We sit in the back of Sneaky Dees on Bathurst. I am after some beer and I look at a chalkboard on the wall nearby that lists the draught selection and prices. It is cheap - that's good. The selection isn't stellar, but, given it is a rare circumstance in this day and age that you can drink two pints for under ten dollars - as will indeed be the case tonight here at Sneaky Dees on Bathurst - you don't nitpick. You just put-down-the-money-shut-up-and-drink-it. It's pretty straightforward. So, we wait for the server to come along and take our order and that is as complex as seems things will need be.
So the server comes along.
-Hi how you doing.
-Good how are you.
-What can I get you to drink.
It is Buzz Ale I want. Supposedly Buzz is made from hemp, which makes it really hipster and edgy and badass. And cheap. The cheapest, actually.
-Yeah alright I'll be right back.
She goes.
-So anyway
She's back. No beer though.
-You guys have your IDs please.
I'm 32. Fine - so I just turned 32. The point is, technically I have been of legal drinking age in this province for thirteen years. Thirteen. A decent chunk of time. And here I am being carded by a girl who's herself only probably barely legal. It's awkward, but I do want that Buzz beer. Luckily I actually thought to bring my driver's license along tonight. You would think that after turning, I don't know, let's say 30 you would finally be allowed the dignity of drinking freely without suspicion of whatever it is they suspect potential minors at bars and pubs to be trying to get away with. You would think. But here we are - 32. Apparently the greying hair and crows feet make my years difficult to ascertain. Are kids getting uglier these days?
Whatever, so, I give her the driver's license. I guess I must roll my eyes or sigh or something. I suppose it's something about handing over my particulars when I'm not answering to official authority. She goes away again. Comes back in a minute with the Buzz hemp beer. There is this weird vibe now - she's got some kind of attitude, didn't appreciate my fully justifiable and dutifully subdued put-outance. She sets the beer down.
-Yeah you know so the thing is you have to have ID in here after 9pm, that's just the rule they have. ID after 9.
She leaves. Benefit of the doubt: this server girl is harrassed by a superior to be really strict about people having ID. I get it. It's lame, but I get it.
So we're drinking Buzz beer in the back of Sneaky Dees on Bathurst and it's a good thing I have my ID card because the rule is you have to have it after 9.
It's 7:15pm.
3/31/11
3/28/11
The Adam Sandler Mystique
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Financial implications aside, there is clearly something about Adam Sandler that makes him such a perennial draw. But who can explain the Sandler phenomenon? It seems popular to divide his work into two categories: one comprising his sillier, more mainstream fare (Madison, Grown-Ups, Mr. Deeds, etc) and the other his more 'artsy' features (Punch Drunk Love, Reign Over Me, Spanglish, etc). His 'artsy' films are generally not as lucrative, but as in the case of Punch Drunk Love or the more recent Funny People nevertheless proof that Sandler a) in fact has a decent dramatic sensibility and b) is endeavouring produce a counterbalance to the cash-grabbing fluff he fires off. Funny People in particular did a great job of giving Sandler a more introspective role as well as acknowledging, reflexively, the kind of shallow tripe he generally resorts to--via several self-parodying spoofs of said shallow tripe. But don't get me wrong: I often have a soft spot for the shallow tripe. And consistently, too--I've variously enjoyed Sandler's goof-off pictures, from Happy Gilmore to The Waterboy to Big Daddy to You Don't Mess With The Zohan. Fairly enough, sometimes I find his silly movies so grating I want to do harm to myself or others--Grown Ups comes to mind--though I have disliked some of his more 'respectable' films with equal vehemency, such as the dreadful Reign Over Me. And this is all just in my own opinion--Reign Over Me was a flop in its own right, but Grown Ups did quite well (it's one of the twelve) and as such I am certain there are people who swear by it. I haven't seen Just Go With It but if and when I do my approval or lack thereof will be superfluous. The point is that, yes, these movies make lots of money, but the reason for that is that people want to go see them, and regardless of how empirically awful the movies are, for the grosses to climb as high as they do people must be enjoying them. Including me.
Given the latest news I'd like to take this opportunity to restate an ongoing prediction of mine: that years from now--if it isn't already--academia will be made of the strange power and mystique of Adam Sandler. I am as of yet uncertain what the angle(s) could be. Accounting varying opinions of movies that traverse a decidedly bipolar spectrum, the true effect and meaning of his work are difficult to qualify. The only definite is that a lot of them are really really popular. I recall reading somewhere about Humphrey Bogart that when he was actively making films people weren't really very high on him--today Bogart's now-iconic name (and visage) has been immortalized and is fondly acknowledged across what became a sprawling body of work. If I may be so bold (or foolish) as to compare, perhaps the future will be similar for Sandler's movies, if only in terms of appreciating the cultural impact. How much longer he can hold out at his current clip is anyone's guess, but as of the present time it is clear he's still got whatever it is that is apparently such a sure thing. Perhaps the dust will have to settle post-mortem--as it so often does--before anyone can set to making sense of it. Click: Adam Sandler farting in David Hasselhoff's face = $135 million box office. Who knew? Adam Sandler likes to act stupid, but I think maybe he did.
PS -- New banner image design is courtesy of Crossley81.
3/7/11
Still Got That Sheen
Over time—probably not much time, mind you, the way things are going—I imagine every single semi-interested individual and their pop culture-savvy dog will have had a chance to weigh in on the topic of the personal comings and goings of one Charles Sheen, AKA Carlos Irwin Estevez—brother to Emilio, son to Martin, star of exactly two Hot Shots! films as well as that number plus a half in sitcom men on TV, self-proclaimed 'winner,' and owner and/or operator of someone or something having to do with tiger's blood. I likely didn't need to list all of that and you were already well fucking aware of whom I was speaking. And you may have already had your say about Mr. Sheen, as I expect everyone will by the end. In observing that eventuality, I write this now to fulfill my obligations thereof.
Here's the thing: I don't understand what the big deal is. I really don't. Maybe I haven't really been paying close enough attention. I don't watch Two and a Half Men—for that matter, I haven't really watched anything with Charlie Sheen (not even interviews concerning his involvement in the 9/11 Truth Movement, which should have been an amusing diversion) since I saw Hot Shots! Part Deux in the early 90s. Before Charles recently did whatever it is he did that has everyone transfixed I was most definitely not what you would call an invested party in the life and times of the artist formerly known as Carlos Irwin. And I'm still not. I still don't care.
I knew he was married once, or maybe twice, to Denise Richards—herself but a minor blip on the radar, even for those who saw Wild Things 13 years ago. I knew he'd been and out of rehab a few times. So what? Are there any celebrities who haven't been in and out of rehab a few times? Show me one—that's a fucking story.
And therein lies the source of my confusion. At the end of the day, Charlie Sheen is just another famous face who fucked up. The way his name and the one or two-word particulars of his transgressions are punchlined about, the number of tweets devoted to him, the volume of mentions he gets in late night monologues, the ink spent printing stories about him in entertainment publications, his complete dominance of the internet—you'd think Charles was the first star to ever drop his pants when he shouldn't have. Not quite.The Charlie Sheen saga is in reality just one 'story' in a closed system of ongoing bloopers and fuck-ups. Focus too much on him and you'll miss out on the rest of the world of celebrity circus idiocy that inexorably continues to turn. Just last week, for example: aspiring trainwreck Christina Aguilera and her doofus boyfriend spent the night in the drunk tank after being pulled over for driving under the influence; also drunk—again—was Jessica Simpson, who looks so bad it's almost scary. But Simpson and Aguilera are only doing their part to fulfill the Blonde Female Celebrity Fuck-Up/Train Wreck quota; there are certainly others from this past week, some of which luckily (or maybe not so luckily) didn't make it to press. Through the years the famous have demonstrated their incredible talent at, if nothing else, achieving stupidity of monumental proportions, and so many of them do it you could make a career of trying to document their so-called mistakes (an entire industry do, in fact). Charlie Sheen is just one man at one point in time in a ever-expanding jungle of shitshow.
He's not even very innovative, if you ask me. To my knowledge, he is stumbling his way along a path previously forged, and forged well. Trashed hotel? Johnny Depp says hello. Mountains of drugs? Robert Downey Jr. knows more about that than any celebrity ever has or will. (Depp knows a little about it too.) Raunchy trysts with white trash girls? Mel Gibson berates and beats the shit out of his. And as for publicly-televised delusions, well, in my books Tom Cruise's batshit crazy antics courtesy of airtime with Oprah Winfrey and Matt Lauer are pretty tough to top.
Charlie Sheen is certainly loving this whole farce. How could he not? He's getting so much exposure and publicity it won't matter if the golden goose Two and a Half Men goes under for good. Two to three million an episode—who needs it? Sheen is right about one thing: he's in the driver's seat. Everyone patting themselves on the back for their clever digs and clever 'winning' references should take pause and consider that perhaps the person who's really laughing is the supposed butt of the joke himself. It's not like we're all sitting in a room together making fun of the guy behind his back. Sheengate has become too much and too public a phenomenon. Charlie Sheen knows full well what's up, and he's joining the fun, if he didn't organize the party to begin with. Kind of difficult to take pride in mocking someone who's benefitting from the mockery. You have to think every one of Charlie Sheen's 2 million-plus Twitter followers has some financial equivalent.
So, yeah, I don't know the whole Charlie Sheen story. But if that means the joke isn't on me, I'm fine with that. Especially until we know who it's really supposed to be on. Maybe it's everyone. I guess I'll get in line.
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| It's like he knew all along - Charlie Sheen as a coked-out bad boy in 1986's Ferris Bueller's Day Off |
I knew he was married once, or maybe twice, to Denise Richards—herself but a minor blip on the radar, even for those who saw Wild Things 13 years ago. I knew he'd been and out of rehab a few times. So what? Are there any celebrities who haven't been in and out of rehab a few times? Show me one—that's a fucking story.
And therein lies the source of my confusion. At the end of the day, Charlie Sheen is just another famous face who fucked up. The way his name and the one or two-word particulars of his transgressions are punchlined about, the number of tweets devoted to him, the volume of mentions he gets in late night monologues, the ink spent printing stories about him in entertainment publications, his complete dominance of the internet—you'd think Charles was the first star to ever drop his pants when he shouldn't have. Not quite.The Charlie Sheen saga is in reality just one 'story' in a closed system of ongoing bloopers and fuck-ups. Focus too much on him and you'll miss out on the rest of the world of celebrity circus idiocy that inexorably continues to turn. Just last week, for example: aspiring trainwreck Christina Aguilera and her doofus boyfriend spent the night in the drunk tank after being pulled over for driving under the influence; also drunk—again—was Jessica Simpson, who looks so bad it's almost scary. But Simpson and Aguilera are only doing their part to fulfill the Blonde Female Celebrity Fuck-Up/Train Wreck quota; there are certainly others from this past week, some of which luckily (or maybe not so luckily) didn't make it to press. Through the years the famous have demonstrated their incredible talent at, if nothing else, achieving stupidity of monumental proportions, and so many of them do it you could make a career of trying to document their so-called mistakes (an entire industry do, in fact). Charlie Sheen is just one man at one point in time in a ever-expanding jungle of shitshow.
He's not even very innovative, if you ask me. To my knowledge, he is stumbling his way along a path previously forged, and forged well. Trashed hotel? Johnny Depp says hello. Mountains of drugs? Robert Downey Jr. knows more about that than any celebrity ever has or will. (Depp knows a little about it too.) Raunchy trysts with white trash girls? Mel Gibson berates and beats the shit out of his. And as for publicly-televised delusions, well, in my books Tom Cruise's batshit crazy antics courtesy of airtime with Oprah Winfrey and Matt Lauer are pretty tough to top.
Charlie Sheen is certainly loving this whole farce. How could he not? He's getting so much exposure and publicity it won't matter if the golden goose Two and a Half Men goes under for good. Two to three million an episode—who needs it? Sheen is right about one thing: he's in the driver's seat. Everyone patting themselves on the back for their clever digs and clever 'winning' references should take pause and consider that perhaps the person who's really laughing is the supposed butt of the joke himself. It's not like we're all sitting in a room together making fun of the guy behind his back. Sheengate has become too much and too public a phenomenon. Charlie Sheen knows full well what's up, and he's joining the fun, if he didn't organize the party to begin with. Kind of difficult to take pride in mocking someone who's benefitting from the mockery. You have to think every one of Charlie Sheen's 2 million-plus Twitter followers has some financial equivalent.
So, yeah, I don't know the whole Charlie Sheen story. But if that means the joke isn't on me, I'm fine with that. Especially until we know who it's really supposed to be on. Maybe it's everyone. I guess I'll get in line.
2/28/11
Oscar Week... Oscar Night Recap
Last night's Oscar telecast was probably the most boring one I can ever remember. A scroll through the appropriately-themed Twitter posts by industry types seems to ratify this conclusion. When once-perennial host Billy Crystal made his appearance you can see the jump in tweeting activity like a seismograph needle gone berserk: "Bring Billy back!" was the overriding sentiment, "Or else please just kill me now." Personally, I don't necessarily miss the Crystal shtick on Oscar night from what best I can recollect - sure, he added a lot of pizzazz that seemed noticeably absent from co-hosts James Franco and Anne Hathaway, but the Crystal-MC'd awards went on for substantially longer than the relatively lean three hours of last night's ceremony, and after a few years, BC's song-and-dance routines and self-satisfied humor, amusing though these were, became grating and tired. I think the idea behind having Franco and Hathaway host subsequent to the uber-bad Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin debacle of last year (in fairness, Baldwin has a good enough sense of humor that he came on board to join in poking fun at himself for that catastrophe) was to inject some youthful exuberance into the proceedings. Last night's hosts were charming and appealing. They were just underused, and as always we spent way too much time listening to the winners read lists of names.
I could definitely have done without the four best-original-song performances that were for some incomprehensible reason split up into two spaced-apart, but no less mind-numbing, pairs. After pair one I was ready to slit my wrists from boredom and apathy. Was it really necessary to break and reload for a second excruciating session? Why couldn't the show have done as I seem to recall they have done before and just roll out the nominees in a brief, succinct medley format, or, better yet, done away with live performances altogether? Far too much screen time was devoted to songs no one gives a shit about (if I may let my own feelings speak for all); meanwhile, when the show finally dragged itself to the big gun acting awards, clips for each nominee couldn't have been ten seconds long. I think it is safe to say that people watch the Oscars for the major categories. Focus on those. Fuck the songs.
Things started off with a good rhythm. The show-opening montage with Franco and Hathaway digitally interacting inside of scenes from the Best Picture candidates was cool and imaginative, displaying a high degree of technical difficulty. Inaugural presenter and dirty old man Kirk Douglas was a hoot. Surprise Supporting Actress winner Melissa Leo's f-bomb was hilarious and real and energetic - why can't participants be encouraged to be candid like this? Certainly makes listening to what winners have to say sound a lot more interesting than watching them unfold a prepared speech and start thanking the catering ladies and key grips. Producers - and by extension federal broadcasting authorities - worried about maintaining their "PG" rating for the program can probably relax about the odd profanity. Newsflash: people swear. They do. But hey, it's okay- I'm quite confident no one is going to be a worse person for hearing some unrestrained jubilation on live TV. And back to the opening montage: this kind of shit clearly works. It's impressive and fun. Why can't there be more things like this throughout the night and less "Here's what it looked like when Bob Hope hosted the Oscars prior to the Cold War"? If you're going for youth with your hosts, perhaps give some consideration to the likewise demographic of viewership. Newslfash number two: no one under 30 (the audience I would be most focused on pleasing) gives a flying fuck about Bob Hope. Sorry.
As far as the awards winners themselves: no surprises for the main acting categories (Natalie Portman, Colin Firth), directing (Tom Hooper - enjoyed his little anecdote), picture (King's Speech), all the technical categories (Inception), writing (Speech and Social Network), or musical score (Trent Reznor). I was taken off guard by Christian Bale's win for supporting actor. Really thought Geoffrey Rush had it in the bag. Bale was good in The Fighter. He is obviously a total douche in real life, though. What in blazes was he on about in his acceptance speech?
It seems pretty evident to me that the program's producers really wanted to push for brevity with this year's show. The expense of entertainment to bridge envelope-opening segments was probably a poor choice. Roger Ebert complained that James Franco was "deer-in-the-headlights" - I thought Franco looked like he was just having a good time, maybe stoned. Sure he was obviously reading his lines, but in between scripting he was clearly taking it all in, relishing the moment. Wouldn't you? (On his website you can watch little videos Franco made of the night with his cellphone. Such as this one. Pretty neat if you ask me - adds a whole new dynamic to the AAs... a fittingly contemporary one.) Anne Hathaway was also charismatic - and they let her have some fun with her little musical number. I liked the hosts, personally. I like having new hosts every year. Why not? Change is good. Just, you know, give them something to do while they're on stage, or else don't be surprised if they space out and bask in the scenery all evening.
What we needed last night was more audience shots. More famous people mugging for the camera - isn't that what the Oscars is all about when it comes down to it? Where was the Hollywood royalty? No Jack Nicholson, no Clint Eastwood, no Meryl Streep. Wouldn't it have been something else if someone like, say, Mel Gibson, or celebrity punchline-du-jour Charlie Sheen made an appearance? Or a pleasant-surprise cameo from a Woody Allen type of persona? No Leo with Inception up for so many awards? No Bob DeNiro, no Pacino? This broadcast was sorely lacking a segment with Ben Stiller as a blue-tinted Avatar creature complete with a linguistic Avatar parody, and then a shot of a pissed-off-looking, self-righteous Jim Cameron looking on. None of that on this night. For my liking there was too much Oprah Winfrey and Celine Dion (maybe I might change my mind about these two when I enter menopause). Too much 'Random Guy At The Oscars' - the camera kept cutting to this one dude who I have never seen before and don't expect to see again. Hope he enjoyed himself.
Anyway. It's over now. Back to not worrying about watching all the nominees in time for the Academy Awards. I'm ready to start seeing some unabashedly shitty movies again. The list is getting long. Hall Pass, Drive Angry, that new lame-looking Adam Sandler movie, the alien invasion movie that's coming up - I'm on board for all of that... but then comes having to wade through months and months of sequels, remakes, reboots, based-ons, adaptations (granted, I am eagerly and/or moderately anticipating one or two of these - namely a sequel to The Hangover and, sadly enough, what will probably be a really sucky entry into the generally already-sucky Scream franchise)... before we're right back here griping about how dull it all really is.
Sometimes the movie industry really seems like it is falling to utter pieces. The troublesome part is how little I actually care.
I could definitely have done without the four best-original-song performances that were for some incomprehensible reason split up into two spaced-apart, but no less mind-numbing, pairs. After pair one I was ready to slit my wrists from boredom and apathy. Was it really necessary to break and reload for a second excruciating session? Why couldn't the show have done as I seem to recall they have done before and just roll out the nominees in a brief, succinct medley format, or, better yet, done away with live performances altogether? Far too much screen time was devoted to songs no one gives a shit about (if I may let my own feelings speak for all); meanwhile, when the show finally dragged itself to the big gun acting awards, clips for each nominee couldn't have been ten seconds long. I think it is safe to say that people watch the Oscars for the major categories. Focus on those. Fuck the songs.
Things started off with a good rhythm. The show-opening montage with Franco and Hathaway digitally interacting inside of scenes from the Best Picture candidates was cool and imaginative, displaying a high degree of technical difficulty. Inaugural presenter and dirty old man Kirk Douglas was a hoot. Surprise Supporting Actress winner Melissa Leo's f-bomb was hilarious and real and energetic - why can't participants be encouraged to be candid like this? Certainly makes listening to what winners have to say sound a lot more interesting than watching them unfold a prepared speech and start thanking the catering ladies and key grips. Producers - and by extension federal broadcasting authorities - worried about maintaining their "PG" rating for the program can probably relax about the odd profanity. Newsflash: people swear. They do. But hey, it's okay- I'm quite confident no one is going to be a worse person for hearing some unrestrained jubilation on live TV. And back to the opening montage: this kind of shit clearly works. It's impressive and fun. Why can't there be more things like this throughout the night and less "Here's what it looked like when Bob Hope hosted the Oscars prior to the Cold War"? If you're going for youth with your hosts, perhaps give some consideration to the likewise demographic of viewership. Newslfash number two: no one under 30 (the audience I would be most focused on pleasing) gives a flying fuck about Bob Hope. Sorry.
As far as the awards winners themselves: no surprises for the main acting categories (Natalie Portman, Colin Firth), directing (Tom Hooper - enjoyed his little anecdote), picture (King's Speech), all the technical categories (Inception), writing (Speech and Social Network), or musical score (Trent Reznor). I was taken off guard by Christian Bale's win for supporting actor. Really thought Geoffrey Rush had it in the bag. Bale was good in The Fighter. He is obviously a total douche in real life, though. What in blazes was he on about in his acceptance speech?
It seems pretty evident to me that the program's producers really wanted to push for brevity with this year's show. The expense of entertainment to bridge envelope-opening segments was probably a poor choice. Roger Ebert complained that James Franco was "deer-in-the-headlights" - I thought Franco looked like he was just having a good time, maybe stoned. Sure he was obviously reading his lines, but in between scripting he was clearly taking it all in, relishing the moment. Wouldn't you? (On his website you can watch little videos Franco made of the night with his cellphone. Such as this one. Pretty neat if you ask me - adds a whole new dynamic to the AAs... a fittingly contemporary one.) Anne Hathaway was also charismatic - and they let her have some fun with her little musical number. I liked the hosts, personally. I like having new hosts every year. Why not? Change is good. Just, you know, give them something to do while they're on stage, or else don't be surprised if they space out and bask in the scenery all evening.
What we needed last night was more audience shots. More famous people mugging for the camera - isn't that what the Oscars is all about when it comes down to it? Where was the Hollywood royalty? No Jack Nicholson, no Clint Eastwood, no Meryl Streep. Wouldn't it have been something else if someone like, say, Mel Gibson, or celebrity punchline-du-jour Charlie Sheen made an appearance? Or a pleasant-surprise cameo from a Woody Allen type of persona? No Leo with Inception up for so many awards? No Bob DeNiro, no Pacino? This broadcast was sorely lacking a segment with Ben Stiller as a blue-tinted Avatar creature complete with a linguistic Avatar parody, and then a shot of a pissed-off-looking, self-righteous Jim Cameron looking on. None of that on this night. For my liking there was too much Oprah Winfrey and Celine Dion (maybe I might change my mind about these two when I enter menopause). Too much 'Random Guy At The Oscars' - the camera kept cutting to this one dude who I have never seen before and don't expect to see again. Hope he enjoyed himself.
Anyway. It's over now. Back to not worrying about watching all the nominees in time for the Academy Awards. I'm ready to start seeing some unabashedly shitty movies again. The list is getting long. Hall Pass, Drive Angry, that new lame-looking Adam Sandler movie, the alien invasion movie that's coming up - I'm on board for all of that... but then comes having to wade through months and months of sequels, remakes, reboots, based-ons, adaptations (granted, I am eagerly and/or moderately anticipating one or two of these - namely a sequel to The Hangover and, sadly enough, what will probably be a really sucky entry into the generally already-sucky Scream franchise)... before we're right back here griping about how dull it all really is.
Sometimes the movie industry really seems like it is falling to utter pieces. The troublesome part is how little I actually care.
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| "Oprah... Uma. Uma... Oprah." I guess at least the 2011 Academy Awards weren't David Letterman-bad. |
2/24/11
Oscar Week... Best Picture of 2010 Nominees Ranked
Last night I finally got to watching the tenth of the ten nominees for this year's Best Picture Oscar, Winter's Bone. At last, I have seen them all. With Sunday's awards ceremony looming, here are my rankings of the ten shortlisters. (For the record, I think that The King's Speech will win.)
10. Toy Story 3 -- I am one of a very small minority of people who did NOT like Toy Story 3. I found it mean-spirited, unnecessarily dark, and given the satisfaction of my nostalgia for the first two Toy Story films from years back, this latest installment - especially because it lacked the fun factor I was hoping for and expecting - felt like it was basically superfluous. Why ruin a good memory? Not sure why the Academy has this movie nominated for best film honors twice. It will win the Best Animated feature category running away. (I imagine Buzz Lightyear and Woody will also be presenters.)
9. The Kids Are All Right -- This is clearly the pure-politics nominee this year, a movie directed by a woman about gay women who like to argue about their place in the world of alternative lifestyles. I actually enjoyed this movie on its own terms. There are strong, engaging performances and the storyline has a couple of nice twists. I could have done without the sex scenes - there are other ways to give your movie a frank and honest tone, I think. Politics aside, I feel that this movie probably would have been lost in the shuffle; plenty of other movies released in 2010 were as effective and well-composed.
8. 127 Hours -- As someone who was put off by the excessive hype his previous effort Slumdog Millionaire received, I was very satisfied with the latest from Danny Boyle. James Franco is excellent in the starring role, pretty much carrying the film by himself - well-earned acting nomination for Franco. Boyle employs a lot of edgy techniques to tell the story, which make a movie about a guy stuck in a chasm more riveting than it likely could have been. Not what I consider Boyle's best, but better than his last.
7. The Fighter -- In a previous blog post I called this the 'year of the buddy movie', but having seen all the nominations now, I think there is an equally impactive theme of 'strong women' in many of these films (Kids is another, and see also Black Swan and Winter's Bone). Here, Mark Wahlberg's title role is a character ruled by an oppressive matriarch (Melissa Leo, excellent, one of two frontrunners for supporting actress) and the presence of numerous sisters. Christian Bale with a fantastic chameleon role. The super-charged relationships between the authentic characters are what make this movie work; the performances are top notch. The ending ruins everything.
6. Winter's Bone -- This is the hardest-hitting of the nominees. The realism and gut-punching grit of this movie outstrip all nine of its peers. It is a simple story. Like The Fighter, it is the characters that power the experience, centered around a star-making performance from Jennifer Lawrence (nominated for lead actress - if this weren't Natalie Portman's year Lawrence would win easily). Lawrence's turn as a principled, steady and determined surrogate mother carries the film and leaves you feeling raw.
5. The King's Speech -- This movie will win the Oscar for Best Picture this year. It is not undeserving. Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush are both outstanding, great story, fantastic visual style. A good dose of humor and a gentle touch make it a light and enjoyable experience to watch. For me, the innocuous and lighthearted tone are maybe a tad excessive to make for a lasting achievement; I think there is less to be said about what this film means than there is for many of the other nominees. I read somewhere that The King's Speech is like a Disney movie. I agree. And I mean it in the best sense.
4. Inception -- I read a great article in a recent issue of GQ magazine about how movies like Inception are so rarely found these days in the summer blockbuster months: a unique, original, engaging film that is a fun, enjoyable ride released in a season given over to tepid, lousy sequels, remakes, and other brand-name movies conceived by marketing departments. There are plenty of holes in the storyline of Inception, if you spend enough time picking at it, and some of the performances - Ellen Page especially - leave the viewer wanting, but Christopher Nolan should be revered as a steward for the new Hollywood, providing a moviegoing experience that can effectively satisfy the palate of every audience.
3. Black Swan -- Eventually, Darren Aronofsky should be given his due. Seemingly all of his films are best-of-the-year candidates but he always seems to be sitting and watching other filmmakers take home the honors. Too bad. Black Swan is a full-throttle mind-bending experience nearly more intense than the skillfully-conceived twists of Inception. Part sexy, taut thriller, part character study, part tragedy, as the movie unravels the more you see the less conviction you possess. The story hurls towards a high magnitude climax that leaves you breathless. One of the most intriguing aspects of this film is looking at it as a companion piece to Aronofsky's previous The Wrestler (2008). Both films engage similar themes and the contrast of the lead roles - Natalie Portman heads Swan in what is her best performance to date - is truly fascinating.
2. True Grit -- When I watched this movie I was initially underwhelmed. For the storied Coen brothers, this is one of their more straight-ahead, generic efforts. Their previous adaptations from literary classics-slash-remakes have yielded some uninspiring results and at first blush True Grit is a fairly standard western-genre romp. But this movie grows on you after viewing. Hailee Stanfeld, who will win the best supporting actress category, is great in what is actually more of a lead role. There is an enjoyable supporting turn from Matt Damon. The cinematography (which will also win) is stellar. The Coens' script is sharp and cunning and often hilarious, but also, as always, punctuated with a few jumps and due poignancy. The whole movie is held together and given its true spirit from Jeff Bridges, who is currently enjoying a renaissance in his career. He deserves it. Bridges's turn as a one-eyed ranger is a performance I consider unrivaled this year - I suspect people will develop fondness for it over time the way they do for Bridges's infamous Dude. Serious props are due for a guy who can create enduring characters like Jeff Bridges does.
1. The Social Network -- I had to watch The Social Network twice to fully appreciate what it accomplishes. Before the first time I remember reading comparisons in terms of cultural significance to movies like The Godfather, to which I turned my nose up. How could a movie about a stupid internet website rival one of the best movies ever made? After a second viewing I maintain The Social Network is not in that company, but I am now ready to give it the proper credit. People who hailed this as the best movie of the year in September, when it rolled out to enormous hype and praise, were not off the mark. This really is a monumental achievement, and the main reason is its excellence in being an example of simple, classic storytelling. For that, I will grant the comparison to the Puzo adaptation. Aaron Sorkin's script (which will win for adapted screenplay) observes the paradigms and conventions of screenwriting in addition to basic storytelling, and it incorporates several universal themes to deliver an effective dramatization of a very contemporary story. The interplay of the noveau content of the movie with the true and tested mechanics that bring it to life are what make this such a relevant, meaningful movie. The flawless technical aspects - direction, cinematography, and perhaps above all, music (Trent Reznor's score, nominated, guaranteed winner, is simply outstanding - I can't recall a soundtrack more apt and befitting the film it accompanies) make what could have been a cinematic trifle into something special. This movie could have been an afterthought, or demographic-specific, or overwrought, or sensationalized. It is not. It succeeds as the sum of its parts. The performances are not especially noteworthy - they are good, sometimes very good, but more than anything they are adequate and appropriate, not exceptional. That is all this movie requires. Sorkin likes to craft fast dialogue and leave scenes on zingers and one-liners. This gaves the movie pace and cadence, but does not define it. The relationship between the characters and the stuff of their world is what makes the story stand out. The story is perfectly logical: it proceeds from one scenario in the opening to its final act as a process of reaction. There is math to the plot development, a simple equation with a seed on one side and a blossom on the other, the same relationship that exists between the algorithm one character writes on a window and the world-dominating social entity it creates. Everything is equal. This movie is simple and neat as much as it is profound and provocative. The central character, Mark Zuckerberg, has an obsession with modesty and clean, straight lines; no clutter, no excess. That is The Social Network. It is the most deserving movie in this category.
10. Toy Story 3 -- I am one of a very small minority of people who did NOT like Toy Story 3. I found it mean-spirited, unnecessarily dark, and given the satisfaction of my nostalgia for the first two Toy Story films from years back, this latest installment - especially because it lacked the fun factor I was hoping for and expecting - felt like it was basically superfluous. Why ruin a good memory? Not sure why the Academy has this movie nominated for best film honors twice. It will win the Best Animated feature category running away. (I imagine Buzz Lightyear and Woody will also be presenters.)
9. The Kids Are All Right -- This is clearly the pure-politics nominee this year, a movie directed by a woman about gay women who like to argue about their place in the world of alternative lifestyles. I actually enjoyed this movie on its own terms. There are strong, engaging performances and the storyline has a couple of nice twists. I could have done without the sex scenes - there are other ways to give your movie a frank and honest tone, I think. Politics aside, I feel that this movie probably would have been lost in the shuffle; plenty of other movies released in 2010 were as effective and well-composed.
8. 127 Hours -- As someone who was put off by the excessive hype his previous effort Slumdog Millionaire received, I was very satisfied with the latest from Danny Boyle. James Franco is excellent in the starring role, pretty much carrying the film by himself - well-earned acting nomination for Franco. Boyle employs a lot of edgy techniques to tell the story, which make a movie about a guy stuck in a chasm more riveting than it likely could have been. Not what I consider Boyle's best, but better than his last.
7. The Fighter -- In a previous blog post I called this the 'year of the buddy movie', but having seen all the nominations now, I think there is an equally impactive theme of 'strong women' in many of these films (Kids is another, and see also Black Swan and Winter's Bone). Here, Mark Wahlberg's title role is a character ruled by an oppressive matriarch (Melissa Leo, excellent, one of two frontrunners for supporting actress) and the presence of numerous sisters. Christian Bale with a fantastic chameleon role. The super-charged relationships between the authentic characters are what make this movie work; the performances are top notch. The ending ruins everything.
6. Winter's Bone -- This is the hardest-hitting of the nominees. The realism and gut-punching grit of this movie outstrip all nine of its peers. It is a simple story. Like The Fighter, it is the characters that power the experience, centered around a star-making performance from Jennifer Lawrence (nominated for lead actress - if this weren't Natalie Portman's year Lawrence would win easily). Lawrence's turn as a principled, steady and determined surrogate mother carries the film and leaves you feeling raw.
5. The King's Speech -- This movie will win the Oscar for Best Picture this year. It is not undeserving. Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush are both outstanding, great story, fantastic visual style. A good dose of humor and a gentle touch make it a light and enjoyable experience to watch. For me, the innocuous and lighthearted tone are maybe a tad excessive to make for a lasting achievement; I think there is less to be said about what this film means than there is for many of the other nominees. I read somewhere that The King's Speech is like a Disney movie. I agree. And I mean it in the best sense.
4. Inception -- I read a great article in a recent issue of GQ magazine about how movies like Inception are so rarely found these days in the summer blockbuster months: a unique, original, engaging film that is a fun, enjoyable ride released in a season given over to tepid, lousy sequels, remakes, and other brand-name movies conceived by marketing departments. There are plenty of holes in the storyline of Inception, if you spend enough time picking at it, and some of the performances - Ellen Page especially - leave the viewer wanting, but Christopher Nolan should be revered as a steward for the new Hollywood, providing a moviegoing experience that can effectively satisfy the palate of every audience.
3. Black Swan -- Eventually, Darren Aronofsky should be given his due. Seemingly all of his films are best-of-the-year candidates but he always seems to be sitting and watching other filmmakers take home the honors. Too bad. Black Swan is a full-throttle mind-bending experience nearly more intense than the skillfully-conceived twists of Inception. Part sexy, taut thriller, part character study, part tragedy, as the movie unravels the more you see the less conviction you possess. The story hurls towards a high magnitude climax that leaves you breathless. One of the most intriguing aspects of this film is looking at it as a companion piece to Aronofsky's previous The Wrestler (2008). Both films engage similar themes and the contrast of the lead roles - Natalie Portman heads Swan in what is her best performance to date - is truly fascinating.
2. True Grit -- When I watched this movie I was initially underwhelmed. For the storied Coen brothers, this is one of their more straight-ahead, generic efforts. Their previous adaptations from literary classics-slash-remakes have yielded some uninspiring results and at first blush True Grit is a fairly standard western-genre romp. But this movie grows on you after viewing. Hailee Stanfeld, who will win the best supporting actress category, is great in what is actually more of a lead role. There is an enjoyable supporting turn from Matt Damon. The cinematography (which will also win) is stellar. The Coens' script is sharp and cunning and often hilarious, but also, as always, punctuated with a few jumps and due poignancy. The whole movie is held together and given its true spirit from Jeff Bridges, who is currently enjoying a renaissance in his career. He deserves it. Bridges's turn as a one-eyed ranger is a performance I consider unrivaled this year - I suspect people will develop fondness for it over time the way they do for Bridges's infamous Dude. Serious props are due for a guy who can create enduring characters like Jeff Bridges does.
1. The Social Network -- I had to watch The Social Network twice to fully appreciate what it accomplishes. Before the first time I remember reading comparisons in terms of cultural significance to movies like The Godfather, to which I turned my nose up. How could a movie about a stupid internet website rival one of the best movies ever made? After a second viewing I maintain The Social Network is not in that company, but I am now ready to give it the proper credit. People who hailed this as the best movie of the year in September, when it rolled out to enormous hype and praise, were not off the mark. This really is a monumental achievement, and the main reason is its excellence in being an example of simple, classic storytelling. For that, I will grant the comparison to the Puzo adaptation. Aaron Sorkin's script (which will win for adapted screenplay) observes the paradigms and conventions of screenwriting in addition to basic storytelling, and it incorporates several universal themes to deliver an effective dramatization of a very contemporary story. The interplay of the noveau content of the movie with the true and tested mechanics that bring it to life are what make this such a relevant, meaningful movie. The flawless technical aspects - direction, cinematography, and perhaps above all, music (Trent Reznor's score, nominated, guaranteed winner, is simply outstanding - I can't recall a soundtrack more apt and befitting the film it accompanies) make what could have been a cinematic trifle into something special. This movie could have been an afterthought, or demographic-specific, or overwrought, or sensationalized. It is not. It succeeds as the sum of its parts. The performances are not especially noteworthy - they are good, sometimes very good, but more than anything they are adequate and appropriate, not exceptional. That is all this movie requires. Sorkin likes to craft fast dialogue and leave scenes on zingers and one-liners. This gaves the movie pace and cadence, but does not define it. The relationship between the characters and the stuff of their world is what makes the story stand out. The story is perfectly logical: it proceeds from one scenario in the opening to its final act as a process of reaction. There is math to the plot development, a simple equation with a seed on one side and a blossom on the other, the same relationship that exists between the algorithm one character writes on a window and the world-dominating social entity it creates. Everything is equal. This movie is simple and neat as much as it is profound and provocative. The central character, Mark Zuckerberg, has an obsession with modesty and clean, straight lines; no clutter, no excess. That is The Social Network. It is the most deserving movie in this category.
 |
| "Oh shit - the Oscars are tonight??" |
2/22/11
Movies Worth Watching - HOSTEL: 'The Abbreviated Epic'
I was recently in Cancun, Mexico, walking along a street filled with resorts, cantinas plastered with Corona banners, and North American chain restaurants. (Some people go on vacation to get away from Starbucks; alas, it seems to be waiting for you everywhere...) In a crack between the commercial facades there was a small weathered sign advertising a hostel. A Mexican hostel. This Cancun strip may favor tourists with money, but one needn't be elite to be treated like a boss in Mexico. It's difficult to imagine backpackers roughing it in a hole in the ground dump like a Mexican hostel when for a reasonable price you can be across the street in a five-star all-inclusive hotel, drunk on the beach at 10am.
Being away from the internet and our American culture for a few days, seeing that grungy hostel sign reminded me of a great little movie I saw for the first time just last year, the cult hit Hostel (2005), directed by Eli Roth, the now fairly well-known director who got his break with Cabin Fever (2002)--a film that was picked up after screening initially at the Toronto International Film Festival.
Hostel is an example of what I like to call 'the abbreviated epic.' There is a song by The Pixies called "Mr. Grieves" that nicely illustrates this paradigm. Clocking in at just over two minutes in length, "Mr. Grieves" undergoes several tempo and stylistic changes, making it feel grandiose and well-appointed even though it is incredibly brief by the standards governing most pop/rock songs. "Happiness Is A Warm Gun" by The Beatles is another example, with a similar rhapsodic change-up structure. Especially in an era in our cultural evolution where attention spans are markedly stunted, successfully communicating a complete artistic vision in a small timeframe is a feat. Imagine if it were possible that for the entire cinematic Harry Potter saga you could get everything you needed from it in just one movie rather than eight or nine. Or to know who the next American Idol will be in sixty minutes instead of over four months, with the same satisfaction of experience. And there is more to admire than deftly seizing restricted opportunity: Efficiency. All our lives progress inexorably forward with a time limitation, a certain endpoint, and there is much to see, do, and learn about the universe over a definite period. If everything were compact and fully maximized, there would be greater chance to absorb and accomplish. We could all be richer people.
Roth's movie understands this concept and dutifully strives for it. Hostel is a mere 94 minutes long and it contains essentially three movies linked together by one storyline. The story: a trio of friends travel to eastern Europe and stay in a hostel; they meet some girls; two of the guys are killed off; the third one survives. Act one of the story is presented as a sort of teen-friendly romp: guys goofing off in a foreign country, drinking, drugs, lots of nudity and sex. They meet a strange man on a train. One of the guys goes missing. Act two: the skin-flick sensibility of act one bleeds over and the movie changes into gruesome torture-porn; blood and gore abound--not for the squeamish. Missing guy turns up dead, second guy dies. Third guy gets away. Act three: the bloodletting of act two continues as the lone survivor discovers the weird guy from the train is part of a murderous sect that offed his buddies, goes after the weird guy, and the movie becomes an homage to Korean revenge films (such as those by Park Chan-wook), survivor wearing a black suit and leather gloves as he hunts down the killer.
The beauty of the genre metamorphosis in Hostel--besides simply admiring each act for its own unique awesomeness--is that when the surviving buddy finally gets to the weirdo from the train and cuts off his fingers, the expansive all-inclusiveness in the muscular running time of the preceding make you as the viewer feel as though you are fulfilling a rather prolonged and arduous journey and provides the intensified, earned sense of satisfaction that accompanies the end of such a journey. Because it is short movie (each of the Harry Potter movies, eight of them, run for hour longer ore more apiece) much detail and exposition is necessarily omitted, but by phase-shifting from one act to the next an illusion of depth is created. Each individual section of the movie is adequately self-contained, but strung together they synthesize a dramatic enormity. It is the same effect as a one-dimensional rectangular image rotating to reveal it tunnels out into a third dimension; or the cumulative awe brought on by the entire Manhattan skyline viewed from Liberty Island. Scope is not necessarily a function of actual size.
Eli Roth's films have been appreciated by his peers, who also like to put him to work--such as Quentin Tarantinto. You might recall Roth doing double duty in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (2009) as an actor and director, the latter of which roles produced the film-within-a-film in Basterds, Nation's Pride. Roth also directed a fake movie trailer (Thanksgiving) to appear in the 'intermission' between films in the dual-feature Grindhouse (2007), the concept for which was co-conceived by, and the second feature of which was directed by Tarantino (Death Proof; the first feature was directed by Roberto Rodriguez). Quentin Tarantino has demonstrated clear admiration, and seems a most appropriate candidate to qualify Roth's work--QT is the quintessential genre-mashing filmmaker and a touchstone cinematic artisan, and certainly he above anyone else would have the sensibility to recognize a likeness in kind, likewise skilled.
The success and popularity of Hostel spawned a sequel, directed by Roth--it was almost as good as the first--but he has yet to author a follow-up movie. If he decides to do a Hostel III perhaps he could shoot it in Mexico--there has certainly been lots of appropriately horrific content in the media lately to work with. Plenty of decent resorts down there to put the crew up in, too.
Being away from the internet and our American culture for a few days, seeing that grungy hostel sign reminded me of a great little movie I saw for the first time just last year, the cult hit Hostel (2005), directed by Eli Roth, the now fairly well-known director who got his break with Cabin Fever (2002)--a film that was picked up after screening initially at the Toronto International Film Festival.
Hostel is an example of what I like to call 'the abbreviated epic.' There is a song by The Pixies called "Mr. Grieves" that nicely illustrates this paradigm. Clocking in at just over two minutes in length, "Mr. Grieves" undergoes several tempo and stylistic changes, making it feel grandiose and well-appointed even though it is incredibly brief by the standards governing most pop/rock songs. "Happiness Is A Warm Gun" by The Beatles is another example, with a similar rhapsodic change-up structure. Especially in an era in our cultural evolution where attention spans are markedly stunted, successfully communicating a complete artistic vision in a small timeframe is a feat. Imagine if it were possible that for the entire cinematic Harry Potter saga you could get everything you needed from it in just one movie rather than eight or nine. Or to know who the next American Idol will be in sixty minutes instead of over four months, with the same satisfaction of experience. And there is more to admire than deftly seizing restricted opportunity: Efficiency. All our lives progress inexorably forward with a time limitation, a certain endpoint, and there is much to see, do, and learn about the universe over a definite period. If everything were compact and fully maximized, there would be greater chance to absorb and accomplish. We could all be richer people.
Roth's movie understands this concept and dutifully strives for it. Hostel is a mere 94 minutes long and it contains essentially three movies linked together by one storyline. The story: a trio of friends travel to eastern Europe and stay in a hostel; they meet some girls; two of the guys are killed off; the third one survives. Act one of the story is presented as a sort of teen-friendly romp: guys goofing off in a foreign country, drinking, drugs, lots of nudity and sex. They meet a strange man on a train. One of the guys goes missing. Act two: the skin-flick sensibility of act one bleeds over and the movie changes into gruesome torture-porn; blood and gore abound--not for the squeamish. Missing guy turns up dead, second guy dies. Third guy gets away. Act three: the bloodletting of act two continues as the lone survivor discovers the weird guy from the train is part of a murderous sect that offed his buddies, goes after the weird guy, and the movie becomes an homage to Korean revenge films (such as those by Park Chan-wook), survivor wearing a black suit and leather gloves as he hunts down the killer.
The beauty of the genre metamorphosis in Hostel--besides simply admiring each act for its own unique awesomeness--is that when the surviving buddy finally gets to the weirdo from the train and cuts off his fingers, the expansive all-inclusiveness in the muscular running time of the preceding make you as the viewer feel as though you are fulfilling a rather prolonged and arduous journey and provides the intensified, earned sense of satisfaction that accompanies the end of such a journey. Because it is short movie (each of the Harry Potter movies, eight of them, run for hour longer ore more apiece) much detail and exposition is necessarily omitted, but by phase-shifting from one act to the next an illusion of depth is created. Each individual section of the movie is adequately self-contained, but strung together they synthesize a dramatic enormity. It is the same effect as a one-dimensional rectangular image rotating to reveal it tunnels out into a third dimension; or the cumulative awe brought on by the entire Manhattan skyline viewed from Liberty Island. Scope is not necessarily a function of actual size.
Eli Roth's films have been appreciated by his peers, who also like to put him to work--such as Quentin Tarantinto. You might recall Roth doing double duty in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (2009) as an actor and director, the latter of which roles produced the film-within-a-film in Basterds, Nation's Pride. Roth also directed a fake movie trailer (Thanksgiving) to appear in the 'intermission' between films in the dual-feature Grindhouse (2007), the concept for which was co-conceived by, and the second feature of which was directed by Tarantino (Death Proof; the first feature was directed by Roberto Rodriguez). Quentin Tarantino has demonstrated clear admiration, and seems a most appropriate candidate to qualify Roth's work--QT is the quintessential genre-mashing filmmaker and a touchstone cinematic artisan, and certainly he above anyone else would have the sensibility to recognize a likeness in kind, likewise skilled.
The success and popularity of Hostel spawned a sequel, directed by Roth--it was almost as good as the first--but he has yet to author a follow-up movie. If he decides to do a Hostel III perhaps he could shoot it in Mexico--there has certainly been lots of appropriately horrific content in the media lately to work with. Plenty of decent resorts down there to put the crew up in, too.
 |
| "Hope everything is alright..." |
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