I went in thinking it would be awful. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it'd be. That being said, it wasn't great. Then again, I don't really give a shit about the Terminator series. If I did, I'd say something like, "This was as much a Batman movie as a Terminator movie, and if it were in the other franchise, I'd be ranting right now."
Whatever.
I saw The Hangover again and was happier for it.
*******************************************************************
Sorry for my low output recently. I'm not working three jobs that total about 70 hours a week. This leaves little time for blogging.
That being said, with the Royals blowing ass, this blog should get more attention than my Royals blog.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Rediscovering the Past: Once Upon a Time In Kenny Rogers Career
Just a taste, because you need it.
Not that this whole clip isn't gold, but the best part starts at the 3:00 mark and goes on into the next clip.
I would elaborate more on the experience that Six Pack is, but that should be one that you have yourself.
I will say that seeing Six Pack spawned one of the most embarrassingly (or awesomely, depending on your frame of mind) raunchy extended conversations that I've ever had in my life. I will go no further than to say that one of Mr. Rogers' past transgressions was the subject of much disturbing conversation.
Regardless, you just got Six Packed. You're welcome.
Not that this whole clip isn't gold, but the best part starts at the 3:00 mark and goes on into the next clip.
I would elaborate more on the experience that Six Pack is, but that should be one that you have yourself.
I will say that seeing Six Pack spawned one of the most embarrassingly (or awesomely, depending on your frame of mind) raunchy extended conversations that I've ever had in my life. I will go no further than to say that one of Mr. Rogers' past transgressions was the subject of much disturbing conversation.
Regardless, you just got Six Packed. You're welcome.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Man on Film: The Hangover
I was pretty damned excited to see this--so much so that I hit up an opening day matinee.
Despite having seen so much footage before the movie's release that I found myself sitting in the theater waiting for segments that were in one of the myriad trailers/teaser/TV spots, The Hangover was insanely good. There should also be an emphasis on the word 'insanely' in the previous sentence.
The Hangover is an raucous comic mystery with an anarchic spirit that pushes this film into realms not often explored in mainstream cinema. If you are wondering what I'm talking about, stick around for the slide show at the end of the film.
Since Todd Phillips directed Old School and Road Trip (and oddly, the G.G. Allin rockumentary Hated, which actually makes a little more sense than the other two which are fairly milquetoast in comparison to The Hangover), there are obviously going to comparisons to those films.
For instance, one reviewer (someone at The Onion A.V. Club) complained that "[Bradley] Cooper is all Vince Vaughn smarm with no Vince Vaughn vulnerability" and says that like it is a bad thing. Perhaps the biggest problem with Old School is the scene in which Vaughn's character is in the bedroom with the co-ed and tells her that he's married. It seems completely out of character for the guy who seems to be pushing for them to do every depraved thing and adds a morality to the character that is completely forced. In The Hangover, Bradley Cooper is playing that archetype but to an unapologetically dickish end to great effect.
But I digress. Ed Helms is great as the henpecked pseudo-husband/dentist who inevitably cuts loose the most when the inhibitions are lowered. Justin Bartha, of National Treasure sidekick fame, is good in a limited role as the misplaced groom. In smaller roles, Ken Jeong, Heather Graham, Jeffrey Tambor, Mike Epps, and Mike Tyson are all great.
The star of the film, however, is the scene-stealing Zach Galifianakis, whose Alan is completely unhinged. Alan's insanity and the unpredictability of his actions take this film to a level that would not have been reached otherwise. Without Galifianakis, the film would probably not work very well. As is also prevalent in his stand-up routine, Galifianakis (who was recently profiled in the New York Times Magazine) brings an unnerving energy to the role. As the events of the night past become illuminated, more often than not the impetus for the most insane acts carried out by the bachelor party was from the mind of the warped Alan.
What is maybe most refreshing about the film is that there isn't a lot of time wasted trying to embue each character with a heart of gold. Cooper's Phil steals from his students and hates his life. Galifianakis's Alan is the embodiment of unhinged anarchy. Even the most sympathetic character, Helms's Stu is often a dick to the aloof social retard (that word being perhaps the funniest little throw-away line of the movie) Alan.
Sure, a fair chunk of the plunk can be divined from the trailers, but I would say that is mostly irrelevant. Galifianakis's presence cannot be properly shown in a trailer. The movie, which is solid through and through, really should be seen. Probably more than once. I know I intend to see it again.
Despite having seen so much footage before the movie's release that I found myself sitting in the theater waiting for segments that were in one of the myriad trailers/teaser/TV spots, The Hangover was insanely good. There should also be an emphasis on the word 'insanely' in the previous sentence.
The Hangover is an raucous comic mystery with an anarchic spirit that pushes this film into realms not often explored in mainstream cinema. If you are wondering what I'm talking about, stick around for the slide show at the end of the film.
Since Todd Phillips directed Old School and Road Trip (and oddly, the G.G. Allin rockumentary Hated, which actually makes a little more sense than the other two which are fairly milquetoast in comparison to The Hangover), there are obviously going to comparisons to those films.
For instance, one reviewer (someone at The Onion A.V. Club) complained that "[Bradley] Cooper is all Vince Vaughn smarm with no Vince Vaughn vulnerability" and says that like it is a bad thing. Perhaps the biggest problem with Old School is the scene in which Vaughn's character is in the bedroom with the co-ed and tells her that he's married. It seems completely out of character for the guy who seems to be pushing for them to do every depraved thing and adds a morality to the character that is completely forced. In The Hangover, Bradley Cooper is playing that archetype but to an unapologetically dickish end to great effect.
But I digress. Ed Helms is great as the henpecked pseudo-husband/dentist who inevitably cuts loose the most when the inhibitions are lowered. Justin Bartha, of National Treasure sidekick fame, is good in a limited role as the misplaced groom. In smaller roles, Ken Jeong, Heather Graham, Jeffrey Tambor, Mike Epps, and Mike Tyson are all great.
The star of the film, however, is the scene-stealing Zach Galifianakis, whose Alan is completely unhinged. Alan's insanity and the unpredictability of his actions take this film to a level that would not have been reached otherwise. Without Galifianakis, the film would probably not work very well. As is also prevalent in his stand-up routine, Galifianakis (who was recently profiled in the New York Times Magazine) brings an unnerving energy to the role. As the events of the night past become illuminated, more often than not the impetus for the most insane acts carried out by the bachelor party was from the mind of the warped Alan.
What is maybe most refreshing about the film is that there isn't a lot of time wasted trying to embue each character with a heart of gold. Cooper's Phil steals from his students and hates his life. Galifianakis's Alan is the embodiment of unhinged anarchy. Even the most sympathetic character, Helms's Stu is often a dick to the aloof social retard (that word being perhaps the funniest little throw-away line of the movie) Alan.
Sure, a fair chunk of the plunk can be divined from the trailers, but I would say that is mostly irrelevant. Galifianakis's presence cannot be properly shown in a trailer. The movie, which is solid through and through, really should be seen. Probably more than once. I know I intend to see it again.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Diversions: Trees Across Long Island Put on Notice
Thanks to Chad for the head's up on this one:
The National Arbor Day Foundation has put its best men and women out in the field in mobile units in preparation for the aftermath that is sure to follow this.
Billy Joel is atop their list of most prolific tree killers, ranking just above the industries clearing out the rainforests and the lumber industry of the Pacific Northwest. I suppose there is more sport to what Joel does, as he needs no tools other than his automobile.
The National Arbor Day Foundation has put its best men and women out in the field in mobile units in preparation for the aftermath that is sure to follow this.
Billy Joel is atop their list of most prolific tree killers, ranking just above the industries clearing out the rainforests and the lumber industry of the Pacific Northwest. I suppose there is more sport to what Joel does, as he needs no tools other than his automobile.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Man on Film: Drag Me To Hell
Maybe having lucked into the VIP treatment at the Alamo Ritz when I saw this affected my judgment, but Drag Me To Hell was pretty goddamn fun.
While Sam Raimi has done mostly well by himself in the time that has passed since he trafficked in B-movie fare, Drag Me To Hell is a welcome return to form. Sure, he has done the Spider-Man movies and the truly outstanding A Simple Plan, but I think any Raimi fan has at the very least secretly been yearning for him to go back to his bread and butter--horror. As awesome as Spider-Man 2 was, though, I don't know anyone who wouldn't throw in one of the three Evil Dead movies four out of five times if given the choice between them.
In Drag Me To Hell, Raimi has essentially made a "Tales from the Crypt" episode.
Well, maybe I should qualify that statement. Say you were my age (somewhere in the vicinity of 30) and remembered seeing some fairly entertaining episodes of "Tales from the Crypt" back in the early '90's. Then you never saw another. Ever. So the memory of "Tales from the Crypt" being sort of all right is still in the back of your head. Then make something in that mold only have it be really good. And get rid of that horribly unfunny, pun-spewing Crypt Keeper.
Now, anyone who has seen an episode of the aforementioned TV series in this millenium knows that it totally sucks, but that is beside the point. Drag Me To Hell is a really awesome. There are all of the gross-out moments you could want. The timing is spot on. If you don't dislike Justin Long (I know, I don't really get how anyone can have any feelings about him that move past indifference on the negativity meter, but I know a guy who hates Justin Long--and Rian Johnson movies), then you probably don't have any casting issues with the film, as Alison Lohman is great. The humor, while not of Army of Darkness proportions, is there in full force.
Past all that, I don't want to get into plot points or anything of that sort. After all, this is a horror movie, and its effectiveness relies heavily on the element of surprise.
It worked for me on pretty much every level.
Then again, I was not watching it with the common people.
While Sam Raimi has done mostly well by himself in the time that has passed since he trafficked in B-movie fare, Drag Me To Hell is a welcome return to form. Sure, he has done the Spider-Man movies and the truly outstanding A Simple Plan, but I think any Raimi fan has at the very least secretly been yearning for him to go back to his bread and butter--horror. As awesome as Spider-Man 2 was, though, I don't know anyone who wouldn't throw in one of the three Evil Dead movies four out of five times if given the choice between them.
In Drag Me To Hell, Raimi has essentially made a "Tales from the Crypt" episode.
Well, maybe I should qualify that statement. Say you were my age (somewhere in the vicinity of 30) and remembered seeing some fairly entertaining episodes of "Tales from the Crypt" back in the early '90's. Then you never saw another. Ever. So the memory of "Tales from the Crypt" being sort of all right is still in the back of your head. Then make something in that mold only have it be really good. And get rid of that horribly unfunny, pun-spewing Crypt Keeper.
Now, anyone who has seen an episode of the aforementioned TV series in this millenium knows that it totally sucks, but that is beside the point. Drag Me To Hell is a really awesome. There are all of the gross-out moments you could want. The timing is spot on. If you don't dislike Justin Long (I know, I don't really get how anyone can have any feelings about him that move past indifference on the negativity meter, but I know a guy who hates Justin Long--and Rian Johnson movies), then you probably don't have any casting issues with the film, as Alison Lohman is great. The humor, while not of Army of Darkness proportions, is there in full force.
Past all that, I don't want to get into plot points or anything of that sort. After all, this is a horror movie, and its effectiveness relies heavily on the element of surprise.
It worked for me on pretty much every level.
Then again, I was not watching it with the common people.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Man on Film: The Brothers Bloom
As the Royals' season has tanked, I have found myself rediscovering the joys of reading and going to the gym. This has also kept me from the computer and, thusly, the internet.
What it hasn't done is gotten in the way of going to the movies.
Last week I saw three films in the theater, the first of which I'll write about tonight*.
*Tonight began as last night, but I fell asleep on the couch while trying to complete this entry. Pretty ridiculous, I know, but it happened.
Having heard a negative reaction to Rian Johnson's second film, my expectations were tempered. By the end of the prologue with its spot on Ricky Jay narration, writer/director Johnson had convinced me that my friend who shall remain unnamed was unequivocally wrong.
For those of you who may not know who Rian Johnson is, I'll bring you up to speed. His debut film, Brick, was a brilliant juxtaposition of a classic noir film in the setting of a present day California high school. Everything about the film could exist in the world that writers such as Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain, and Raymond Chandler helped create, except for the selection of setting. Sure, "Veronica Mars" had heavy elements of noir throughout the series, but at no point did it make the leap past having noir themes throughout. Brick was an enthralling breath of fresh air on the cinematic landscape. A film that showed a deep love for the language of a bygone film genre while contemporizing its setting. Not since Being John Malkovich had I been so impressed by so unique a voice.
The Brothers Bloom does for the grifter tale what Brick did for film noir. Just as in his first film, Rian Johnson has imbued The Brothers Bloom with a love for the language of the genre. Despite its placement in the present, TBB is every bit the classic tale of swindles, double-crosses, marks, and fast-talking con men.
Inherent in such a film is a lighter spirit than his prior effort, and this allows for the proper stage in which Mark Ruffalo may put his infectious enthusiasm on display. For the first time since You Can Count on Me, Ruffalo is given a film role in which his immense gift for comedy and his ability walk the line between affable and dangerous can once again be on full display. Where Adrien Brody's Bloom is the sympathetic lead (I hesitate to dub him either anti-hero or hero, as the character exists in the gray area in between), Ruffalo's Stephen is who we all really want to be. He is the mastermind. He is the magnetic force. He is what Ferris Bueller would have grown up to be if he had grown up fending for himself as a child.
As for the other cast, Rachel Weisz made me momentarily forget how mean she was to Paul Rudd. Rinko Kikuchi simultaneously embodied ambivalence and anarchic destruction with aplomb, stealing nearly every scene she was in while uttering nary a word (or maybe I'm fetishizing the Asian female, as we white males are wont to do).
Rather than go further into a reflection on the film, which worked on every level for me, personally, I'll go ahead and address the issues that my friend had with the film.
In short, he felt that the film was a shameless Wes Anderson rip off. For the first ten minutes or so, I attempted to find the basis for such an argument to be made. It took that long for me to dismiss the statement. Upon completion of viewing, it struck me as simply lazy. Such an argument would seem to suggest that Wes Anderson invented quirkiness. Past quirkiness, it seems to me the the films of Anderson operate from a world in which all those quirks arise from the source of stunted emotional growth. Nearly every central figure in Wes Anderson's films has been emotionally damaged and has troubles assimilating him or herself into society. Furthermore, the anachronism inherent in Anderson's works seems merely a function of his own predilection for inserting preciousness for the sake of amusement.
On both fronts, it would seem The Brothers Bloom does not fit. While each of the characters in the film may have issues, it does not feel at any point that their actions are driven by their social retardation. They are archetypes within the structure of the standard grifter flick. Sure, there have to be motives for the actions of characters, but it never feels like they are crippled by their pathos (aside from maybe Bloom at the end). As for the anachronism within, there is a tongue-in-cheek wink at many turns. What Rian Johnson so aptly achieves for a second time here is the marriage of an old-timey story with a contemporary setting. The anachronism here operates past the realm of decorative flair. Perhaps he is taking what Anderson does one step further, but there is an element of import that exists in the filmic sense that is largely lacking in Anderson's usage of anachronistic inserts.
All right, enough tangentially venting.
In short, I loved this film. I will fight you if you differ with my opinion. Or not.
Whatever.
Here's the trailer in HD, with admittedly shoddy music backing it.
What it hasn't done is gotten in the way of going to the movies.
Last week I saw three films in the theater, the first of which I'll write about tonight*.
*Tonight began as last night, but I fell asleep on the couch while trying to complete this entry. Pretty ridiculous, I know, but it happened.
Having heard a negative reaction to Rian Johnson's second film, my expectations were tempered. By the end of the prologue with its spot on Ricky Jay narration, writer/director Johnson had convinced me that my friend who shall remain unnamed was unequivocally wrong.
For those of you who may not know who Rian Johnson is, I'll bring you up to speed. His debut film, Brick, was a brilliant juxtaposition of a classic noir film in the setting of a present day California high school. Everything about the film could exist in the world that writers such as Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain, and Raymond Chandler helped create, except for the selection of setting. Sure, "Veronica Mars" had heavy elements of noir throughout the series, but at no point did it make the leap past having noir themes throughout. Brick was an enthralling breath of fresh air on the cinematic landscape. A film that showed a deep love for the language of a bygone film genre while contemporizing its setting. Not since Being John Malkovich had I been so impressed by so unique a voice.
The Brothers Bloom does for the grifter tale what Brick did for film noir. Just as in his first film, Rian Johnson has imbued The Brothers Bloom with a love for the language of the genre. Despite its placement in the present, TBB is every bit the classic tale of swindles, double-crosses, marks, and fast-talking con men.
Inherent in such a film is a lighter spirit than his prior effort, and this allows for the proper stage in which Mark Ruffalo may put his infectious enthusiasm on display. For the first time since You Can Count on Me, Ruffalo is given a film role in which his immense gift for comedy and his ability walk the line between affable and dangerous can once again be on full display. Where Adrien Brody's Bloom is the sympathetic lead (I hesitate to dub him either anti-hero or hero, as the character exists in the gray area in between), Ruffalo's Stephen is who we all really want to be. He is the mastermind. He is the magnetic force. He is what Ferris Bueller would have grown up to be if he had grown up fending for himself as a child.
As for the other cast, Rachel Weisz made me momentarily forget how mean she was to Paul Rudd. Rinko Kikuchi simultaneously embodied ambivalence and anarchic destruction with aplomb, stealing nearly every scene she was in while uttering nary a word (or maybe I'm fetishizing the Asian female, as we white males are wont to do).
Rather than go further into a reflection on the film, which worked on every level for me, personally, I'll go ahead and address the issues that my friend had with the film.
In short, he felt that the film was a shameless Wes Anderson rip off. For the first ten minutes or so, I attempted to find the basis for such an argument to be made. It took that long for me to dismiss the statement. Upon completion of viewing, it struck me as simply lazy. Such an argument would seem to suggest that Wes Anderson invented quirkiness. Past quirkiness, it seems to me the the films of Anderson operate from a world in which all those quirks arise from the source of stunted emotional growth. Nearly every central figure in Wes Anderson's films has been emotionally damaged and has troubles assimilating him or herself into society. Furthermore, the anachronism inherent in Anderson's works seems merely a function of his own predilection for inserting preciousness for the sake of amusement.
On both fronts, it would seem The Brothers Bloom does not fit. While each of the characters in the film may have issues, it does not feel at any point that their actions are driven by their social retardation. They are archetypes within the structure of the standard grifter flick. Sure, there have to be motives for the actions of characters, but it never feels like they are crippled by their pathos (aside from maybe Bloom at the end). As for the anachronism within, there is a tongue-in-cheek wink at many turns. What Rian Johnson so aptly achieves for a second time here is the marriage of an old-timey story with a contemporary setting. The anachronism here operates past the realm of decorative flair. Perhaps he is taking what Anderson does one step further, but there is an element of import that exists in the filmic sense that is largely lacking in Anderson's usage of anachronistic inserts.
All right, enough tangentially venting.
In short, I loved this film. I will fight you if you differ with my opinion. Or not.
Whatever.
Here's the trailer in HD, with admittedly shoddy music backing it.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Rediscovering the Past: Hiding Out Re-revisited
The most faithful of readers may recall that I have actually written about this film before. Oddly, I have had fleeting interactions with both Jon Cryer and Keith Coogan, who some of you may know is most definitely the most famous person to stumble across this little corner of the internet (his comment is pretty awesome).
Hiding Out was on again this morning, and I got to thinking more about the issue of statutory rape within the film. Now, maybe either of the aforementioned stars of the film would like to shed light on the issue, but this subject has clearly resonated with me.
If you need a refresher and did not want to go back to my previous Hiding Out entry, Cryer's character, Andrew Morenski goes on the run because he thinks the feds cannot protect him. He assumes the fake identity of Maxwell Houser and goes to school with his high school cousin, played by my favorite Keith (sorry, Keith David), Keith Coogan. While in high school, he falls for a girl, as every hero has to have a love interest.
The issue here is that Annabeth Gish's character is supposed to be a high school student. As such, the almost 30-year-old Andrew Morenski is pining over jail-bait.
My main question here is, were the filmmakers secretly making a propaganda piece advocating statutory rape, or were they making a case for statutory rape being created in an environment in which the two involved were socially equals (i.e. both high school students, at least within the narrative construct of the film)?
Discuss.
Hiding Out was on again this morning, and I got to thinking more about the issue of statutory rape within the film. Now, maybe either of the aforementioned stars of the film would like to shed light on the issue, but this subject has clearly resonated with me.
If you need a refresher and did not want to go back to my previous Hiding Out entry, Cryer's character, Andrew Morenski goes on the run because he thinks the feds cannot protect him. He assumes the fake identity of Maxwell Houser and goes to school with his high school cousin, played by my favorite Keith (sorry, Keith David), Keith Coogan. While in high school, he falls for a girl, as every hero has to have a love interest.
The issue here is that Annabeth Gish's character is supposed to be a high school student. As such, the almost 30-year-old Andrew Morenski is pining over jail-bait.
My main question here is, were the filmmakers secretly making a propaganda piece advocating statutory rape, or were they making a case for statutory rape being created in an environment in which the two involved were socially equals (i.e. both high school students, at least within the narrative construct of the film)?
Discuss.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Reading Rainbow: Falling Man by Don DeLillo
It has been months, it seems, since I last finished a book. While I don't necessarily have a lot to say on this one, I will briefly talk about it.
While probably not as good as White Noise or Underworld, DeLillo's 9/11 novel dives into the malaise that followed the attack. Told in a fractured way, the short sections within the chapters aptly reflect the lives that were broken.
The book focuses on husband and wife that living separately at the time of the attack, who were then thrown back together by the forces at work. Upon getting back together, both were largely withdrawn, Lianne craving an order and stability to her life (read: safety), and Keith wandering through the haze having been permanently detached by his survival of the attack of the first tower.
As Keith meanders through his new existence, first in New York and later in Las Vegas, Lianne tries to put together the puzzle that is her returned husband. All the while, their son, Justin, undertakes the habit of speaking monosyllabically and enlists his friends to watch the sky for "Bill Lawton". Needless to say, this family finds themselves struggling to put their lives back in order.
Perhaps the most affective passage in the book is its coda, "In the Hudson Corridor". The section begins with a terrorist sitting on the plane--having helped secure it for their purpose--awaiting his fate. The path of this terrorist towards this point had been outlined in previous stand alone chapters, and his involvement with the terrorists seemed to arise from chance as much as anything else. As the plane crashes into the tower, the point of view switches over to Keith and follows his escape from the tower. It is here that DeLillo's prose reaches its greatest height within Falling Man and approaches the standard set by Underworld.
While probably not as good as White Noise or Underworld, DeLillo's 9/11 novel dives into the malaise that followed the attack. Told in a fractured way, the short sections within the chapters aptly reflect the lives that were broken.
The book focuses on husband and wife that living separately at the time of the attack, who were then thrown back together by the forces at work. Upon getting back together, both were largely withdrawn, Lianne craving an order and stability to her life (read: safety), and Keith wandering through the haze having been permanently detached by his survival of the attack of the first tower.
As Keith meanders through his new existence, first in New York and later in Las Vegas, Lianne tries to put together the puzzle that is her returned husband. All the while, their son, Justin, undertakes the habit of speaking monosyllabically and enlists his friends to watch the sky for "Bill Lawton". Needless to say, this family finds themselves struggling to put their lives back in order.
Perhaps the most affective passage in the book is its coda, "In the Hudson Corridor". The section begins with a terrorist sitting on the plane--having helped secure it for their purpose--awaiting his fate. The path of this terrorist towards this point had been outlined in previous stand alone chapters, and his involvement with the terrorists seemed to arise from chance as much as anything else. As the plane crashes into the tower, the point of view switches over to Keith and follows his escape from the tower. It is here that DeLillo's prose reaches its greatest height within Falling Man and approaches the standard set by Underworld.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Diversions: The Villainy of Kobe Bryant
Last week, I put an opinion piece up on Bleacher Report* speaking to the dirtiness of Kobe Bryant. If you are interested, the article can be read here.
*About two weeks ago, I was approached by, Max Tcheyan, one of the Team Members at Bleacher Report, inquiring as to whether I'd be interested in having the content that I write for Royalscentricity essentially reprinted there. Syndication in this no-pay world that is the internet. From what I can tell, anyone can write an article at Bleacher Report, but I could be wrong. At the very least, the invite was a flattering one and does give me more exposure. After all, I'm all about raising my profile...
Now much of the reaction to the piece is expectantly from Lakers fans, who were predictably indignant when faced with the opinion of a non-fan calling into question (what can essentially be boiled down to) the class of their superstar. I get their reaction. It is not informed by objectivity in the least, but I understand a person bristling at the suggestion that someone else might suggest that the play of their favorite player might be anything less than wholesome.
Now, rather than beat the horse (I'll not call that horse dead quite yet) more, I'd like to look at the issue of the polarization that Kobe Bryant brings about in fans.
As I would count myself amongst his "haters", I cannot count myself as objective either, but I am not so interested making a case for his villainy. It isn't the case for or against him that interests me; it is what drives fans to feel the way they do.
First and foremost, it is hard to root for the spoiled rich kid. We all resent them. The lifestyle that Kobe lived as a child was that of the son of a professional basketball player in Europe. Sure, the money wasn't American pro basketball player money, but the actual financial status that was or was not present is irrelevant. The perception is that of child of professional athlete growing up in Europe, living the life of a jet-setter.
Where he may or may not have been spoiled as a child, he was certainly spoiled early by the success he enjoyed in his career, but that success was not without its own fodder for his detractors. The three rings adorning Kobe Bryant's fingers were earned while playing alongside Shaquille O'Neal, who at his peak was the most dominant force in basketball. With the inimitable Shaqtus at his side, it seemed the sky was the limit, but their egos began to clash, they went their separate ways, and Shaq won another ring with a younger, more selfless version of Kobe Bryant. Shaq's fourth ring further underscored a groundswell of skepticism as to Kobe's role in winning those rings. Obviously, he was integral to the success of those Lakers teams, but was he the most integral part of this team.
Closely associated with this issue is the fact that his success came so early that amongst many traditionalists, Kobe Bryant did not pay his dues. The other greats in league history needed to climb the mountain. Kobe, thanks to a crew of teammates who had been climbing that mountain, skipped a few steps. This, of course, leads to a degree of resentment from many. Perhaps were his role different on that team--if he were the workmanlike big man or the selfless point guard--the perception would be altered, but the high-flying shooting guard not especially known for making his teammates better* (at the point when he was winning his rings) is not an easy player to like.
*This was the knock on him in those first post-Shaq years.
This is especially true when said player is being crowned the next Michael Jordan.
And there is the linchpin to the whole situation, really.
A whippersnapper with three rings on his fingers who was at least arguably the second best player on his team is being considered the heir to Michael Jordan's legacy. Michael Jordan protectionists would not stand for that. I would venture to guess that somewhere around two-thirds of Michael Jordan fans loathe Kobe Bryant.
The three early rings worried the Devotees of the Original Number 23. The fact that the threat to The Legacy was not the undisputed leader of the team, or even the undisputed best player on the team--leadership be damned--was unpalatable to the Jordan fan. No one earned his rings more than Michael Jordan earned his six. As fear of more accumulated rings mounted amongst the Acolytes of Air Jordan, the ire focused towards Kobe Bryant grew. The fact that those three rings were won on teams with the force to be reckoned with that was Shaquille O'Neal meant that half of the work towards Jordan's mark was done while standing on the shoulders of a literal giant.
Where the other candidates for Greatest Player in the Game wear their fandom of Jordan on their sleeve (or in King James's case, on his jersey), Kobe went so far as to go one better than Jordan with the number 24.
As Shaq left to win a ring elsewhere, Kobe Bryant, whose reputation had already been tarnished by an allegation of rape while being married, began to pull primadonna move after primadonna move. He demanded to be traded. He publicly entertained committing career suicide by talking about a desire to play for the crosstown Clippers. He derided his lesser teammates. He got suspended multiple times for end of game cheap shots against players who would never dare strike back.
It took years for him to get back to where he had been, but the perception of threat was still there. Along the way, he carried himself like a petulant child. The class inherent in Jordan was seemingly absent in the one attempting to pass him by.
These things do not sit well with many fans. They certainly do not sit well with Jordan Protectionists.
And Kobe Bryant finds himself polarizing fans to a Barry Bondsian degree.
*About two weeks ago, I was approached by, Max Tcheyan, one of the Team Members at Bleacher Report, inquiring as to whether I'd be interested in having the content that I write for Royalscentricity essentially reprinted there. Syndication in this no-pay world that is the internet. From what I can tell, anyone can write an article at Bleacher Report, but I could be wrong. At the very least, the invite was a flattering one and does give me more exposure. After all, I'm all about raising my profile...
Now much of the reaction to the piece is expectantly from Lakers fans, who were predictably indignant when faced with the opinion of a non-fan calling into question (what can essentially be boiled down to) the class of their superstar. I get their reaction. It is not informed by objectivity in the least, but I understand a person bristling at the suggestion that someone else might suggest that the play of their favorite player might be anything less than wholesome.
Now, rather than beat the horse (I'll not call that horse dead quite yet) more, I'd like to look at the issue of the polarization that Kobe Bryant brings about in fans.
As I would count myself amongst his "haters", I cannot count myself as objective either, but I am not so interested making a case for his villainy. It isn't the case for or against him that interests me; it is what drives fans to feel the way they do.
First and foremost, it is hard to root for the spoiled rich kid. We all resent them. The lifestyle that Kobe lived as a child was that of the son of a professional basketball player in Europe. Sure, the money wasn't American pro basketball player money, but the actual financial status that was or was not present is irrelevant. The perception is that of child of professional athlete growing up in Europe, living the life of a jet-setter.
Where he may or may not have been spoiled as a child, he was certainly spoiled early by the success he enjoyed in his career, but that success was not without its own fodder for his detractors. The three rings adorning Kobe Bryant's fingers were earned while playing alongside Shaquille O'Neal, who at his peak was the most dominant force in basketball. With the inimitable Shaqtus at his side, it seemed the sky was the limit, but their egos began to clash, they went their separate ways, and Shaq won another ring with a younger, more selfless version of Kobe Bryant. Shaq's fourth ring further underscored a groundswell of skepticism as to Kobe's role in winning those rings. Obviously, he was integral to the success of those Lakers teams, but was he the most integral part of this team.
Closely associated with this issue is the fact that his success came so early that amongst many traditionalists, Kobe Bryant did not pay his dues. The other greats in league history needed to climb the mountain. Kobe, thanks to a crew of teammates who had been climbing that mountain, skipped a few steps. This, of course, leads to a degree of resentment from many. Perhaps were his role different on that team--if he were the workmanlike big man or the selfless point guard--the perception would be altered, but the high-flying shooting guard not especially known for making his teammates better* (at the point when he was winning his rings) is not an easy player to like.
*This was the knock on him in those first post-Shaq years.
This is especially true when said player is being crowned the next Michael Jordan.
And there is the linchpin to the whole situation, really.
A whippersnapper with three rings on his fingers who was at least arguably the second best player on his team is being considered the heir to Michael Jordan's legacy. Michael Jordan protectionists would not stand for that. I would venture to guess that somewhere around two-thirds of Michael Jordan fans loathe Kobe Bryant.
The three early rings worried the Devotees of the Original Number 23. The fact that the threat to The Legacy was not the undisputed leader of the team, or even the undisputed best player on the team--leadership be damned--was unpalatable to the Jordan fan. No one earned his rings more than Michael Jordan earned his six. As fear of more accumulated rings mounted amongst the Acolytes of Air Jordan, the ire focused towards Kobe Bryant grew. The fact that those three rings were won on teams with the force to be reckoned with that was Shaquille O'Neal meant that half of the work towards Jordan's mark was done while standing on the shoulders of a literal giant.
Where the other candidates for Greatest Player in the Game wear their fandom of Jordan on their sleeve (or in King James's case, on his jersey), Kobe went so far as to go one better than Jordan with the number 24.
As Shaq left to win a ring elsewhere, Kobe Bryant, whose reputation had already been tarnished by an allegation of rape while being married, began to pull primadonna move after primadonna move. He demanded to be traded. He publicly entertained committing career suicide by talking about a desire to play for the crosstown Clippers. He derided his lesser teammates. He got suspended multiple times for end of game cheap shots against players who would never dare strike back.
It took years for him to get back to where he had been, but the perception of threat was still there. Along the way, he carried himself like a petulant child. The class inherent in Jordan was seemingly absent in the one attempting to pass him by.
These things do not sit well with many fans. They certainly do not sit well with Jordan Protectionists.
And Kobe Bryant finds himself polarizing fans to a Barry Bondsian degree.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Man on Film: Star Trek
I did not go into this film without considerable trepidation.
Of the works on J.J. Abrams' résumé, there is not one with which I have not taken issue. His directorial debut, Mission: Impossible III, was not good to be kind. "Felicity"--the show that operated in a parallel universe in which everyone spoke in whispers--was not my cup of tea either. Where I truly take issue with the Abrams catalog is with "Alias" and "Lost".
In the case of "Alias", I absolutely loved the first season and a half of the series. There are few series that have reached the heights that "Alias" did pre-Super-Bowl-reboot. Then--and I should lay the onus mostly on the network, ABC, because the show's trajectory from that point on reeks of a meddlesome network messing around in the kitchen--ABC decided that Abrams & Co. needed to de-serialize "Alias" to make it more accessible to the average viewer (read: moron). From that point on, the show lost its way and ended up abandoning the elements that truly made it work: the attempts to balance a personal life with an extraordinary one, all the while needing to protect the ones you love because your involvement in their lives ultimately endangers them. By the end of the series' run, it was such a train wreck that the obligation to watch was one carried out with pain.
With "Lost", it became clear towards the end of the first season that they had embarked on a journey that they fully expected to have been ended prematurely by the network that was airing it. On a dinghy out at sea, they ironically found themselves out at sea, much like the castaways on the island, without a plan feeling things out. As aimlessness became more and more prevalent with the series, anger began to grow more and more inside. The predictable discordant music cues, the preposterous twists, the forced reveal of a crossed path here or there--all began to irritate. By the time a few episodes in the third season had aired, my ire was becoming so great that I had to stop watching, something even "Alias" at its most aggravating had not managed to do.
So, coming into this Star Trek, my primary concern was that Abrams had shown a history of having fleeting moments of brilliant ideas that were ultimately undermined by his inability to execute. As an actual fan of the Star Trek movie franchise and of "The Next Generation" and the first few seasons of "Deep Space Nine" (once that Maquis nonsense took over the show, this viewer jumped ship), his failure to successfully follow through left me more than skeptical heading into the film.
Well, J.J., you can mark one down in the win column in my book.
SPOILERS AHEAD, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
Sure, I could quibble with slight disagreements between Abrams' vision for elements of the film and my own regarding the Star Trek Universe, but by and large, the film succeeded in what it set out to do. It is an entertaining reboot of a franchise that enables itself to set out on a new path thanks to an alternate reality kicking off (unknowingly) at the onset. The narrative may not be exceptionally rich, but it does manage to escape the trap that so many origin films of late have fallen into: that of making it half way through the film and having your principle characters aptly introduced only to find yourself lacking anywhere to go with the film. Unlike Spider-Man or Iron Man, Star Trek integrates the introduction of characters into the structure of the narrative seamlessly.
Unlike with nearly every film I see, there were no faults at all in casting. Chris Pine plays young James Tiberius Kirk with exuberant recklessness that makes the casual fan forget who William Shatner (the actor, of course, no one can forget Has Been, which is totally awesome). As much as it pains me to say, Zachary Quinto is spot on as Spock. Karl Urban and Simon Pegg own Bones and Scotty. Cameos abound, the oddest one being Tyler Perry in an utter, "What the fuck" eye-rub/head shake/repeat eye-rub moment.
Each character gets a chance to throw in their signature phrases, much to the delight of the audience. A red-shirt gets on a mission away from the ship.
Most importantly, though, a good time is had. Maybe the editing errs slightly to the side of the Michael Bay School of Filmmaking, but it isn't as disjointed as Transformers (in which the action sequences were absolutely unintelligible). As an event film--and this moreso that any other Star Trek film is an event--Star Trek works on nearly every level, which is about all you can ask.
Of the works on J.J. Abrams' résumé, there is not one with which I have not taken issue. His directorial debut, Mission: Impossible III, was not good to be kind. "Felicity"--the show that operated in a parallel universe in which everyone spoke in whispers--was not my cup of tea either. Where I truly take issue with the Abrams catalog is with "Alias" and "Lost".
In the case of "Alias", I absolutely loved the first season and a half of the series. There are few series that have reached the heights that "Alias" did pre-Super-Bowl-reboot. Then--and I should lay the onus mostly on the network, ABC, because the show's trajectory from that point on reeks of a meddlesome network messing around in the kitchen--ABC decided that Abrams & Co. needed to de-serialize "Alias" to make it more accessible to the average viewer (read: moron). From that point on, the show lost its way and ended up abandoning the elements that truly made it work: the attempts to balance a personal life with an extraordinary one, all the while needing to protect the ones you love because your involvement in their lives ultimately endangers them. By the end of the series' run, it was such a train wreck that the obligation to watch was one carried out with pain.
With "Lost", it became clear towards the end of the first season that they had embarked on a journey that they fully expected to have been ended prematurely by the network that was airing it. On a dinghy out at sea, they ironically found themselves out at sea, much like the castaways on the island, without a plan feeling things out. As aimlessness became more and more prevalent with the series, anger began to grow more and more inside. The predictable discordant music cues, the preposterous twists, the forced reveal of a crossed path here or there--all began to irritate. By the time a few episodes in the third season had aired, my ire was becoming so great that I had to stop watching, something even "Alias" at its most aggravating had not managed to do.
So, coming into this Star Trek, my primary concern was that Abrams had shown a history of having fleeting moments of brilliant ideas that were ultimately undermined by his inability to execute. As an actual fan of the Star Trek movie franchise and of "The Next Generation" and the first few seasons of "Deep Space Nine" (once that Maquis nonsense took over the show, this viewer jumped ship), his failure to successfully follow through left me more than skeptical heading into the film.
Well, J.J., you can mark one down in the win column in my book.
SPOILERS AHEAD, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
Sure, I could quibble with slight disagreements between Abrams' vision for elements of the film and my own regarding the Star Trek Universe, but by and large, the film succeeded in what it set out to do. It is an entertaining reboot of a franchise that enables itself to set out on a new path thanks to an alternate reality kicking off (unknowingly) at the onset. The narrative may not be exceptionally rich, but it does manage to escape the trap that so many origin films of late have fallen into: that of making it half way through the film and having your principle characters aptly introduced only to find yourself lacking anywhere to go with the film. Unlike Spider-Man or Iron Man, Star Trek integrates the introduction of characters into the structure of the narrative seamlessly.
Unlike with nearly every film I see, there were no faults at all in casting. Chris Pine plays young James Tiberius Kirk with exuberant recklessness that makes the casual fan forget who William Shatner (the actor, of course, no one can forget Has Been, which is totally awesome). As much as it pains me to say, Zachary Quinto is spot on as Spock. Karl Urban and Simon Pegg own Bones and Scotty. Cameos abound, the oddest one being Tyler Perry in an utter, "What the fuck" eye-rub/head shake/repeat eye-rub moment.
Each character gets a chance to throw in their signature phrases, much to the delight of the audience. A red-shirt gets on a mission away from the ship.
Most importantly, though, a good time is had. Maybe the editing errs slightly to the side of the Michael Bay School of Filmmaking, but it isn't as disjointed as Transformers (in which the action sequences were absolutely unintelligible). As an event film--and this moreso that any other Star Trek film is an event--Star Trek works on nearly every level, which is about all you can ask.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Diversions: Charleston Chew
More than one of you loyal readers have suffered (in person) through my tall tales as to how supremely excellent a frozen Strawberry Charleston Chew truly is. As my memory bore out, the Strawberry Charleston Chew experience was one of mythically awesome proportions. The taste explosion that your tongue is treated to as your saliva succeeds in breaking down the Chew in its petrified state is one that dreams are made of.
Or so my mind wanted me to believe.
You see, the tragic nature of this story is that for years, the scarcity of the Strawberry Charleston Chew has led naturalists to wonder about its utter extinction. Sure, you can find the Chocolate and Vanilla varieties at every fourth corner store, but the Strawberry Charleston Chew is one of such rarity that for years I have been unable to locate them through countless perusals of candy racks by which I will be able to indoctrinate the naïve masses.
Well, children, line yer asses up at the Central Market on North Lamar because the old lady* blew my fucking mind tonight.
While watching the Royals epic come-from-behind win, Jack Attack told me that she had a surprise for me. Lo and behold, there was a pair of the previously presumed extinct Strawberry Charleston Chews sitting in the freezer, awaiting their fate.
And, you will be happy to know, it was fucking awesome.
Jackie, who does not like Charleston Chews because she has only had the lame Chocolate and Vanilla ones, wanted more upon having a taste of her gift, shocked at the realization that, much like the delicacy that is Taco John's Potato Oles, the Strawberry Charleston Chew has otherworldly gifts to bestow upon its devourer.
The Real World: Looking for a Benefactor
Dear Devoted Reader,
Having been struck with one of but a million brilliant thoughts, I have come to the conclusion that I need a benefactor.
Early on, it was clear that I would leave an impact on the world through writing. My inner greatness was destined to shine through, blinding the world with its import. Of this, I have always been sure. Unfortunately, life has gotten in the way.
You see, no matter the unimaginable literary genius that lies within this vessel, life has decided that there are bills that need to be paid and jobs that need to be worked. I think we can all agree that this is a tragedy of epic proportions.
The World is being denied my genius. Work (and a general fear of grant writing) is getting in the way.
So dear wealthy person looking for an avenue by which you can put your money to use, I hereby hijack the spotlight and shine it down on myself. You--yes, you--can be my Magwitch.
Let's just say that you are an escaped convict, washed ashore upon wriggling free from your shackles. I will serve as your Pip, bringing you food, booze, and a file. Or perhaps a more contemporary scenario plays out, and you would like my purely platonic company. I like hanging out. I like "Frasier". We can sit around watching "Frasier" in between the voluminous writing that I can undertake with your help.
In me, rich future friend, you will find a pretty great guy, and the author that is sure to transform the world as we know it through his writing.
My debt is by no means insane, but the leeway to allow for me to pursue my future unfettered (and I would never consider your kindly sponsorship as anything other than something for which to be grateful) seems especially pertinent in this time in which we sorely need a fresh new voice in the American literary scene.
Do not trample over one another. There is room in my heart for you all. Feel free to contact me via my email address on my blogger profile.
I look forward to your interest.
Sincerely,
Josh Duggan
Having been struck with one of but a million brilliant thoughts, I have come to the conclusion that I need a benefactor.
Early on, it was clear that I would leave an impact on the world through writing. My inner greatness was destined to shine through, blinding the world with its import. Of this, I have always been sure. Unfortunately, life has gotten in the way.
You see, no matter the unimaginable literary genius that lies within this vessel, life has decided that there are bills that need to be paid and jobs that need to be worked. I think we can all agree that this is a tragedy of epic proportions.
The World is being denied my genius. Work (and a general fear of grant writing) is getting in the way.
So dear wealthy person looking for an avenue by which you can put your money to use, I hereby hijack the spotlight and shine it down on myself. You--yes, you--can be my Magwitch.
Let's just say that you are an escaped convict, washed ashore upon wriggling free from your shackles. I will serve as your Pip, bringing you food, booze, and a file. Or perhaps a more contemporary scenario plays out, and you would like my purely platonic company. I like hanging out. I like "Frasier". We can sit around watching "Frasier" in between the voluminous writing that I can undertake with your help.
In me, rich future friend, you will find a pretty great guy, and the author that is sure to transform the world as we know it through his writing.
My debt is by no means insane, but the leeway to allow for me to pursue my future unfettered (and I would never consider your kindly sponsorship as anything other than something for which to be grateful) seems especially pertinent in this time in which we sorely need a fresh new voice in the American literary scene.
Do not trample over one another. There is room in my heart for you all. Feel free to contact me via my email address on my blogger profile.
I look forward to your interest.
Sincerely,
Josh Duggan
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Musicalia: Wilco Streaming Wilco (The Album)
Pitchfork and everyone's mother has linked to this. As was the case with Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Wilco is streaming their new album due out in June, titled Wilco (The Album). Its great cover is to the right.
Upon first listen, I have to say it was pretty good. I'll have more to say once I've listened to it 50 times--something that will surely happen.
I will say "You and I" sounds pretty great, but then I've got a soft spot for a certain Leslie Feist.
I guess this is all I need... I get a request to talk about more music from Ryan, and more albums keep coming out. Could someone stop time or fly around the earth against its rotational pull in order to reverse events and time? There's a shiny Andrew Jackson faux-gold (fauxold?) dollar coin in it for you. He's like an American Lion or something.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Musicalia: Bill Callahan Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle
Over the past three years or so, there has not been an album that I have listened to as much as A River Ain't Too Much To Love despite the fact that Bill Callahan has put out a record since last recording under the moniker of Smog. While Woke on a Whaleheart was not bad by any means, there was something about A River Ain't Too Much To Love that resonated with me on a basic level that the first proper Bill Callahan LP failed to do.
Well, River, I think you've been unseated. On his newest record, Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle, Bill Callahan has concocted a perfect blend of the darker themes of A River Ain't Too Much To Love and the lusher arrangements and richer production of Woke on a Whaleheart. This merging has meant that I have been virtually unable to listen to anything else when reaching for an album to throw on.
From the opener "Jim Cain"--a shortening of James M. Cain (whose work Double Indemnity I recently blogged about), who had always bristled at the label of a hard-boiled crime novelist and held a passion for being a singer that never worked out--to the closer "Faith/Void"--in which he suggests that "it's time to put God away"--Callahan takes us on a rambling ride through his world, one filled with horses, birds, and wind. Guiding the listener by hand is his voice, the irregular cadence of which allows it to act as an instrument different than most. Fleshing out the entire album are tasteful, unimposing strings arranged by Brian Beattie, and in songs like "All Thoughts Are Prey To Some Beasts" and "Eid Ma Clack Shaw" (I've checked and have yet to find out what the chorus means) the rhythm section adds a dimension of propulsion not entirely common in Callahan's work.
What I'm really saying, though, is that I love this new album. When I reach for a Smog/Bill Callahan release, this will be the first one I grab, and that's saying a lot.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Rediscovering the Past: Was I Retarded as a Child?
I know, I know. "What the fuck are you doing up right now?" I kind of fell asleep while writing my column, finished it, and then got around to posting a Royals entry and knew that I could bust out another about something that happened on Saturday night.
First, I will post this link that you should follow to watch the "Opening Gambit" at the very least. I say this if only to give you a true frame of reference for what I'm about to talk about.
I'll wait.
Go ahead.
All right, seen enough?
Now, as a child, I liked "MacGyver". I wouldn't say I wanted to model my life after him or anything, but I'm sure I thought the show was pretty damn cool.
Boy, was I fucking wrong in retrospect. To watch the show, you would think it was produced for Christian television if judging it by its production value. This episode in particular (Trumbo's World) features preposterous POV-through-binoculars-and-camera of carnivorous ants devouring everything in sight in the Amazon basin. The "close-ups" that the binocs and camera afford the characters in the show are patently ridiculous. To get an appreciation for exactly how dumb this is you will have to watch further into that episode, which is actually worth it.
In addition to how ridiculous the production of this show is (oh, there's also a horrible and seemingly unnecessary rear-projection sequence on a small motorboat that suddenly changes to being on a stream), there's the acting. This episode is bogged down by "Babylon 5" alum Peter Jurasik and whoever the actor that plays Trumbo is. And that's obviously already including Richard Dean Anderson, who at this point in his career decided he was going to channel John Wayne with brain damage.
I watched this whole episode Saturday night, as Chad, Mark, and I explored the Roku player. We also watched a special live episode of "Gimme a Break" (which no doubt inspired "Roc Live") and one of the Chaz episodes of "Charles in Charge" in a fit of group masochism that has seen no equal in the history of man. Trust me, this is not something you want to do. And while both of those shows were expectantly awful, it was the shock that set in upon finishing "MacGyver" that stays with me the most.
The most shocking thing about having seen this show is that this was the sixth episode, and it is unfathomable that they continued airing this series after this abysmal episode. Keep in mind, this was airing at the same time as "Moonlighting". Hell, "The Rockford Files" was off the air, what, six years earlier, and in its first season it looked better than that. There should have been no excuses for a show resorting to such archaic production value. The whole time, I kept waiting for a star wipe.
First, I will post this link that you should follow to watch the "Opening Gambit" at the very least. I say this if only to give you a true frame of reference for what I'm about to talk about.
I'll wait.
Go ahead.
All right, seen enough?
Now, as a child, I liked "MacGyver". I wouldn't say I wanted to model my life after him or anything, but I'm sure I thought the show was pretty damn cool.
Boy, was I fucking wrong in retrospect. To watch the show, you would think it was produced for Christian television if judging it by its production value. This episode in particular (Trumbo's World) features preposterous POV-through-binoculars-and-camera of carnivorous ants devouring everything in sight in the Amazon basin. The "close-ups" that the binocs and camera afford the characters in the show are patently ridiculous. To get an appreciation for exactly how dumb this is you will have to watch further into that episode, which is actually worth it.
In addition to how ridiculous the production of this show is (oh, there's also a horrible and seemingly unnecessary rear-projection sequence on a small motorboat that suddenly changes to being on a stream), there's the acting. This episode is bogged down by "Babylon 5" alum Peter Jurasik and whoever the actor that plays Trumbo is. And that's obviously already including Richard Dean Anderson, who at this point in his career decided he was going to channel John Wayne with brain damage.
I watched this whole episode Saturday night, as Chad, Mark, and I explored the Roku player. We also watched a special live episode of "Gimme a Break" (which no doubt inspired "Roc Live") and one of the Chaz episodes of "Charles in Charge" in a fit of group masochism that has seen no equal in the history of man. Trust me, this is not something you want to do. And while both of those shows were expectantly awful, it was the shock that set in upon finishing "MacGyver" that stays with me the most.
The most shocking thing about having seen this show is that this was the sixth episode, and it is unfathomable that they continued airing this series after this abysmal episode. Keep in mind, this was airing at the same time as "Moonlighting". Hell, "The Rockford Files" was off the air, what, six years earlier, and in its first season it looked better than that. There should have been no excuses for a show resorting to such archaic production value. The whole time, I kept waiting for a star wipe.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Musicalia: Soundtrack to a Defecation
While taking care of business before leaving work today, the following song (perhaps the best song ever written) came on:
I have to say that I have come to the conclusion that I would prefer that this song come on anytime I drop trou and get to working on what I do best.
I have to say that I have come to the conclusion that I would prefer that this song come on anytime I drop trou and get to working on what I do best.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Man on Film: X-Men Origins: Wolverine
I've been meaning to write up a ton of music stuff, but I kind of have to be listening to the album while I do an entry on it. As I tend to sit down at the computer while I am watching the Royals (there are 20 seconds between pitches, so there's definitely time), this is not the easiest thing to fit in since I use the auditory cues of the broadcast to keep tabs on things. As such, you get my reaction to Wolverine.
First off, I expected this movie to blow hard. Nearly everything I read implied that this was in fact worse than X-Men 3. In the last ten years, I have only seen one movie in the theaters that I hated more than X-Men 3, and that was Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (which I wrote a rather angry review of over at IMDB, which I will actually cut-and-paste here*).
*(Spoiler Alert) This film is like having a fat man who ate at IHOP run a marathon and then drop a diarrhea dump on your chest and proceed to use your face as toilet paper
I should preface this review by saying that I was indifferent as to how I might feel about this film going into it. I thought the first film was fairly good. It was entertaining, but nothing that made me yearn for a second one. That being said, I hadn't read a review of this film (and still haven't) and had only heard that it had received mixed reviews. I had tempered expectations going into the theater, but I was certainly open to a good time.
A good time was not had. This film was quite simply awful. I have not seen anything in a long time that made me marvel at the fact that it was actually the finished product of a gigantic summer film churned out by a Hollywood Studio. I saw X-Men 3. While that was dreadful, this was eons past X3 in terms of excrement put to celluloid.
The plot was akin to a second-grader's class project. There was zero character development and not a single moment in which you thought you were seeing an original thought projected onto the screen. While it is a sequel, at some point the things that happen to the characters should matter, and if something bad happens to a character, the events that have molded him or her to that point should affect the audience somehow. Instead, the tools responsible for this screenplay have events happen without emotionally investing the audience in any way, shape, or form as to the fate of the characters on-screen, simply hoping that writing an event will somehow tug at the heart-strings of the audience without ever having to earn it.
I don't know that it is entirely the filmmakers' fault, because it seems that Verbinski & Co. were tied to some P.O.S. script that was churned out in a matter of days to get the cameras rolling, so Disney could bend the movie-goer over and sodomize them while getting paid for it. In the place of an actual story, they were probably told to blow up the film with mind-numbing action sequences and lame special effects.
To add insult to injury, the film clocks in at a mere two-and-a-half hours, which for a film with a plot wouldn't bother me in the least, but when you can write out the entire plot of this film in a matter of moments, seeing that paper-thin storyline stretched into 150 minutes is unbearable.
I could even make an exception to all of the aforementioned gripes and say that there was something in the film worthwhile if there was one performance from the cast that was mildly amusing. Alas, there is not. The actors all seem to have mailed it in, including Depp, who had a single chuckle-worthy moment as a follow-up to an Oscar-nominated turn in the previous Pirates outing.
***********SPOILER ALERT*************** When it comes down to it, all you'll get from this film is an obscenely long prologue to Pirates of the Caribbean 3: The Search for Spock--I mean Jack, because the entire plot of this atrocious piece of refuse is enough to fill a mere introduction to a real story.
Of the X-Men series, I really only loved X-Men 2. I thought the first one was overloaded with way too many characters crammed into the mix just for show. The dearth of characters was such that there was little-to-no room for character development, and the casting of Anna Paquin as Rogue was simply infuriating to me. Additionally, there were way too many villains just kind of hanging around apparently tasked to look vaguely intimidating while doing little else. So fuck the first one.
The second one was amazing. I was shocked. There is really not a disparaging word I have to say about that film. It touches on the themes of alienation and extermination that made the comic books great. The villainous military element was startlingly scary while paring the focus down to a more realistic enemy.
Then there was the third installment which was unspeakably bad. The shitty thing is, there was no way it wasn't going to suck balls with Brett Ratner at the helm. Despite the low expectations, it exceeded the expected awfulness to take a seat directly behind PotC:DMC in the unenviable realm of worst movie of the 2000s*.
*Southland Tales obviously ends up in this category, but I didn't see it in the theaters, thankfully. It also happens that Jeremy, who is apparently as willing as Jackie and I are to see just how bad a movie can get, decided to dive into ST, as well as Wolverine.
So I expected this to somehow be worse than that. Upon deciding to test our tolerance for utter shit, Jeremy, Jackie, and I sucked it up and went on Sunday night. On the phone when we decided to do it, Jeremy suggested that he may actually want to walk out, which he doesn't do.
Well, we didn't walk out.
Don't get me wrong. This was not a good film. It was actually bad.
There was no cohesive thread to the narrative. Much in the same way Pirates 2 came off, Wolverine seemed like a movie of action sequences that was pieced together with little regard for themes, story, or dialogue. As was the fault of the first X-Men movie, there were far too many characters thrown into the film with little idea as to how to utilize them, not that such an undertaking would have been possible in a film any less than nine hours long. Ryan Reynolds and Taylor Kitsch were both very good as Wade Wilson and Gambit, respectively, but had a combined screen time of somewhere around ten minutes. Liev Schreiber is good as Sabretooth, but it feels like they didn't make Sabretooth animalistic enough. Jackman does exactly what he has done for the three prior X-Men installments. He owns the character and pulls off the extreme badass well.
As for the other stuff, the effects were at times solid and at other times laughably bad. The scene where he is inspecting his new claws in the bathroom mirror is abysmal. For most of the movie, the claws look amateurish. Some of the action sequences work. Others are not quite as good.
Going much more into this would be absurd. I don't know why I've written so much. Well, maybe I do. Wolverine was my favorite comic book character as a teen. He took over where Spiderman left off. Wolverine was so much darker. The darkness quenched a thirst for something slightly more adult in the admittedly lighter comic book fare of the Marvel Universe. For the most part, the character has been portrayed well in the film medium. It just so happens that the films themselves have often been lacking. I guess that speaks to Hugh Jackman's skill as an actor.
First off, I expected this movie to blow hard. Nearly everything I read implied that this was in fact worse than X-Men 3. In the last ten years, I have only seen one movie in the theaters that I hated more than X-Men 3, and that was Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (which I wrote a rather angry review of over at IMDB, which I will actually cut-and-paste here*).
*(Spoiler Alert) This film is like having a fat man who ate at IHOP run a marathon and then drop a diarrhea dump on your chest and proceed to use your face as toilet paper
I should preface this review by saying that I was indifferent as to how I might feel about this film going into it. I thought the first film was fairly good. It was entertaining, but nothing that made me yearn for a second one. That being said, I hadn't read a review of this film (and still haven't) and had only heard that it had received mixed reviews. I had tempered expectations going into the theater, but I was certainly open to a good time.
A good time was not had. This film was quite simply awful. I have not seen anything in a long time that made me marvel at the fact that it was actually the finished product of a gigantic summer film churned out by a Hollywood Studio. I saw X-Men 3. While that was dreadful, this was eons past X3 in terms of excrement put to celluloid.
The plot was akin to a second-grader's class project. There was zero character development and not a single moment in which you thought you were seeing an original thought projected onto the screen. While it is a sequel, at some point the things that happen to the characters should matter, and if something bad happens to a character, the events that have molded him or her to that point should affect the audience somehow. Instead, the tools responsible for this screenplay have events happen without emotionally investing the audience in any way, shape, or form as to the fate of the characters on-screen, simply hoping that writing an event will somehow tug at the heart-strings of the audience without ever having to earn it.
I don't know that it is entirely the filmmakers' fault, because it seems that Verbinski & Co. were tied to some P.O.S. script that was churned out in a matter of days to get the cameras rolling, so Disney could bend the movie-goer over and sodomize them while getting paid for it. In the place of an actual story, they were probably told to blow up the film with mind-numbing action sequences and lame special effects.
To add insult to injury, the film clocks in at a mere two-and-a-half hours, which for a film with a plot wouldn't bother me in the least, but when you can write out the entire plot of this film in a matter of moments, seeing that paper-thin storyline stretched into 150 minutes is unbearable.
I could even make an exception to all of the aforementioned gripes and say that there was something in the film worthwhile if there was one performance from the cast that was mildly amusing. Alas, there is not. The actors all seem to have mailed it in, including Depp, who had a single chuckle-worthy moment as a follow-up to an Oscar-nominated turn in the previous Pirates outing.
***********SPOILER ALERT*************** When it comes down to it, all you'll get from this film is an obscenely long prologue to Pirates of the Caribbean 3: The Search for Spock--I mean Jack, because the entire plot of this atrocious piece of refuse is enough to fill a mere introduction to a real story.
Of the X-Men series, I really only loved X-Men 2. I thought the first one was overloaded with way too many characters crammed into the mix just for show. The dearth of characters was such that there was little-to-no room for character development, and the casting of Anna Paquin as Rogue was simply infuriating to me. Additionally, there were way too many villains just kind of hanging around apparently tasked to look vaguely intimidating while doing little else. So fuck the first one.
The second one was amazing. I was shocked. There is really not a disparaging word I have to say about that film. It touches on the themes of alienation and extermination that made the comic books great. The villainous military element was startlingly scary while paring the focus down to a more realistic enemy.
Then there was the third installment which was unspeakably bad. The shitty thing is, there was no way it wasn't going to suck balls with Brett Ratner at the helm. Despite the low expectations, it exceeded the expected awfulness to take a seat directly behind PotC:DMC in the unenviable realm of worst movie of the 2000s*.
*Southland Tales obviously ends up in this category, but I didn't see it in the theaters, thankfully. It also happens that Jeremy, who is apparently as willing as Jackie and I are to see just how bad a movie can get, decided to dive into ST, as well as Wolverine.
So I expected this to somehow be worse than that. Upon deciding to test our tolerance for utter shit, Jeremy, Jackie, and I sucked it up and went on Sunday night. On the phone when we decided to do it, Jeremy suggested that he may actually want to walk out, which he doesn't do.
Well, we didn't walk out.
Don't get me wrong. This was not a good film. It was actually bad.
There was no cohesive thread to the narrative. Much in the same way Pirates 2 came off, Wolverine seemed like a movie of action sequences that was pieced together with little regard for themes, story, or dialogue. As was the fault of the first X-Men movie, there were far too many characters thrown into the film with little idea as to how to utilize them, not that such an undertaking would have been possible in a film any less than nine hours long. Ryan Reynolds and Taylor Kitsch were both very good as Wade Wilson and Gambit, respectively, but had a combined screen time of somewhere around ten minutes. Liev Schreiber is good as Sabretooth, but it feels like they didn't make Sabretooth animalistic enough. Jackman does exactly what he has done for the three prior X-Men installments. He owns the character and pulls off the extreme badass well.
As for the other stuff, the effects were at times solid and at other times laughably bad. The scene where he is inspecting his new claws in the bathroom mirror is abysmal. For most of the movie, the claws look amateurish. Some of the action sequences work. Others are not quite as good.
Going much more into this would be absurd. I don't know why I've written so much. Well, maybe I do. Wolverine was my favorite comic book character as a teen. He took over where Spiderman left off. Wolverine was so much darker. The darkness quenched a thirst for something slightly more adult in the admittedly lighter comic book fare of the Marvel Universe. For the most part, the character has been portrayed well in the film medium. It just so happens that the films themselves have often been lacking. I guess that speaks to Hugh Jackman's skill as an actor.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Tube Steak: "In Treatment", You've Still Got It
The second season of "In Treatment" has been every bit as compelling as the first, with Gabriel Byrne's Dr. Paul Weston descending further into his brokenness as he has removed himself from his home and family. Perhaps the most interesting development of this second season has been how he has let his patients into his life as his family structure--fractured as it may have been--has all but evaporated.
Coming off of a tumultuous year in which he fell in love with a patient, was sued for malpractice by the family of another, divorced his adulterous wife, and moved to Brooklyn from his suburban Maryland home. Having nearly blown up his life, it would seem that the writers wanted to test out John Donne's notion that "no man is an island, entire of itself."
Within the dynamic of this season, Paul is seeing patients that seem to address his own need to supplant his estranged family with one comprised of patients. Paternal instincts come to the fore heavily in the April and Oliver sessions. Mia finds new ways to try to draw Paul into her life as a husband figure. There are maternal qualities to his relationship with Gina.
Most importantly, from these small segments of people's lives, once-a-week therapy sessions, the audience is given gifts. Like in Week Four, two episodes after having to move a Mia session to the other room from the dining room and implying her want for the session to occur in there was motivated by wanting to feel special, he brought Oliver--who felt unwanted by his parents and had stopped eating because kids at school (and his father to a lesser degree) were calling him fat--into the kitchen (and into his world) to have a sandwich. If anything can be made of the parentheticals and tangents in that prior sentence it is that the show is rife with subtext.
There is so much going on in each episode--the week's events in each patient's life being uncovered, the patient's past affecting their every decision--that it really is like a mystery every week, as Terry Gross got to on Fresh Air earlier this week.
Coming off of a tumultuous year in which he fell in love with a patient, was sued for malpractice by the family of another, divorced his adulterous wife, and moved to Brooklyn from his suburban Maryland home. Having nearly blown up his life, it would seem that the writers wanted to test out John Donne's notion that "no man is an island, entire of itself."
Within the dynamic of this season, Paul is seeing patients that seem to address his own need to supplant his estranged family with one comprised of patients. Paternal instincts come to the fore heavily in the April and Oliver sessions. Mia finds new ways to try to draw Paul into her life as a husband figure. There are maternal qualities to his relationship with Gina.
Most importantly, from these small segments of people's lives, once-a-week therapy sessions, the audience is given gifts. Like in Week Four, two episodes after having to move a Mia session to the other room from the dining room and implying her want for the session to occur in there was motivated by wanting to feel special, he brought Oliver--who felt unwanted by his parents and had stopped eating because kids at school (and his father to a lesser degree) were calling him fat--into the kitchen (and into his world) to have a sandwich. If anything can be made of the parentheticals and tangents in that prior sentence it is that the show is rife with subtext.
There is so much going on in each episode--the week's events in each patient's life being uncovered, the patient's past affecting their every decision--that it really is like a mystery every week, as Terry Gross got to on Fresh Air earlier this week.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Diversions: The Smiley Face Killer Strikes Again
Thanks to Chad for giving me the head's up on this, but it looks as though the serial killer I have been preaching about for about a decade now has struck again.
This is how it is every time. 20-something college male goes missing, ends up in river. I like how drunk males found ways to not end up corpses in rivers for thousands of years, and now there are what 15 or 20 since about 1998 or so in the Upper Midwest--a relatively regionally specific phenomenon--but this is mere coincidence.
Do college kids in Alabama not drink within 20 miles of bodies of water? What about in Oregon?
Now I don't necessarily buy into that jibber-jabber about there being a gang of serial killers or that the initial incident in New York that the detectives on the case are trying to link to the midwestern cases is tied in at all, but for fuck's sake there is no way this is all coincidental.
This is how it is every time. 20-something college male goes missing, ends up in river. I like how drunk males found ways to not end up corpses in rivers for thousands of years, and now there are what 15 or 20 since about 1998 or so in the Upper Midwest--a relatively regionally specific phenomenon--but this is mere coincidence.
Do college kids in Alabama not drink within 20 miles of bodies of water? What about in Oregon?
Now I don't necessarily buy into that jibber-jabber about there being a gang of serial killers or that the initial incident in New York that the detectives on the case are trying to link to the midwestern cases is tied in at all, but for fuck's sake there is no way this is all coincidental.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Man on Film: State of Play
A political thriller in spirit of 70s paranoia films like All the President's Men, The Parallax View, and Three Days of the Condor. Clearly, the newspaper aspect of the film means it owes most to All the President's Men, and it is a worthy follower. Obviously, the source material of State of Play is only a BBC miniseries, not the greatest political scandal in the history of this country. What this film lacks in historical import, it replaces with strained relationships, adultery, the prospect of the outsourcing of the military to one uber-corporation (think, oh, Halliburton), and the death of the newspaper. Needless to say, there was a dearth of ground to be covered.
Now, State of Play is by no means earth-shattering. While never approaching the realm of the primarily pedestrian, Kevin MacDonald's non-documentary follow-up to The Last King of Scotland is merely solid. Here, too, there are not any acting performances that fall short, but as with the other, the film lacks the quality of being exceptionally memorable. Shortly after leaving, all thoughts of the film have gone, quickly retreating to the recesses of one's memory. It is not a crippling shortcoming, and boredom never sets in while watching.
All that being said, the film is good and never feels predictable, a good trait to be sure. Ben Affleck and Jason Bateman are great, but Rachel McAdams's character is not penned with enough depth for her to show off her talent and charm (both of which are prodigious). Russell Crowe is Russell Crowe and does seem best suited to be the character actor he has resumed being of late.
Again, State of Play falls short of being great, but you'll not regret having seen it.
Now, State of Play is by no means earth-shattering. While never approaching the realm of the primarily pedestrian, Kevin MacDonald's non-documentary follow-up to The Last King of Scotland is merely solid. Here, too, there are not any acting performances that fall short, but as with the other, the film lacks the quality of being exceptionally memorable. Shortly after leaving, all thoughts of the film have gone, quickly retreating to the recesses of one's memory. It is not a crippling shortcoming, and boredom never sets in while watching.
All that being said, the film is good and never feels predictable, a good trait to be sure. Ben Affleck and Jason Bateman are great, but Rachel McAdams's character is not penned with enough depth for her to show off her talent and charm (both of which are prodigious). Russell Crowe is Russell Crowe and does seem best suited to be the character actor he has resumed being of late.
Again, State of Play falls short of being great, but you'll not regret having seen it.
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