Solarmanite Sketches

Brüno: Überdisappointment

2009-09-12T14:13:00.000-07:00

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"charity consultants" who are all too willing to help him find his "Dar-five" ("Dar-four", it seems, is already outdated).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.

Halloween (1978): The Drinking Game

2009-09-07T18:27:00.000-07:00

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!).

Avatar Is Not The Second Coming.

2009-08-21T18:56:00.001-07:00

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.

Titanic also had incredible legs - remember the Italian teenager who saw it every day for over a month? - whereas Avatar's biggest push has been amongst the fanboy crowd, who tend to top-load opening weekends and then disappear. Much of Titanic's appeal came from Leonardo DiCaprio, fresh from teen hits Romeo + Juliet and The Basketball Diaries. Conversely, Avatar's lead, Sam Worthington, is a relative unknown, coming off of Terminator: Salvation, a film out of favor with both critics or crowds. This may be why some reports place Avatar Day events in half-full theaters.

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.

And did I mention the trailer sucks?

The Fourth Kind Trailer

2009-08-16T16:16:00.000-07:00

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 (2009)

2009-03-19T16:58:00.000-07:00

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.

*** 1/2

My Bloody Events Calendar

2009-01-08T10:32:00.000-08:00

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.

This Week In Film (In L.A.): 12/15-12/21

2008-12-14T23:30:00.000-08:00

'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!

Monday
$9.99 (2008) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement thru Thursday)
Animal House (1978) / Strange Brew (1983) (New Beverly Cinema)
Bell, Book & Candle (1958) (The Bay Theatre)
Che (2008) (The Landmark) (exclusive engagement thru Thursday)
The Conformist (1970) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button (2008) (Wadsworth Theatre) (Reel Talk preview w/ special guests)
Dragon Hunters (2008) (Laemmle's Grande 4-Plex) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Elf (2003) (Arclight Hollywood)
Hania (2007) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Monsieur Verdoux (1947) (Nuart Theatre) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Timecrimes (Los Crinocrimenes) (2007) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Were The World Mine (2008) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)

Where I'll Be:

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.

Tuesday
$9.99 (2008) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement thru Thursday)
Black Christmas (1974) / Silent Night, Bloody Night (1974) (New Beverly Cinema)
Che (2008) (The Landmark) (exclusive engagement thru Thursday)
Dragon Hunters (2008) (Laemmle's Grande 4-Plex) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Elf (2003) (Arclight Sherman Oaks)
Fanny & Alexander (1982) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
Hania (2007) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Helvetica (2007) (Aero Theatre)
The Law & Jack Wade (1958) (LACMA) (matinee)
Monsieur Verdoux (1947) (Nuart Theatre) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Timecrimes (Los Crinocrimenes) (2007) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Were The World Mine (2008) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)

Where I'll Be:

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.

Wednesday
$9.99 (2008) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement thru Thursday)
Auntie Mame (1958) (The Egyptian Theatre)
Bell, Book & Candle (1958) (The Bay Theatre)
Che (2008) (The Landmark) (exclusive engagement thru Thursday)
A Christmas Story (1983) (Aero Theatre)
Dragon Hunters (2008) (Laemmle's Grande 4-Plex) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Hania (2007) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Monsieur Verdoux (1947) (Nuart Theatre) (limited engagement through Thursday)
My Winnipeg (2007) / The Saddest Music In The World (2003) (New Beverly Cinema)
Timecrimes (Los Crinocrimenes) (2007) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Were The World Mine (2008) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Women On The Nerve Of A Nervous Breakdown (1988) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)

Where I'll Be:

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.

Thursday
$9.99 (2008) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement)
Che (2008) (The Landmark) (exclusive engagement)
Dragon Hunters (2008) (Laemmle's Grande 4-Plex) (limited engagement)
Fiddler On The Roof (1971) (The Egyptian Theatre)
Hania (2007) (Laemmle's Music Hall 3) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Monsieur Verdoux (1947) (Nuart Theatre) (limited engagement through Thursday)
My Winnipeg (2007) / The Saddest Music In The World (2003) (New Beverly Cinema) (New Beverly Cinema)
Timecrimes (Los Crinocrimenes) (2007) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)
Were The World Mine (2008) (Laemmle's Sunset 5) (limited engagement through Thursday)
White Christmas (1954) (Aero Theatre)
Y Tu Mama Tambien (2001) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)

Where I'll Be:

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.

Friday
Army Of Darkness (1992) (midnight movie) (Regency Fairfax)
The Class (2008) (exclusive engagement) (The Landmark)
Cult Cinema Club: TBA Japanese Horror (The Egyptian Theatre)
The Killing (1956) / Paths Of Glory (1957) (New Beverly Cinema)
March Of The Wooden Soldiers (1934) (Old Time Music Hall)
My Name Is Bruce (2007) (w/ special guest Bruce Campbell!) (Nuart Theatre)
The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) (Aero Theatre)
Pink Floyd: The Wall (1982) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
Remains Of The Day (1993) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
The Shop Around The Corner (1940) (The Egyptian Theatre)
Tommy (1975) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
Trainspotting (1996) (The Bay Theatre)

Where I'll Be:

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.

Saturday
The Abyss (1989) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
Aliens (1986) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
Fiddler On The Roof (1971) (Aero Theatre)
Jingle All The Way (1996) (midnight show) (New Beverly Cinema)
The Killing (1956) / Paths Of Glory (1957) (New Beverly Cinema)
March Of The Wooden Soldiers (1934) (Old Time Music Hall)
My Name Is Bruce (2007) (w/ special guest Bruce Campbell!) (Nuart Theatre)
Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) (midnight show) (Nuart Theatre)
Scrooge (1970) (free screening) (The Egyptian Theatre)
The Man Who Came To Dinner (1942) / Holiday Affair (1949) (The Egyptian Theatre)
Titanic (1997) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)

Where I'll Be:

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).

Sunday
A Christmas Story (1983) (Arclight Sherman Oaks)
Gremlins (1984) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
Indiana Jones & The Last Crusade (1989) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
March Of The Wooden Soldiers (1934) (Old Time Music Hall)
My Name Is Bruce (2007) (w/ special guest Bruce Campbell!) (Nuart Theatre)
Top Gun (1986) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
Total Recall (1990) / Starship Troopers (1997) (New Beverly Cinema)
Trainspotting (1996) (The Bay Theatre)
The Untouchables (1987) (Laemmle's Royal Theatre)
White Christmas (1954) (The Egyptian Theatre)
The Women (1939) (Starlight Studio)

Where I'll Be:

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.

That's this week in film. Love it or Netflix it.

American Graffiti (1973, dir. George Lucas)

2008-12-09T19:38:00.001-08:00

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.

Religulous (2008, dir. Larry Charles)

2008-10-05T17:20:00.000-07:00

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.

Burn After Reading (2008, dirs. Joel & Ethan Coen)

2008-09-23T19:43:00.000-07:00

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.

Free Film: Confessions of a Superhero

2008-08-14T09:40:00.001-07:00

The most promising element of new media is the free distribution of documentaries. Produced on small budgets, as labors of love, it isn't important that these pieces make money; rather that they find new eyes to open towards their quirky characters and introduce to new ideas and actions.

By now, everyone knows that the Star is Born Hollywood dream is as dated as Victory Bonds - and yet, every year fresh faces and film students come seeking overnight success with twinkles in their eyes and, sadly, failure on the horizon. Confessions of a Superhero tracks a group of performers who have carved a unique niche for themselves (yes, that's unique even by Hollywood standards). And through this Snag Films widget (and courtesy of some commercials), it's entirely free. My review follows (actually written a few months back, didn't realize I'd never posted it), and if my adding additional HTML mucked up the widget, the film is also available here.
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I used to pop corn at the El Capitan, and working on Hollywood Boulevard entails a special relationship with the costumed characters outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre (we even hired one as our Jack Sparrow). A “hey Hulk”, “sup Spiderman”, and “what it do, winged devil thing” (seriously, what is that guy?) is all it takes to get comfortable with them, but I never had the chutzpah to talk to them long enough to satisfy my curiosity: where do they come from? Where do they go? Why do they dress like superheroes?

Matt Ogens shares this curiosity, and lucky for us, he brought along a camera. His documentary Confessions of a Superhero (available on DVD), is somewhat scattershot in its narrative focus, but invaluable in its portraits of some of the Boulevard's most famous costumers, Christopher Dennis, Maxwell Allen, Jennifer Gerht, and Joseph McQueen.

Names don’t ring a bell? Jennifer averages $100-$300 a day in “tips” taking pictures as Wonder Woman. But she’s new; you probably haven’t heard of her. Christopher’s played Superman for well over a decade – he’s even got a booth at the autograph show, next to Lassie’s great-grandchild! No? Well, you have to have seen the news footage of Maxwell stripping out of his Bat-suit to battle labor protestors and cops! Really? Hmm. Joseph played a small part in the comedy Finishing the Game in-between blackouts from his 130-degree Hulk suit; I think it played the Nuart for a week.

OK, so these performers aren’t out there for fame and fortune. While an industry credit may be their career goal, it’s really a devotion to their comic book inspirations that drives them through elaborate preparations and miserable working conditions. Christopher’s apartment is a shrine to the Man of Steel, packed wall-to-wall with thousands of dollars worth of action figures, photographs, and memorabilia. Maxwell gives Bruce Wayne a run for his money in the dark and brooding department, prone to fits of rage from a life of beatings and mob work. He even wears his costume to therapy.

These interviews are interspersed with beautiful still shots of these and other characters in and out of costume from Director of Photography Charlie Gruet. He manages to make the Boulevard pop even more, transforming it into a vibrant carnival of capes and masks. When drawing in tourists, photos, and tips, these performers truly glow. Most of the time, however, their routine lacks such spark, reflected in the mundane apartments, empty warehouses, and grimy street corners they return to after their daily grind. Ultimately, Confessions reveals that, no matter how colorful your character, a job on the Boulevard’s a job like any other: ain’t nothing but work.

I'm Just Not Used To A Screening In The Middle Of The Night With Killer Robots!

2008-08-05T18:00:00.001-07:00

Ed's Note: Another column rejected by LAist. 2 for 2 - oh well. Would have posted this when I wrote it a week and a half ago, but I went on vacation.

If you're a Rocky Horror fanatic, you can do the Time Warp every weekend at the Nuart. If you'd rather throw spoons around The Room, there are regular events at Laemmle's Sunset. If you love The Big Lebowski, Hedwig And The Angry Inch, or any number of recognized cult classics, you're sure to find a theatrical screening every couple of months. If, however, you're enamored with Chopping Mall, a robo-slasher so obscure the DVD is mastered from a 20-year old videocassette, you’ll have to stay at home and cry, because 35mm materials don't exist. Or so I thought.

Phil Blankenship & The New Beverly Cinema prove me wrong and send me into cardiac arrest by featuring my all-time favorite film as one of their Midnight Movie programs. I’ve probably seen Chopping Mall more times than the original cast and crew by this point, but on the big screen? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event! So I skip Comic Con, cut short a friend's birthday, and even consider ditching my girlfriend at the Vermont / Beverly Red Line to make it on time (don't worry, I would have saved her a seat).

Upon arrival, I join a theater chock full of Chop-a-holics. I'm beyond ecstatic, but wonder if the crowd will laugh with or at this opus. Admittedly, this fear is not unfounded; Chopping Mall is a cheese-fest to the core, with a bunch of teens holed up in the Sherman Oaks Galleria, their sexual appetites and clunky one-liners their only defense against a cybernetic squadron with lasers set to kill.

Luckily, The New Beverly attracts only genuine fans, who eat up every minute. They recognize Chopping Mall as the Citizen Kane of robo-slashers. Sexploitation grinder Jim Wynorski commands cult favorites Kelli Maroney (Night of the Comet), Barbara Crampton (Re-Animator), Dick Miller (Gremlins and a million others) and Mary Woronov (Death Race 2000), and complements them with a brisk pace, ridiculous plot points, and sly digs at a now-lost mall culture.

As if that weren't enough, the director and leading lady also appear for an audience Q&A. Each is as cynical and sexy as ever, respectively; Jim Wynorski shares the secret to getting free Chopping Mall t-shirts from eBay bootleggers (hint: cease-and-desist), and Kelli Maroney offers choice anecdotes from the set of Fast Times at Ridgemont High. The New Beverly also throws in a choice ‘80s trailer reel of past Midnight Movie Slumber Party Massacre, future Midnight Movie The Gate (August 23rd), Mind Warp (Sid Haig, Robert Englund, and so much gore you could plotz), and The Wraith (punks vs. ghost cars, do I need to say more?).

And it’s only $7. I pay more for parking at The Arclight.
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The New Beverly's Midnight Movie schedule is available at: http://www.myspace.com/newbeverlymidnights and http://www.newbevcinema.com/

Chopping Mall is available on DVD through Lions Gate Entertainment.

Hellboy 2: Truly "Golden"

2008-07-16T08:25:00.000-07:00

(NOTE: Quick genesis. I started writing this column last week in preparation for a preview showing. Then missed said preview, sat on it a few days, paid to see it, and cut it down for culture blog LAist. They didn't run it, so here it is. Sorry if it reads a few days "dated".)

Hellboy has a hell of a time with release dates. In 2004, Sony locked the demonic anti-hero's horns against Jesus Christ himself (on Easter Sunday, no less). Now Universal goes and opens Hellboy II: The Golden Army between two equally prodigal sons: box office king Will Smith, and already-blockbuster The Dark Knight. And it isn't even in 3D!

But early reports have Big Red prevailing (at least for this weekend), and this is because Universal understands what made the original such a success. The Golden Army boasts every major player of the original team, with a bigger budget to boot. Writer/director Guillermo del Toro's biggest strength continues to be his aptness for grafting the fantastic to the realistic. Del Toro blurs the distinction between each element, playing evenly to their individual strengths. The result is a dreamscape as logical as it is awe-inspiring; it's as sensible to gasp at Hellboy's grotesque appearance as it is to empathize with him for trying to "fit in" amongst the general public.

As skilled as Guillermo del Toro is, Hellboy's success does not lie with him alone (after all, who remembers Mimic?). Character actors Ron Perlman and Doug Jones breathe life and one-liners into superhumans Hellboy and Abe Sabien beneath mounds of make-up; Hellboy bounces around like a pinball, and empathetic gillman Abe has a more meaningful presence than the original film. The Golden Army brings the duo a paranormal playmate: Johann Krauss, a controlling spirit sporting a thick robotic suit and a thicker accent. The Golden Army's increased effects budget also shines through an onslaught of fantastic creatures; instead of squaring off against primarily humanoid villains, Hellboy and his team battle ravenous tooth fairies, Wink, an ape-like creature with a mace for a hand, and the Golden Army themselves, clockwork Golems rendered beautifully through stop motion and CGI. Particularly amazing is a sequence set in The Troll Market, an exotic realm packed to the brim with beasts recalling Star Wars' Mos Eisley Cantina in its sheer, weird wonder.

As in the original Hellboy, the human supporting cannot compete with their "freak" counterparts, but they roll with every punch the uncanny universe throws at them. Their primary defense is snappy exchange; Selma Blair's Liz Sherman and Jeffrey Tambor's Tom Manning remind his need for restraint; humanity needs him, even loves him, but above all fears him and his power. This conflict is set up for full realization in future sequels, of which there are so many setups & teases it isn't a question of if they will make another sequel, but how many more will they make.

Let's hope Universal stays smart and keeps the team together. Oh, and let's also hope The Hobbit doesn't keep Guillermo Del Toro too busy.

Want.

2008-05-14T14:38:00.000-07:00

From /Film.

Too bad I don't have a UK shipping address. I'm sure some English entrepeneur will find a way to get it to us Yanks (at triple the price) soon.

Haut Ist Mein Tag!

2008-03-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

Wow, so working on Saturday isn't as fun as I thought it would be. I have to park in visitor's parking because the underground garage isn't open (wonder if I got a ticket, hmm), the mail isn't here yet (which would be fine except I've been here for hours and all I was supposed to do was sort the mail), I don't know how to open the safe, and everytime I enter or leave the office, I set off the alarms.

Sure, all of these would be easily remedied were I more attentive and less retarded, but hey - what are the chances of that happening? Besides, if such were the case, I never would've uncovered this doozy, courtesy of the Motherland:

Yes, that's a Nazi screwball comedy. A few years ago my friend Jasmine and I proposed a similarly tasteless short called Holocaust Hits & Misses, in the style of one of those shitty EP-speed sports blooper tapes you used to find in drug store dollar bins. Unfortunately, school got in the way.

They don't know how lucky they are, back in the ex-U.S.S.R.!

More fun with Nazism, courtesy of YTMND:

* The Power of Russia + The Power of Christ. Truly compelling.
* Who knew backwards-messaging could be so useful to heathens as well as Xtian Zealots?
* I could write a paper on the intelligent intertextuality here. At least I could've back in college.
* The One That Started It All.

I know in internet-land those are all a million years old. But I don't care - I'm so behind I didn't even know YTMND had parallel universes. Plus I'll probably be fired for posting this from work anyway.

Hey - mail time!

Girls Rock!

2008-03-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

Women are over half the world's population, but you'd never know it by the world of rock. For every dozen Pussycat Dolls, there's only one Le Tigre. For all the hundreds of pole-dancers prancing about in the background of hard-rock stage shows, Angela Gossow stands alone at the front of the band. Millions of girls still worship Britney Spears, but how many have even heard of Sleater-Kinney?

This would be just a question of poor taste, if it didn't breed a girl culture of mixed messages and mutilation. Girls as young as 8 feel body anxiety and the need to diet, and it only takes them another year to learn to stick their fingers down their throat. Taught to be quiet, apologetic, and question their every move, girls have no method of expression, let alone defense against an assault of increasingly effective, invasive media.

For the past 7 years, the Girls Rock Camp in Portland has been teaching empowerment through rocking, rolling, and kicking out some serious jams. Girls Rock! is a fittingly rocking musical documentary charting several girls' experiences at a season of the camp, from awkward first meetings with an instrument to even more awkward first meetings with each other to a triumphant band showcase barely a week later. Palace is the youngest, but she's already had to deal with divorce, a disabled brother, and growing up around her mother's fashion boutique. Next is Am (aka Amelia), whose natural talents for lyric absurdity and noise solos mask how she already feels left out amongst her peers. Laura, from Oklahoma by way of Korea, loves death metal and putting a smile on others' faces, but can't keep one on her own following accusations of "twinkiness" and her white boyfriend spending hours with his band taking credit for her compositions and suggestions. The oldest of the girls, Misty, hasn't even graduated high school, but has already survived drug-addicted parents, crime, and a revolving door of group homes and homelessness. Even now, her band tries to oust her due to stupid semantics over the band name.

First time documentarians Arne Johnson and Shane King craft a story that engages, but occasionally loses its feet. With enough to juggle already between the camp's musical content and its emotional core, why bring the kids' parents into the mix? If the goal is to have girls express themselves and their motivations through music, why not let them do it in the film as well? And as central as facts about body image and representation are to that core goal, lush animated illustrations of those facts distract compared to simple, stark presentations (Girls Rock! has both); the latter allows a springboard back into the girls' stories, whereas the former overwhelms them (and with girls this bad-ass, that's a hell of an achievement!).

But these are minor quibbles compared to the genuine respect Johnson and King have for the camp and its goals. Each of the aforementioned facts is checked and sourced in the credits, as is an extensive list of the camp's musician counselors, their bands, the campers, and their music. The camp is truly profound, and Johnson and King want you to learn as much as you can, and present the camp's programs and their opportunities in manners accessible to both potential campers and parents. Even film fans outside of those groups will find themselves pumping fists and throwing up horns. Why? Because these girls rock and rule!

As an extra bonus, here's Laura's blog from the Girls Rock! website, displaying her trademark good spirit, awesomeness, and best of all, ability to school you in metal.

Here's a performance from Am:

(dig that solo at the end!)

More Favorite Films of 2007

2008-03-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

Say what you will about Grindhouse (I did), but the true surprise of last year's drive-in throwbacks was Black Snake Moan. I mean, check out that poster:

Come on - white slavery? "Everything is hotter down South"? It doesn't get any more exploitive than that! Yet, in even more tried and true exploitation style, the poster provides way more sizzle than the film, which is actually a sorta serious Southern-fried drama of repression, abuse, and redemption.

A fitting tribute to the blues, Black Snake Moan is bookended by stock footage of the legendary Son House, and features a few killer numbers by Samuel Jackson, a washed-up farmer and guitarist who respects the word of the Lord, but don't let it push him around. Christina Ricci plays the poor white trash archetype a little too well, and while he borders on chewing the scenery, Justin Timberlake is a believable cuckold whose anxiety's kept him both from advancing himself and redeeming himself via the army.

While the actual story is stretched a bit awkwardly - particularly around the end, which feels a bit too happy (then again, this ain't the Delta, it's a movie, and they tend to end that way), Black Snake Moan is an intriguing slice of God, grime, and collared greens courtesy of Oscar-winner (OK, it was the song, but dammit, it's hard out here for an IMP [Independent Movie Producer...wow, I'm a nerd]) Craig Brewer, who I just found out is a white guy! Unbelievable!

My Favorite Films of 2007

2008-02-26T12:42:00.000-08:00

So, New Year's came and went. The Oscars too. And here we are in what...March? I could care less. I haven't seen anywhere near what I wanted to see from 2007, but from what I did see, here are two of my favorites that I feel haven't received their proper due.

Last year was one of the best years for American film in some time. And while two high-profile bloody affairs would sweep the awards and critical press, my favorite drama remains largely loved on blogs, and largely ignored by everyone else.

I'm talking, of course, about the amazing documentary King of Kong. Detailing a saga of good, evil, and a 25-year old arcade machine, King of Kong exposes a bold world of old games, and the fistfuls of fanatics in dead heat for high scores. As a geek with a soft-spot for certain sprites myself, I was concerned over whether or not the filmmakers would dignify these untraditional competitors. The good news is that they do. The better news is that I really had no time to ponder the question, as I was swept up in the struggle of Steve Wiebe & Billy Mitchell.

The two could not be more opposite. Wiebe is a clean-cut family man, desperate to win back self-pride after a Silicon Valley layoff. Mitchell is a mulleted magnate, world-record-holder since the '80s, willing to hold it at any cost. Wiebe chalks up a machine in his garage to determine precise reflexes and algorithms. Mitchell, while also talented, depends more on his lasting influence and shady connections to play mind games.

I saw a screening through AFI at the Arclight, and guest Wiebe was met with a standing ovation. When's the last time you saw a documentary pull a reaction like that?

Fun Fact: The movie and its director rile Billy Mitchell so much that to this day, orders for his hot sauces are banned to numbers bearing a 310 area code.

Most science fiction gets so wrapped up in science and scale that it loses sight of emotional connections. That's why Danny Boyle and Alex Garland's Sunshine is one of the most ingeniously intense space dramas ever burned to light. Like countless epics, the fate of the world is at stake, but unlike those epics, we genuinely care about a small team of 21st-century Sisyphans charged against the infinite abyss of deep space. Video logs, bad decisions, technical failure, and the abyss breed genuine heartbreak for the astronauts, whose hopeless situation can't even be assuaged by real-time communications with their superiors and loved ones back on Earth. Tight performances and framing produce, ironically, a sense of claustrophobia, and while the final act takes a frustrating turn towards near-divine figures, pseudo-babble, and violent nonsense, the rest is so good that it overwhelms these shortcomings.

I also realized I take this thing too damn seriously. It's a fucking blog, not Harper's. So, expect more relaxed postings with pretty pictures and what have you. Or another long drought because I'm lazy as shit.

Guilty Pleasures: The Asylum

2007-12-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

I've always loved the gall of The Asylum's "tie-in" films. Whether you want to call these direct-to-video mockbusters parodies or straight rip-offs, you can't deny the eye-catching titles and ridiculous poster art of Transmorphers, The Da Vinci Treasure, and their most recent productions, I Am Omega and Alien vs. Hunter.

As a quick appendix, Asylum has released a Cloverfield cash-in and most amusingly, a 2012-themed disaster film that actually beats Hollywood to the punch.

Does this make the cash-ins closer to the cultural pulse? Or are they just lucky?

Juno (2007, dir. Jason Reitman)

2007-12-02T16:46:00.000-08:00

I originally saw and wrote this review a few weeks ago after a preview screening, but sat on it because I don't want to get banned from those things over fifteen minutes of cyber-glorious-critical-espionage. In short, Juno fails to deliver. I can't decide if I was more hyped up by the casting, the Diablo Cody buzz, or my own maiseophilia. In length...

Cody definitely has talent. She finds interesting ways to introduce her characters, and invests enough into them that even those who only pop in for one scene (Rainn Wilson's store clerk or Valerie Tian's cute-as-a-button protestor) are memorable. But God, her dialogue is awful! It suffers from that indie film trapping where every line has to be more quirky and quotable than the last. While that's great for t-shirt slogans (Fox Searchlight already had "Paulie Bleeker is Totally Boss" at the screening, and I'm sure many more will follow), when every line is trying too hard to one-up its own coolness it really derails a scene.

Surprisingly, Cody's strongest characters aren't her pregnant protagonist (Ellen Page) or either of her high school friends, but hopeful adoptive parents Vanessa and Mark Loring (Jannifer Garner and Jason Bateman). Garner transforms Mrs. Loring from a creepy Stepford wife into a quietly sympathetic character, and Bateman displays real
finesse through Mr. Loring's efforts to translate the frustrations of his seemingly-perfect life into cynical teen. Juno's father, Mac (J.K. Simmons), and her stepmother, Bren (Allison Janney), share the same delicate balance of devotion towards Juno and disapproval of her.

With such rich supporting characters, it's too bad that Juno herself is just an obnoxious list of hip stereotypes. Her only growth is in the tummy (and even that's a prosthetic), and she never expresses any real desire or motivation for anything. It doesn't help that Page's performance is pretty flat save one or two big moments. Normally I'd be ok with this and just relish in the rest of the cast, except for the small fact that the entire film hinges on her performance and character.

Juno's definitely an indie crowd pleaser, but in satisfying that audience, it forgets little things like cohesion and consistency. A quick example is the major musical motif, The Moldy Peaches' "Anything Else But You". While this sits great on a mix-tape betwixt Peter, Bjorn, & John and Stars, there's no reason why Juno, whose favorite bands are '70s hard-rockers Iggy & The Stooges and The Runaways, would give the dopey acoustic number the time of day, even if it was for Michael Cera (whose sweet awkwardness continues to be irresistible). It's strictly for the street cred, and I just wish that same effort to maintain that interest had been put into the rest of the story.

Ironically, Juno's nickname in the film is "Junebug", and the constant mentioning of that really made me want to see that film instead.

Darfur Now (2007, dir. Ted Braun)

2007-11-05T16:46:00.000-08:00

For once, I'm pleased to report that a film's advertising campaign is misleading. When viewing the star-studded trailer for Darfur Now, I was concerned over its emphasis on Don Cheadle, George Clooney, and student activist Adam Sterling's interactions with Governor Schwarzenegger. While I respect and appreciate celebrity activism (as I appreciate any such devotion), I do fear that their celebrity status overshadows their actions and the issues. Cheadle himself echoes these statements, declaring it "embarrassing" that a delegation of himself and Clooney have been the highest-profile ambassadors to Sudan's international trading partners. Although Darfur Now is imbalanced towards international bureaucratic efforts, it doesn't embarrass itself with celebrity fawning. Instead, the documentary's favored subject is Luis Moreno-Ocampo, an Argentinian prosecutor for the International Criminal Court preparing a case against Sudanese minister Ahmad Muhammad Harun and Janjaweed militia leader Ali Kushayb for war crimes.

Moreno-Ocampo's investigation is motivated by his experience as a young man in Argentina's military junta of the 1970's and 80's. There, thousands of his friends and countrymen disappeared, but, after great perseverance, his team was able to try and convict members of the junta for crimes against humanity. His struggle to bring the same justice to Darfur is made monumental by his outsider status. It is unsafe for aid workers, let alone himself or his men, to enter the country, and as such most of his leads consist of long-distance aerial photographs and second-hand reports from aid workers and refugees. This evidence reveals sickening displays of Janjaweed militia burning villages to the ground, fortified by Sudanese armaments and approved by Sudanese officials. Yet the Sudanese government, represented through UN ambassador Abdalmahmood Abdalhaleem Mohamad, refuses to recognize secondary evidence or hand over any officials, arguing that the events in Darfur are distorted by the Western media.

Moreno-Ocampo's character is as complex as his investigation. In one memorable scene, he asks an aide to help him practice his English for a UN report, even though the speech, like all in the UN, will later be re-interpreted. Afterwards, amidst criticism that he is taking too long in his investigation, he encounters Mohamad and shakes his hand, recognizing that even his greatest discreditor is but one part of a murderous system, which can only be dismantled in whole, rather than parts. The only weapon that powerful is diplomacy, an impossible balance of expediency, accuracy, and integrity. Moreno-Ocampo realizes this as the audience does, and his recognition of that struggle and constant re-evaluation of his investigation provides the greatest emotional connection of the film.

Amongst the Sudanese segments, the strongest personality belongs to rebel Hijewa Adam. Like Moreno-Ocampo, she struggles between her disgust with continuing the violence that has ripped her country apart, and her desire to avenge her fallen countrymen, her raped countrywomen, and her murdered son. Though she has never met Moreno-Ocampo, she shares his belief in due process and bureaucratic justice. What she lacks is his success, and his hope for internal resolution; she knows that her government will only listen to gunfire or international "white people", whose condemnations and remote actions speak in ways her people cannot.

Unfortunately, neither of the other two Sudanese subjects (a village sheik admitting refugees and an NGO worker co-ordinating shipments of food) are given the time to develop their stories and actions (it is here I suggest complementing the film with Emergency in Darfur, the International Medical Corps. documentary which focuses almost entirely on the national relief effort). The real Sudanese star is the landscape itself, and eye-popping images portray a macabre beauty, as horrifying in its brutality as it is exquisite in its color. By the film's end it becomes a visual encapsulation of the subjects' struggle: even amongst insurmountable tragedy, there remains hope. There remains humanity.

New Bob Dylan

2007-10-07T09:58:00.000-07:00

I know, which "new Bob Dylan", right? Electric new? Christian new? Any of the other reimaginings the man's put himself through over the years?

How about we call this phase post-Dylan? As in, this new song/video is a remix of older material, produced to promote what looks like another remastering/back catalogue box-set (although a Love-esque project would be damned interesting). I'm sure Dylan and his people had some sort of final approval, yet little to no direct involvement (he doesn't even appear in the video). And many of those who will see the video on YouTube and the like will have little to no experience with the original song. You can count me in that boat - I took a course on Dylan in college (sort of), yet I can't place the original (yes, I know that means I've never heard Blonde on Blonde).

So, this means I can't bitch about what was and wasn't changed, but I can say that something feels a little off. The backing by funk band The Dap-Kings is excellent, and the video has a similar retro feel courtesy of its bright colors, high energy, and grainy stock, but it's an awkward mash-up; it's technically proficient but doesn't feel quite right. Why would a depressing ballad sound so upbeat?

But check it out for yourself if you haven't already, and if the player below doesn't work, here's the YouTube link again.

Alive, it's alive!

2007-07-29T19:31:00.000-07:00

Sup. We all know how well my promises of regular updates end up going, but I'm trying to make the weekends, particularly Sunday, chill out days. And blogging's better than cleaning my room, eh?

No reviews for y'all, at least nothing organized. Last film I saw was Equinox. Think I'd be the only one interested in that anyway, but if you love b-movies, you should check it out. It's got more than a fair amount of obvious padding (it was made on a budget of $6000), but it's got some brilliant matte painting, fun stop-motion, and other effects shots from Dennis Muren, who would go on to become a bona-fide SFX master for ILM. And how can you fault any film that opens with an explosion?

Anyway, let's talk about something I rarely do - me. I been on blog blackout for a while because I moved down south to the L.A.-zy (ok, I'll stop). After a month of slaving for the mouse on Hollywood Blvd., I finally picked up a real job for MAZON, a non-profit in Santa Monica which collects grants and donations from the Jewish community and redistributes them to anti-hunger campaigns, organizations, and food banks both domestically and internationally. I can actually pay my rent, my car, and buy food! Maybe I'll even get to chip away at my credit card bills!

I've got to commute the 405 every Monday-Friday, which means I gotta wake up before 6AM every Monday-Friday, which means I only get to go out on weekends. But so far, so good, and with a little extra cash and an awesome car, I've actually had a lot of fun just driving around and exploring.

Ah, but what of film, what of writing? On the latter, I've done a bit of work here and there. Last week, I did some freelance transcription work for the bio-fuel documentary Fields of Fuel. Doubt I'll make the credits, but I met director/activist Josh Tickell, who was a real great guy, and learned quite a bit about refineries, toxic waste, and the shady history of automotives, oil, and alternative transportation (tends to happen when you watch an hour of footage for five!).

I also e-mailed and called Nirvan Mullick, who I first came in contact with when I set up a fundraising event for his ground-breaking, collaborative, non-profit, one second IMAX film. They're getting ready to gear up their next phase of fundraising/promotion, a road trip across the country where they hope to meet and pitch Oprah Winfrey. For a bit of background, all funds for the film have been raised by selling producer credits for as little as $1 or as much as $500+. Celebrities like Christina Ricci, Steve Buscemi, Kevin Bacon, Stephen Colbert, and most recently Keifer Sutherland have all gotten in on the act. Andy Dick and Tom Green even got in a little prank war over the order of their credits.

Ah, but stop selling and get to the point, man! In a fun bit of crossover (and weirder degree of separation thing, apparently Nirvan and Josh went to college together...who knew?), their road trip is in an old school bus converted to a bio-diesel rock van. Step one is tearing out the seats and stripping the Los Angeles County School District lettering/paint. Basically, every school boy's fantasy. So I'll probably be doing that this weekend as well.

And no, I don't count working at a theater in Hollywood as working in the industry. Even if half my co-workers were actors, and the other half were Scientologists.

As for writing? Yea, not much. My housemates and I are working on a sitcom not-at-all-loosely modeled on us, but I haven't peeked at my scripts in ages. I even unpacked them and strew them around the floor so I'd have to look at them. Instead, I sit in the living room and read Fables and Raymond Chandler.

Why can't I do what I've spent the last few years preparing for, including moving? Why can't I do what I love - writing - for that which I love - the movies? Am I expecting too much of myself, after all, it hasn't even been three months, and only a year since I graduated.

And more importantly, when did I get so god damned emo? Pathetic! Anyway, toodles.

Bootlegs R Dead

2007-04-23T12:35:00.000-07:00

Let's forget film for a second. Because that's about how long bootlegs were supposed to last. Every bit as disposable as the pop songs they lampooned and glorified, they caught on, and much to the dismay of many originators, created a life and sub-culture of their own.

Australian producer Luke Collison, aka Dsico, was amongst the first outside of England to become popular "Love Will Freak Us" (Missy Elliot vs. Joy Division). He was also the first to distance himself from bootlegs, declaring in his blog, song titles, and continued degeneration of source material that it was all over before it even began. It's an interesting aural firecracker, as compelling as it is off-putting, and this schizophrenia is so obvious when revisiting his debut "album" that I feel the need to point it out, lest somebody miss it looking too hard for a deeper meaning.

Dsico definitely had a knack. The aforementioned "Love Will Freak Us" is as perfectly sad, romantic, and yet danceable as it was in 2003, and I can't listen to "Highway to the Club" (not included on this compilation; if memory serves, it was actually Dsico's last bootleg) without wishing AC/DC weren't such punk-asses for sitting on their remix potential. It's entirely synthetic, but even more magical pop: this isn't how the individual components are "supposed" to sound, yet it sounds so right. Electronic's devious "Getting Away With It" transforms Britney Spears' "...Baby One More Time" into a desperate, orgasmic plea for relevance (made even more pathetic given her life since). "Don't Need You Tonight" and "Groove's A Bitch" anthemize the '90s super-rave I fantasized about collecting dance records and staying up late listening to underground dance radio, a beautiful false memory of a huge, sexy party where everybody has a great time, everybody keeps control, and nothing is awkward (of course, maybe this just says something about my club experiences ;)).

But when Dsico goes bad, it's completely wretched. His irony is too hip, and it's painfully obvious that he's over it before he's even begun. He can't even keep up with his own cool. "Just Mix Fucking Anything" is unlistenable because it invalidates itself: clearly you can't, because otherwise the track would work. Other mixes feel embryonic, sounding fine for a verse or two, only to become abridged or aborted into glitch pop (which Dsico dabbled in even more on subsequent release I'm Not Retarded and the aptly titled Ministry of Shit compilation). There's potential out the ears, but absolutely no application. One can imagine Dsico's feelings at releasing it without tweaks or improvements: it's shit, made from shit music, that nobody will care about in a month anyway. It's a frustrating self-fulfillment, particularly since it's been many months, yet the mixes still limp along in eternal digital sideshow, long abandoned by their cruel creator.

But when he felt like it, Dsico was damned good. Too bad he rarely did.

Grindhouse (2007, dirs. Robert Rodriguez, Robert Zombie, Edgar Wright, Eli Roth, & Quentin Tarantino)

2007-04-18T10:53:00.000-07:00

Grindhouse was designed not so much as a film, but an over-blown, nonsensical, pure entertainment experience. Modeled after the bizarre double-features fondly remembered/imagined from '60s and '70s drive-ins and scuzzy urban theatres, Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino each contribute an episode to the exploitation super-program, bookended by trailers for faux "coming attractions". With both directors' careers based on elements borrowed from these "genres", an acknowledged tribute is long overdue. But can it compete with the real deal?

Audiences say no. As of today, the film's take is a paltry $20M, which, on a budget of $53M confirmed and $100M+ rumored, has distributor Harvey Weinstein rightfully flipping his wig, and analysts and 'net nerds scratching their heads. I have to wonder why anyone expected otherwise. Despite their modern mythology, grindhouses remain the bottom of the cinematic barrel, and anyone who pretends otherwise is a fool. While plenty of groundbreaking directors and truly unique films made it out of that barrel, most grindhouse fodder was quickly, cheaply, and terribly produced to squeeze as many pennies out of as many poor saps before ditching town (and I say this as a life-long exploitation fan!). The only reason it worked at all was because it was cheap - $50M could literally bankroll the entire back catalogue of Roger Corman, Michael & Roberta Findlay, David F. Friedman, Lee Frost, Jerry Gross, Lloyd Kaufman, Herschell Gordon Lewis, Andy Milligan, Harry Novak, Joe Sarno, Doris Wishman, etc. etc. et al. The cheaper a film is cranked out, the less the producer/booker needs to worry about regulations, broad appeal, or quality, because it can make a couple thousand a night off a hot-button issue or a niche audience and stay in the black. Grindhouse just doesn't fit this production mode, and can never be as financially successful as its namesake.

But hey, I'm a pretentious film scholar, not a pretentious film financier, so what do I know? I know how it plays. In short, it's a mixed bag, and in true exploitation fashion, the sum of some parts is much greater than its whole. Its structure is segmentation, with liberal blankout screens and leaders between, which is interesting because the double-features I've seen attempt the opposite, a seamless whole. To honor this format, my thoughts attempt the same. So, without further ado...

Machete (dir. Robert Rodriguez): It's been many a moon since I've seen From Dusk Til Dawn, but Danny Trejo needs star status pronto! Like '70s icons Richard Roundtree and Pam Grier, Trejo takes no sass and kicks some ass (btw, I can't believe this guy's older than my dad), but it's ultimately his charisma that makes him memorable. Rodriguez confirms this will be the first Grindhouse sequel/spin-off, and my advice for him is such: please ditch the motorcycle jump shot. That bothers me every time I see it, as it indicates your biggest problem as a director. Your over-reliance on hyperrealistic digital effects works great for unrealistic and fantastic films like Sin City or Spy Kids, but in a "raw" reality-based project like this, it just looks bad. Also, add as much Cheech Marin as humanly possible.

Planet Terror (dir. Robert Rodriguez): Splatter and 'splosions. That's all I was expecting from Rodriguez' feature offering, and that's about all I got. This neatly illustrates what I dislike about Rodriguez; his films pull no punches, delivering blow after blow of cool until you're completely knocked out. And then you realize you've got over an hour left, and that's all he's got. To his credit, Rodriguez doesn't blow his load early, and maintains his frantic pace and undead overkill throughout. To his discredit, he's so outrageous straight out the gate that he can't top himself. The insane becomes sane, then normal, then banal. At it's best, it's an '80s zombie/gore film - there's that one outrageous moment that sounds great on paper, and then there's the rest of the movie you have to sit through to get to it.

Which is really a shame, because Rodriguez is working with a damned fine cast here. The image of Rose Mchine-gun-for-a-leGowan is a silly gimmick, but McGowan brings finesse to her character's struggle with sudden amputee status, such that the gun-leg becomes not only logical, but a proud climax. As good as McGowan is, screen beau Freddy Rodriguez (no relation to Robert) is even better, balancing sensitivity with bad-assery to bring that rarest of creatures, a well-rounded action hero.

Now if only Rodriguez can kick his castration obsession. With multiple castrations, various genital diseases, and a guy who carries around a jar full of testicles, shit creeps me out. And not in a good way.

Werewolves of the SS (dir. Rob Zombie): I really wanted to like this, and amidst rumors of a 30-minute short-film version existing, I hope I'll like it eventually, but there just aren't enough werewolves! The Nazi cabaret is splendid (did I just say that?), with an eerie glamor, and a surprise cameo brings the house down, but really...how many moons I gotta bark at for a decent Nazi werewolf film?

Don't (dir. Edgar Wright): The most spot-on, and the most unique of the entire Grindhouse program, Don't works because it pays tribute to the trailer. The exploitation of it all. The haughty American distributors who cut European films to ribbons, then slash the trailers even more by cutting out all accented dialogue and slapping on a title that doesn't make a damn bit of sense. And bless them for it. Wright not only shows his knowledge of this practice, but subverts it for the most out-and-out hilarious moments of the entire program. It really makes me wish I'd gone out and seen Hot Fuzz.

Thanksgiving (dir. Eli Roth): Eli Roth's best work yet. I kid you not. For all the jerking off the horror community gives him, he's never balanced his horror and his humor, coming out with a series of frustrating, kinda scary, rarely funny, mostly stupid films. Here he gets it. He makes the most authentic-looking trailer of the bunch: completely washed out, following the slasher formula to a T, with every cliche imaginable, yet pushing the envelope further than any old school slasher. God damn it Eli, why can't your features be half as good as this? I'd even take a quarter as good, really. Download it here, courtesy of IGN.

Death Proof (dir. Quentin Tarantino): Grindhouse's grand finale comes courtesy of the man single-handedly responsible for making exploitation "cool" again, Quentin Tarantino. Yet, Death Proof isn't "cool". At least not like his other films. Death Proof has characters that matter beyond how much ass they kick. It's got gore galore, but restrained, and spread out further than Jungle Julia's legs. It's got Tarantino dialogue - man, does it have Tarantino dialogue.

It's also the only film in the program to really, truly embody "classic exploitation". By which I mean it's slow, almost inconsequential if you aren't paying real close attention or drunk as hell - then it hits hard. All the low-budget, time-filling chatter vanishes, replaced by pure, visceral impact. Unfortunately, rather than build and continue off that horrifying moment, Tarantino abruptly and unexpectedly reboots his own film - and here's where the problems start. It's the second introductions and the second cast where the formula becomes too apparent, and things start to drag. When the action returns, it's more spectacular, but less impactful. It just doesn't gel, and lacks the charm and sympathy of the first act.

The one crossover between the acts, and the strongest human element in the piece (because let's face it, nobody can outshine a hot muscle car), is Kurt Russell's Stunt Man Mike. Immensely powerful and immensely pitiful, Mike undergoes a full character arc, which would be interesting in any film, but amazing in an exploitation film, where macho villains (and even heroes) are stock. Not unlike the films Grindhouse pays tribute to, Mike is the product of a bygone era: creaky, maybe a little charming, but mostly uncalled-for. He's supposed to be the oldtimer crying in his beer in the background, unable to keep up with cell phones, media conglomerates, increased police power, and fancy cars. Yet his vintage threads and souped-up vehicle exist outside of time, overcoming and overrunning (or is it running over?) the new, the vibrant, the young. This is what makes him "death proof", and this is what makes him threatening.

Lest I get too pretentious for a throwaway tribute to throwaway films, I'm going to end things with this summary: Grindhouse has a lot of great moments. Moments worth discussing, moments worth fast-forwarding to. It's great fun to watch, particularly with friends and varying degrees of intoxication. But it's not a great tribute, and it's not a great film.