach is nice, and for the true California experience, go at night. Over and out.

It's OK, it's a French film

2007-08-11T16:09:00.001-07:00

So we return here at Mind the Bats triumphantly to the movie scene with a brief review of Godard's "Pierrot le Fou" ("Pierrot the Fool"), doing a revival run at one of the little revival houses near me. Unfortunately, I don't know enough about film to discuss the importance of this one's contributions to the culture as a whole, but I do know that it's supposed to be a fairly influential French New Wave movie and sort of pivotal in Godard's career. But we've never really been ones to care about deep artistic significance in films. Instead, we focus on whether a movie is fun and entertaining, and "Pierrot" most assuredly is. So here we go.

I think I've only seen one other New Wave film before this one, and that was the painfully pretentious and unfortunately artsy "The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie," a truly bizarre movie in which sleazy upper-middle class French couples meet in a variety of situations, which get weirder and weirder until they erupt into startling violence. It was arty to the point of being completely incomprehensible, and I can't for the life of me remember how it resolved itself, if ever. I may have fallen asleep. "Pierrot" is like a better version of "Discreet Charm," one that actually makes sense and is thoroughly amusing throughout. Admittedly, it's a bit light on the plot: we have Pierrot (Jean-Paul Belmondo), or as he prefers to be called, Ferdinand, our resident philosopher-intellectual. He's married, has a few kids, and likes to read and wonder aloud quite a bit. Then there's Marianne (Anna Karina), the girl who he may or may not have known in his past, takes him to another man's apartment, kills said man, and causes the couple to embark on a surreal Bonnie and Clyde adventure. If it can be called that. These are some pretty great characters, even if they are Very French. Pierrot is absentminded and philosophical almost to a fault, and can't really seem to focus on whatever happens to be going on- walking through the scenic south of France, say, or being interrogated by arms dealers- without lapsing into existential mumblings. I would say that he is confused with the proceedings, but his lack of interest makes it clear that he just doesn't care. As an aside, it's really fun to see Jean-Paul Belmondo in this film for me at any rate because of his later career decisions- he eventually became known for a series of big budget comedy-action films, making him a sort of French James Bond. My recommendation is "That Man from Rio," which spans three continents and is wonderfully odd. And Marianne is as vivacious as Pierrot is intellectual. She laughs, she runs around, there are a few moments where she breaks into song, and she kills people. Exactly the kind of girl I would enjoy settling down with.

Our plot involves the couple's escape from justice and journey to find Marianne's brother, a criminal of some repute. We think. There's a nice long sojourn in a house on a beach, bits of intrigue added as an afterthought, and assorted madness. Most of the trouble following the lack of plot, though, comes from Godard's, shall we say unique, cinematic tricks. Frequently we get cartoonish stills spouting off, there's some pretense of chapters, and lots of Pierrot and Marianne alternating bits and peices of dialogue to form something resembling a narrative. Amazingly, it works without being too painful. The audience gets the general idea throughout, and the artiness' point is made. If I could sum it up in a sentence, I'd say that a new wave director tried to make an American gangster film but did it in New Wave style. In other words, he didn't really try. It's a good bit, though, and strangely amusing throughout. Unfortunately, it defies criticism for those of us without much knowledge, or interest for that matter, in the French New Wave.

Well, it was nice to get another movie review in. S'been a while. Chances are I'll be seeing one of those Bourne movies soon, and there's the Real McKenzies show on the 26th. That's all on the calendar for now. Keep abiding.

Baggins a Peak

2007-08-09T15:16:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been out braving the wilderness instead of bringing you more culture commentary. To be specific, I went on an expedition, climbed Whitney, and am now back in civilization. I can't feel my left leg (the pack cuts off nerve things to the leg, which goes away after a while), my feet are in pain, and there is a wonderful welt the shape of Africa about the size of a quarter on my hip. We call them "pack sores," which is code for what forty pounds riding on flesh and bone will do after eight miles. On the plus side, there's lots of oxygen down off the mountain, and I'm a chicken fried steak and some great pie back on the side of regaining those five pounds that I lost eating freeze-dried crap for a week. Lest we loose sight of out professional obligations here at Mind the Bats, I present to you these facts as a form of backpacking-gonzo journalism. I will sort of tell the story of my journey through photography and witty commentary. You will enjoy it and be inspired. Or whatever.

Let us begin our journey. I'm sure you're all familiar with the fundamentals of backpacking- load everything you could possibly need for the next week onto your back and schlep it over an absurdly long distance, depriving yourself of all comforts voluntarily for a week. You try and cut down on clothes, food, tools, everything. Weight is your principal concern. As a result, you freeze from lack of heavy jackets and starve eating freeze-dried foods. But for all the complaining, it's oddly fun. You are braving the wilderness, doing things and seeing sights that your fellow urbanites could only dream of. And when you finish, you have earned your place in Valhalla.

Now would be a good time to mention altitude, always a significant foe of the backpacker. This is especially true in the Sierras, where one is usually at about 8,000-10,000 feet. Climbing Whitney, though, puts you above the 10,000 foot range. Indeed, I spent most of the trip bouncing around between 11,500 and 12,500, venturing up above 13,000 to climb passes. And it is no picknick. At altitude, there far less oxygen than you are used to. While your body struggles to pump out more red blood cells, you feel awful. It takes a few days to acclimatize, during which you suffer lack of appetite, nausea, exhaustion, and can't sleep. Advil, salt, caffine, and proper hydration help, but it's a constant battle.

While struggling up to the eminence that you behold in your picture (Kiersarge Pass, above 12,000), I had the following exchange:
Altitude: What does Mt. Whitney look like?
Me: What?
Altitude: Say what one more time! I dare you! I double dog dare you!
Me: It's big...? It's a mountain?
Altitude: Does it look like a bitch?
Me: What?
Altitude proceeds to shoot me, causing me to suffer all of the above symptoms for the next few days.
Altitude: I said, does it look like a bitch?
Me: Well, actually it does. At 14,495, it is indeed a Bitch with a capital B. But the joke's on you, Whitney. Made it up your massive self and lived to tell the tale. It's time for a new thought.

However, the mountains are beautiful. You get these occasional moments of alpine serenity, like this one about three miles down from Forester pass (even worse than Kiersarge, a beast of 13,200 feet and never-ending switchbacks). At about four, when the light gets golden, High Sierra meadows like this are great. It's why we hike.

High Sierra lakes are also beautiful, and immensley relaxing to just sit and watch. Just so long as you don't actually have to go in them everything is fine. Because the Sierras are covered in snow for half the year, many of these lakes are glacial, some literally so. All that snowmelt does not make for a pleasant swimming experience for anyone who is not fending off morbid obesity or who didn't grow up diving into fijords to fight squid. But as your only source of bathing on such a trip, you have to swim eventually. You will become actively repulsed by your own odor after three days on the trail and disgusted by your companions in as little as 36 hours. My advice to swimmers is to just jump in. If you wade it, there is a ten to twenty minute period of frigid cold in your legs and deep regrets about your impending actions. Just get it over with.

On the plus side, these lakes also contain fish. And when you hike to a remote lake such as the one pictured above, the fish have no idea what a lure even looks like and thusly jump right into the frying pan. This sucker was massive, at least 10 inches and probably pushing a foot, which is much bigger than anything I've ever got hiking (I alas did not catch this one, but that means I didn't have to gut it). Fresh fish on the fourth day is a godsend, especially to supplement your piddling freeze-dried lasgne. We seasoned the bejezus out of this one, fried it up but good, and devoured it. As fresh as can be.

Also in the grand pantheon of Sierra wildlife is the Marmot. Wikipedia tells me that it is a rather large genus covering everything from groundhogs to something called "Pharoah's rats," but our marmot is either the hoary or yellow-bellied variety. They are rodents, and large at that, about the size of a very fat cat. They have faces like squirrels or beavers, a thick blubbery body, and big tails. They are my personal pride and joy, and much fun to photograph. I've had greater success with tamer marmots and braver marmots, but the one pictured here was a worthy adversary. He'd be out fatting around in the meadow when I'd see him and break into a crouch to stalk him. I could get as close as ten feet away before the guy would decide that I wasn't to be trusted and run off at surprising speed. I tried to chase him, but remember that at 11,500 it's really hard to run. Anyways, after a long day of chasing him all around his meadow and the surrounding boulders for a decent shot, here's the best we could get. Oh, and Marmots are, in some people's opinion (like my father) capable of making it rain if you try and fill their holes with rocks, catch them, pet them, or otherwise screw with them.

And finally we reach the summit. That day was one of the hardest- up at 5:30, hiking by 6:30 from just under 12,000 to Trailcrest at 13,000 and change, drop packs, then up to Whitney at 14,495, then back to the packs and 9 miles down to the cars. Endless switchbacks, sheer granite, and complete douchebags on the trail were the primary obstacles. But I made it to the top, which, interestingly enough, I couldn't see until I was on it. It's a bit of an anticlimax- you hike up and up, but the very top is a pretty flat collection of boulders a little smaller than a football field. I did stand at the uppermost point, thus making me the highest man in the lower 48 states. Of course, I am forbidden by the ancient fraternity of Whitney summiters to show you photographs of the view from the summit, so the USGS plaque must suffice until you make it up there yourself. Oh, and breif explanation: in the mountaneering vernacular, when you climb a mountain you bag a peak. The title was a bit of oxygen-deprived trail humor that followed my continual references to Whitney as "Mt. Doom." Thus, Baggins a peak. Get it?

Photo-gonzo was pretty fun to do, if incoherent. Don't expect much more, as I don't tend to carry a camera with me, but it might make a nice change of pace from time to time. Now I'll get back to the civilized world and eat a steak.

Death or Glory

2007-07-24T13:18:00.000-07:00

Right, so this one is going to be a bit of a challenge on multiple levels. The most pressing is that I saw our film of the day, "Exiled," way back in June. Bit of a professional secret: it's easier to write the review right after you see a movie than a month later. On the physical side, I'm writing this on a new blackbook, which has to be one of the greatest little machines ever. Now that I have all my music over from my PC, this sucker feels just like home. Laptop keyboards are just a bit of a challenge, so I'm going to be making a lot of spelling errors here (not that that carries over to you guys in the finished work). And lastly, just like the rest of you I'm in the middle of that seventh Harry Potter. Not even gonna lie or try and be cool and say I'm busy reading something arty and obscure. Still, I don't think we'll be doing a big review of Deathly Hallows (hardware challenge: can't figure how to italicise here) because it's been done and is mostly plot oriented. I will say now that the lasting appeal of Harry comes, in my opinion, from Rowling's ability to tell a damn good story. People mostly just want a great tale, and apart from rising body counts, Rowling sticks to the old methods of weaving a tale. None of this blockbuster thriller nonsense. Just a straight-up character driven tale of high adventure and good and evil. It's comforting.

Now to business. A ways back I stuck in a breif recommendation for "Fulltime Killer," another Hong-Kong thriller by Johnnie To. That one was great for a variety of reasons, but struck the correct tone through a blend of action cliches and epic gunbattles. It all boiled down to one real battle, though: the flashy young hitman vs. the consummate professional. In "Exiled," many of To's essential elements are present: the same sudden flashes of humor, the same amazing gunbattles in the finest martial arts tradition, the same gritty reaism. What changes is the central idea: from the two hitmen and their wildy diverging styles we get a story of male camraderie. It's a different tale, but just as good as "Fulltime Killer" if not better.

The setup is as such: a killer for the Triad, Wo, has moved back to Macau after a voluntary exile following a failed attempt on the triad boss' life (as is Mind the Bats policy, unfortunately, we don't put in actor's names in foreign films. It's too much work for us, and chances are you haven't heard of them). The Triad sends two men to kill Wo, and two men come independently to save his life. Turns out that these five men all entered the Triad at the same time, worked together, and even plotted the assasination together. Wo's death is postponed as the friends seek to determine a solution to their conficting loyalties, but after a contract hit the five undertake goes wrong for Wo all plans are laid aside. It is here that the story achieves its focus- Wo was never a protagonist. The four that came to him- Blaze, Tai, Cat and Fat-share a strange bond of working friendship, and this is what the film tests. Brilliantly, if I may add. There's a lot of non-dialouge emotion that To manages to convey, and from their first awkward reunion to their epic final battle, the film evokes a picture of their odd bonds.

And lest I loose coherency and drag you into sentimentalty, the action if off the chain too. To seems to have figured out how to work CGI and bullet-time into his pictures, so there's plenty of that. Sets are liberally shredded, lots of cans are shot and kept spinning through the air, and all manner of kick-assitude occurs. One of my favourite scenes is a gunbattle in an apartment filled with curtains. Confusion is everywhere, and as the four face off with a few dozen faceless henchmen the battle soon takes it to the next level- the three story drop in the apartment courtyard. Even better is the scene of an armored car hijacking in the forest. The car is under atack by other nogoodnicks, and our lovable gang watches as the defenses are fast overpowered... save one strangely competent guard who is lethal with some high-powered rifle. Cat- I think it was him, I had a hard time keeping names straight- is impressed with this guy's prowess, and uses a mirror to spot assailents for him. And then there's this wonderful part where the soldier, out of ammo, leaps out from his cover to meet his fate, only to have his assailents cut down in a barrage of gunfire. He turns to see our four smiling at him while firing into the oncoming hordes. It's epic.

And I'm afraid that's all I have to give you guys. It was a really great movie, a serious meditation on honor and justice and friendship, with some amazing action thrown in. As I've been pretentiously namedropping, I did see this at the LA film festival, so it hasn't been distributed stateside yet. But when it is (if not, pick it up on DVD), see it. It's great. Please excuse spelling errors, as I can't get it to spellcheck today. And after writing the first paragraph or so, I took it upon myself to finish that Harry. I won't spoil anythng for you, only to say that there are more than a few twists in the end, as well as some heavy losses. Now I feel curiously empty, having finished, but oddly at peace. Time to pour out a few shots for all the dead homies.

EDIT: on a completely unrelated note, I forgot to relay a mini-review of the Aggrolites' latest show at the Getty on Saturday- awesome. They are possibly one of the best live bands around, and the fact that they do dirty reggae homegrown in LA only makes it better. The Getty is also a really nice concert space, and free (save parking). Also deserving of mention are the two African guys that opened with a flat out mindblowing drum set. Shame I can't remember their names.

No Homo

2007-07-21T03:32:00.001-07:00

Well, I guess I lied back there when I said we'd get a review of "Exiled" up next. While most of the rest of LA was out partying it up on a Friday night or camped out for that book thing at midnight, I decided to go with some friends to see how the transvestite/homosexual population of the greater west side was doing at a midnight showing of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch." The resulting experience demands gonzo chronicling immediately, thus the 3-am post.

On the side, isn't "No Homo" a great phrase? In three short syllables, one can eliminate any social perception that what was just said could be in any was construed as gay. Which would mean the end of the world, obviously, for homosexual traits are obviously a bad thing. I use this little bit here to first show my appreciation to slang that, once on the web and in common parlance, has just become outdated. And in order to explain that I hold nothing against the gay community. I merely found the ordeal to be a bit uncomfortable and mentally taxing, to put it mildly, and wished for a shirt with the titular slogan to wear at this film so as to avoid having to mentally shout it out every so often.

So, to begin with, my local art-house movie theater was packed with all manner of men in drag and the like. The line wrapped around the building, and was populated by a few confused souls like myself who thought they were merely going to any other midnight showing. Turns out that "Hedwig" is like a less participatory version of "Rocky Horror" but, for lack of a better word, gayer. For one unfamiliar with any form of participatory film, I was frankly shocked. There was a band (I'm unsure as to whether they were actors or devoted fans) that mimed all of the musical numbers during the film, and acted out several principal scenes. There were items thrown into the audience of a phallic nature, clotheslines dragged through, and all manner of madness. It goes without saying that lines were recited in unison, and witty epithets yelled during key parts. I was offered an "angry inch" candy. It is quite apparent that the sort of people that enjoy this are not normal moviegoers like you or I.

The plot of the movie involves Hedwig's rise to rock stardom from he/she/it's humble beginnings in East Germany. The angry inch of the title refers to a botched sex change operation, to be discreet. The whole schpeil plays out as something between a rock opera and a transgendered love story. I was convinced to go out of the need to have something to do, mainly, and on the grounds that the soundtrack had a few really good numbers in a glam rock-punk style, two of which occurred in the firs half hour. The rest was magnificently awkward to behold, hard to associate with, and other general sentiments in that vein. It might be a good movie, but I have a hard time imagining that the target demographic of east German transvestites with botched operations is a very large one. Others may find it hard to empathize.

I hope this was gonzo enough for those who wanted raw facts and tasteful enough for those who didn't want a rant. As for me, I'm beat. My karmic balance is such that if I were to join the Aryan brotherhood right now I'd probably break even, judgementwise. Instead I think I'll read some Vonnegut, get some sleep, catch the Aggrolites show tomorrow, and maybe watch something gloriously violent. Out.

Wow, this is a lot of movies

2007-07-18T14:51:00.000-07:00

Yep. I just was really overwhelmed when I realized how many movies I've seen since last we talked film here. So here's how we're gonna handle things: of the four movies, two are big summer blockbusters that have been out for a while, thus earning little blurb-reviews. Another, indie "You Kill Me," gets passing mention for reasons yet to be revealed. And lastly, "Exiled" gets the full length number for being amazing, and because it hasn't been distributed yet, at least not stateside (it's a Hong Kong thriller I saw in the LA Film Festival- love this city). But as a side note before we get into all that and an addendum to the summer music post, I just picked up "Super Cool California Soul 2," the latest from those fine folks at Ubiquity, specifically the Luv N' Haight sublabel. It's pretty damn good, and fits the bill perfectly as summer music. Everything is universally laid back and smooth, eschewing the grit of some funk for strong bass-driven tracks with those wonderful bright horns. As in all funk compilations, there are some weird tracks, like "Space Nigga'," which has annoying sped-up vocals. But the quality of other songs from people like LAPD and Spanky Wilson more than make up for it, as well as a fun cover of "Compared to What." Pretty nice.

Let's start with "You Kill Me," which certainly tried to be a black comedy. The quick plot bit: Frank (Ben Kingsley), hitman for the Polish mob in Buffalo has a problem. With alcohol. The mob sends him to San Francisco to join AA. He then finds a girl (Tea Leoni), tries to get his life together, and has to... well, he never really has to do anything. And that is the principal problem for this movie. The hitman-in-a-romantic comedy thing has been done in "Grosse Point Blank," which had the advantage of a wicked Joe Strummer-picked score. "You Kill Me" had definite promise, and the trailer looked really good. But my clinical diagnosis is that they tried to do too much, and tried too hard. An action flick-romantic comedy-black comedy went in too many directions, and they also fell prey to the indie movie curse of trying to be really deadpan and droll while doing so. There's nothing bad about this movie, it's just the absence of anything truly good. Characters don't develop, jokes aren't pushed hard enough, nothing ever boils. It moves at a very relaxed pace that turns out to be too laid back for the premise. And yet I can't hate it, like some of my friends did. I find it sorta endearing, and want to give everyone involved a pat on the back for trying. But I still wouldn't advise anyone to see it.

Conversely, one film that looked like a mindless big-budget comedy but turned out to have some serious teeth behind the popular appeal was "Knocked Up." This one's been out for a while, and you all have probably heard much about it, so I'll keep this short and original, I hope. The key to enjoying this one is accepting the premise, that not only would a lovable looser manage to impregnate the super-hot and successful girl, but that they would want to keep the baby AND that she would want to make an honest man out of him, AND that he would want to have anything to do with this love child. It's an easy pill to swallow, though, because Seth Rogen is such a lovable stoner as Ben. Katherine Heigl also adds a lot to what could have just been a throwaway hot girl role as Alison. And, may I say without seeming too shallow, she's really hot. In fact, everyone in this picture is great, from Ben's slacker friends to Alison's sister's kids. I just found out that Harold Ramis played Ben's dad, which made me very happy. But the funny side character award goes to Paul Rudd as Pete, Alison's sister's husband. He is a riot who I will never be able to channel for you with words alone. That and the dialogue make this an above-average film, with great jokes about pregnant sex ("I can't do this. I feel like it's going into his face") drugs (when Ben and Pete are in a Vegas hotel room on shrooms, Pete discovers that there are five different kinds of chair in the room. "Did you know there's a guy whose sole job is to find chairs for these hotel rooms?" and "Please take the chairs away. I don't like them. The big one is staring at me and that short one is being very droll" were the highlights) and everything in between. And then it gets sort of wholesomely moral without being preachy. Good movie.

And befitting that abrupt end, an abrupt transition. "Live Free or Die Hard" ushers in the beginning of mindless summer fare, which differs from the usual mindless fare in that the explosions are bigger. And more frequent. But for a mindless action flick, "Die Hard" isn't as much. Despite all the staples of the genre- super villain with elaborate schemes, cool henchmen, frequent gun battles, tough as nails hero- this one manages to be something more. Part of it is the great job done by Bruce Willis as John McClaine (John... McCain anyone?) and the dude from the Apple commercials as a hacker. McClaine is a classic hero, and one whose clever one-liners and badassitude are a principle drawing force. The plot, something about using the Internet to shut down everything, is different, and almost makes one pause and think about whether or not we as a society really are becoming too dependent on electronics. But that gives this film too much credit, and any introspection is blown away in one of the many huge explosions. What else? Kevin Smith has a great cameo as another hacker, there's a random Frenchman who does some parkour for your visual stimulation, and John says "yippie ki yay motherfucker." It's a fun movie, stirringly patriotic, which makes me wonder if McCain himself shouldn't use it on the campaign trail (my esteemed opponent would implement universal health care, but I can explode a helicopter with a car!). Oh, and he explodes a helicopter with a car. Nice.

That was longer than I would have liked to see, so I'll wait the "Exiled" review for a few days. In the mean time, digest this sucker, and stay funky. Right on brother!

Wise to It

2007-07-13T13:48:00.000-07:00

Literary reviews are not one of the areas of my expertise, but we'll make due here in part 3 of Summer Cultureposts. Between the lines, I read some pretty good books lately and feel like informing the largely inattentive public (you) of their genius. I also like forcing my opinions upon you. As a happy coincidence, we have a common theme in our reviews today: hardboiled mystery. Sort of. Loosing train of thought.

First is less of a review and more of a heads up: Banvard's Folly by Paul Collins was pretty good. It's a series of short bits about people who had great ideas, spiffy inventions, short lived fame, or otherwise looked like they were going to be big earth shakers, but didn't get anywhere and are now forgotten. Some are slightly depressing, but Collins is a good writer and usually manages to throw some dry wit into whatever story he's telling. It did get to be a bit of a chore to finish near the end, but that's because I wanted to get on to this next book.

I'm not sure what you know about Michael Chabon, but he's a pretty good dude. I read one of his shorter bits, The Final Solution, which was fun and light, and everyone says The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay is great. But his latest, The Yiddish Policemen's Union, is flat-out brilliant. Taking place in an alternate universe (a device of which authors are quite fond) where the state of Israel collapsed in '48, the story is set in the Jewish territory of Stika, Alaska, set to revert back to American control in a few short months. In the middle of this confusion we find our hero, one Meyer Landsman, homicide detective. Meyer is having a bit of a hard time, what with divorce and alcoholism, but is a classic hero in the hard-boiled tradition (more on this later) who still finds it in himself to start investigating the murder of a smack-addict Jew in his hotel. Turns out that this Jew was pretty important (I'm trying not to give anything away), and soon the case spirals out of control into a wild mixture of religious doings, government conspiracies, and old-fashioned detective work. And as trite as this sort of plot summary buildup and subsequent cliffhanger device is, I really don't want to give any of this story away to you, because much of the joy comes from figuring stuff out for the first time.

Several things make this book so wonderful, not the least of which is a return to the noir-sy type of thriller. This one brings mystery back to Chandler and Hammett, the sort of story with one man up against the world, always trying to find the answers. Chabon has done a great job of conjuring up a palpable sense of malice. It is quite clear that Meyer is at this alone, and that he is never really safe from one moment to another. It leaves the reader comfortably and enjoyably on guard for much of the book. I believe hack critics refer to this as a "gripping read." And Chabon achieves this purely from style, without having to resort to massive body counts or distortion of facts. Meyer is also a true hardboiled hero, as we have mentioned before. Cynical and jaded, full of bad decisions and past faults, generally knocked around by the world yet still wry and sharp, he fits the profile perfectly. The character is wonderfully complex and compelling, not one of those two-dimensional protagonists that merely serves as an eyepiece for the author to explain his elaborately concocted schemes of mayhem. Meyer is really what makes the book, as well as being what makes the book a great noir- a true character-driven mystery. Also worthy of praise is Chabon's style, which is not as sparse as traditional hardboiled detective authors' but is just as clear and vivid. My sole complaint is the massive amount of Jewish lore and mythos thrown in here, which can alienate the non-Yiddish speakers in the crowd. But it's a small complaint for a work so well realized and a world so carefully created.

After that lengthy bit, we'll just stick in a good word for the real deal: Raymond Chandler, the quintessential hardboiled mystery writer. The problem with getting involved in a dead author's work is that there's no hope for more after you've read it all. I had resigned myself to this fate when I discovered a collection of his short stories, The Simple Art of Murder, a collection of pieces he did for the pulps prefaced with the essay of the same name. The essay itself is interesting and enjoyable, an explanation of what makes a decent mystery and a ... defense? praise? something like that for the hardboiled detective story. The pieces themselves are also quite good. Although it's no Phillip Marlowe bit, each one shows Chandler playing with the form and composition. They're all pretty good- "Spanish Fly" is really traditional, while "Pearls Are a Nuissance" is more lighthearted. My personal favorites are "The King in Yellow" and "Smart-Alec Kill," but I really enjoyed the reluctant hero of "Nevada Gas." By the end readers can pick up on the basic elements and delight in Chandler's tweaks and variations. Recommended for first time hardboiled readers is The Big Sleep, Chandler's first Marlowe novel, or The Long Goodbye, another of my favorites. As a closing thought, these stories are also wonderful because they paint a picture of 30's Los Angeles in all it's glory, the golden age of the city. I like that.

Sort of long, but I've got a few movie reviews backed up. Expect those some time in the next week. This should hold you for now though.

Summer Music

2007-06-30T15:28:00.000-07:00

In part 2 of our early summer Cultureposts, we bring you reviews of some new music I picked up recently. And that's about it, so let's get right to it.

First off we have Marvin Gaye's soundtrack for that wonderful bit of exploitation film "Troubleman." I'm assuming that you're not familiar with this film, which is fine because neither am I. I have, however, seen this trailer, which tells you all you need to know. Let's digress for a moment and talk about the wonders of B-movies and trailers. As I recently explained to a clueless German national (and being of palpable evils, but that's another tale), the primary virtue of exploitation films is that they are the physical embodiment of camp. There are probably some cultural insights that could be gleaned from the mess of bad dialogue, poorly executed violence, and gratuitous sex, but that's not for us. We see them to laugh. But not all exploitation films are created equally: "Shaft," which is a quality film as compared to many of the others, was nigh unbearable to sit through (but rewarding in the form of exchanges like "Shaft, where are you going?" "I'm gonna get laid. Where you goin?"), which leads me to cringe at the thought of seeing, say, "Blackula." But sometimes the concept is better than the actual film, like the aforementioned "Blackula." And for this we have the trailer- all the choice bits and great lines compressed into a one to three minute clip. This is the primary virtue of that trailer montage I linked up there- four vintage trailers, including "Troubleman" ("He's been a man since he was a boy") and "Blackula" ("Dracula's soul brother!"). The other two are weaker, but provide contrast. The underlying point, though, is that the trailer is a wonderful art form. Take the trailers in "Grindhouse"- just as good as "Death Proof" and better than "Planet Terror." Trailers for nonexistent movies allow clever people to think up amusing ideas without having to deal with plot, character development, resolution, and all of those things that come with a feature film. And they are by definition the exciting and epic moments of a movie, which are the most fun to make. I would dearly like to see more people making fake trailers, if not for distribution than just to put on the Internet. All those cat videos can get oppressive.

This actual review is going to seem short after that essay/rant thing. Anyhow, Marvin Gaye does a good job with the score. It's some cool 70's soul with a few great numbers ("T" Stands for Trouble comes to mind). But the main problem is that it's score- everything is pretty good, but doesn't stand out. Marvin sings on a few tracks, but it's nothing like "Let's Get It On." He's a little too subdued, because the focus is on action that we'd rather not be watching. It's not a bad album- I could see it as nice background stuff or some driving music- but it's really hard to listen to straight up. It's good, and at eight bucks plus novelty value, I'm not complaining.

Our second selection is more serious musically but just as fun- one of those big ol' Trojan Box Sets. Specifically (because, turns out, there are lots and lots of them) the Trojan Rare Grooves set. I chose this one because I thought it might be funk-inspired. I also wasn't down to walk up to the counter with Trojan Skinhead Reggae or Trojan X Rated (what is X-rated reggae?). Turns out this is a set of hard to find singles and one-hit wonders. Of course. In fact, it's pretty good, a sort of sampler of lots of different reggae styles. Some of it isn't my thing- let's be frank, one can get sick of first wave ska- but it's uniformly good. Disc 2 is especially amazing, with lots of early 70's reggae. There's so much more than Bob Marley guys. The Trojan guys really put a lot of time into these things, so it's really just a matter of finding your box set. And until they put out Trojan Fat Bass or Trojan Insanely Upbeat, I'm just gonna have to pick and choose.

That turned into a pretty big post. I have another album, "Oot and Aboot" from the Real McKenzies (in LA August 26th), but I can't listen to Celt-Punk while it's sunny. Don't know why, but I like to listen to certain music as the weather changes. Being summer, it's time to break out the reggae, funk, and other summer musics. Summer music is upbeat, usually mellow, and generally suggestive of sun and a good time. But that's just me. I'll get back in a few days for some literary stuff.

The Feel-Good Zombie Movie!

2007-06-26T17:09:00.000-07:00

We're a little backed up on blogging right now, what with having had quite a bit to do recently, but planning on hitting you hard and fast with a wide-spectrum variety of culture posts. Let's look way back to something like Monday and review "Fido," another little indie film that is, as the post title says, an unusually upbeat horror film. I'm really not feeling the words flow right now, so I'll just go change the music and cut to the next paragraph.

Right. So "Fido" is this wonderful bit of 50's culture-satire and that unusual genre involving noble animals and the things they do to look after their adorable human masters (usually charmingly stubborn children with a penchant for dangerous situations) and the subsequent bonding involved, but for zombies. The clash of the two is a word that doesn't sound as effeminate as "delicious," which is what I was gravitating towards, and makes the picture. Set in one of those wholesome middle-American cities of the 50's where all the colors are super-saturated and every other aspect of that era (big cars, wide streets) is exaggerated for effect, the idyllic small town has a history. To explain the presence of zombies, we get a newsreel recounting the earth's unfortunate passage through a cloud of space dust that caused the dead to reanimate, resulting in the first zombie wars, which were won by a combination of American good old boy heroism and an entrepreneurial spirit that recognized the market value of tame zombies. I love how perfectly post-WWII it is. Anyways, this results in a little world where zombies fitted with special collars serve as servant-pets to the happy citizens that own them, all presided over by the helpful people at ZomCom, the zombie control corporation. Young Timmy is our protagonist (I don't feel like looking up actor names today), and when his mother (Carrie-Anne Moss) buys a zombie, Fido (Billy Connoly), to keep up with the Joneses, Timmy finds a friend. A friends, it turns out, with the unfortunate habit of eating neighbors when it looses control. And there is your story line. Enjoy.

While the "Shaun of the Dead" comparison is inevitable, "Fido" is less of a spoof and more satirical, throwing in some social commentary. I think I really like that phrase for some reason. So there's stuff about the importance of being nice, the weird culture of the 50's, women's rights, all that good stuff. No need to analyze there. The humor, although sometimes gruesomely slapstick and necrophilia-ic, is almost uniformly light, with some really good Lassie moments ("Fido! Is Timmy in trouble?"). And in the end this truly is a feel-good zombie movie, quite possibly the only one. Carrie-Anne Moss does a damn fine job as the wife, slowly coming into her own as the film progresses. Billy Connoly does a good job with a non-speaking part that could have been really two-dimensional, but still feels underused. A comedian of his caliber should have had more opportunities to speak, which I understand is out of the question. Oh well. It's a good little indie comedy.

Although this was sort of weak, we have lots more to post at you: music, books, and another movie. I'll try to keep it coming. Otherwise, stay strong.

Out Of Your Element

2007-06-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

As my hearing slowly returns, I write to you these words so that you may know that I survived the Summer Slaughter Tour 2007! Really awkward syntax aside, I actually went to, appreciated, and made it back in one piece from my first Death Metal show ever. Before we get down to some serious reviewing, a few thoughts on the genre:

I am not an authority on metal. This is not one of my areas of expertise, and I won't even pretend to know what I'm talking about here. I had always written metal off as one of those really intense genres that is more about the social commentary and stigma than the actual music. But before the tour, my friend burned me some death metal (in an effort to entice me to go), which I gave a listen to. I realized that metal is actually a very listenable form of hard rock that almost completes the musical circle back to classical, although more classical in the sense of Vaugner than Bach. You know, the really badass "Night on Bald Mountain" of "Flight of the Valkires" stuff. Metal (well, maybe just death metal, the only type of metal I am currently acquainted with) brings musical evolution back to its roots. Oh, and all the musicians are amazingly skilled. They have to be in order to bring that kind of technical expertise to the stage. All that said, bear in mind that the following concert review is less of a detailed review and more of a gonzo journalism experience. So don't kill me.

One of my first observations was that there is a certain metal dress code: long hair or shaved head and a black shirt with some violent metal band logo on it. Audience was composed of mostly men aged 15-30, although there were some chicks/old people (the old people looked lost though). The dress code carried on to the bands, who were uniformly big dudes with a penchant for miking their double bass kits (note to self: buy earplugs or invest in hearing aid for 30th birthday). For all the technical expertise, those drum kits drowned out the guitar shredding and the bass was almost inaudible. For the really crappy bands that is, like Ion Distortion, the one band I had the misfortune to be in the pit for. It was immediately clear why they named themselves distortion: that was their primary musical gimmick, other than being angry onstage. It turns out that they weren't even metal, just hardcore. Makes sense.

After a break to eat and avoid other crappy opening bands, I came back for a legit death metal band, which immediately proved the differences. Death Metal is set apart by being insanely complex and tight. I'm sure there is a difference in the lyrics as well, but as I don't speak the tongue of demons I can't understand DM vocals. Seriously, death metal singers sound like the bastard love children of Barry White and Satan. I just don't get it. Aside from trying to understand the scene with the crowd and the bands, it was also really fun to watch people have the shit beat out of them in the pit. Metal pits make all your other pits look like a little kumbaya circle. Really big dudes being really hardcore. Something vaguely gladiatorial there, but I didn't think too much about it.

As for the actual music, there were some epic metal bands there. Cattle Decaptiation started off the turn for the better with its odd brand of vegan-metal (and bestial singer), followed by Cephalitic Carnage, jazz-metal with stoner tinges. Those guys were pretty good, occasionally breaking completely from epic solos and growls to clean chords and spoken word. Very interesting, and also immensely listenable. And then Necrophagist, the headlining band, was fuckin amazing, with two really accomplished guitarists, nice bass work, and a really good drum solo. But in my humble opinion the stars of the night were Decapitated, insanely tight Polish metal. Not only were they the most intense act of the night, with one of the most accomplished drummers possibly ever, but they acted as a cohesive unit of musicians. For lack of a better term, a "band." My main complaint with Necrophagist was that they relied too much on their guitarists, putting the focus on the individuals. Decapitated was a solid unit of metal. They also seemed to have everything under control and played the only metal song I can recognize, "Spheres of Madness."

And I'm afraid that's all I can say. It was fun in an epic adventure sort of way, and I got to talk with a cool homeless dude afterwards. I swear they find me to talk to. But hey, I don't mind. I'll be the last man standing when they take over the United States Government. We'll work on getting more movie reviews out to you, but that's all for now.

I Ain't Through With You a Damn Sight Yet

2007-06-14T16:43:00.000-07:00

What, you thought I was done with the blogging scene? We haven't been up to much here, as there has been a disappointing lack of movie watching or new music to blog about. I haven't even finished any books lately. But I just thought I'd check back in with a quick lifestyles-type post, just to keep you on your toes.

Today's LA Times was a positive bounty of material for me, which may just suggest that I am easily amused with the advent of summer. First we had the Palestinian president/leader/dude commenting on the fatah-hammas violence: "What is going on in Gaza is madness." At this I actually laughed out loud. Note the absence of acronym- spell it out for chrissakes. Anyways, the correct response would be "Madness? This is SPARTA!" as you all know. The culture clash amuses me greatly. Also great was an article about British high courts upholding civil rights in British detainee camps and all that jazz. But the best part was that the senior judicial body is called- get this- the Law Lords. How badass is that? I think that the American public would pay much more attention if we renamed the supreme court the Law Lords. Sounds like they mean business.

Actually, I have been up to things, namely the serious pursuit of chilling out. There's not much to write about it actually- everything I could say now has been said already to greater effect, most notably in How To Be Idle, of which you should be familiar. But it is my solemn duty to inform you guys of the need of chillaxing in the sun. It's summer now. Let all your tasks and obligations sort of fade away. Go hang out outside. Bask in the warmth. Realize that things don't get much more awesome. And if anyone gives you hastle, here's a fun quote by the British philosopher Bertrand Russel that I like to throw down (but don't often because it's actually semi-inspirational): "Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." That is Deep.

And that's about it for me. I'm actually going to a metal show Saturday, which should be amusing if I don't die, and should be seeing some new movies soon. "You Kill Me" looks good. Stay strong.

Of Little Redeeming Value

2007-05-31T17:59:00.000-07:00

As a rule, when I review a movie I prefer to do it within 72 hours of actually seeing the movie. I find it really helps me out with remembering details and getting the mood of the film down right. So having seen "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End" almost a week ago, this should be really interesting. And be warned that this is a slightly subjective review (aren't they all?) in that I am possessed of the patience to deal with a three hour epic, the memory to understand all the confusing references to earlier installments in the trilogy, and a deep appreciation for watching pirates do their thin, especially when one of said pirates is Kiera Knightly. Ok, serious time.

For all of you who missed out on earlier installments, here's a brief overview of the franchise: Disney produces its first PG-13 picture ever based on a classic ride. For all of the marketing evils involved, it miraculously isn't half bad, largely thanks to the dramatic gifts of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow. Plot wise, the first film involved Sparrow's quest to recover his ship, now crewed by the damned crew in skeletal form, from a mutinous first mate-cum-Captain named Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush). That done, the second film puts Sparrow in the debt of Davy Jones, an octopus-headed Bill Nighy. This one ends with Sparrow devoured by a huge CGI squid and his tearful friends seeking to recover him from the dead (World's End, get it?) with the aid of previously deceased Barbossa. Got it? Good, because this third instalment requires more than passing knowledge of the earlier films. This one can basically be described as everyone's quest for whatever: we have Will Turner and Elizabeth Swan (Orlando Bloom and Kiera Knightly), who are a really weird couple of Victorian-era severity that also happen to be pirates, looking for some relationship counseling; Jack himself really doesn't want to die; there's some weird shit with Davy and the love of his life; the sleazy East India Trading Co. dude, who I'm too lazy to find the actor for, wants to make a lot of cash; Barbossa and basically everyone else want ships; and there's much more. The whole thing is a bit of a mess, all centered upon a battle of pirates vs. British/East India Co.'s private army (having imposed martial law to go after pirates), which involves releasing some goddess or something. It does resolve, though awkwardly, and the whole spiel is really clumsy and painful.

But it was never about the plot, was it? No. "Pirates" is more about the attitude. It was really refreshing to see a mainstream film, and one by Disney no less, that cheerfully ignored morals and sermonising in favor of swashbuckling and mayhem. That was the original "Pirates," and the sequels have all stayed true to this message of evading responsibility. Each film is unique in its tone, though- the first one clearly payed tribute to the classic sea epics like "Mutiny on the Bounty," albeit with its own flair and some wholesome skeleton bits. The second one was far more frantic, trading the open seas and free spirit of its predecessor for a real sense of lawlessness and madness, as evidenced by the ever-shifting scenery and computerized everything. As an aside, the second was probably the weakest of the trilogy because it was blatantly a marketing thing put out to generate interest in the inevitable sequel. But it had its moments. This third movie also has a tone, but one of desperation and danger with tinges of menace. This is shown through some great set pieces, like Shanghai, and also due to the continued presence of marching troops. Yet this is at heart a Disney production- even when the film hints at the suspension of habeas corpus and... genocide? Xenocide? Some sort of -cide involving the killing of pirates, defiance is shown through song and choreographed dance-like thing. This scene is the first, and never again are such serious themes mentioned. There's slapstick humor, running jokes, and the best of Disney, monkey jokes. God, I love a good monkey joke.

Where the mood of the film is one attraction, so is the action. We are not regaled with the huge squid, to my eternal disappointment, but there are swordfights, maelstroms, a good number in Shanghai involving plenty of explosions, lots of cannon fire, and more of that nonsense. It's all done in that vaguely epic Pete Jackson-style sweeping battle, but with a touch of cartoonish behavior that makes it more ridiculous. It's nothing realistic, but amusing none the less to behold. Memorial day marks the beginning of summer, and "Pirates" is, in essence, the beginning of mindless summer fare. I'm starting to loose it, so just remember that it's more fun to watch than other drivel and the Shanghai sequence is the best. Hey, monkeys setting of fireworks, ninja pirates vs. traditional pirates that we know vs. British soldiers in an extremely combustible environment is gold. Oh, and now would be a good time for me to nominate the East India Co.'s minion dude, who was introduced in the second film, as the baddest-ass henchman in any recent film. Yep, he's in Shanghai too.

As a final note, there are some really good acting jobs in "Pirates." Geoffrey Rush is quite villainous, even though he technically isn't, and does an admirable job as the returning pirate captain- somewhere between scurvy and reckless. Also good is Bill Nighy as Captain Jones, who manages to add emotion to what would otherwise be a mindless bad guy. He is one of the more sympathetic evildoers of late, and also has turned up the burr in his accent. This is quite necessary- I have a rule that all aquatic villains must have Scottish accents. I didn't detect much of one in the second film, but it's here now, and it's really good. He also looks sort of amazing in his CGI tentacle-faced getup. Weakest surprisingly are Bloom and Knightly. I was really sick of Will Turner's moral, law-abiding ass halfway through the movie, and really can't handle his pathetic attempts at line delivery. We know he's the sympathetic good looking guy, but do all epics need someone to say things like "I need your help" "We must save you" and stupid things like that? No. Similarly, Elizabeth Swan is also merely eye candy and has many character happenings that go unexplained. For example, how did she suddenly become a dashing pirate lass? What happened to her aristocratic prudery? Her romance with Bloom is tepid, and the two are tedious to listen to. Why so weak, screenwriters? Chow Yun Fat puts in an appearance, but is woefully underused. Yet all is saved by an effeminate little bastard who carries the whole trilogy on his swaying shoulders. Yes, Depp is truly the soul of this movie. His character is at once inspirational and amusing, and deeply charismatic of course. Although his entrance is delayed here, his introduction and hallucinations are truly wonderful. If it wasn't for him being such a pansy at times, I'd say that he would be one of the greatest cinematic role models in the true Han Solo vein. Ever. But he isn't, which is part of the appeal, I would suppose. Anyways, Depp's performance is really good- sometimes mad, sometimes cunning, always a scalawag, Jack Sparrow is a damn good reason to see "Pirates." And his exit from the whole show leaves a much greater message than any sermonizing that can be thrown at us: Look to the rum first, boy. It's been grand.

Not bad, I think. In other news, one of my friends made a graph today of mo' money vs. mo' problems, indicating that with mo' money generally comes mo' problems. At the value of 99 on the problems scale, it was indicated that at this point the problems do not equal a bitch. We later determined a supplementary theorem that if the number of problems is in excess of 100, one of these problems may very well be a bitch. In a subsequent problem in which another of my friends argued that having more money does not result in more problems, we concluded that the pursuit of money is definitely a problem, as pimping ain't easy, yet having money brings the bitches too you. Just thought I'd share that.

On Illness

2007-05-23T11:48:00.000-07:00

Well, seeing as how we've had lots of reviews and things of late, it's time for some philosophy. Sort of. What's going on is that I'm coming off of one of the nastiest flu's that I have had the misfortune to experience, and am bored out of my mind, having not left the house for three days. So: deep thoughts for your enjoyment.

First, appreciate the time of from work/school/other obligations. Being sick is a damn good excuse to shirk any duties that others may try and throw your way. And if you are the sort of person with a "work ethic" (death wish), being sick helps sooth your nagging fears of falling behind at whatever it is that you do. In other words, if you're not going to be doing much of anything, enjoy it.

This brings us to ways to enjoy yourself while sick. Because you can't really get up and move around, this is a wonderful opportunity to catch up on movie viewing or daytime television. Both activities are considerably enhanced if you are blessed with Tivo or can go and rent movies; if not, then watch something to warm the cockles of your heart. Personally, I am a fan of "The Two Towers" special extended edition while fevered. Nothing mirrors your inner battle quite like Pete Jackson's epic battles, and at four-ish hours it gives you something to focus on with a minimum of effort. For a cold or lesser ailment, I prefer light comedies and capers: "What's Up Tiger Lilly," "Ocean's 11," and Marx Brothers films are especially nice. If you are well enough, being sick is also a great time to do some serious reading. I'd settle down with a seriously long tome and enjoy. Take breaks to nap as you see fit.

And that's pretty much it. I know, the can't all be gems though. The most important thing is to remember that eventually, you will recover, your illness will be naught but a memory, and your B-cells will remember the virus in the event of further infection. For your reference, there is a very good passage in How to be Idle on being sick, the nature of which I can't describe as I have loaned out my copy. And for anyone with biological training, you can try to describe exactly what is going on inside your body for extra fun. And that's all, until I see "Severance" or "Pirates" and get you guys some real writing. Consider this fever nonsense. Out.

Small Screens

2007-05-15T17:47:00.000-07:00

So, I'm posting back atcha because I a.) have something to say, b.) am bored, and c.) feel the need to force my opinions upon the masses. Today we have television recommendations, namely for "Hustle," which is one of the greatest things on t.v. and will get its own review. But I'll add a few things too. Before we begin, check out the last post about "Chalk" again, because I'm helping out the indie film cause, man.

Any fans of Paul Newman and Robert Redford's "The Sting" should immediately get "Hustle." It's a British show, somewhere between drama and comedy, about a gang of con artists partial to high-profile marks and spiffy clothes. The gang has five members, who all have names that end in -ie sounds: There is Albert (Albie) (Robert Vaughn), the wise old guy, Ash (Ashley) (Robert Glenister), the really cool dude who basically manages to know everyone and do anything technical; I believe the technical term is a "fixer," Stacie (Jaime Murray), the hot chick and occasional voice of reason, Danny (Marc Warren), the brash and impish East ender, and Mickey (Adrian Lester), the leader of them all. Unfortunately, Mickey is not in this most recent season; he has been replaced with a quiet new guy whose name escapes me, but probably ends in the -ie sound as well. So, our lovable gang of cons runs around London in pursuit of their grand schemes. This is "Hustle" at it's very simplest, of course. The plot for each show varies, but tends to be complicated and ultimately satisfying. What sets it apart from the rest of the sleaze on television are incredible style and what can only be described as a pervading sense of scampish glee.

Style is one of the main draws for "Hustle," and therefore earns a paragraph. Basically, this show earns major bonus points on the grounds of soundtrack, editing, and the aforementioned costumes (the opening credits are also really cool). The music is never the same from episode to episode. While they do use a few common themes and opening track often (as most shows tend to), most of the background music is original, or a different take on older music from the show. And it's all very good music too- somewhere between Thievery Corp and funk-lounge. If that sounds weird, it's not. Editing is whimsical and playful- the... I really want to say filmmakers, but that won't work. Anyways, those people are always up to trying out something different, which usually works. Take the show where the gang tries to rook a businessman by producing a fake Bollywood epic. At one point, the mark (guy being conned) bursts out into song on the set, beginning a five minute Bollywood extravaganza, complete with dance number, wild visuals, flashy costumes, and witty lyrics. It's as perfect a description of the show's tone as I can find.

Now scampish glee isn't a phrase that most of you hear very often, I would imagine, but it really is what the humor in "Hustle" is all about. Scampish glee would describe a willing mischievous tendency combined with extreme satisfaction in the disastrous results. Danny is often the instigator of such scamp- take one scene where, in order to access a diner's laptop at a cafe, he grabs a bottle of eye drops, explains "they're a natural laxative," takes off his jacket, walks over to the diner's table pretending to be a waiter, discreetly applies the eye drops to their glass of water, and walks back over to the table as soon as the diner jumps ship. And that is where much of the humor lies. This humor is what sets the show apart from any other crime drama. That and the fact that it's a very stylized sort of white collar crime not given to gritty realism. The final product is a unique sort of show that doesn't come around often, but is quite pleasing. Now "Hustle" has its faults- namely sexism and an annoying insistence on some kind of con artist's morality- but I can overlook these because the show is so damn good. Oh, and it's on AMC, in case you actually wanted to watch it.

Also on that I enjoy, and you should too: "Black Books." It's sort of a British "Seinfeld," except for a crotchety bookstore owner (Dylan Moran), his accountant (Bill Bailey), and their friend (Tasmin Greg). It's a bit darker in that most of the characters are misanthropic, deadbeats, hopelessly neurotic, or some combination of the three. But it's also lighter in its semi-absurd sense of humor. I love the anti-sitcom hero thing that they had going. No more seasons are being produced, but it shows on BBCA occasionally. "Monk" is also fun, if tending to be a bit simpler as the seasons progress. And everyone knows the Daily Show, which is here only as a congratulations for Thursday's telemundo-inspired bit.

And up and coming on the movie scene, the Coen brothers have a new film: "No Country for Old Men." It looks pretty good, if not as madcap as their other films. Speaking of which, I finally saw "The Big Lebowski" this week. It made me very happy indeed. And there's not much else to say, so the Dude abides.

It Takes a Village

2007-05-12T15:41:00.000-07:00

Right. We try to keep it to criticism and insight here at Never Mind The Bats, but now it's time for something new. As much as the function of this blog is to inform, amuse, and otherwise entertain the masses (all five of you), it could also be used to get the word out about a hilarious new indie comedy. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Truth be told, I'm not a fan of plugging for other people's movies, but I feel motivated to do so for "Chalk." This is about as indie as a film can get without being an art house film. which would tend to make it pretentious. Writers Mike Akel and Chris Mass put this one together on a very limited budget, and the fact that they have done so much with pure talent and inspiration earns them my admiration. But the grand reason for this sales pitch is that the movie needs to preform well in order to be distributed throughout the U.S. It did the festival thing, but right now "Chalk" plays at one theater only: the Nuart in Los Angeles. I was there Friday, opening night, and it managed to draw a crowd (lots of teachers, many friends of the filmmakers)- it needs a crowd most every night. And there lies the sell: see the movie to help the guys that made it, and other people who want to see it who don't live in movieland.

Now that I feel completely soulless, on to what we do best. Public schools can be hell, as anyone who has spent time teaching or learning in them knows all too well. Yet they can also be hilarious. Writers Mike Akel and Chris Mass are devotees of this second view and act as our very own Dantes in their divine comedy “Chalk.” Forgive me for the terrible pun. In all technicality, “Chalk” is a mocumentary in the style of “The Office” that chronicles a year at a large public school from the perspective of the teachers: the painfully inexperienced new teacher, the history teacher who would rather be seen as a friend than an instructor, the intense and pushy gym teacher, and the first year administrator in the process of working herself to death. Mass plays the history teacher-cum-buddy while Akel directs a cast of their friends in a series of wonderful improvised scenes with a common theme, like “two weeks until thanksgiving.” Akel and Mass, both former teachers, also convinced several of their students to play the student extras, adding authenticity to the whole production.

What really sets “Chalk” apart from other high school movies is the quality of humor. Where many films settle for shallow jokes or pop culture parodies, “Chalk” is full of wonderfully bitter and edgy humor. And by bitter I certainly don’t mean that this is a dark or otherwise upsetting film. The script is filled with genuine warmth- the writers really care about their characters. Like Garrison Keilor in his Lake Wobegone monologues, the filmmakers torment characters in a very compassionate way: even at their worst, the teachers are still likeable. In a sense, this is the film equivalent of sitting in the teachers’ lounge and listening to all the embarrassing stories. Much of the edginess comes from those awkward moments where a teacher looses control in front of a class or is otherwise humiliated, and much of the bitterness results from the maddening nature of teaching unruly students day in and day out. All of this is handled with good taste, though, and many of the best moments are also slightly uplifting, like when the new teacher wins a student-run spelling bee for slang words, or when the administrator writes a song about No Child Left Behind to the tune of “You Can Dance if You Want To.”

“Chalk” also offers a fresh twist on the tired high school movie genre. Most of these movies can be categorized as either inspirational teacher, romantic dramedy, or painfully stupid. And that’s not even counting the sports ones. By focusing on the teachers, Akel and Mass are exploring new frontiers, or at least seldom-explored frontiers. It makes the movie quite interesting, especially for products of the public school system (like myself). I know that I was interested to see what school is like for the teachers, even more so when teachers were depicted outside of school. It almost made their job seem sympathetic. Almost. “Chalk” is very good, full of warmth and wit, and bears a look-see from any current teachers, or anyone who can remember public school.

And that's the scoop. If it sounds a little more newspaper-y, that's because I wrote it up for a newspaper. This is the unedited version, as I am sure to be edited in some way. If any of this intrigued you, check out www.chalkthefilm.com for trailers and such. Then you will hopefully see the movie. And, if you feel so motivated, forward this post to your friends. Or just tell them about the movie.

Our post title, for the curious, comes from the quote on the back of a t-shirt that the writers gave me after I talked to them at the premire: "It takes a whole village... to raid another village." God, I love L.A.

Forgive the lack of cool hyperlink and picture, as I am doing this thing without the benefit of a mouse right now. I'm also planning on posting a review/reccomendation of a TV show, "Hustle," pretty soon, so keep your heads up. Out.

Busting This Thing Wide Open

2007-04-28T15:22:00.000-07:00

Since my friend showed me the trailer in October or something, I was ridiculously excited for "Hot Fuzz." Somehow, it managed to hold up to all expectations and then some. It was that good. Before we review, though, the customary post-summary thing: first, a shoutout to everyone who's been coming out of the woodworks and telling me that they read this rag. It's nice to know that I'm not posting at the same three people over and over again. Second, check this guy out. Not only does he have a wicked beard, but he has really good points. Like the prophet for cynical counterculture or something. I liked it, at least. And lastly, we forgot to mention in our last post that Kurt Vonnegut had died. So it goes, yet he will be missed. Now let's transition fast enough to give you whiplash.

There are two types of movie parody. One is the shotgun approach, where every scene is packed with jokes that mock every aspect of the original subject. This approach tends to be more superficial and not as intelligent. But that's not to say it isn't good- it worked for "Airplane," at least. It's just been really misused lately, especially by the "Scary Movie" people. The second sort of parody comes from a deep love and respect for the subject, full of references to the very movies that is mocks and often just as awesome as the originals. The jokes might not come as fast, but they are most certainly well thought out and better. Also, the movie can stand it's own without the jokes. This is what Edgar Wright and his team do, and "Hot Fuzz" certainly has a lot of love behind it. You all know the premise by now. Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg) is a supercop on the London force, assigned to the remote township of Sandford by jealous colleagues for being too good for his own good. Sandford is statistically the safest village in England... or so it seems. Despite being hampered by the painfully inefficient and action movie-crazed Danny Butterman (Nick Frost) as a partner, Angel's supercop mind starts searching for criminal conspiracies. And when the body count starts a-piling up and the "accidents" become more grisly (and less plausible), this shit gets real, as Danny would have it.

The whole shindig is full of comedic gems, each playing up to an action movie cliche. A really good one early on is when Angel goes to speak to his ex-girlfriend, a crime scene analyst (and Cate Blanchett doing a cameo), on the job. He walks into a room of hazmat-suited analysts and starts talking to his girl, who responds that "I'm not Jeneane." Angel then turns to Jeneane, looking exactly identical. I'm afraid that I don't do it justice in words. It's a very funny movie, though, one that simultaneously glorifies and teases explosion-packed thrillers. On the reference scene, I caught two: Angel cares for a plant obsessively, much like Leon in "The Professional." There's also a bit with a stabbed body in a trunk filmed exactly like the opening to "Goodfellas." And like "Shaun of the Dead," the whole production is packed with appearances from British comedians. Tim from "The Office" plays a commissioner back in London, Stephen Merchant is an old farmer (I think; I thought I saw him, but can't remember who he played), Bill Bailey is an officer in Sandford, and there are probably many others that I missed or don't know. Also deserving of recognition is Timothy Dalton, who plays a truly sleazy and menacing shopping center owner. His violent offhand remarks are some of the greatest throwaway lines of the movie.

There's also a bit of social commentary in with the satire. The filmmakers take small townships to task, criticizing the maniacal pursuit of perfection. The no-tolerance attitude of the community to anything remotely nontraditional turns out to be its darkest secret. And yet they chide industrialization- part of the grand conflict involves the commerce that will accompany a new freeway overpass. Gayness is also invoked, but more as a comedy measure. Because there is no really hot leading lady, as is traditional in action films, Angel and Danny become the semi-couple. While the buddy cop schtick is used for dialogue jokes, Wright also give the pair all of the relationship lines. Take the scene where the two have just been out to the pub: Danny invites Angel up for some soul-barring talk, after which Angel explains that he can't stop being a cop. "I just can't turn it off," he says. "I can show you how to turn it off," replies Danny. The two are close together on a sofa, faces turned towards each other, sappy music playing, all as per the relationship cliche. After letting the homoeroticism build for a second, Danny leaps up and enters his DVD closet, grabbing "Bad Boys II" and "Point Blank." It's brilliant.

And lest you think I'm reading into the movie too much with social commentary, the action is also bomb-ass. There's a shootout in the historic town square, and assault on a grocery shop, and a car chase on narrow country roads. To quote Danny again, it's off the fucking chain, man. Lock and Load.

EDIT: I was just reading the quotes, and I totally missed a movie reference: at one point Danny says, "Forget it, Nick. It's Sandford." Chinatown! These guys know their shit.

Yes, he was fucking a head

2007-04-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

It's been a while guys, but last week was a mindrape. Today we review "Grindhouse," from whence this post's title originates. Also, we have a DVD recommendation: "Fulltime Killer." It's better then the title suggests.

"Grindhouse" is, like "300" and other nutty fare, more of an experience than a movie. In this case, the experience is two exploitation films, "Planet Terror" and "Death Proof," and accompanying fake trailers. The only way to see this one is the late showing- I went at 11:10 and it was awesome. But keep in mind that this is a three hour extravaganza, in case you want to be home before 3 a.m.

Each of the components of "Grindhouse" deserves its own micro-review, so I'll start with Robert Rodriguez's contribution, "Planet Terror," the more exploitative and disgusting of the two films offered, and also the one that screens first. Our premise is that some sort of gas has been released from a military base deep in the heart of Texas, a gas that turns most everyone into zombies. Not your average zombies, though- foregoing the traditional get-bitten-and-devour-the-living zombie model, Rodriguez decided to give these guys a more viral feel. The afflicted erupt into boils and devour the living. They also gain super strength and evil cunning. Infection can come about in multiple ways- exposure to gas, being bitten, having zombie pustule goo squirted on your face, and probably many more that weren't shown. But not everyone becomes infected, and certainly not our protagonists and law enforcement officials. For the former, we have pole-dancing Cherry Darling (Rose MacGowan) and the mysterious El Ray (Freddy Rodriguez). Apparently the two had a history, but romantic subplots are soon forgotten in the face of all-out zombie slaughter. There's also a story about a doctor and his wife, but that is also forgotten when the doctor gets zombified and the wife joins the resistance (she also shoots syringes, of course). The action, now that we get to it, is intense and some of the most disgusting I've ever seen. People get devoured, explode, break out in huge pustules, the whole nine yards. Quentin Tarantino's balls melt off. It takes a while for Cherry to get her already famous machine-gun leg, but once she does the blood sure flies. There's an awesome sequence where Ray has to rescue Cherry from a zombie-infested hospital and goes on the zombie-assault with two hunting knives. But the action drags on for too long, making this segment slightly tedious. And apart from zombie-killing, the plot is really contrived. Something about biological weapons and corruption. There are lots of references to Tarantino movies, other zombie movies, and some pretty good exploitation humor moments. My favorite is when, during the sex scene, a reel goes "missing." When the movie returns, the building where everyone was is on flames, all the characters have congregated, and the sheriff is apologizing to Ray for not knowing that he was... you know, the El Ray. None of it is ever explained. It's great.

The trailers deserve a review of their own, seeing as how they are the best part of the whole show. They're hilarious, quite frankly, and need to be seen. We have one for "The Machete," about a day laborer turned killer turned vengeful outlaw with the line "They just fucked with the wrong Mexican." (This is the one that would have made the best movie, and thankfully it did: the director for the segment made a straight-to-DVD 40 minute film.) There's also "Werewolf Women of the S.S." with Nicholas Cage as Fu Manchu, and another one that would be ruined if you knew it's name. But the best is undoubtedly "Thanksgiving," a send-up of the "Halloween" trailers, complete with bored narration. Eli Roth did a great job here, but the comedy may be a little black for some. I loved it, and laughed my ass off at all the ridiculous decapitations. If this sounds disturbed to you, look it up on youtube and you will Know the Truth (capitals intentional). And for those of you that saw it, refer to the post title. You are not seeing things. There was supposed to be a fifth and better trailer, "Hobo with a Shotgun," that didn't get released. I now need to see it.

Quentin Tarantino's movie, "Death Proof," is second and in my opinion the better of the two films. It forgoes some of the exploitative mood for plot and dialogue, but manages to pull of the greatest car chase in the last half hour, earning massive style points. Anyways, Kurt Russel plays Stuntman Mike, a stuntman now dated who for some reason has an obsession with vehicular manslaughter. He stalks one group of women in the first half, including Sydney Poitier, and kills them in a spectacular crash. His next targets include accomplished stuntwoman Zoe Bell (as herself), who give him a run for his money. And that's the story, folks, but it really has to be seen. The Tarantino style is so cool that this film alone is worth the price of admission- everything from the soundtrack to that car chase (all done without CGI, thank you very much) is great. And Tarantino also gets in a few good references, most notably to his own "Pulp Fiction" (which has been mentioned in practically every "Grindhouse" review I've read), but also to Zatoichi. This one was such a film nerd namedropper that it made me laugh, partly at myself for understanding. Quentin's early movie interests included martial arts action films, of which Zatoichi the blind samurai is a classic example. It's great. He also gets in some good jibes at Hollywood, namely by mentioning how things aren't CGI in the old movies (and then going to his epic car chase). But I'm rambling now. The final tally shows that this is a good movie, really better than the exploitations that Tarantino is mimicking, and one that does a good job of raising the whole feature to a higher level. That said, it's a little slow in the middle and not really in keeping with the overall mood. But it's damn good all the same.

As for that DVD, "Fulltime Killer" is a Hong Kong thriller about a reckless young assassin who is trying to take the place of the professional older assassin. It starts out like a textbook of action cliches, but turns itself into a very cerebral film that pays subtle homage to the action films it mimics. Definitely worth a look.

Inordinate Joy

2007-04-09T12:08:00.000-07:00

It is what it says. In spite of everything else, I am in a resoundingly good mood now. Maybe it's the sun, maybe just insanity in the face of adversity, but either way I felt like blogging. So I'll share a few thoughts with you guys.

The other night I spent half an hour hunting an owl. It was late and I was reading when I thought I heard it hooting. Music paused, I turned off the light and stepped outside with ninja stealth. It was in my neighbor's trees, across the street, so I went back in and got out a night vision scope. I must have spent twenty minutes trying to find this thing, all in absolute silence, but couldn't figure out where it was hiding. It was loud, too, loud enough that I should have been able to find it. Eventually the owl flew away (it was perched behind a branch so I couldn't see it) and I went to sleep. But the important thing is that it was really fun, a challenge, and an adventure all at once. I share this with you because I can. Go chase your own owls.

On the movies scene, always a favorite here, I didn't get out so see "Grindhouse" yet, but I will. In the mean time, my thoughts: I really admire and enjoy the idea behind it- a throwback and tribute to classic cheesy films. I have always thought that, where Rodriguez and Tarentino returned to exploitation films, there should be more homages to the secret agent films of the 60's and 70's. But I think I mentioned that months ago. Also interesting is that there are two- count 'em- rehashes of Hitchcock horrors being spewed out by Hollywood now. The first is "Vacancy," about a couple that checks into a hotel where they are watched and attacked by the scary guy that runs it. "Psycho" anyone? And then there's another about a kid with an ankle bracelet (don't ask how, I only saw the trailer) under house arrest who spies on his neighbors. One of them kills his wife or mistress. The kid investigates. My thoughts: Dude! I loved "Rear Window!" Why must the studios ruin great movies like these? I shudder to think what they're planning for "North by Northwest" (with Jason Stratham and some vapid blond girl pretending to be an actress! Directed by Jerry Bruckheimer!).

And I didn't get to this one in the big music review post, but for all of you who know Cornershop, check out their most recent release, "Handcream for a Generation." They've replaced indie-politico feel, mostly, with a heavy club vibe and high production values. While it's a new direction, it's also pretty fun. Newcomers, I direct you to "When I Was Born for the 7th Time," now renamed by me as "The Essential Cornershop." Over and out.

Best Thing About Music

2007-04-04T11:57:00.000-07:00

So yeah, I couldn't really think of a post title for this one. We've got sensations of awesomeness due to spring break, many new CD's to review, and a short bit about "Blades of Glory." I'd assume the Italians would have a word for this. Side note/fun fact: did you know that the Italians have a word for someone who isn't painfully hot- but not unattractive, mind you- yet has such a wonderful personality that they become painfully hot? I think it's wonderful. And it says much about Italians. So that's about it.

First on our musicology tour is "Waitin' to Inhale" by Devin the Dude, a southern rapper and member of the Odd Squad. I was searching for his earlier album "Just Tryin' ta Live," which is one of the most elusive CD's ever, but found this recent release instead, recommended by the friendly people at Amoeba (sorry guys, for not having "Tryin' ta Live" you are not the superior music store). Anyhow, this is definitely a good one. Devin, as opposed to other southern rappers like Scarface, is not especially concerned with the thug life. He devotes his time to more worldly pursuits, namely getting high and screwing a lot of women. The tracks are all gloriously mellow and smooth, with notable appearances from the Odd Squad and Snoop Dog (on "What a Job," sounding pretty good). But there's also a great deal of humor, like "Cutcha Up," which sounds like a love song but in fact is about Devin growing his on weed. My favorite track, and the one that represents the album as a whole, is "Nothin' to Roll With," a perfectly mellow song with a very soulful sample where Devin bemoans the fact that he's "got nothin' to roll with, nothin' to smoke with, so I guess I'll pull out this bong." It's a good one.

But even better is "10,000 Shots" by the Real McKenzies, whom I have told you about already, I think. Anyways, for Celt-punk fans like myself, this is an interesting spin on the genre: Scot-punk. And it really works too. While most traditional Irish music lends itself less to power chords and distortion (due to the nature of Irish pipes and fiddles), the bagpipes sound incredible with 3-chord progression. That is, if you like bagpipes. I do, so it rocks. Anyways, it's not just a gimmick. These guys, who actually hail from Vancouver, are really good musicians and do some amazing things with traditional Scottish tunes. They also do this great thing where they put poems by Robert Burns to music. It's amazing. But they also write their own songs, many of which are quite funny. Their humor relates to the life of the musician, like "Pour Decisions," about how it might have been better to become a brewery manager. The real highlights here, though, are the two Robbie Burns-inspired songs, "Smokin' Bowl" and "Comin' Thro the Rye," and my personal favorite "Bugger Off," about how the show is done and the drunken audience needs to clear off. I get the sense that a live show would be really amazing. But the CD is a good substitution, for the time being.

I don't feel like reviewing "Blades of Glory" anymore. But here's my opinion: it's a funny movie. It's nice to see Will Ferrel being a real douche- I think it plays to his comedic strengths. Also interesting is that Napoleon- excuse me, John Heder- manages to escape the Napoleon Dynamite stigma and play a different type of role. Sadly, though, I think he'll be regulated to these weird caricatures of slightly disturbing people. But don't get me wrong- he's funny. The whole movie is. I can't remember any of the one-liners to regale you with, so Imagine.

And yeah. Further evidence to support the iTunes-has-ESP theory: I was feeling slightly irked, then I got to hear "Son of a Preacher Man" and "You Gotta Know Whatcha' Doin" back to back. Nice.

Don't Trust the Medical Profession

2007-03-28T17:35:00.000-07:00

Wow, I've really been posting at you guys a lot lately. In light of the day off on Tuesday, I went out Monday night to see "The Host," a Korean horror film that's somehow managed to go mainstream, which in incredible considering the premise. I'll get to that in a minute, but wanted to express my own shock at seeing this movie. It's unusual to see a movie during the week, but it's unnatural for me to see a horror film. It's one of those things that I don't do, save things like Hitchcock and "Jaws." The reason I made the exception here is the glorious premise of this film: a mutated tadpole goes on a rampage, so the dysfunctional family must steal a van to hunt the thing down. Monster flick and road comedy! How awesome is that?

Anyways, a slightly more detailed plot synopsis: years before the action, an American doctor orders the dumping of formaldehyde. Lots of formaldehyde. As the ominous music and protesting Korean doctor inform us, dumping the stuff would just put it into the Han river, but the American simply orders the disposal anyways (of course!). Cut to the present, where Park Gang-Du (Kang-ho Song) sleeps peacefully at the counter of a snack stand along the bank of the Han river. He's a bit of a sad schmuck as we see, semi-narcoleptic and utterly adrift in life. He has a daughter, Hyun-seo (Ah-sung Ko), whom he cares for even if he can't make parent's day, a father who runs the snack stand with him and serves as the older voice of discipline and reason, and alcoholic brother, and a nationally ranked archery champion for a sister. But there's one more player yet to be introduced: the nameless monster that is supposed to be a host for some sort of terrible virus. It's also really nasty and hungry, and about the size of a dump truck. In the initial rampage, the monster captures Hyun-seo, now presumed eaten, and takes her back to its sewer hideout. Gang-Du and the rest of the family then must escape the hospital quarantine zone (for the virus that the beast transmits) to find the girl. Plausibility isn't exactly high up on the list here. Isn't formaldehyde a preservative? Wouldn't it just kill all lifeforms it came in contact with? And if it caused mutation, wouldn't it just be gradual, like maybe and extra limb or something? And don't tadpoles change into frogs, not killer tadpoles? It's all too confusing, but part of the B-movie storyline, which works well here.

The script and storyline, collectively, are the best part of the movie and really what give it charm. There's a tremendous amount of energy in the frantic pacing of scenes, and simple tricks like cutting at the end of a climactic scene are well used. There is suspense and intensity, with many a seat-jumping moment when the creature lunges out of the darkness or off a bridge, but there's also a great deal of humor in this family. The setup is quite similar to what Hitch used for humor- man finds himself suddenly in circumstances beyond his control- but the actual quality of humor is much warmer, like (and I know everyone uses this analogy, but it's true) "Little Miss Sunshine." But in the end, it's a bit of a downer. The filmmakers, like their monster, have no qualms about letting people die. But don't dwell on it- there's more humor than not, and the emotional parts aren't sappy. There's also an aweome fight sequence at the end, where everyone uses their unique skill to attack the beast (drunken college student flings molotov cocktails, archer does her thing)! The filming is well done, with lots of fast chases and dark, rainy scenery to fit the dark, watery mood. Also impressive was the CGI that produced the monster. It looks as beautiful as a mutant tadpole can look, and moves as fluidly as if it were real. You have to see it in action to know what I'm talking about, it's that good. The directors put it in a lot of action sequences, and not once could I notice any glitches. And to think that they did it for far below the typical American budget. Hey, people that do things like "Saw" and "Dead Silence"- you just got raped prison-style.

Speaking of rape, the movie really tears the medical profession three new assholes here. Not only do doctors create the beast with their negligence, but they also are portrayed as bureaucratic and unreasonable, with a penchant for detaining people and spraying people down. There's also a fairly significant plot twist, but let's just say that the medical profession is sleazy like a weasel with psychotic delusions. There's one unnecessary scene in which Gang-Du is having samples taken that really drives the point home. Thus our title: they can't be trusted. But what's also significant about the movie is that it was so well done on a much smaller budget. That it has also found a mass-audience in the U.S. really heartens me as to the potential of foreign film, and local independent film. Once Hollywood realizes that it needs to up the ante, maybe the quality of big studio movies will go up. Lastly, I wanted to recommend "Tremors 3" as the cheesiest, worst D-horror film ever produced, as long as we're on the subject of horror-comedies. The story: there is a town in the southwest. There are underground slugs that apparently terrorized the citizens through the first two installments. There is an uber-conservative survival nut who is obsessed with a massive albino slug (they're called "graboids"). Then Monk needs to record on TiVo. Tune back in. Two women in a convenience store are being attacked by a flying thing, poorly rendered in 80's CGI. It is called an "ass-blaster." They have an epiphany: "it sees heat!" They put a ham in the microwave, throw it in the freezer, and lock the assblaster in. I could go on and on, but I'll just leave you with one last exchange. Ubercon survivalist: "This bunker is graboid proof!" Random Asian lady: "Yeah, but is it assblaster proof?" Cue attack.

And yes Anthony Lane, that last shot (In "the Host," not "Tremors") was one of the most incredible ever. Have fun.

Let's rock this joint, let's roll this joint

2007-03-25T14:38:00.000-07:00

Man, it's been a while since I've done a concert review. But Saturday night changed all that, and I bring you your first concert review since November. The show in question was the Red Elvises, a group that reaffirms my faith in rock. While many bands in this troubled world must resort to obscure subgenres to set them apart from the crowd, the Red Elvises are a return to good old mainstream rock. However, as I write this I realize two things: they are technically surf rock, which pigeonholes them, and they are Russian, which is their gimmick. But the basic premise remains the same: songs about life, outer space, and sex (no double ententes, only single ones here). They're pretty good on their albums, but they put on a truly fun show.

Much of the joy of the show comes from the dynamic energy and personalities of the band. You have the lead singer, a big Russian guy in a lounge suit who would keep asking us "Are you having fun?," bassist playing this huge three-string Russian bass (imagine a Gibson Flying V, but make the V a triangle and about three feet wide at the base, bright red too), also clad in a lounge suit), really tall drummer, hot Russian girl on guitar and banjo, lounge dressed, and another hot Russian girl on accordion, keytar, and keys. There were a few special guests as well, and another hot Russian who didn't play but served to distract me from the show. The greatest addition was a tuba player, also in lounge suit, who blew my mind. Why has this not been attempted before? Anyways, much of the energy came from their frontman, and much of the fascination from the girls. This is really getting into some stream-of-consciousness type styling, so I'm going to make a new paragraph.

Right. Songs. The Red Elvises play, as I mentioned, Siberian surf-rock. This translates into lots of guitar and whammy bar action over steady drumming with plenty of cymbal action, but with some traditional elements, like accordion. It works well. The lyrics have a Cold War theme to them, with lots of songs about space, but also many about cowboys and relationships. They're all handled with wonderful gimmicky humor and some really good puns, like the one in the title, which comes from "Love Rocket" (I think). They played a fair number of old favorite, like "Rocketman," "Gypsy Soul," and "Sad Cowboy Song," which is one of my favorites and sounds mind-blowing with a phat tuba solo and epic drum solo. There were also some new songs, like "Juliette," "Better than Cocaine," and "Drinking With Jesus." They're good as well. You should buy a CD and support the scene.

So I've just run out of things to say. It was really a good wholesomely fun show, with none of the drunkenness and destruction of, say, the Pouges show, but all of the fun. They play at Rusty's Surf Ranch with some degree of regularity, I think, and would undoubtedly be great to see again. The group is liable to have some changes, as the guitar-banjo girl and drummer were recent additions to the lineup, which saddened me, but shouldn't you. Anyways, I'm out. Enjoy.

Wind that Shakes Your Mind, Too

2007-03-19T18:50:00.000-07:00

So I would have told you guys about this movie in my St. Patty's Day post, but I had no idea it even existed at that point. The movie I'm talking about is "The Wind that Shakes the Barley," a tale of the Irish War of Independence and a young Irish doctor turned soldier. Although beautifully filmed and with occasional good cheer, this one is a bit of a downer, as tales of occupation and wartime atrocities usually are. Yet this is a very well-done film, educating without forcing dogma upon viewers and revealing of some of the IRA's less savoury actions as well as the glorious struggle. It's also emotionally powerful, as this and the subsequent civil war drove families apart, and really makes you think about what it would take for you to grab a gun and head for the hills.

As an aside, there seems to be a trend in Hollywood of late for the production of serious dramas that deal with these harsh events in human history objectively yet expressively ("Last King of Scotland" and "Hotel Rwanda" would be my examples). It's interesting to compare with some of the jingoistic movies that were being made in the early '30s and post-WWII where the brave Americans or British, out manned and outgunned, would hold off the evil, godless enemy until they achieved death or victory. Maybe it's a sign of the times that we can be introspective. Maybe Hollywood's well has run out of those western-esque wars to mine. You decide.

Anyhow, the movie follows young Damien (Cillian Murphy), a London-bound doctor who can't escape the resistance that's sweeping his homeland and so joins up with the IRA. The movie follows Damien's slow and subtle shift to radicalism, but more importantly uses him as a focus point; he is our window into the turbulent world of 1920's Ireland. And a very dangerous and violent world it is. The filmmakers are clearly on the side of the Irish here, making that quite apparent in the beginning where a peaceful gathering of Irishmen is interrupted by a gang of thuggish British soldiers, who drag off and kill one of the Irish for refusing to give his name in English. The British are portrayed in this manner throughout the film, and with no justification, given, but the Irish are not always seen as the valiant oppressed. There are scenes of Irish brutality against British troops and supporters, which likewise go unpardoned by the filmmakers. And brutality is certainly the right word to describe the quality of violence here- gutwrenching spasmodic bouts of killing, often claiming innocents. There is also a particularly grisly torture scene, for good measure. Don't expect stylized violence here, because this movie is all about the gritty realism of guerrilla warfare. Back to topic, the filmmakers portray the infighting between the moderated and the radicals of the IRA with equal detachment. However, their opinions on who is right and just are not as clear as when the battle was simply Irish-British. And when things get into the subsequent Irish Civil War near the end of the film, things get even more confusing.

Stylistically, this is a beautiful movie. The natural hues of the Irish landscape provide a backdrop more gray than green for all of the action. The hills are a wonderful mottled green, and I often found myself taking in the views rather than the action in some of the longer shots that offer splendid panoramas. There's nothing especially fancy at work other than truly incredible cinematography, and it makes this a very appealing movie. I'm not one to say this about many movies, but the costumes were especially great, in my humble opinion, for being so wonderfully understated. The colors blend with the landscape while simultaneously being sartorially elegant. Maybe it's just because I'm a fan of long coats and tweed vests. I also really want one of those flat-brim hats. Back to reviewing, it's also worth noting that the characters have very thick accents. I pride myself on being able to understand the accents of the British isles, but these were really hard to understand. It's almost like they were speaking Gaelic. But that also adds to the overall effect of the movie- we don't want the accents-toned-down-for-ignorant-Americans version. We want the real deal, the way people really speak. And that, in a sense, follows the whole idea of Irish independence and nationalism. Follow? Good. To end this discussion, one of the most wonderful shots in the movie is one where a band of the rebels, Damien included, is walking down a road in the fog. At first the screen is completely obscured by the fog, but slowly the figures appear, each with a rifle slung over his shoulder. All the while we can hear the tramp of their feet and the song they are singing, presumably "the Wind that Shakes the Barley" (which just played on iTunes as I was writing this, for your information). As the group passes, the fog thins, and we can see the country road that they were walking on. The men are marching off to ambush, and the fog evokes this wonderful feeling of mystery. Everyone is convinced that they are doing something deeply right, and there is an air of resolute determination about the scene. And just as quickly as they came, all vanish into the fog again. And I think it's grand.

There's also a heavy emotional punch here. Whereas many directors resort to the heavy, "now you feel Emotion!" style of filming a movie in order to get such concepts across to American audiences, all the emotion is real in "Wind that Shakes." Maybe it's the subject matter, a conflict that galvanized a nation into action and subsequently tore said nation apart, or maybe it's just really appealing characters, but the audience really feels whenever something bad happens. One of the best instances, and one that I'm sure you've heard of if you read other reviews, is when Damien has to execute a boy who has ratted on the IRA, but a boy he's known since childhood. The way Damien goes about the task, with tears in his eyes and a catch in his voice, is touching and sad, and the way he stumbles off after the task really brings it home to the audience. And that's just one scene. Also significant in the mental area are the thoughts that this movie brings up, or for me at least. What would it have to be to get me to grab a gun and rise against the establishment? Could I? What would drive me to shoot a childhood friend in the head? This is why the movie is so superb- to solicit such empathy from an audience and really cause them to think and feel. This is mastery.

What prevents this from being a spectacular movie, in my opinion, is that despite the power of the story the final message/feeling is that of a downer. This is not one to go watch to cheer yourself up. But its really good, and should be watched by anyone with any interest in Ireland and the history of that island.

And that is all. Some movies to look out for: "Adam's Apples," which is about a neo-nazi doing community service at a church. It's Danish, and it's an action-comedy, apparently. It sounds pretty good to me. And of course, "Hot Fuzz" is out in April. This looks great, and anyone who hasn't heard about it need only search for the trailer. Also good: the British magazine The Chap, which is a satirical work that examines the world through the eyes of a Wooster-esque gentleman. Most excellent. And with that I bid you goodnight.

St. Fookin' Paddy's

2007-03-15T19:07:00.000-07:00

I'm getting this one to you guys early because I know that I'll be zonked out of my mind tomorrow night, and it'll be too late by the time I post it on the exact holiday. Anyways, St. Patrick's Day is a (the) national holiday in Ireland and the feast day of St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, who was responsible for converting a great deal of the pagan population to Christianity. According to wikipedia as well, the 17th is actually the day Patrick died. Fascinating. The day has now become a celebration of Irish culture, where the Irish or their descendants revel in their fine heritage and everyone else gets to see what they've been missing out on for the rest of the year. And the Irish certainly have a culture that's worth celebrating- one of joy and sharp humor in the face of hardship and the other, darker sides of life. I think it's a brilliant holiday, even though I'm only part Irish, and hopefully this entry will help me overcome the envy I feel to those who are more Irish than I.

Of course, it's time for me to impart upon you some of my cultural virtues and ideas. Firstly, you should make sure to listen to some good Irish music, preferably as your constant soundtrack. I highly recommend the Pogues, whose virtues I have extolled many times before on this blog. As a side note, if any of you are currently on the east coast, be sure to see the Pogues in concert, as they are touring now. Everyone should do this before they die, and I give you my word that you'll have no regrets. But yes, the Pogues do a good job of embodying the Irish spirit in their work and should be heard. Recommended songs are "Sally Maclenanne" and "Bottle of Smoke." For the more American or Boston-Irish among us, there are the Dropkick Murphys, who have less of a traditional influence than the Pogues but are very good nonetheless. But ideally you should hear some real Irish folk music. This is the Real deal, gritty, out-to-the-pub, "wouldn't give you service so you kicked the windows out" Irish music. I recognize that folk is an acquired taste, but this is great. My favorite St. Patrick's Day album is "Irish Heartbeat" by the Chieftains, one of Ireland's finest traditional groups, with Van Morrison. And don't give me any of that Riverdance shit. That isn't real Irish folk. That's like saying Europop represents the deep folk roots of Europe. Utter lies. And I know some people like Riverdance, and I'm sorry if the truth hurts, but that's the way it goes.

On the subject of drinking, we can't forget that St. Pat's is also a big drinking holiday. If you are the drinking sort and decide to go out with the lads for a few, be sure to have something that reflects the heritage of one of the greatest drinking nations in the world. If beer is your beverage, Guinness or Harp are preferable, but anything else from Europe should do. If you aren't having beer, be sure to drink whiskey, and single malt at that. No half measures here, and don't drink the blended crap. Indulge in the celebrations.

My movie recommendation is "Waking Ned Divine," which may be a little family-friendly but is genuinely funny if I can remember. It's about a village in Ireland where one man has won the lottery. Catch is, he's dead. So the story follows the villager's attempt to fool the lotto man. It's also got a great soundtrack.

Literary-ly, Green Shadows, White Whale by Ray Bradbury does a good job of capturing the Irish spirit as Bradbury tells the story of writing the screenplay for Moby Dick with John Huston in Ireland. But for those of you in the mood for an Irish author who's slightly more readable than Joyce, try Roddy Doyle. He does novels, short stories, kids books, you name it. Some of his stuff is funny, some more serious, but all of it is well-written.

And as I am falling asleep (as the growing incoherence in my paragraphs proves), I will leave you with an Irish proverb, the authenticity of which I cannot verify: "Champagne for real friends, and real pain for sham friends."

Good night and joy be to you all.

This is violent! This is overproduced! This is SPARTA!

2007-03-10T15:05:00.000-08:00

Yes, I thought up that headline before I even saw the movie. Yes, I do have ESP. Anyways, I saw "300" yesterday, and bring you now what is probably the most rapidly written review with respect to actual movie viewing.

You know "Kill Bill," right? That one scene where Uma Thurman kills the 88 or so guys? And you know "the Lord of the Rings" and those epic battle sequences filmed from helicopter or something where the camera is everywhere? Good. You know "300." This has to be one of the most brutal, intense, ridiculously epic films to have ever come out of Hollywood. The plot, if it can be called that, is that the Persians are coming and want Sparta to submit to their empire. King Leonidas (Gerald Butler) refuses, and then takes 300 Spartans to fight lots and lots of Persians. Then the credits roll and you go home. Yeah, it's that kind of a movie.

This is probably one of the most intense movies ever made, yet at the same time absurd in its epic scope. People are decapitated and impaled with alarming regularity. Corpses are piled into a wall. A seven foot beast-man has his eye gouged out. But at the same time everything is very stylish. Blood spatters like Jackson Pollock, and the battles have a brutal beauty in the choreography of many men fighting. Nearly everything has a CGI sheen to it, which saturates all the colors and gives the movie a more in-your-face quality (as if it were lacking). If violence and graphics weren't enough, we also get to watch mutants, creepy buggers of every description, lesbians, and almost everything save zombies. There music is also interesting; we get the driving, semi-classical battle music and a mournful song that plays when we are supposed to feel emotion... but punk guitar? Yes, at a couple of truly hectic moments the directors saw fit to throw in some heavily distorted power chords. Why not? It's epic. Have I mentioned that it shows on Imax too?

As a film, this is godawful. The dialouge is terrible, and the acting is heavy-handed, the plot is an excuse for violence, and I have a sneaking suspicion that some liberties were taken with the historical prescedent. There is also a lot of latent racism and homophobia. The baddest guys are black, the Persians all have piercings and are shifty cowards, the Persian king (decked out like Liberace on a bender) has this wierd obsession with Leonidas, and to further complicate things the most obvious homoeroticism of 300 scantily-clad men running around is supposed to be completely normal. The whole thing is sort of painful, if you think about it too much.

But as entertainment, this is an awesome movie. There is something hilarious in the over-the-top excessiveness that drives the whole movie. There are plenty of awesome one-liners too, like "Eat a good breakfast, for tonight we dine in hell!" and "Our arrows will blot out the sun!" "Then we shall fight in the shade." To add to the humor value, they chose a Scotsman to play Leonidas, so he speaks with a slight brouge. It's also a social experience- the audience applauded when the man-beast I mentioned before was decapitated. At first I was worried about the state of human society, but then I realized that there have always been movies like this, as the "Grindhouse" trailer reminded me. It's just that people don't remember them. But yeah, this is an epic experience and a mediocre film, combined to make a ridiculous movie. This is SPARTA!

"I been meaning to tell you about that"

2007-03-05T18:29:00.000-08:00

We're back on track and ready for awesome. Not sure why, but that's just what my fingers typed out. Anyways, summer has returned to L.A., and with it the promise of this heat until roughly December. Get used to it kids. Anyways, I thought that we'd try something new here today, namely a guest review of the highly anticipated "Black Snake Moan" ("Skanks on a Chain" as I've heard it called) by our good friend bobduck666. He runs a basketball-type blog for those interested, and the lack of capitalization is purely a stylistic device. The message to the rest of you out there: we take guest reviews of things. These things should preferably be related to what we do here, namely music, movies, and the occasional amazingly good book. But the most important bit is that I am only one man, often busy and more often lazy. Guest writings make my job a bit easier, and are interesting to read. So anyways, yeah, you'll get whatever username you have and a link to your blog (if any). In exchange, I get to analyze your reviews and write a droll introduction. So here goes:

"if we accept that "hustle and flow" was the embodiment of hip hop and its associated culture—we're talking real, street level shit—then we must accept that "black snake moan," dir. craig brewer's latest joint, is the filmic equivalent of the blues. whether or not craig brewer is arrogant for trying to capture two black-as-all-hell genres of music in film is another story for another time. just remember that pablo picasso was never called an asshole.

the movie itself is not a masterwork, nor should it be. this is not a polished work of art constructed flawlessly showing no hidden cracks or errors of judgement. no, this movie is dirty. i don't mean dirty in a bad way, i mean dirty like passionate, dirty like the kind of dirty that settles down into your crotch and waits there, waiting to get let out like, well, a black snake. In that regard, "black snake moan" is very, very good. i'm not saying that it entirely captures the blues in a movie, nor am i saying that it should be taken as the defining definition of what the blues are all about. what i am saying is that the blues are a medium predicated on that kind of hip-holding funk that grabs on and doesn't let go until it's drained you.

in that way, it's not unlike sex. it's ironic then that rae (or ray) is cured of her nymphomania, or at least taught how to keep it under control, by a genre of music that is all about that cathartic release of passion. worthwhile to note is that fact that during the scene when lazarus is playing the blues at the bar, rae has her epiphany. she isn't cured of her need for passion, but she gets her cherry busted in a serious way.

the bottom line is that this a good movie. it's not going to win any academy awards, nor should it. leave those to the white movies with the polished scripts, polished direction, and polished acting. this is a good movie not because of those things, but despite of them. nothing about it is polished, and it is from that well that it draws its strength. "black snake moan" is about the blues, and the blues are about passion. down, dirty, imperfect passion and pain. no one can accuse this movie of being anything else."

Response time. This movie is really all about that: the power of music for redemption. The short plot summary is that skank nympho Rae (Christina Ricci), on a self-destructive path after her boyfriend leaves for combat duty, ends up severely beaten in the road. This road runs by the house of Lazarus (Samuel L. Jackson, bitches), a former blues musician whose wife has just left him. His logical conclusion is that God delivered this crazy white girl into his hands, so he chains her to the radiator to "cure her of her wickedness." Of course. The script is more hilarious than dramatic, and there is a kind of manic energy to the whole production. Jackson is really great, doing his rants and generally being a forceful badass. He once again has extravagant facial hair. The other actors are really to pretty good, except for the boyfriend, who is basically a superfluous plot device. The music is also incredible, as could be expected. Jackson is really singing and playing the guitar, an admirable trend in recent movies (that actors learn the instruments their characters play and perform onscreen). All in all, this is solid entertainment.

Sorry to you, bobduck, if I was breaking your balls with the subsequent review. This is one that I was going to do and just felt like getting a few thoughts off. The rest of you, keep doing your thing.

Justice, Idleness

2007-02-27T16:45:00.000-08:00

Sorry it's been a while, but things have been sort of hectic this weekend and unblogworthy before that. Today I'm going to give a breakdown of the Academy Awards (briefly, mainly to say I told you so) and then the long-anticipated review of How To Be Idle, which I finished this weekend.

But first a few musings and recommendations. It's damn cold out right now. And windy. This and the earlier rains really help us appreciate the otherwise perfect California climate. It's also exciting to have a little winter. But from where I sit typing this the sun is at that wonderful four-o'clock-glow and is shining over the clouds through the plants in my backyard. The combination of the green and the wonderful glow unique to SoCal is glorious to behold. And combined with this Arctic tundra wind... damn. It's a fine day to be alive. Completely unrelated: I found this band this weekend, the Real MacKenzies. They're a Scot-punk group based out of Vancouver and they are good. Their songs are more bare-bones than Dropkick Murphys or the Pogues, say, but they sound very folksy even though it's basically punk with bagpipes. The lead singer also has this really great brouge. Give them a listen-to. Also unrelated, while researching the MacKenzies I discovered that there is a pair of Dropkick Murphys slip-on Vans. They actually don't look half bad, but I was struck by the fact that they would be... Drop-kicks! Get it? Please don't leave.

So for the Oscars, I was 5 for 8 in major categories discussed and 5 for 6 in categories that I had some idea as to what I was talking about. "The Departed" probably beat out "Sunshine" as a result of the Scorsese glory and epic nature. Forest Whittaker was a given, and I suppose Helen Mirren was as well. Scorsese took director, of course, but probably more as a recognition for previous achievements, although "The Departed" was really good in its own right. It fits that Alan Arkin won supporting actor- after I made the post of picks, I realized that his performance as the grandfather far outshone Mark Wahlberg's. Mark was hardcore, but Alan was genuinely amazing. Jennifer Hudson was supposed to be good, so it fits she should win. "Sunshine" won best script, which was also apparent- the humor and originality were really the strong points of the movie. The one category that I lost on that I thought I had down was best foreign. "Days of Glory" was a great movie- stirring, political, epic- yet "Lives of Others" must have been better. It did look pretty good. And that is all for analysis- I realized that this section was mostly rationalization of my choices and relatively pointless. But if you found it interesting, good.

On to How To Be Idle by Tom Hodgkinson. I've noticed a recent trend in this type of non-fiction, the semi-memoir, semi-manifesto type of life philosophy book that is like an encyclopedia to the how-to book's instruction manual. One that was also good whose title leaps to mind is Where There's a Will by John Mortimer, creator of Rumpole of the Bailey, equally good but more of a memoir. Idle is by far my favorite of these books. How often does one come upon a book that fully validates one's lifestyle and still offers up insight? The book is basically a celebration and definition of the idle lifestyle, arranged into 24 chapters (one for each hour of the day) relating loosely to a theme. Hodgkinson then expounds on his theme with sound logic and references from other idle thinkers like Dr. Johnson and Lin Yutang. His style is also great to read- it's just like having a conversation with a very mellow and well-read British person, like Stephen Fry and many others whose names escape me. In addition to giving advice on idleness as a way of life, Hodgkinson also offers a rather damning evaluation of the modern society and how it exists to overwork and under-reward the worker. This is definitely a book that leans more to the manifesto side of the spectrum. I have a feeling that there is much I'm forgetting to tell you, but this is a seriously good, life-changing, mind-expanding book. Particularly interesting are the sections on waking up and lunch as examples of the manifesto side and the chapter on pubs as really good writing and interesting ideas. I believe it is in the pub section that he uses the quote about the best three things in life being beer, bacon, and bread. How true. Anyways, read this book idly. Take your time, maybe just a few pages before bed each night to try and draw out the process. It's a wonderful read and an amazing book. It will change your life.

Enjoy your bad selves assorted.

Correction

2007-02-15T18:03:00.000-08:00

After receiving some criticism from other members of the online community, I have decided to write a longer and more complete review for "Fight Club." Although it is not usual blogging policy to review movies that I see out of theaters, I figure that it can't hurt just this once. The message is that I just like posting and need inspiration.

Before we begin, a heads up on things that are going down: "Black Snake Moan" is next weekend. For a temporary fix, go here for Sam Jackson singing Stack-O-Lee in the movie or here for the trailer. It's gonna be great. Also on the Internet, BBC Radio has some good programs: A'mire ri Moir is in Gaelic and is very traditional Celtic stuff, and A Kist o Wurds (might be spelled wrong) is Scottish traditional. Equally incredible is The Funk and Soul Show, which has an interview with the Aggrolites on this week's show. They can all be found here.

Anyways, "Fight Club." As I stated before, this is really a dark comedy, not an action movie. There is action, yes, but it is never the focus. The movie is really about the conflict and interactions of Edward Norton's nameless character and Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt). This is really Tyler's movie though- he is the catalyst through which crazy, terrible things happen. He is also an amazing character, equal parts philosophy, insanity, and suavity. Without giving anything away, he is everything that we would like to be. Brad Pitt does a good job as Tyler, which is nice to see because he has been in so many truly annoying roles. And Tyler is also what stays with us after the movie, making us wonder whether or not we could reject all of the trappings of society and become our own man. The basic plot summary is that Edward Norton, an insurance something-or-other, is in search for an escape from the stress that the corporate environment produces (Canibus reference there for all you "Office Space" fans). He meets Tyler on an airplane and ends up moving in with Tyler after someone firebombs his apartment. They then form a fight club, where guys come to beat each other up. However, Tyler sees the club as an option to stick it to the man and uses it to further his own private ambitions. It's an interesting notion, office workers as political terrorists, and one that makes for a good idea. But at this point the movie falls into extreme insanity, which makes it even harder to take things seriously. The farcical tone suits the movie, which would have been unbearably dark without it. Overall, this is a movie that needs to be seen twice, just to appreciate the complexities of the major plot twist and to revel in the trippiness.

Have fun kids, enjoy summer in February!

Second Wave Wars

2007-02-11T13:49:00.000-08:00

Once again, not much new to say. The main reason for today's post is an argument I got into with some friends the other day about second wave ska. One thought that the English Beat was better than the specials, citing "I Just Can't Stop It" as a superior album to "Specials." I am a Specials man myself, and argued a bit, but for one reason or another no resolution was made. So here is the case for the Specials: they have a style that is more punk, lower-fi and gritty. Now, I love the English Beat, don't get me wrong. I've seen them in concert and really do enjoy their work, especially the genius of Saxa. However, everything they do seems too pop-esque. Their songs follow similar patterns and seem a bit airbrushed. The drum beats are the same, the echoing effect is the same, and although I admire Saxa' s ability to work in a sax part to any song, some of them get a bit repetitive. It seems painfully eighties at times. They do great stuff- "Jackpot," "Rough Rider," and "Stand Down Margret" to name a few, but I admire the Specials style a lot more. There are different themes explored. They can be edgy ("Night Club"), mellow ("Message to You Rudy"), bitter ("Little Bitch"), and often all three ("Stupid Marriage"). They can also do much more. In my argument, I was faulted on the grounds that this is not variability but inconsistency. People said that "Stop It" had fewer skippable tracks than "Specials" and that Elvis Costello was a terrible producer. I didn't know that Costello produced "Specials," but it follows the same pattern as "Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash," namely some weird songs and some damn good ones, all with very poor production values. Honestly, though, it doesn't make a difference who produces it. The album is all about the music. As for skippable tracks, every album I know of has skippable tracks, even if it is incredible. For example, when I listen to "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," which is an incredible album in its own right, I often go straight to the title track. But the whole thing is great and listenable. Tracks get skipped because humans tend to chose a favorite track, or at least one they were in the mood for, and skip to it. I guarantee that if you made a mix tape of all of your favorite songs, you would still skip tracks depending on your mood.

Anyways, it all comes down to personal preference, as I just realized after that long and tedious rant. My case for the Specials lies in their attitude, which I love. The English Beat are pretty good, but I find them too poppy. I hope that some of the above nonsense was interesting to you. Listen to both albums- they really are great. But I still choose punk over pop.

I saw some movies at home that I had been meaning to see, and I'll just give a short review of both. "A Prairie Home Companion" was a bit of a letdown. I am a fan of the radio program and therefore felt obliged to see the movie, but there was just something weird about it. Drama has little or no place on the show, the back story made no sense, and the characters seemed confused. There was no Lake Wobegon monologue either. For shame. But the singing cowboys Dusty and Lefty were quite funny and the music was good. "Fight Club" was a trip and a half in the best possible sense. A true dark comedy, it is still messing with my head. I thought that the nameless Edward Norton character was well done, but Tyler Durden was the best. Crazed anti-societal maniacs are amazing. I would almost consider the movie to be a character study if it were not for the, hm, unique idea and twists. It would probably be even better on second viewing. Be sure not to expect a decent action film though- it really isn't.

I think that was reasonably short. Black Snake Moan next weekend.

In Which Things Are Said By Me

2007-02-05T11:26:00.000-08:00

I don't have much of a clear topic here, but I just felt like posting again. I think I'll offer opinions on Illmatic, followed by Halo and the need for a return of the classic spy film.

But first, global warming. Pretty scary stuff, eh? No stop to it and only the possibility of slowing things down. In my humble opinion, for the benefit of the few of you who read this, is that slowing it down is just as good as stopping it. Why? Slowing things down buys time, and time buys better technology. Although it sounds improbable, there may be hope that we could invent something- a compound, a device- that could reduce the levels of greenhouse gasses in the atmosphere. More realistically, we can develop technology to help us survive the new climate. So, slowing down! Here's what needs to happen- improve public transportation, phase out electricity plants that pump out carbon dioxide and things, replace said plants with greener energy sources, and slap heavy sanctions on people who drive polluting cars. If you live in Beverly Hills, work as a lawyer, and never set foot outside of a big city, do you really need an H3? I think not, even though you would probably be driving a BMW. Even though most of these changes, like the construction of new power sources, would release more greenhouse gasses, the plants must be constructed eventually, so the gasses will be released either way. Why not sooner? The truly frightening thing, though, is that people will probably ignore this and nothing will be done. Okay, social change session is now over.

Illmatic is as Illmatic says: Illmatic. Although the album is short (even the 2-disc anniversary edition is one hour), each song is excellent and well done. Although I haven't listened to it enough to absorb most of the lyrics, I can vouch for Nas' rhyming ability and style. He's a mellow rapper, sure, but at the same time he's hard. He doesn't try to shove his thug way of life down any one's throats, like NWA or 50, but it's there for sure. As I previously mentioned, Nas' beats and samples are great, far superior to anything else that is mainstream and just as good, if not better, than some of the more obscure artists like Ohmega Watts. I've been told that this is one of the definitive hip-hop albums of all time, and I agree.

I'm not about to make a habit of reviewing video games on here, as I don't really have time to play video games any more, but Halo 2 deserves a mention here. I had some free time the other day and decided to play through a few levels. My god, but that is an amazing game. I didn't play much of the original Halo, but what I did was pretty fun. Halo 2 is just as fun if not more so. Everyone has already heard about the specifications, the graphics, the story, and all that other stuff, so here's my bit on why it's so fun. The variation within each level, combined with the fast pace and visceral thrill of every weapon, make it incredible. For example, at one point I had to square off against about 12 heavily armored and well armed guys in an open area. It took me about ten tries to finally finish it, but even when I was getting my ass beat I was having the time of my life. The AI would throw something new at me every time, and there was a minimal period between death and being jacked right back in. If you can go up against something like that and still enjoy yourself, the game must be worth playing. So those of you who have a xbox and haven't played Halo in a while, go ahead and rediscover why you thought it was amazing.

I recently saw "Dr. No" and "From Russia With Love" again, and it got me to thinking about what makes spy films so great. And I got it- it's all about the style. You don't need crazed cold-war villains and devious ploys for world domination (although it helps) or lost of fancy gadgetry- Sean Connery uses only a pistol in "Dr. No" and the Saint didn't battle megalomaniac crazies with plans for doomsday. No, it's all in that style. The Spy must be suave and cool and generally nonplussed with the world. The movie must be made stylishly, with a minimum of fuss regarding plausibility and lots of superficial violence. The problem now is that spy movies are trying to go for the gritty feel of gangster flicks or war films. No, no, no- that is bad. Take the latest "Casino Royale"- if made in the 60's with Sean Connery, there would have been none of this heavy quality to the violence and the dark overtones. The soundtrack would have been happy and bright, and Bond would have been unflappable and bounced back from all of his exertions with a minimum of fuss. Take the scene in "From Russia" where Bond is about to be executed- if done now, it would have been unbearably dark and gritty. But in the 60's, it was no sweat. The good guy survives, gets the girl, and gets out. I'm running out of ideas, but as a recommendation go watch some episodes of "The Avengers" with Diana Rigg as Emma Peel! I can't tell you how important that last bit is. Anyways, it's a 60's spy TV show made in Britain. It's very good, and it's how more movies need to be now. That is all.

Ça plane pour moi!

2007-02-02T16:25:00.000-08:00

This post takes its name from the song by Plastic Bertrand, which I happen to be listening to right now. As our first order of business, I can recommend them with some degree of certainty to any fans of what is either mellow punk or folksy ska, depending on the song, who don't mind not being able to understand what is being said. Bertrand is a Belgian rocker who sings primarily in French and is very listenable, as opposed to other French pop bands like Ludwig Von 88 or Johnny Hallyday (I believe, but I could very well be mistaken). Ça plane pour moi! translates to This life's for me! which is exactly how anyone should feel on a glorious day such as today.

Also on a music note, I picked up Illmatic by Nas after hearing a friend's glowing recommendation. It is another really amazing album- the complexity of his samples and beats alone puts it way above much of what is being pumped out today. However, I haven't given it a solid listen-to yet, so I can't really say much more.

I have a food review again today- the Counter at Ocean Place and 29th (not 23rd. 29th). This burger joint is basically the illegitimate love child of In-N-Out and a damn good steakhouse like Boa. It is incredible. You walk into a crowded room, basically a hipper version of a diner, and grab a clipboard at the counter. On the clipboard is a sheet of paper with a list of all the possible permutations of hamburger fixings that could be imagined within tasteful bounds- enough to keep someone experimenting for a good long while at any rate. You then check off what you want for your burger and hand it over to the cashier, who gives it to a man whose job description seems to be "Guy Who Stands at Kitchen Window and Handles Hamburger Orders, Takeout." He then passes the order along to the kitchen, bags it deftly in the event of takeout (which I did), and passes it along. Then your mouth explodes with joy. Well, you have to open the package and grab the burger first, but mouth joy is certainly fast approaching. And the sight of that burger- I had trouble getting my mouth around it due to the height- sitting in the little box is one of perfection. I can recommend the Old School burger with bacon for any first timers, but part of the joy is in the experimentation. This is one tasty burger.

I also saw "Letters of Iwo Jima" recently. As I don't feel like writing a longer review, I'll make this a short one. The movie, as you all know, tells the story of the other side of Iwo Jima, the Japanese side. The movie follows Saigo (Kazunari Ninomiya), a lowly soldier conscripted into service who has serious doubts about the war, and General Kuribayashi (Ken Watanabe), the general assigned to the defense of the island. It's a typical WWII story, charting the friendships and hardships that the soldiers endure up to the inevitable fall of the island, yet there is more focus on the drama than the warfare. The combat is graphic, but it is more confused and frantic; we have a hard time what is going on and who is dying. But the purpose of the fighting here is to showcase the horrors of the war, not as a central story element like in "Private Ryan." The movie also strays into "Patton" territory in that it follows the troubles of the leader trying to do the best for his men while still winning and remaining loyal to his country (and please forgive me for comparing both of this year's WWII movies to "Ryan" and "Patton"- those are, in my opinion, two definitive war movies with messages that were applicable to both films). This one is similar to "Days of Glory" in that it gives voice to a party not yet heard from in the annals of history. However, "Iwo Jima" is only out to tell a story, not to attempt to right a wrong. The movie is filmed beautifully in a kind of gray, washed-out color that brings to mind old pictures and sets the period well. Ken Watanabe does a good job, as does Ninomiya, at revealing the inner battle between life with shame and death with honor. But the movie ends without much resolution and isn't particularly upbeat, but how could a slaughter like this be happy? It's a very good film, but less entertainment and more powerful.

As a last note, today both Ayn Rand and James Joyce were born, which I think is superb. They aren't exactly opposites, but both pursued very different paths. Little ironies like this are the spice of life, truly. And with that I bid you good night.

Smokin' Aces

2007-01-27T18:51:00.000-08:00

Well, this was certainly one action-packed mother of a movie, summed up best by the following scene: an inbred neo-Nazi psychotic assassin/hit man, wearing stolen and bloodied garments, apologizes to a man for shooting the fingers off his hand. "Sorry... you know how it is. Things get a little hectic in there." The freak is shortly shot dead. I don't worry about giving away plot details because there is no plot- only a series of amazingly violent and awesome action sequences. The premise is that the mafia wants one Buddy "Aces" Israel (coke fiend, magician, former mafia climber, soon to be FBI informant) dead. The word gets out that there will be a million dollar bounty, and the hunt to kill this man begins. The cast of crazies includes two ghetto assassins (presumed lesbians, never confirmed), one creepy professional with a penchant for torture, one disguise-wearing freak, a trio of psychotic neo-Nazis, and a mysterious "Swede," the only one of the group to be sanctioned by the mafia leader. There are also two ex-cops and a bail bondsman, whose involvement with Buddy is never describe, and a pair of FBI agents, seemingly the only ones interested in keeping this man alive. As could be predicted, all of these whackjobs converge on Buddy's apartment. Chaos ensues. People die, as does the plot. There are some attempts at emotion and a plot twist that's subtle like a derailed freight train, but mostly the movie leaves us to guess who will die when and how.

That said, the action is very stylish. The Tarentino comparisons are inevitable, but I thought that the action was a lot more stylized than Quentin's more gritty style. I wouldn't call it completely cartoonish, which for me would describe "Kung Fu Hustle" or "Vice City" (movies that I have not seen, so can only hypothesize about), but some- actually most- of the characters are very cartoonish, especially those neo-Nazis. I read in an article that the directors consulted with some ex-military folks and asked them for the worst possible tactical situation they could think of. The penthouse lobby scene is based on that scenario. I won't describe these scenes to you; instead of plot details, the action details are what drive the movie.

The characters are sort of interesting, but unfortunately are terribly underdeveloped. Back stories, dialogue, and all of the other things that make characters more than mindless entities that pull triggers and swear a lot are missing here. We are left to judge purely upon which killer has the coolest image, and then root for him/her. There are no Jules Winnfields or Vincent Vegas here. None of the characters are even as detailed as Mr. Brown from "Reservoir Dogs." The problem is that the director, Joe Carnahan, doesn't know whether to go for out-and-out violence or comedy. There are moments, like one with an alcoholic lawyer that has only passing relation to the story at hand, that are hilarious. But Carnahan can't maintain and balance. Notice how I used no actor names- the characters mean nothing. And that is the biggest disappointment- they could have been so incredible.

This is one of those movies with a great premise that didn't really deliver. What could have been amazing was only alright. Luckily, I went realizing that it would only be mindless action and was entertained. Be forewarned, potential viewers. If you seek cathartic action, go for it. If you expect anything other than camp, or are interested in the idea of hit men fighting over a contract, prepare to be disappointed.

I apologize for the length and any repetitiveness that may be encountered. I'm going to try and put in a few thoughts about this incredible rain we are having tomorrow. Until then, signing off.

Oscar Picks

2007-01-25T17:17:00.000-08:00

This has been a great year for movies, so it stands to reason that there would be an exceptionally strong showing at the Oscars. Here are my picks and (hopefully) predictions of who will be receiving a highly coveted eighteen inch tall golden man this year. As a side note, are the statues all of this Oscar? Is he of any relation to that misanthropic innercity trashcan dweller we all know and love?

Best Picture: I would dearly like to see either "Little Miss Sunshine" or "The Departed" take this one, and would favor the Departed if I had to choose between the two. "Sunshine" showed Hollywood what an independent film could do and was quite funny, and it would warm my heart to see such a film take home the award. However, the sheer dramatic scope of "the Departed" and the extraordinary acting would probably lend itself more to the Academy's way of thinking. Besides, it would be nice to see a movie with so little moral fiber win. The message behind "the Departed" was not to be a rat, or you'll get your ass hunted down by the hardest-core cop on the force (and I sincerely hope I didn't give anything away here). Also, it was incredible storytelling, which deserves recognition. But Oscar-bait "Babel" may appeal to the voter's mindset, as "Crash" did last year, with its heavy-handed morals (didn't see it, didn't want to). Come on guys, ruthless violence and a great story make the better movie.

Best Actor: I can say without a doubt that Forest Whittaker will take this one. Why? Because he was Idi Amin in "The Last King of Scotland." He didn't act, he channeled. It was the most amazing performance I have seen in many a movie, and he fully deserves the award. Notably missing from the lineup was Sacha Baron Cohen, who would have lost, but nonetheless should have been here. I guess the Academy's sense of humor is not quite up with the times. Pity.

Best Actress: I haven't seen any of the films nominated, so I cannot make a definite prediction. Judi Dench is usually incredible and everyone loved "The Queen," but I have heard many good things about Penelope (can't add the accent) Cruz in "Volver," which sounded like a pretty good thing.

Best Director: SCORSESE, dammit! Give him an award! His work has been incredible! The directing in "the Departed" was amazing! Give him the bleeding award already! Seriously though, he really does deserve the award for the masterful way the handled "the Departed." Hopefully "United 93" and "Babel" won't beat him out, but based on history and this year's globes I'd say it's Scorsese time.

Best Supporting Actor: I may be starting to sound like a freak, but Mark Wahlberg was just so great in "the Departed" that he could have a decent shot. But thinking about it, Alan Arkin has a very good chance- the grandfather was one of the best characters in "Sunshine" and might just get him the award. Again, it's a question of humor vs. drama. I'd give Arkin the edge, though. Eddie Murphy's job in "Dreamgirls" was very well regarded though, so this category is a bit more up in the air.

Best Supporting Actress: Although it is great to see Abigail Breslin nominated, I don't honestly think her performance is strong enough to get the Oscar. It's not like I didn't like the role- I loved "Sunshine"- but it seems like she was playing herself. And she's a bit young, which may influence the Academy. I've heard good things about Rinko Kikuchi and Jennifer Hudson, so this category is even more up in the air. No clear call.

Everything Else: For best foreign film, "Lives of Others" looked good, but "Days of Glory" was amazing. I'd pick that one, and I think I outlined my reasons in a previous post. I never read the P.D. James novel that "Children of Man" was based on, so I can't tell how good an adaptation that was, but it may win best adapted screenplay; if not, I would love to see "Borat" get an award. Best original screenplay, without a doubt, is "Sunshine." Cinematograpy would probably go to "Children," but "Pan's Labrynth" may give this one a run for the money.

Anyways, that's about all I'm good for. Unrelated, I was feeling pissed off about screwing up an interview when iTunes spewed "Keasby Nights" out at me, followed later by "Sweet and Dandy." I don't care what people say, there is some karmic force in this world. Everything is eventually for the best. I think. Peace out kids.

Deep Thoughts

2007-01-24T17:06:00.000-08:00

Sorry, my faithful few readers, but there just hasn't been much to post about lately. I saw "Night at the Museum," which needed more Ricky Gervais, but had some amusing monkey jokes (monkeys are comedic gold).

Other than that, just a few deep thoughts from the heart, namely to thank last week's cold snap for occurring. Even though there wasn't much rain, what little we received was amazingly welcome. Keep it coming- January should feel like January, not May.

Deserving recognition is Darby Connely, for one of the best series of strips he has done in a while, particularly the cell phone escapade and the shoe conversation. Priceless.

Still working on How to be Idle, but I did manage to read one of the good Dr. Thompson's early works, "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved," purportedly his first gonzo piece. And it is good- he meets Ralph Steadman to cover the Derby, which results in plenty of old fashioned Thompson mayhem. No crazed experiences with any dangerous drugs, but it still reads as well as Fear and Loathing. Best line- "Yeah... well, okay... Let's just figure we fucked up about equally on that one... but from now on let's try to be careful when we're around people I know. You won't sketch them and I won't Mace them. We'll just try to relax and get drunk."
On to Oscar picks! I'll split this post up and add them tomorrow, partly because I'm tired of writing and partly because I need to give it some thought. Signing off.

The Future is Bleak

2007-01-13T23:13:00.001-08:00

Such is the message in Alfonso Cuaron's (can't figure out how to to the accent) latest, "Children of Men," a tale about an infertility crisis in the future. I haven't read the novel that it was based on, so I'm not sure how much P.D. James borrowed from Orwell. The 1984 parallels are there, though: society is falling apart, the story is centered in Great Britain, apparently one of the last outposts of civilization, and the government is cracking down on it's citizens. But instead of focusing on the absolute control of the government, the movie deals with this infertility crisis and the chaos that it wreaks. I got to the movie just as the title flashed for the first time and may have missed some of the back story, but here goes the plot: Theo (Clive Owen), an ex-revolutionary or activist of some type, now office drone, is enlisted by a former spouse or girlfriend Julian (gave me a start when I heard it) to transport a refugee out of Britain to the so called Human Project, some kind of safe haven for mankind. Trick is, nobody knows where the Human Project is located- they send a boat to pick you up- and the girl is pregnant. There is some more plot about the radical political group that Julian belongs and about Theo's son, now dead, but the movie soon boils down to Theo and the girl, one Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey) fleeing this political group to get to the boat.

Cuaron's style of directing is wonderful, to say the least. I love the energy of his scenes, which simply cut away if nothing important is going on, his injections of humor at opportune moments to lighten the mood, and the random quality of his violence. True, there is a fair deal of action, but it's all very detached, nothing like, say, "Saving Private Ryan." The combat scenes are pretty in-your-face, but at the same time feel a bit like a documentary. Cuaron's evocation of mood is also great- the London skies are perpetually grey and filled with industrial smoke, the streets suitably decrepit, and even the countryside filled with a sense of danger. For example, when Theo takes a train to see his aged hippie friend Jasper (Michael Cane), the train is suitably scuzzed, looking like a slightly more futuristic Metro bus. And then a mob outside the train starts throwing rocks, which bounce off a metal grate that covers the windows, probably for this very purpose. The mood is complete: this was once a great civilization, now in its death throes, still trying to keep it together.

The greatest characters are Michael Cane as Theo's wilderness hippie friend, who spends most of his time smoking ganja in the woods, and Syd, the cheerfully vicious and corrupt police officer, who plays a very minor role but none the less is great. The actress that plays Kee, Claire-Hope Ashitey, is also really incredible. Her raw spirit fuels her character through the amazing quest and brings a touch of hope to the screen. Surprisingly weak was Clive Owen's performance as Theo. I know that the character is supposed to be a bit jaded and withdrawn, but he just seems like a vehicle for the rest of the movie, a reference frame that the camera can follow while telling a larger story. On the other hand, the movie is not one for a very emotional performance, and Owen's acting compliments the story at hand very well. I guess I was expecting more of a Harrison Ford type character based on the role he had to play.

Overall, this is a movie that one probably should see sometime, but be warned that it is a downer. People die, especially those who are not supposed to, to further this cause for hope. The movie redeems itself in the end, but its moral of the importance of youth in society is very draining on the audience. Infertility is hardly a danger right now, but the thought of a world without youth is just as frightening, if not more so, than global warming.

In The Old Time

2007-01-11T17:23:00.000-08:00

I was searching for a common thread to connect the two topics of today's post and was forced to come up with this sort of obvious "they are both about things in the past." The post has no relation to Gogol Bordello's "Not A Crime" other than to inspire the title and win a brief mention of it's awesomeness. Anyways, we have reviews of Bill Bryson's latest book, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, and Zhang Yimou's "Curse of the Golden Flower."

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid

Bill Bryson is a very funny man gifted with a writing voice that can warm any subject matter and make it instantly compelling, as the geology chapters of A Short History of Nearly Everything proved. But he is at his best when he is recounting stories from his childhood or on a adventure. His two best books, A Walk in the Woods and In a Sunburned Country include both elements. After Country, though, readers were at a loss for this quintessential Bryson. History was good, but what we all needed was more of the absolutely hilarious anecdotes about growing up in middle America in the '50's. This book is just that- observations about his childhood and America in the post-war years. And what a book it is- the long drought of Bryson is over. Jumping nimbly from facts about most facets of American life to his own childish escapades, he paints a glorious picture of a simpler time, when smoking was healthy and TV was amazingly novel. And best of all, Stephen Katz makes a reappearance. Rejoice, all ye faithful, for a new era of Bryson has arrived, and lo it is great.

"Curse of the Golden Flower"

There are some really amazing sequences in "Curse," most of which follow the actions of a small army of ninjas. Yes, army of ninjas. The ninjas raid a town, murder what could be called political opponents, battle the Chinese equivalent of an army of samurai, and engage in other assorted acts of badass-itude. Unfortunately, these scenes probably take up 20-25 minutes of film, tops. The rest of Zhang Yimou's latest contribution to the movie world is half court drama and half, well, people fighting about the court drama. The story revolves around the emperor of China, or maybe a Chinese province, and his family. Apparently the empress is sleeping with the oldest son, which is okay because he is the son of the emperor by another wife. The oldest son is sleeping with the daughter of the court physician. The second oldest son is returning from some sort of military conquest abroad for a festival. Ant the youngest son is just a creepy little bastard. Is all that clear? Good, because it eventually gets a whole lot more complicated when all the members of the court start plotting against each other. There's a whole bit about poison, as well as three different armies battling outside the castle. And the interior sets are a trip, only a few steps removed from that terrible waste of screen time, "Moulin Rouge."

All ranting aside, the movie has a very strong cast performance. Chow Yun-Fat is incredible as the aging yet scheming emperor, and Gong Li does a great Lady Macbeth-type empress. The child actors are good, but not amazingly so, especially in the case of the youngest prince. The action scenes are well done, especially the smaller ones where we can actually see what is going on. It's a well done movie, but I prefer Zhang Yimou other work better, like "Hero" and even "House of Flying Daggers," which was pretty hard to follow. This one is equal parts Oedipus Rex, Macbeth, and classic Chinese martial-arts.

Yep... that one was a bit long. I'll try to keep these to one long topic or a few short ones.