I'd been excited for years about a feature-film adaptation of Sacha Baron Cohen's Brüno. To save you valuable time and clicking:
Brüno's correspondence cuts deeper than that of Ali G and Borat because he reveals the ridiculous double-standards of masculinity. I'm thinking in particular of the Spring Break at Daytona Beach segment. Groups of young men freely and frequently engage in homoerotic activities like drinking, wrestling, and bunking with each other, but when one of these men (Brüno) identifies as gay, it suddenly threatens the homosocial dynamic and the group's collective "straightness". Uhh, hello? You both enjoy rolling around with men, so what's the problem?
So, it was much to my dismay earlier this summer that I walked into a theater bright-eyed & bushy-tailed and walked out...feeling nothing. After many weeks, I've finally been able to muster up enough disappointment to eulogize my beloved Brüno.
On "Da Ali G Show", Brüno is a subversive character; hilarity comes from his unexpected reveal of gayness in "straight" activities. Brüno does the opposite, with Cohen playing every stereotype from minute one to inflame überstraight passersby. This carte-blanche offense works wonders when Cohen dons his Borat disguise; since most people have no preconceptions of Kazakhs, they can accept his outrageous remarks at face value, and even join in on the antics. But gay stereotypes of dirty, disgusting, überfemme queens are very real, and when Brüno confirms these "truths", it doesn't challenge his mark's straightness (like TV Brüno), or loosen up their prejudice for a punchline (like Borat), it merely offends them and shuts them down. It isn't surprising (and thus, isn't funny) that Congressman Ron Paul would storm away from a "crazy queer" trying to seduce him, or that a group of hunters would reject discussing "Sex & The City". What is surprising are the number of controversial topics Brüno avoids – most notably Don't Ask Don't Tell (despite a lengthy sequence with the Alabama National Guard) & gay marriage bans like Prop. 8 – amidst Cohen's awkward shenanigans.
Luckily, a few threads in Brüno ditch the gay-face routine and get the comedy back on track. In a plot where Brüno attempts to become a celebrity, he encounters "charity consultants" who are all too willing to help him find his "Dar-five" ("Dar-four", it seems, is already outdated). Another has pageant parents cast their children's safety into the wind for a photo shoot featuring live insects, Nazi tots & a crucifixion. Yet, for each of these gold lamés, there are other sequences that fall back on Ali G-esque buffoonery, with Brüno confusing Hamas with hummus and accusing individuals of racism when they remind him that African-Americans don't live in Africa. Brüno is smarter than that, and it's a shame Brüno isn't.
Despite some genuine laughs, most of Brüno is too far off-base to recommend. As a Cohen fan, I recommend sticking with the fashionista in smaller doses on DVD.
Nothing says "respectful outing of cinematic appreciation" like a drinking game. And NOTHING says "Halloween" like John Carpenter's Halloween, a true classic whose influence cannot be overstated. And, praise Samhain, October 31st is on a Saturday this year!
All the cards are in place. So, after my little vampire bat goes down (up?) for the night this Halloween, I'm looking forward to the following:
One Drink: Every time you see a pumpkin. Every time you see the Sanitarium station wagon. Every time someone says "Totally!" Every time someone says "Boogeyman". Every time one of Laurie's friends make fun of her for seeing The Shape.
Two Drinks: Every time you see a palm tree. (trivia time: the streets of "Haddonfield, IL" are actually located in Pasadena) Every time you see another horror movie on TV. Every time Laurie discounts Tommy for seeing the Boogeyman. (after what she's seen, girl should know better.)
Waterfall: Every time Dr. Loomis goes off on Michael Myers, for as long as he continues ranting.
Kill It: Every time Michael Myers tilts his head. Every time Michael Myers plays dress-up. Every time Michael Myers is unmasked. (Including the opening sequence - yes, I want you to start the movie with something in your system.)
If I survive the night he came home, I'm also considering a marathon of the entire series. Yes, even Part 6 (it has Paul Rudd in it!). YES, even Resurrection (it has Busta Rhymes in it!).
The highly-secretive epic Avatar isn't coming out until December, but 20th Century Fox & James Cameron gave Christmas presents a little early this year. On August 21st, "Avatar Day", the Avatar trailer was released online, and 16 minutes of the film unspooled worldwide in IMAX 3D. In development for nearly fifteen years, Avatar is already a victim of its own hype, pegged as the greatest story ever told, and a game-changer in all respects.
But it'll be a miracle if it doesn't bomb.
Conservative estimates place Avatar's budget at $250 million. Combined with prints and advertising, the total budget could easily exceed $400 million. Even if Avatar is the highest-grossing film this year, it will remain in the red. It needs to meet or beat James Cameron's last film, Titanic, just to break even - and considering Titanic is the highest-grossing film of all time, that's a very scary thought.
True, Avatar shares Titanic's release date, and dutiful captain Cameron. But that's all. Titanic is the epitome of high concept: a forbidden romance set against one of history's most famous tragedies. Avatar is...well, there's some aliens, some alien monsters, and some people, I think they're at war. One of them seems to love another one of them. And they're blue! To quote the official Avatar site: "On the distant moon Pandora, a reluctant hero embarks on a journey of redemption and discovery as he leads a heroic battle to save a civilization". Huh? As if that weren't odd enough, Avatar also has to distinguish itself from the well-known cartoon "Avatar: The Last Airbender", which also has a forthcoming film adaptation.
Another reason for the sparse attendance is Cameron & Fox's technophilia clashing with accessibility. Too much attention has been placed on Avatar's state-of-the-art 3D filmmaking and IMAX 3D release. The answer to all criticism thus far has been "just wait 'til you see it in IMAX 3D!" But how many of these screens actually exist? Judging by box office receipts, not that many; the current IMAX 3D record, held by The Polar Express, is a mere $45 million (and this was over a period of 4 years). Regarding international markets, Dreamworks CEO & 3D cheerleader Jeffrey Katzenberg admits they are even "further behind" than the U.S. in 3D screen counts. Avatar's running time of over two-and-a-half hours further limits the number of screenings that can be held in a day.
This emphasis on Avatar as 3D theatrical event also severely handicaps the home market where, despite a battering in the last couple years, the majority of studio money is still made. Newsweek reported this week on 3D television prototypes, but the fact remains that there is currently no reliable method of delivering 3D on DVD. Ditto for broadcast rights, times ten (how would networks distribute the glasses?). All this furthers the pressure on Avatar to make back its colossal budget right now.
Mid-'90s television saw an explosion of "authentic" film/video footage of UFO's & aliens. Spurred by their smash hit X-Files, Fox had a field day with the "alien autopsy" TV special, while shows like "Sightings" and "Strange Universe" featured amateur cams of flying saucers & Alien Abduction: Incident in Lake County. A few years back, Alien Autopsy re-emerged as a British comedy, and now, amidst an American science fiction resurgence comes The Fourth Kind, an alien abduction thriller that weaves mockumentary footage of interviews with alien abductees into its story.
It's an interesting hook that makes for a great trailer. Check it out courtesy of Sci-Fi Wire:
Push is a truly great story universe trapped in a truly crap plot. It may seem odd to recommend a film while making that admission from the get-go, but considering the far-greater numbers of crap universes encompassing crap stories, Push is worthy of exhibition on these grounds alone. And others as well.
A black ops agency known as The Division has been tracking, employing & imprisoning psychics for decades. They have classified and deconstructed all manner of abilities and persons throughout the globe. For tracking, they use "Sniffers", human bloodhounds who can locate anyone, anywhere & anyone they've ever been with. For plotting, they use "Watchers", packs of premonitioners who know exactly what will happen, where & when. Other agents specialize in healing ("Stitchers"), telekinesis ("Movers"), wiping memories ("Wipers"), shielding objects & blocking other abilities ("Shadows").
Then there are "Pushers": the ultimate human weapon. Once they have you in eye-sight, they have complete control. They can implant false memories. Forego true ones. Force you to commit acts of violence against yourmself or others. Or just disappear.
What makes writer David Bourla's world so interesting, however, is not how clearly he defines these abilities, but how clearly these abilities define his characters. "Watcher" Cassie Holmes' (Dakota Fanning) central anxiety is that, while she can see the future, she lacks the means to express this information to others. "Sniffers" prove to be pure fetishists, up in arms over a fresh toothbrush. Low-level "Pushers" are free-wheeling playboys, but those within the throngs of The Division are so far-removed from humanity that nothing they say or do can ever be trusted.
In comparison, Push's story just isn't that interesting. Charting a troop of teen psychics in Hong Kong as they attempt to track down missing "Pusher" Kira (Camilla Belle), the only one of their peers to escape The Division and survive a miracle drug (which they also have to track down; don't worry, it gets messier). Aside from provoking a lame romance subplot with lead "Mover" Nick Gant(Chris Evans), the colorless Kira is entirely disengaging. To cover this, Bourla sautees in two opposing teams of villains: The Division, led cleanly, efficiently & spookily by Henry Carver (Djimon Hounsou), and a family of Chinese psychic gangsters (Orientalism at its finest: their main psychic power is to scream really loud and burst your eardrums). If the story had more to go on, it wouldn't be as easily overburdened, but you don't have to be a "Watcher" to see the twists & turns coming a mile off.
Yet, as sloppy as Push's story is, it remains an interesting low budget blockbuster. Director Paul McGuigan uses kinetic camera, swirling colors & eclectic style to cleverly disguise limitations and ratchet up the action. Hong Kong, cinema's quintessential un-American metropolis, becomes a truly alienating, scary place. Characters are so isolated they're rarely even shown in frame together. But when they are, it's a joy; Hounsou and Cliff Curtis are treats, and Fanning is able to balance tween snottiness with childish insecurity with her unlikely (and barely willing) protector Gant.
Don't pay full price. I didn't. But do check it out.
So, last month I posted a run-down of the film events in and around L.A. I promised to do it every week, and I have. Where is it? At culture blog LAist.
I'm very grateful for the opportunity, exposure & very proud to point you towards this week's column!
Now, as I continually look for ways to engage this blog, my film knowledge & have a bit of fun, let's talk My Bloody Valentine 3-D:
What's wrong with this picture? Not the remake (since that means the original is getting a re-release with its long-awaited deleted scenes attached). Not the 3D (if it can make Beowulf entertaining, it's one hell of a gimmick!).
It's the release date.
Why the hell is My Bloody Valentine, the perfect Valentine's Day counter-program (hint: some people, including those in happy relationships, get sick of watching Amelie every year), being released January 16th? I know Lionsgate hates horror films now, but you'd think the mega-successful Saw franchise has taught them to make a killing with seasonal/well-timed horror releases.
Considering January-February is an unofficial studio "dumping period", I doubt any film released now, including My Bloody Valentine, has legs to last through February. And it's a damn shame, as holiday-themed horror films are one of my favorite gimmicks & guiltiest pleasures.
'Tis the season for Christmas films everywhere. The Aero & Egyptian Theatres sport traditional fare White Christmas & It's A Wonderful Life, while both branches of the Arclight host newer Christmas comedies Elf & A Christmas Story. But if you're sick of Santa, the New Beverly's got your back. Tuesday, the Grindhouse Film Festival hosts their annual holiday program, pairing proto-slasher Black Christmas with Silent Night Bloody Night (not to be confused with Silent Night Deadly Night or the forthcoming Silent Night Zombie Night). Saturday, Amoeba Music & New Beverly Midnights remind us how noel can be a nightmare with Jingle All The Way, starring our governor!
For the agnostic & apathetic, Monday brings an early no-Christmas-present: a preview of The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button with film critic Stephen Farber & special guests at the Wadsworth Theatre. If you find yourself with 4 and a half hours to kill, the full "road show" version of Stephen Soderbergh's Che runs through Thursday at The Landmark; see it now before distributors play Solomon & cut it down the middle. If you find yourself awake at noon on a Tuesday, LACMA has a matinee of John Sturges' classic Western The Law & Jack Wade.
Speaking of classics, the Hollywood legends are out in droves this week. Charlie Chaplin (Monsieur Verdoux), Laurel & Hardy (March Of The Wooden Soldiers), Jimmy Stewart (Bell, Book & Candle, The Shop Around The Corner) & Bruce Campbell (Army Of Darkness) all appear on screen this week. George Cukor's original version of The Women has a rare showing in town, and for the more daring, two of Canadian auteur Guy Maddin's unique silent-film, modern-sensibility dramedies play mid-week.
Full list & my picks appear below. See you at the movies!
The Conformist (1970) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre) Amidst all the seasonal chaos, Laemmle quietly celebrates their 70th birthday with a killer world cinema series at the Royal in West L.A. Tonight's film, Bernardo Bertolucci's The Conformist, is a nightmarish thriller that perfectly encapsulates the political upheaval, paranoia & cynicism of the decade.
Black Christmas (1974) / Silent Night, Bloody Night (1974) (New Beverly Cinema) I'm an unabashed grindhouse fan, but it helps when the film's a stone-cold classic. Black Christmas along with Halloween, laid the groundwork and displayed the true suspenseful, gory potential of the much-maligned slasher flick. Silent Night, Bloody Night offers even more reasons why answering the phone when you're all alone in a big, spooky house just isn't a good idea.
Che (2008) (The Landmark) In the golden days of yore, epics like Laurence of Arabia & Gone With The Wind toured the country as road shows. Masses flocked, knowing it would be their only chance to see such a spectacle in its entirety. Then, home video & decreased attention spans came and obliterated these events. They don't make 'em or show 'em like this any more, and unless 4 hour Spanish-language films become trendy, they likely won't ever again.
Timecrimes (Los Crinocrimenes) (2007) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) I love time-travel films, but there's always something missing. Primer doesn't have any comprehensible dialogue. Back To The Future doesn't have any murder. Donnie Darko doesn't have any likable characters. Spanish techno-thriller Timecrimes promises all this and, according to the advance press, it delivers.
My Name Is Bruce (2007) (w/ special guest Bruce Campbell!) (Nuart Theatre) Anyone who's read Bruce Campbell's autobiography If Chins Could Kill or seen any of his movies knows the man has mastered the arts of self-deprecation, quick-wit & slapstick. In My Name Is Bruce, Bruce Campbell utilizes all in the role he was born to play: Bruce Campbell, a jerk, who must rise to the task and become Bruce Campbell, b-movie star. Because there's an evil Chinese spirit running around Oregonian backwoods beheading everyone. Confused? Maybe Bruce Campbell can explain it to you - he's hosting a Q&A on all things Bruce Campbell after the film.
And in case that isn't enough Bruce Campbell for you, you can catch a midnight showing of Army Of Darkness at the Regency Fairfax right afterward.
Fiddler On The Roof (1971) (Aero Theatre) As much as I'd love to check out The Royal's 70mm series screenings of The Abyss & Aliens, my sister's in town for Chanukah, and Fiddler's the only Chanukah-esque movie I know of. If anyone can recommend a better Chanukah flick, I'm all ears (but if you say Eight Crazy Nights, I'm defriending you).
Total Recall (1990) / Starship Troopers (1997) (New Beverly Cinema) Everyone loves to jump on Showgirls, but truth is Paul Verhoeven has an incredible talent for sneaking subversive satire in-between mutants & explosions. While these films are no Robocop, nay-sayers should be ready for a surprise.
Many follow the phrase "George Lucas" with "raped my childhood". These hyperbolic folk never consider George Lucas' take on his own youth, American Graffiti. Opening at dusk on a Mel's Diner & closing at dawn on a speeding T-bird, the film is an unabashed love letter to the summer of '62. The rock was loud, the cars were louder, and a group of friends follow dreams & chase tail for one more night, college changes their country & their lives forever.
Whereas THX-1138 & the Star Wars films center on science fiction spectacle and paper-thin soldiers of good & evil, American Graffiti is entirely character-driven. What's even more interesting is how Lucas subverts the expected high-school archetype. Cutest couple Steve Bolander & Laurie Henderson (Lil' Ronny Howard & Cindy Williams) quarrel over sex & long-distance relationships, squeaky-clean Curtis Henderson (Richard Dreyfuss) takes up with motorcycle gang The Pharaohs, and somehow ladies' man John Milner (Paul Le Mat) ended up escorting somebody's 12-year old sister all night. This unexpected dynamism plucks them from mere caricature; their wild night feels as real as any small-town tall-tale my Dad would reminisce with his buddies over a brew. Change the date, switch the soundtrack & it could be me & my friends.
Or could it? Much like those hazy memories, American Graffiti is planted too firmly in the past. You can crack a few smiles, but you can't truly enjoy it if you haven't lived it. Most films set over one day (or night) close with some unforgettable concert or party, satisfying both the youngster checking his watch & the oldster never wanting to leave. American Graffiti ends with such an event (a climactic car race turned crash), but something about it just doesn't feel right. Maybe it's because the scene is alienated, blindly leaping from hip-happening main street to silent backroads. Maybe it's because it teases consequence but doesn't deliver, with several persons walking away from a flaming, flying wreck without a scratch. Or maybe it's because, when that was the last time you saw that old screwball Toad give one of his glassy-eyed guffaws before he went off and got killed in 'Nam, you just had to be there.
I'm unfamiliar with satirist Bill Maher's work (save the magnum opus Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death), but I can think of few topics more politically incorrect than organized religion. It gets a free pass from logical debate, despite lore of space-men, resurrections & man-eating whales. It gets a free pass from political inspection, despite embracing "holy" wars and fiery annihilation. And it gets plenty of free passes from its followers, who spend untold billions on paraphernalia, films & even theme parks.
But it isn't getting a free pass from Bill Maher. His new documentary Religulous takes dead aim at organized religion, interviewing preachers, practitioners & PR men. He concludes that religion is hallucinogenic, manic & just plain silly – oh, and it controls just about every aspect of your life, believer or not.
Some may cry foul at Religulous' most sensational subjects – a Creationist museum with humans riding dinosaurs, Israeli inventors using gadgets to cheat the Sabbath, a “million-dollar messiah” who preaches indulgence over brimstone. Maher balances these absurdities out with fair-minded religious scientists, only to find they can't answer his questions either. He presents those questions, running the gamut from “Why are there no contemporary accounts of Jesus?” to “Why is faith good?”, in straightforward face-to-face interviews. He simply asks, often just states a story he takes issue with, and bites his tongue, no matter how outrageous the response.
Maher receives some interesting challenges, but most subjects stumble & fumble, with hilarious results. Of course, Religulous amplifies these flubs with below the Bible belt subtitles and cut-aways, but many of these are redirected towards Maher himself as self-deprecating funnyman. The film also includes many shots of director Larry Charles and camera-crew, undermining the omnipresence typical of documentaries. These techniques bring Religulous past the realm of just mocking the faithful, and emphasize Maher's personal mantra of "I don’t know".
Yet, Religulous doesn't get a free pass either. The film's organization is mish-mash, with humor abruptly giving way to grave newsclips & impassioned pleas for agnostic activism. There's little coherence or connection between interview subjects, and a number of groups are left out – to name a few: Eastern religions, Zionists, New Age cults. Maher can't cover it all or get it all right his first go-round, but Religulous claims there are millions of agnostics in America, more than there are blacks, Jews, and NRA members. Since these groups hold well-established niches in Americana, Religulous is a welcome introduction and groundwork for future agnostic cinema & culture.
The Burn After Reading poster overflows with information, intertwined chaotically with (appropriately) flaming colors, guns & shadowy fiigures. It's beautiful, if slightly incomprehensible. This description also applies to the mechanisms of the film's screwy characters and screwier story. Everyone “knows” everything, yet everyone knows nothing, and that combination makes for one of the Coen Brothers' darkest comedies – and with a resume that regularly plumbs the depths of murder, kidnappings & seedy underbellies, that’s saying something.
I say this because, unlike quintuplets, prison gangs, layman detectives & hell, the information theft at the core of Burn After Reading is very real. The title's play on words refers to a dilemma central to the digital age: how do you keep secrets when computer contents are copied and distributed within seconds, your life story conveyed from database to person to person to database to person within the span of a few phone calls?
Lest you think this is some sexy techno-thriller where a voice-of-god hacker flings cars, helicopters & explosions at unsuspecting innocents*, remember that the Coen Brothers' trademark has always been lovable, quotable dolts, and here they do not disappoint. Convinced a "selective surgery" is her ticket out of dead-end internet relationships, personal trailer Linda Litzke (Coen favorite Frances McDormand) sees plenty of 1's & 0's when she discovers a CD-R full of state secrets. Unfortunately, the only one she can trust with it is Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt), a perky personal trainer whose idea of suiting up involves ear-buds & a bike. The CD-R contains the memoir of Osborne Cox (John Malkovich), an alcoholic ex-CIA Agent with a series of F-bombs and a serious axe to grind.
But Cox isn't the only Fed mixed up in this. Low-level Treasurer, high-level smarmerer Harry Pfarrer (George Clooney) charms the pants off every woman in sight (including those in the audience), but it's Cox's CIA superiors that steal the show. J.K. Simmons continues his awesomeness streak with hilariously blunt assessments of the increasingly entangled situation. He doesn't know what the hell is going on either, but with nothing on the line it sure is fun to watch.
And I concur.
* That's Eagle Eye, which I’ve got lined up later in the week, if the space-time-money continuum allows.
