The voting is still going down on the Time 100, but former mainstay Shigeru Miyamoto (first time nominee, 'father of modern video games') has dropped from the top-five. Now, at this point his showing was strong enough that there's a good chance he makes the final list anyway... but what's REALLY loathsome is that one of the current top-5 candidates "beating" him is distressingly-unfunny 'trendy' standup hack Dane Cook. This should not stand :)
So here's what ya do: First, click this link:
http://tinyurl.com/2byqfl
And give "Shiggy" a 100% on the "rating" thingee in the upper left-hand corner. Click submit. Then refresh the page and do it again. Repeat as many times as you can, get your pals to do the same, and don't slack: This guy deserves the hookup.
While you're at it, here's the page for the freakishly unfunny star of "Employee of the Month:"
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/time100walkup/article/0,28804,1611030_1610841_1609788,00.html
Cook has already been on this list once, and that's one more time than he had any reason to be. Do the right thing. Give him a zero (or the approximate amount of laughs to be found in his routine, his crappy movie or "Tourgasm") and then give him a zero a couple dozen more times.
Monday, 30 April 2007
Friday, 27 April 2007
REVIEW: The Condemned
It's with some kind of sick irony that I realized, watching the astonishingly loathsome "you've-gotta-be-shitting-me" Big Meaningful Speech moment of "The Condemned," that THIS deplorable crapfest might actually BENEFIT from the recent Virginia Tech tragedy by striking some of the more easily-led in the world as a "meaningful" peice. Y'see, what the trailers aren't telling you is that - I kid you not - "The Condemned" fancies itself a political "message" work: What we have here, believe it or not, is a ham-fisted screed against media violence, the "irresponsible" entertainment industry and the pervasive eeeevil of the Internet. From the WWE.
The only thing worse than a bad movie is a bad message-movie... And the only thing worse than THAT is a bad message movie that aims to condescendingly contradict it's own base of appeal. Even removed from that aspect of it's existance... "The Condemned" is, far and away, the worst film to have yet emerged in 2007. A complete abomination on so many levels it's hard to put into words. Best-described as "aggressively irredeemable," it's the kind of work where you run out of things to critique and start looking in vain for anything nice to say about it. Off the top of my head, the nice things you can say about the latest opus from WWE Films are: It wasn't directed by Brett Ratner, it does not involve anyone directly affiliated with "American Idol" and it does not star Chris Tucker, Dane Cook, Cedric the Entertainer or Carlos Mencia in any capacity.
In the broad strokes, the film is a combo/ripoff of "The Running Man" and "Battle Royale," framed primarily as a star-vehicle for onetime professional wrestling star "Stone-Cold" Steve Austin. He's cast as Jack Conrad, one of nine death row inmates "purchased" from Third World prisons by inscrutable millionaire Ian Breckel (Robert Mammone) and dropped onto a camera-covered desert island with orders to fight to the death for the amusement of customers via a pay-per-view internet feed; with the promise of freedom and cash going to the Last Man Standing. Given that all the other convicts are even LESS noteworthy as "names" than Mr. Austin, (save for Vinnie Jones as the nominal bad guy) and given that Jack Conrad turns out to be a betrayed U.S. Special Forces vet who just wants to get back to his farm, his bottle-bland.. er.. blonde ladyfriend and her two moppets; AND given that the eeeevil Internet Baddies sneeringly select Jack hoping to (I shit you not) exploit worldwide anti-Americanism as an audience-getter ("They're gonna looooove to hate this cowboy!!") you can kinda-sorta guess how this turns out.
Ineptly directed in irritating "shaky-cam" by Scott Wiper (is that a name or a recyclable bathroom product?) this is an "action" film that contains not one memorable or interesting action scene - just jumbled flurries of grunting and pummeling to the tune of the foley department taking out a week's worth of agression on raw meat and pleather sofas. Of the (innevitably) Baskin Robbins assortment of multicultural "players," we do get ONE Japanese martial-artist; but it becomes readily apparent that he's only there so that the old "Raiders of the Lost Ark" gag of a show-offy Eastern fighting-as-art master quickly smacked-down with Good Ol' Fashioned American quick-kill can be ripped off for the umpteenth time. Yawn. That Austin has all the personality of the tree-trunks his physique chiefly resembles isn't much of a surprise, (his initial claim to fame as a wrestler was "shunning" character gimmicks and style in favor of simply embodying a bullheaded, beer-drinkin' bar-brawler,) but it's genuinely shocking how little physical presence he has onscreen - he stomps around with all the grace of a pack-mule, and most of the time seems to be searching in vain for his mark. It's enough to make you miss Brian Bosworth.
As if just being dull and incoherent wasn't enough, the film has a truly off-putting nasty streak when it comes to the targets of it's violence. Nearly EVERYONE in here is on-hand to get stabbed, smacked, shot or blown up... but there's something inescapably "icky" about how much this supposed "bruiser-vs-bruiser" slugfest concentrates on violence against it's female characters. There are two drawn-out, protracted and explicitly-violent rape scenes - one attempted, the other a sucessful gang-rape/murder. The Internet Baddies' skeleton-crew of computer technicians is disproportionately staffed with women, all of whom are there to be gunned down in the finale by a vengeful 'player' who lectures them on the evils of their profession. When the film wants to let us know it's time to start really hating Breckel, he gives his girlfriend a slap across the face. This is lightyears beyond the kitschy homoerotic-phallicentrism of "300"... this is real-deal misogyny, plain and simple. (Incidentally, Mr. Austin has a domestic abuse arrest on his rap sheet. Charming.)
And, yet, even for all those sins, "The Condemned" would be easily dismissable as another Z-grade actioner for the pile if it didn't committ the one gravest sin in all of bad filmmaking: It's got "something to say"... and it's preachy.
Toward the end, when the shit has hit the fan and all the viewers and lackeys are starting to See The Error of They're Ways, we're treated to a gravely-serious lady reporter's televised interview with head-baddie Breckel - who, by the way, is sure to pepper his every bad-guy speech with words like "blogger" and "chat-room" so we know EXACTLY whom the film is training it's moralistic finger on. She takes him to task for what 'entertainments' like his are doing to the culture, especially the children, and the film poses Breckel as a sneering hypocrite hiding behind "it's the parent's responsibility." Incredibly, after Breckel is shown mouthing these words, the Voice of God lady reporter tells him that that's a "cop-out" and that the industry MUST take "responsibility" for what it's putting out. She then - and I swear to you, I'm not exaggerating this - turns to face "the world," he face filling the screen, and sagely intones how very, very ashamed of ourselves we should be for watching things like... well, like this movie... because (again, NOT kidding) when we do "...it is WE who are really The Condemned."
I stand before you stupefied, beholding what I have beheld. I didn't think I'd live to see another "message movie" as moralistic, inane and insulting as "The Island"... but here we have it. A heavy-handed pro-media-censorship "action" movie, brought to us by the makers of "See No Evil." I shudder at the thought that the year is young, and that I may yet see a movie that's actually worse than this.
FINAL RATING: 0/10
The only thing worse than a bad movie is a bad message-movie... And the only thing worse than THAT is a bad message movie that aims to condescendingly contradict it's own base of appeal. Even removed from that aspect of it's existance... "The Condemned" is, far and away, the worst film to have yet emerged in 2007. A complete abomination on so many levels it's hard to put into words. Best-described as "aggressively irredeemable," it's the kind of work where you run out of things to critique and start looking in vain for anything nice to say about it. Off the top of my head, the nice things you can say about the latest opus from WWE Films are: It wasn't directed by Brett Ratner, it does not involve anyone directly affiliated with "American Idol" and it does not star Chris Tucker, Dane Cook, Cedric the Entertainer or Carlos Mencia in any capacity.
In the broad strokes, the film is a combo/ripoff of "The Running Man" and "Battle Royale," framed primarily as a star-vehicle for onetime professional wrestling star "Stone-Cold" Steve Austin. He's cast as Jack Conrad, one of nine death row inmates "purchased" from Third World prisons by inscrutable millionaire Ian Breckel (Robert Mammone) and dropped onto a camera-covered desert island with orders to fight to the death for the amusement of customers via a pay-per-view internet feed; with the promise of freedom and cash going to the Last Man Standing. Given that all the other convicts are even LESS noteworthy as "names" than Mr. Austin, (save for Vinnie Jones as the nominal bad guy) and given that Jack Conrad turns out to be a betrayed U.S. Special Forces vet who just wants to get back to his farm, his bottle-bland.. er.. blonde ladyfriend and her two moppets; AND given that the eeeevil Internet Baddies sneeringly select Jack hoping to (I shit you not) exploit worldwide anti-Americanism as an audience-getter ("They're gonna looooove to hate this cowboy!!") you can kinda-sorta guess how this turns out.
Ineptly directed in irritating "shaky-cam" by Scott Wiper (is that a name or a recyclable bathroom product?) this is an "action" film that contains not one memorable or interesting action scene - just jumbled flurries of grunting and pummeling to the tune of the foley department taking out a week's worth of agression on raw meat and pleather sofas. Of the (innevitably) Baskin Robbins assortment of multicultural "players," we do get ONE Japanese martial-artist; but it becomes readily apparent that he's only there so that the old "Raiders of the Lost Ark" gag of a show-offy Eastern fighting-as-art master quickly smacked-down with Good Ol' Fashioned American quick-kill can be ripped off for the umpteenth time. Yawn. That Austin has all the personality of the tree-trunks his physique chiefly resembles isn't much of a surprise, (his initial claim to fame as a wrestler was "shunning" character gimmicks and style in favor of simply embodying a bullheaded, beer-drinkin' bar-brawler,) but it's genuinely shocking how little physical presence he has onscreen - he stomps around with all the grace of a pack-mule, and most of the time seems to be searching in vain for his mark. It's enough to make you miss Brian Bosworth.
As if just being dull and incoherent wasn't enough, the film has a truly off-putting nasty streak when it comes to the targets of it's violence. Nearly EVERYONE in here is on-hand to get stabbed, smacked, shot or blown up... but there's something inescapably "icky" about how much this supposed "bruiser-vs-bruiser" slugfest concentrates on violence against it's female characters. There are two drawn-out, protracted and explicitly-violent rape scenes - one attempted, the other a sucessful gang-rape/murder. The Internet Baddies' skeleton-crew of computer technicians is disproportionately staffed with women, all of whom are there to be gunned down in the finale by a vengeful 'player' who lectures them on the evils of their profession. When the film wants to let us know it's time to start really hating Breckel, he gives his girlfriend a slap across the face. This is lightyears beyond the kitschy homoerotic-phallicentrism of "300"... this is real-deal misogyny, plain and simple. (Incidentally, Mr. Austin has a domestic abuse arrest on his rap sheet. Charming.)
And, yet, even for all those sins, "The Condemned" would be easily dismissable as another Z-grade actioner for the pile if it didn't committ the one gravest sin in all of bad filmmaking: It's got "something to say"... and it's preachy.
Toward the end, when the shit has hit the fan and all the viewers and lackeys are starting to See The Error of They're Ways, we're treated to a gravely-serious lady reporter's televised interview with head-baddie Breckel - who, by the way, is sure to pepper his every bad-guy speech with words like "blogger" and "chat-room" so we know EXACTLY whom the film is training it's moralistic finger on. She takes him to task for what 'entertainments' like his are doing to the culture, especially the children, and the film poses Breckel as a sneering hypocrite hiding behind "it's the parent's responsibility." Incredibly, after Breckel is shown mouthing these words, the Voice of God lady reporter tells him that that's a "cop-out" and that the industry MUST take "responsibility" for what it's putting out. She then - and I swear to you, I'm not exaggerating this - turns to face "the world," he face filling the screen, and sagely intones how very, very ashamed of ourselves we should be for watching things like... well, like this movie... because (again, NOT kidding) when we do "...it is WE who are really The Condemned."
I stand before you stupefied, beholding what I have beheld. I didn't think I'd live to see another "message movie" as moralistic, inane and insulting as "The Island"... but here we have it. A heavy-handed pro-media-censorship "action" movie, brought to us by the makers of "See No Evil." I shudder at the thought that the year is young, and that I may yet see a movie that's actually worse than this.
FINAL RATING: 0/10
Miyamoto: #1!
Kick-ass.
As of 1:15pm ET today, the Time Magazine 100 Most Influential People poll has Shigeru Miyamoto ranked as the #1 most-influential person in the world! Stephen Colbert and J.K. Rowling trail at 2nd and 3rd, respectively. Awesome. Just completely, totally awesome.
(photo found on: http://www.tv.com/users/princesszelda/updates.php?filter=journal)
Now let's keep him up there until publication! Vote often, vote HIGH: http://tinyurl.com/2byqfl
As of 1:15pm ET today, the Time Magazine 100 Most Influential People poll has Shigeru Miyamoto ranked as the #1 most-influential person in the world! Stephen Colbert and J.K. Rowling trail at 2nd and 3rd, respectively. Awesome. Just completely, totally awesome.
(photo found on: http://www.tv.com/users/princesszelda/updates.php?filter=journal)
Now let's keep him up there until publication! Vote often, vote HIGH: http://tinyurl.com/2byqfl
COMING ATTRACTIONS: GODZILLA (GOJIRA)
First up, we have the trailer put out for the American release of Godzilla.
While this is the original Japanese trailer for Gojira. A slight difference in focus and tone perhaps?
While this is the original Japanese trailer for Gojira. A slight difference in focus and tone perhaps?
Wednesday, 25 April 2007
INTERMISSION
At some point, even the most rabid of movie lovers has to leave the comfort of the darkened theater and wander out into the lobby. And on those rare occasions when I can actually tear myself away from the screen, I think I'll use the time to pass along some of the interesting things I run across while preparing my movie reviews.
It looks like Father Roderick and the folks over at SQPN will soon be getting into the movie review business. Of course, while we here at The B-Movie Catechism are content to hang out at the drive-ins and bargain matinées, SQPN can afford to send Father Roderick to the megaplex to review movies with a little higher budget than the fare you'll find here. Check out their first test run at Beyond The Movies where the good Father takes a look at Harrison Ford in Firewall. (Personally, I think that movie could have been much improved by a guy in a rubber monster suit, but what do I know?)
In Eegah related news, The B-Movie Cast (Episode 8) recently scored an interview with Eegah himself, Richard Kiel. Vince talks to Mr. Kiel about his long acting career and his upcoming biographical novel on Cassius Clay (the southern abolitionist, not the boxer). It turns out he's something of a Renaissance giant, who knew? Richard Kiel also comes across as a pretty decent guy. There's an interesting testimonial on his home page where he discusses his struggle with alcohol and how he conquered it through prayer.
And finally, if you don't mind occasionally reading opposing viewpoints, I ran across a blog by Steve Gerber, the guy who wrote the memorable 1970s run of Man-Thing. Gerber is a declared agnostic who recently was given the assignment by DC Comics to write a story featuring an angel/super-hero. In his two part post, here and here, he discusses the problem of writing God and the Heavenly Hosts as comic book characters, especially when he doesn't believe in them. I bring it up for two reasons. One is that he raises some of the basic questions many people have which a Christian should be able to address. But the main reason is simply to point out to some of the Catholic Dads who might stop by just what's going on in comic books these days. A majority of today's comics are aimed squarely at the high school/college age crowd. The stories often have very adult oriented writing and graphics, and the authors freely advance their personal views on politics, sex, religion, etc. (And I think it's a fair statement to say that the majority of them are not orthodox Catholic in their beliefs. The words "openly hostile" often come to mind.) If one of your younger kids has a stack of comics lying around, and you haven't flipped through them, it might be well worth your time to make sure you think they're age appropriate.
Anyway, it's time to head back into the theater where I belong. The main focus of this blog will always be on the movie reviews, but if enough people find this interesting, I'll poke my head back out into the light every now and then. Got to go now, the lights are already dimming.
In Eegah related news, The B-Movie Cast (Episode 8) recently scored an interview with Eegah himself, Richard Kiel. Vince talks to Mr. Kiel about his long acting career and his upcoming biographical novel on Cassius Clay (the southern abolitionist, not the boxer). It turns out he's something of a Renaissance giant, who knew? Richard Kiel also comes across as a pretty decent guy. There's an interesting testimonial on his home page where he discusses his struggle with alcohol and how he conquered it through prayer.
And finally, if you don't mind occasionally reading opposing viewpoints, I ran across a blog by Steve Gerber, the guy who wrote the memorable 1970s run of Man-Thing. Gerber is a declared agnostic who recently was given the assignment by DC Comics to write a story featuring an angel/super-hero. In his two part post, here and here, he discusses the problem of writing God and the Heavenly Hosts as comic book characters, especially when he doesn't believe in them. I bring it up for two reasons. One is that he raises some of the basic questions many people have which a Christian should be able to address. But the main reason is simply to point out to some of the Catholic Dads who might stop by just what's going on in comic books these days. A majority of today's comics are aimed squarely at the high school/college age crowd. The stories often have very adult oriented writing and graphics, and the authors freely advance their personal views on politics, sex, religion, etc. (And I think it's a fair statement to say that the majority of them are not orthodox Catholic in their beliefs. The words "openly hostile" often come to mind.) If one of your younger kids has a stack of comics lying around, and you haven't flipped through them, it might be well worth your time to make sure you think they're age appropriate.
Anyway, it's time to head back into the theater where I belong. The main focus of this blog will always be on the movie reviews, but if enough people find this interesting, I'll poke my head back out into the light every now and then. Got to go now, the lights are already dimming.
Fire burns. Water flows. History repeats.
Once upon a time, there was a blockbuster movie.
It hadn't even come out yet, but everyone already knew it was going to be huge. It didn't really have any huge stars in it's lineup, and yet it didn't seem to need them. Because it was a "franchise" adaptation, a big-budget Hollywood re-imagining of older material. The material in question was of somewhat "dubious" origin, at least as far as the old-guard critical press elite were concerned: An import from Japan, made legendary in the U.S. as a fixture of Saturday Morning kiddie TV and toys. It's lead character wasn't even human, and would be created entirely using CGI... a prospect which sent eyes-rolling and tongues-clucking throughout the aforementioned critical elite. But the fans knew better. Who needs some overpriced marquee-name "human," or even a B-list tagalong? They knew who the REAL star was.
And yet, among the fans there was concern and discontent: They'd been down this road before, and they knew the danger of trusting the makers of megabudget summer popcorn films to understand the essential "soul" of the material they sought to re-configure into The Next Big Thing. Would the "specialness" of the franchise be gutted in order to appeal to a lowest-common-denominator "mass audience? Would the character(s) be changed beyond the point of recognition by studio-dictated designs with little to no respect for what had made them iconic in the first place? There was every reason to believe that such was almost... innevitable.
The key bone of symbolic contention between the fans and the filmmakers would become the design of the signature character(s), with rumors swirling in the fanbase of radical (and radically-underwhelming-looking) reworkings underway. Fanning the flames was the fact that the character(s) had yet to be fully-glimpsed, doled out in teasing images of limbs and details. For the longest time, the film's signature peice of advertising key-art was simply a closeup of the main character's EYE...
And then there was the filmmaker(s) themselves. Proven they were, yes, at the making of enjoyable genre-fluff. Films which many of the fans had greatly enjoyed, though perhaps in a somewhat ironically-detached "whee, it's just a ride-movie!" fashion. Oh, the filmmaker(s) in question had been greatly suited to those. But to THIS? For all the pyrotechnic skill previously displayed, were they REALLY the best choice to be helming something which - however quirky - had always worked best when infused with a certain degree of sincere respect and intelligence? Or was it merely an indication that those in charge had no intention or ability for sincerity here... that they saw merely the chance to crank out a generic, dumbed-down genre-entry for the summer season, hoping that the in-name-only connection to this "culty" franchise would be worth a few extra million bucks of "fanboy" lucre?
I'm talking, of course, about the 1998 American remake of "Godzilla."
BUT, as I trust most of you already gathered, I'm ALSO talking about "Transformers."
In any case... At one point in the great Godzilla debacle, a bit of "leaked" visual information appeared on the web that seemed to confirm that the G-Fans' worst character-design fears had been not only realized... but exceeded. It wasn't so much that American Godzilla (or "GINO: Godzilla In Name Only") was "different," but rather the VOLUMES that the difference implied - when coupled with all the bad news and worse rumors that had come before - about the complete lack of understanding, appreciation or even CARE held by Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich in regard to the franchise they were taking the reins of. Faced with this, the filmmakers issued statements claiming that the designs were "fake," or "decoys," or several other curious-sounding explanations.
Trouble is, it turns out that wasn't true. What people had seen was a real, and the bad feeling it gave them was justified: "GINO" was a financial dissapointment, a critical disaster and remains an industry-punchline and film-geek cautionary tale to this day. As you can see, the paralells between the "Godzilla" disaster and potential "Transformers" fan-bust are somewhat hard to ignore, so much so that it already has an intentionally familiar-sounding moniker in the circles where it counts: "TINO."
It hadn't even come out yet, but everyone already knew it was going to be huge. It didn't really have any huge stars in it's lineup, and yet it didn't seem to need them. Because it was a "franchise" adaptation, a big-budget Hollywood re-imagining of older material. The material in question was of somewhat "dubious" origin, at least as far as the old-guard critical press elite were concerned: An import from Japan, made legendary in the U.S. as a fixture of Saturday Morning kiddie TV and toys. It's lead character wasn't even human, and would be created entirely using CGI... a prospect which sent eyes-rolling and tongues-clucking throughout the aforementioned critical elite. But the fans knew better. Who needs some overpriced marquee-name "human," or even a B-list tagalong? They knew who the REAL star was.
And yet, among the fans there was concern and discontent: They'd been down this road before, and they knew the danger of trusting the makers of megabudget summer popcorn films to understand the essential "soul" of the material they sought to re-configure into The Next Big Thing. Would the "specialness" of the franchise be gutted in order to appeal to a lowest-common-denominator "mass audience? Would the character(s) be changed beyond the point of recognition by studio-dictated designs with little to no respect for what had made them iconic in the first place? There was every reason to believe that such was almost... innevitable.
The key bone of symbolic contention between the fans and the filmmakers would become the design of the signature character(s), with rumors swirling in the fanbase of radical (and radically-underwhelming-looking) reworkings underway. Fanning the flames was the fact that the character(s) had yet to be fully-glimpsed, doled out in teasing images of limbs and details. For the longest time, the film's signature peice of advertising key-art was simply a closeup of the main character's EYE...
And then there was the filmmaker(s) themselves. Proven they were, yes, at the making of enjoyable genre-fluff. Films which many of the fans had greatly enjoyed, though perhaps in a somewhat ironically-detached "whee, it's just a ride-movie!" fashion. Oh, the filmmaker(s) in question had been greatly suited to those. But to THIS? For all the pyrotechnic skill previously displayed, were they REALLY the best choice to be helming something which - however quirky - had always worked best when infused with a certain degree of sincere respect and intelligence? Or was it merely an indication that those in charge had no intention or ability for sincerity here... that they saw merely the chance to crank out a generic, dumbed-down genre-entry for the summer season, hoping that the in-name-only connection to this "culty" franchise would be worth a few extra million bucks of "fanboy" lucre?
I'm talking, of course, about the 1998 American remake of "Godzilla."
BUT, as I trust most of you already gathered, I'm ALSO talking about "Transformers."
In any case... At one point in the great Godzilla debacle, a bit of "leaked" visual information appeared on the web that seemed to confirm that the G-Fans' worst character-design fears had been not only realized... but exceeded. It wasn't so much that American Godzilla (or "GINO: Godzilla In Name Only") was "different," but rather the VOLUMES that the difference implied - when coupled with all the bad news and worse rumors that had come before - about the complete lack of understanding, appreciation or even CARE held by Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich in regard to the franchise they were taking the reins of. Faced with this, the filmmakers issued statements claiming that the designs were "fake," or "decoys," or several other curious-sounding explanations.
Trouble is, it turns out that wasn't true. What people had seen was a real, and the bad feeling it gave them was justified: "GINO" was a financial dissapointment, a critical disaster and remains an industry-punchline and film-geek cautionary tale to this day. As you can see, the paralells between the "Godzilla" disaster and potential "Transformers" fan-bust are somewhat hard to ignore, so much so that it already has an intentionally familiar-sounding moniker in the circles where it counts: "TINO."
Recently, the part of the web that covers this stuff had ANOTHER "leaked peak" moment on their hands. A video clip that seemed to confirm (or at least strongly-indicate) that the already much-maligned re-design of "Transformers" lead-good guy Optimus Prime was set to give trans-fans even more to be down about. Faced with this, director Michael Bay offers his denial:
http://www.michaelbay.com/blog/newsblog.html (scroll down to the 2nd 4/22 entry.) Short version: It was a test-shot. Um... or it was a marketing thing. Or it was the Europeans.
Uh-huh. Now, I'm reasonably confident that given the "fuss" over this we won't see it in the movie when it's released. But I'm almost not really buying the explanation(s). So many bad ideas in this have already been seen, evidencing nothing more complicated than lack of good design-sense or franchise respect... why should THIS one require some bizzare explanation? Can "European marketing test-shots" also explain away Prime's moronic "dude-Fast-and-The-Furious-is-da-illest-movie-E'VA!!!!" flame-decals? "Alien Jet?" Starscream looking like the bastard offspring of Donkey Kong and a fried chicken-breast?
For what it's worth, I'm not the only one. Joblo.com is skeptical as well:
http://www.joblo.com/bay-denies-lips
And, for perspective, let's keep in mind that Joblo was founded by dudes who didn't like that there wasn't a place where you could find film writers who actually liked Michael Bay's "Armageddon."
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1612687-1,00.html
P.S. To the folks who's additude on this is "yeah, but maybe we're still getting a kickass giant robot movie out of it even if it isn't a particularly great Transformers movie, so it's good for the genre, right?" I was with ya for awhile, but ask yourselves this: How many monster movies did we get as a consolation prize for "GINO?"
Miyamoto / Time100 UPDATE!
Cool, exceedingly cool.
As of this time last night and holding, doubtlessly thanks to web-based get-out-the-vote "campaigns" like the one I posted here (and were posted all over the geekscape, it'd seem) Shigeru Miyamoto has risen to the #2 most-influential spot on Time Magazine's official "100 Most Influential People of The Year" list.
Good job, now keep it up! Here's a fresh link:
http://tinyurl.com/2byqfl
He's pulled ahead of JK Rowling, who for now sits comfortably at #3. In the #1 spot? Stephen Colbert. That's right, the respective creators of Harry Potter, the Super Mario Bros. and Tek Jansen currently lead for the gold, silver and bronze of worldwide-influence... well ahead of ANY politician, figurehead or policymaker on Earth.
Welcome to Planet Nerd. Official mood: Awesomeness.
As of this time last night and holding, doubtlessly thanks to web-based get-out-the-vote "campaigns" like the one I posted here (and were posted all over the geekscape, it'd seem) Shigeru Miyamoto has risen to the #2 most-influential spot on Time Magazine's official "100 Most Influential People of The Year" list.
Good job, now keep it up! Here's a fresh link:
http://tinyurl.com/2byqfl
He's pulled ahead of JK Rowling, who for now sits comfortably at #3. In the #1 spot? Stephen Colbert. That's right, the respective creators of Harry Potter, the Super Mario Bros. and Tek Jansen currently lead for the gold, silver and bronze of worldwide-influence... well ahead of ANY politician, figurehead or policymaker on Earth.
Welcome to Planet Nerd. Official mood: Awesomeness.
Monday, 23 April 2007
EEGAH
TYPICAL REVIEW
THE PLOT
While driving on a darkened freeway, teenaged (oh, sure) Roxy nearly mows down a hulking figure standing in the middle of the road. It's Eegah, wearing a Flinstones hand-me-down fur toga and the world's most incredibly fake beard while carrying a paper mache club in one hand and a live goat in the other. After her father disappears attempting to track down Eegah, Roxy and her boyfriend Tom dune buggy out into the desert to find him, only to have Roxy herself fall captive to the giant. Not having seen a woman for a few hundred years, Eegah, acting like some kind of Neanderthal, begins to make inappropriate advances towards Roxy. (This is a huge faux pas as Eegah is clearly Cro-Magnon or later.) Tom, with the unlikely strategy of running away combined with getting his butt kicked, somehow manages a rescue. Undaunted by this setback, Eegah follows the group into town where chaos... where tumult... (sigh) where mild commotion breaks out.THE POINT
Emile Chartier once wrote that "nothing is more dangerous than an idea when it is the only one you have." Well, Arch Hall Sr. had one idea; make Arch Hall Jr. into a multi-media teen sensation by any means necessary. To accomplish this, Arch Sr. set in motion his master plan to produce movies that would showcase his son's alleged acting and musical talent. Between the years 1961 and 1965, drive-Ins everywhere reeled under the assault of films like The Choppers, Wild Guitar, and The Nasty Rabbit. But the penultimate chapter of the Hall saga would have to be 1962's Eegah starring Arch Jr., Arch Sr. (who also wrote, produced, and directed the film), and 7'2" Richard Kiel, best known as the James Bond villain Jaws, but beloved by genre fans for his roles in movies like The Human Duplicators as well as every television show ever made in the 60s and 70s.Where does one even start with this movie? With a warning, I suppose. To the casual moviegoer, Eegah is likely to bring nothing but pain. It has been known to leave even the strong curled in a fetus position rasping in Kurtz-like dread, "The horror, the horror." But in spite of, or maybe because of, its inherent dangers, Eegah has become one of the rites of passage for the true B-Movie aficionado. We approach it like the greatest of Zen Koans, knowing that the answers to the inexhaustible number of "whys" raised by the movie are inaccessible to rational understanding, but might by some minuscule chance be ferreted out if we just meditate on it long enough. Struggle as I might, I haven't figured out squat yet.
Why does Eegah flee in terror from Tom's car when he's already shrugged off a direct hit from Roxie's? Why does a complete orchestra and backup chorus erupt anytime Tom strums a guitar? Why is Eegah's secluded mountain home considered unreachable in one scene, yet Tom is able to drive a dune buggy straight there a few scenes later? Why are there tire tracks everywhere in this uncharted region? Why doesn't Arch Jr.'s aerodynamic hairdo move? (My brain is starting to hurt.) Why, in an American made film, do disembodied voices suddenly yell out nonsensical things like "watch out for snakes" when absolutely no characters mouth is moving on screen? Why are there ovens in people's living rooms? Why, when trapped in a cave and discussing her potential fate at the hands of Eegah, does Roxie decide the best course of action is to give her father a shave? (Must not...succumb...to pain.) Why can no living human being see a 7'2" tall giant until he's less than one foot away? Why is there no glass in the windows Eegah breaks through? Why are the police wearing those hats? (Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.) Why does Roxie's father, the learned doctor, declare that exposure to sulfur is the cause of Eegah's immortality? Why don't we all use sulfur to live forever instead of just using it to get rid of dandruff? (Conciousness fading...) Why does the doctor justify Eegah's existence by quoting Genesis, Chapter 4, Verse 32, when there is, in fact, NO Genesis, Chapter4, Verse 32?!?
Wait, I might be able to answer that one! Anything to stop the pain, to stop thinking about Eegah for even a minute. Like so many things in this movie, this misquote is likely due to budgetary concerns. Arch Sr. probably remembered some Biblical reference to giants from Sunday School, but didn't feel he had the time to stop shooting and verify the exact passage. I know, let's just throw out a chapter and verse then? Even though the book of Genesis features prominently in three major religions, no one will notice if we get it wrong, will they?
The obscure quote which Arch Sr. bungles is actually from Genesis 6:4, which in an older translation reads "Now giants were upon the earth in those days. For after the sons of God went in to the daughters of men, and they brought forth children, these are the mighty men of old, men of renown." and in a newer version goes like "At that time the Nephilim appeared on earth (as well as later), after the sons of heaven had intercourse with the daughters of man, who bore them sons. They were the heroes of old, the men of renown." It's one of those odd passages which has kept Bible geeks arguing for centuries. Just who are these giants of old and who were their fathers, the sons of God?
There are a few theories. The earliest, supported by such heavy hitters as St. Justin Martyr and Clement of Alexandria, is that the sons of God were fallen angels who bred with human women and produced the Nephilim, a race of ornery giants. Another theory, championed by the likes of St. Augustine, is that the "sons of God" was a reference to the bloodline of Seth and the giants were their corrupt offspring born from intermingling with the bloodline of Cain, a.k.a. the "daughters of man". Yet a third explanation arose among Jewish rabbis in the 2nd century that interpreted sons of God to mean young nobles who married below their rank and bred "giant" offspring, giant in the sense that they were a strong and overpowering fighting force. And there's probably more, but those are the biggies.
This being a Catholic oriented blog, the obvious question arises as to which theory a good Catholic boy should accept. The surprising answer seems to be... anyone he wants to. The fact that Catholicism has no official verse-by-verse guide on how to read Holy Scripture often comes as a shock to all those (including some Catholics) who consider the Church as some all-controlling monolith. But all Catholicism requires of those reading Scripture is that when questionable passages arise they "be attentive to the analogy of faith. By "analogy of faith" we mean the coherence of the truths of faith among themselves and within the whole plan of Revelation." In short, if your interpretation contradicts or opposes the fundamentals of Christian belief as preserved and taught by the Church, you probably need to reexamine your conclusions. We must never forget that the teachings came first, and the Bible came later as a way of preserving them.
So, since there is no conclusive historical evidence regarding the Nephilim, and since none of the three theories presented above contradict any of the truths about God as taught by the Church, a Christian can in good conscience subscribe to any of them. (Although, admittedly, the fallen angel theory raises both weird theological questions and interesting fictional story possibilities.) In fact, within the context of the larger Noah story in Genesis 6, whatever the giants really are is of little consequence. Because of their tainted bloodline, they're presented as just another example of the corruption which has overtaken mankind. When the Nephilim reappear in Numbers 13 blocking the Hebrews entrance into Canaan, they represent a test of faith. Do the Hebrews trust God's word to help them defeat this enemy and enter the promised land, or do they punk out at the first site of overwhelming odds? It's the basic understanding of our relationship with God which the texts ultimately reveal in these passages that interests the Church. Who fathered the "giants" is just trivia.
Take the various theories of evolution for example. In the 1950 encyclical Humani Generis, Pope Piux XII wrote that, "The Teaching Authority of the Church does not forbid that, in conformity with the present state of human sciences and sacred theology, research and discussions, on the part of men experienced in both fields, take place with regard to the doctrine of evolution, insofar as it inquiries into the origin of the human body as coming from pre-existent and living matter." Encyclicals get translated in ways that often confuse me, but as Pope John Paul II would later confirm, the gist of the statement is that some form of evolution is a possibility in Catholicism. But Pius XII does go on to clarify that certain evolutionary theories, such as those based on Naturalism, are incompatible with Christianity. As a Catholic, if you're going to accept one of the theories of evolution, the physical process of creation is only a non-issue as long it doesn't exclude such beliefs as the human soul, free will, or God's intimate involvement in his creation. But those who favor a more scientific view shouldn't feel singled out. Those same guidelines apply to everyone whether they believe man showed up on the sixth day or the sixth millionth year.
So, since there is no conclusive historical evidence regarding the Nephilim, and since none of the three theories presented above contradict any of the truths about God as taught by the Church, a Christian can in good conscience subscribe to any of them. (Although, admittedly, the fallen angel theory raises both weird theological questions and interesting fictional story possibilities.) In fact, within the context of the larger Noah story in Genesis 6, whatever the giants really are is of little consequence. Because of their tainted bloodline, they're presented as just another example of the corruption which has overtaken mankind. When the Nephilim reappear in Numbers 13 blocking the Hebrews entrance into Canaan, they represent a test of faith. Do the Hebrews trust God's word to help them defeat this enemy and enter the promised land, or do they punk out at the first site of overwhelming odds? It's the basic understanding of our relationship with God which the texts ultimately reveal in these passages that interests the Church. Who fathered the "giants" is just trivia.
THE STINGER
For those of us who subscribe to a Christian world view, the same principle we apply to the interpretation of the Bible also works in regards to the knowledge provided by scholars and scientists. All learning is welcome and useful, but the true Christian interprets empirical scientific evidence with the basic understanding that behind everything there is God, and that God is concerned for and involved in the universe he created.Take the various theories of evolution for example. In the 1950 encyclical Humani Generis, Pope Piux XII wrote that, "The Teaching Authority of the Church does not forbid that, in conformity with the present state of human sciences and sacred theology, research and discussions, on the part of men experienced in both fields, take place with regard to the doctrine of evolution, insofar as it inquiries into the origin of the human body as coming from pre-existent and living matter." Encyclicals get translated in ways that often confuse me, but as Pope John Paul II would later confirm, the gist of the statement is that some form of evolution is a possibility in Catholicism. But Pius XII does go on to clarify that certain evolutionary theories, such as those based on Naturalism, are incompatible with Christianity. As a Catholic, if you're going to accept one of the theories of evolution, the physical process of creation is only a non-issue as long it doesn't exclude such beliefs as the human soul, free will, or God's intimate involvement in his creation. But those who favor a more scientific view shouldn't feel singled out. Those same guidelines apply to everyone whether they believe man showed up on the sixth day or the sixth millionth year.
Let's do something nice for someone
"TIME" magazine is having their annual vote for the "100 Most-Influnetial People" kerfluffle, something I usually don't pay attention to as it tends to just be an entirely-unsurprising roster of celebrity do-gooders, of-the-moment noteworthy's, 'hip' comedians/imported pop singers that the magazine is a year or two behind in "getting on board with" and whichever foreign politicians most of the U.S. just found out existed this year (currently leading the votes this year: Bhumibol Adulyadej, the King of Thailand. Yes, that Bhumibol Adulyadej.)
But nestled snug among the sea of Bonos and Gores is a guy who's never been on the list before, despite being a huge worldwide influence and possibly the most significant player in his industry for decades: SHIGERU MIYAMOTO, the often-hailed "Spielberg of video-games," creator of the Super Mario Bros., Donkey Kong, Zelda, etc. The man who's contributions to the culture (there would not have BEEN an NES or a home-console revival without the original SMB) saved gaming from losing it's shirt amid the Crash of 83, and who's commitment to resisting fads (you'll never see an "XTREME MARIO!!!" abomination while he's drawing breath) and contributions to the legacy-focused Wii may yet save gaming from losing it's soul in the age of Sony and Microsoft's corporate-synergized behemoths.
His (and his other Nintendo in-house stalwarts) autumn-of-a-career return to prominence in the wake of The Wii plays out like a kind of cosmic justice: As the sudden "mainstreaming" of gaming has a previously-clueless mass culture heralding "Madden" and "Halo" as if it had all just showed up overnight, threatening to render the format's real original pioneers mere pop-cultural footnotes, he's back to make sure everyone knows full well who Daddy still is. He's one of those guys like Jim Henson, who's tremendous influence and import aren't fully appreciated because the form in which they've chosen to work isn't precisely "mainstream" or fully respected in their own time. Except that this is the age of the internet, which if nothing else is THE premier tool for 'hooking up' guys like this with the credit they might otherwise be denied.
You know where this is going: Here's the link to the TIME profile:
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/time100walkup/article/0,28804,1611030_1610841_1609873,00.html
Wanna do something nice for a guy who there's a pretty good chance has done some nice things for you and your's? Take that little bar in the upper right-hand corner, drag it over into the realm of "100%" or thereabouts and click "submit." Vote like the dead in New York: Early and often. As of this posting, he's in the Top 5 - just behind Stephen Colbert, Korean pop singer Rain, Bono and the King of Thailand. #1 might be a bit much, but to keep him in the Top 5 for publication would be AMAZING and entirely appropriate especially if he remained neck-and-neck with Colbert. C'mon, this'll be fun. Take a minute or two, vote a couple hundred times, and give a good guy a break.
But nestled snug among the sea of Bonos and Gores is a guy who's never been on the list before, despite being a huge worldwide influence and possibly the most significant player in his industry for decades: SHIGERU MIYAMOTO, the often-hailed "Spielberg of video-games," creator of the Super Mario Bros., Donkey Kong, Zelda, etc. The man who's contributions to the culture (there would not have BEEN an NES or a home-console revival without the original SMB) saved gaming from losing it's shirt amid the Crash of 83, and who's commitment to resisting fads (you'll never see an "XTREME MARIO!!!" abomination while he's drawing breath) and contributions to the legacy-focused Wii may yet save gaming from losing it's soul in the age of Sony and Microsoft's corporate-synergized behemoths.
His (and his other Nintendo in-house stalwarts) autumn-of-a-career return to prominence in the wake of The Wii plays out like a kind of cosmic justice: As the sudden "mainstreaming" of gaming has a previously-clueless mass culture heralding "Madden" and "Halo" as if it had all just showed up overnight, threatening to render the format's real original pioneers mere pop-cultural footnotes, he's back to make sure everyone knows full well who Daddy still is. He's one of those guys like Jim Henson, who's tremendous influence and import aren't fully appreciated because the form in which they've chosen to work isn't precisely "mainstream" or fully respected in their own time. Except that this is the age of the internet, which if nothing else is THE premier tool for 'hooking up' guys like this with the credit they might otherwise be denied.
You know where this is going: Here's the link to the TIME profile:
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/time100walkup/article/0,28804,1611030_1610841_1609873,00.html
Wanna do something nice for a guy who there's a pretty good chance has done some nice things for you and your's? Take that little bar in the upper right-hand corner, drag it over into the realm of "100%" or thereabouts and click "submit." Vote like the dead in New York: Early and often. As of this posting, he's in the Top 5 - just behind Stephen Colbert, Korean pop singer Rain, Bono and the King of Thailand. #1 might be a bit much, but to keep him in the Top 5 for publication would be AMAZING and entirely appropriate especially if he remained neck-and-neck with Colbert. C'mon, this'll be fun. Take a minute or two, vote a couple hundred times, and give a good guy a break.
Saturday, 21 April 2007
REVIEW: Hot Fuzz
"Hot Fuzz" is basically working the same British movie-geek joke that Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg's last movie, "Shaun of the Dead," was: Take a done-to-death, principally-American genre and drop it incongruously into a gently-satirical vision of merry ol' England. "Shaun" found comedy gold by having a formula "zombie apocalypse" break out in the middle of a London suburb. Now, in "Hot Fuzz," a Jerry Bruckheimer movie breaks out right in the middle of cottage country - with a plot deftly transplanted-by-inversion from "Beverly Hills Cop" and a style that's half-mocking, half-celebrating every overblown actioner that followed "Bever Hills Cop 2."
Sgt. Nicholas Angel (Pegg) is the (literal) supercop of London. A weapon's-specialist, martial-arts expert, master investigator and by-the-book badass who's 400%-and-climbing performance record is making the rest of his department (superiors included) look shabby by comparison. To rectify, they arrange to have him shipped off to a new position in Sandford, a picture-perfect pastoral village way out in the middle of nowhere with a crime-rate so low the big city Angel is reduced to busting under-age drinking, escaped swans and unlicensed rifles just to keep busy.
The downtime does, however, afford him the opportunity to work on his (standard movie-cop issue, of course) lack of social skills. Fellow Sandford cop Danny Butterman (Nick Frost,) an easily-distracted but good-natured oaf obsessed with police action films, takes an immediate shine to Angel - recognizing him as a "real" vision of the movie-cop's he so admires. It's here we get the first indications that this isn't just another snarky takedown of action cliche's. Like "Team America" before it, "Fuzz" is having fun goofing on the sillier points of the likes of "Point Break" and "Bad Boys 2," but it also 'gets' what makes them so endearing - in this case the affectionate "buddy-cop" bonding routine.
It also 'gets' the fun of Michael Bay-style hero worship (ahem... Sergeant Angel...), as Nicholas finds himself unable to turn off his detective-skill paranoia, and starts to suspect that Sandford's comically-high "accident" rate may be concealing some kind of sinister criminal conspiracy likely involving a local Supermarket bigwig (Timothy Dalton) who - like any good heavy of these movies - spends an inordinate amount of time strutting around acting like an obvious bad guy with something to hide.
What unspools, much like "Shaun," eventually lets the genre-spoof take a backseat to outright genre-worship, and "Fuzz" unveils itself as an honest-to-God kickass action-comedy (after all, can you really "parody" something that's already as much of a walking-joke as Michael Bay movies?) and also a surprisingly biting crack at the expense of rural British hyper-pleasantry. It even has some subtle fun goofing on Tony Scott-esque Ritalin-deprived editing tricks. And it'll be hard for any other actioner this summer, "serious" or otherwise, to top it's bullet-riddled third act for sheer audacity.
Short of "Grindhouse," there isn't a single move playing right now that's more fun that this. See it.
FINAL RATING: 10/10
Sgt. Nicholas Angel (Pegg) is the (literal) supercop of London. A weapon's-specialist, martial-arts expert, master investigator and by-the-book badass who's 400%-and-climbing performance record is making the rest of his department (superiors included) look shabby by comparison. To rectify, they arrange to have him shipped off to a new position in Sandford, a picture-perfect pastoral village way out in the middle of nowhere with a crime-rate so low the big city Angel is reduced to busting under-age drinking, escaped swans and unlicensed rifles just to keep busy.
The downtime does, however, afford him the opportunity to work on his (standard movie-cop issue, of course) lack of social skills. Fellow Sandford cop Danny Butterman (Nick Frost,) an easily-distracted but good-natured oaf obsessed with police action films, takes an immediate shine to Angel - recognizing him as a "real" vision of the movie-cop's he so admires. It's here we get the first indications that this isn't just another snarky takedown of action cliche's. Like "Team America" before it, "Fuzz" is having fun goofing on the sillier points of the likes of "Point Break" and "Bad Boys 2," but it also 'gets' what makes them so endearing - in this case the affectionate "buddy-cop" bonding routine.
It also 'gets' the fun of Michael Bay-style hero worship (ahem... Sergeant Angel...), as Nicholas finds himself unable to turn off his detective-skill paranoia, and starts to suspect that Sandford's comically-high "accident" rate may be concealing some kind of sinister criminal conspiracy likely involving a local Supermarket bigwig (Timothy Dalton) who - like any good heavy of these movies - spends an inordinate amount of time strutting around acting like an obvious bad guy with something to hide.
What unspools, much like "Shaun," eventually lets the genre-spoof take a backseat to outright genre-worship, and "Fuzz" unveils itself as an honest-to-God kickass action-comedy (after all, can you really "parody" something that's already as much of a walking-joke as Michael Bay movies?) and also a surprisingly biting crack at the expense of rural British hyper-pleasantry. It even has some subtle fun goofing on Tony Scott-esque Ritalin-deprived editing tricks. And it'll be hard for any other actioner this summer, "serious" or otherwise, to top it's bullet-riddled third act for sheer audacity.
Short of "Grindhouse," there isn't a single move playing right now that's more fun that this. See it.
FINAL RATING: 10/10
Friday, 20 April 2007
The sheep find their scapegoat
Gotta admire the speed at which the weak, the cowardly and those who prey on them have moved on this. The VT Massacre isn't even a week old yet, and they've already found the pop-culture item that's going to be blamed for "causing" Cho Seung-hui to murder people. Because, y'know, it can't just be that random evil and insanity sometimes simply happen. No, that's too scary. That's too hard to face. Something must have "caused" it, and if they can just find what it is and raise a fuss, they'll feel better.
Weaklings. Fools.
So, what's it going to be this time? Chan Wook-Park's movie "Oldboy."
Weaklings. Fools.
So, what's it going to be this time? Chan Wook-Park's movie "Oldboy."
Why? Because apparently Seung-Hui had seen it, and because in one of his snapshots he was holding a hammer, and "Oldboy" killed guys with a hammer in one scene.
How perfect, eh? How clever the Encyclopedia Browns out there are: "OMIGOD! South-Korean movie! SOUTH KOREAN KILLER!!! IT ALL FITS!!!!" And, not for nothing, the film is a foriegn import, just like Hui himself, so they don't even have the SLIGHT element of introspection that comes when they put the blame on American music/movies/whatever. Super, eh? Pro-censorship for one set of idiots, xenophobia for another.
What a disgrace.
Thursday, 19 April 2007
The face of evil
I'm going to keep writing about this Virginia Tech massacre so long as there are things to say about it. This will, however, be the last time I include any images of Cho Seung-hui.
I include it here because it's new and relevant, and because I think it actually is important we take a look at this creature and consider something.
So, look at him. Look at this posing, narcissistic, petulant little shit. Standing there before his own camera taking his army-guy dressup glamour shot, wearing his carefully-practiced "yeah, boy! I'm soooo gangsta!" scowl. Right down to the last detail of his obnoxious backwards ballcap. Look at that, and realize: That's the last thing some poor innocent people saw on this Earth.
If there's a Hell, he'd better be burning in it.
Wednesday, 18 April 2007
BEHOLD... Galactus?
(NOTE: May or may not be considered spoiler-esque. Strictly rumor-ish, one site had it under "spoiler," another did not, I'm leaving some space just in case, click outta here if you're really touchy about anything possibly spoiler-ish.)
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And, before the responses kick up... I KNOW AICN isn't exactly the New York times (not even the New York Post, really) but A.) It was put up by their most consistently reliable regular contributor, who is now their most "inside-the-system" regular contributor; and B.) It "sounds real" to me. Waaaaaay back even before we started seeing pics of the Silver Surfer, we were hearing that IF Galactus was to turn up in "Fantastic Four: Rise of The Silver Surfer," he'd probably be closer to "Gah-Lak-Tus" (The "Ultimate Marvel" Galactus,) who's basically a hivemind of billions of spacefaring insectoid robots which resembles a massive cloud at a distance.
For futher circumstantial evidence, we now have Variety...
http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117963368.html?categoryid=13&cs=1
...confirming that Laurence Fishburne is NOT voicing Galactus, as many outlets initially reported (giving rise to hopes that a human voice would logically equal a "traditional" humanoid Galactus) but rather the Silver Surfer.
Egh. Keep `em crossed... keep `em crossed...
On the plus side, if your name is Michael Bay, you can relax: You may get of lucky and end up as only the director of the second most-hated "tentpole" movie of 2007. See? God (...zilla 98) never flushes a turd without opening a window ;)
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Well, not exactly. But apparently it may not be all that far off:
http://www.joblo.com/hurricane-galactus
http://www.aintitcool.com/node/32330
And, before the responses kick up... I KNOW AICN isn't exactly the New York times (not even the New York Post, really) but A.) It was put up by their most consistently reliable regular contributor, who is now their most "inside-the-system" regular contributor; and B.) It "sounds real" to me. Waaaaaay back even before we started seeing pics of the Silver Surfer, we were hearing that IF Galactus was to turn up in "Fantastic Four: Rise of The Silver Surfer," he'd probably be closer to "Gah-Lak-Tus" (The "Ultimate Marvel" Galactus,) who's basically a hivemind of billions of spacefaring insectoid robots which resembles a massive cloud at a distance.
For futher circumstantial evidence, we now have Variety...
http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117963368.html?categoryid=13&cs=1
...confirming that Laurence Fishburne is NOT voicing Galactus, as many outlets initially reported (giving rise to hopes that a human voice would logically equal a "traditional" humanoid Galactus) but rather the Silver Surfer.
Egh. Keep `em crossed... keep `em crossed...
On the plus side, if your name is Michael Bay, you can relax: You may get of lucky and end up as only the director of the second most-hated "tentpole" movie of 2007. See? God (...zilla 98) never flushes a turd without opening a window ;)
COMING ATTRACTIONS: EEGAH
If there's one thing we love almost as much (and sometimes more) than a good B-Movie, it's a trailer for a good B-Movie. I thought it would be fun in between posts, if I could find them, to post coming attractions for upcoming reviews. (Once I know what they are, that is.) If I can't find a trailer, I'll try to at least put up a poster. So without further ado, COMING SOON TO A B-MOVIE CATECHISM NEAR YOU...
Tuesday, 17 April 2007
What can I say?
It doesn't feel right to have a forum on which to say things and NOT say something about this most-recent shooting tragedy. On the other hand, I'm not sure I feel right trying to "think" of something to say when, overall, what can I possibly add? It's a tragedy, it's horrible, and... what else? This is a hideous act of seemingly-random evil that no one saw coming, proof both un-asked-for and un-needed of the cruelty and randomness that too-often "is" life... the very type of horror for which the term "unthinkable" was coined.
And then I watched the news, the very night of the event, during which time we did not yet even know this young monster's name. I knew it was coming. I knew it was just a matter of time. I knew that their arrival was as innevitable as that of vultures to a carcass. I just thought it would take at least a day longer. But no, there they were.
The cynical, opportunistic "anti-gun" advocates of the so-called "left."
The cynical, opportunistic pro-censorship advocates of the so-called "right."
Both vile, both subhuman, both ready-by-reflex to "spin" this tragedy into an argument for their personal agendas. Disgusting. Depraved. Predictable.
NOW I have something to say.
GUNS DID NOT CAUSE THIS. My personal opinions and/or political thoughts on the subject of the 2nd Ammendment are not connected to that, it is merely a simple statement of fact. "Gun-control" laws, weapon-bans, regulation and any of the other "fixes" peddled cynically by the anti-gun guys in these instances are not a practical solution: The sick and the depraved will merely find other implements for destruction - not a single gunshot was fired, after all, in the carrying-out of 9-11. The Unabomber and Tim McVeigh both used explosives. Those who seek to destroy will seek to destroy, limiting their options merely makes them creative.
EXPLICIT MOVIES, TV, MUSIC & VIDEO-GAMES DID NOT CAUSE THIS, EITHER. My feelings on this are no secret. There has never been, nor is there ever likely to be, conclusive proof or even reasonable evidence to suggest that there has ever been a film, television show, song, game or other work of art that "makes" people do horrible things. Censorship ("self" or otherwise), stricter-ratings, the enforcement of the "family hour," or any of the other "fixes" peddled cynically by the pro-censor "conservatives" (and "liberals," too: looking at you Mr. Lieberman, Mrs. Clinton) are an even less practical solution: The sick and the depraved will simply find other sources to claim "inspiration" from: Hitler loved Wagner. Manson loved The Beatles. Ben Franklin had it right: "Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety."
You know what caused this? A CRAZY MAN. You know what worsened it? APPARENT MISMANAGEMENT ON THE LAW-ENFORCEMENT SIDE.
I know that that's not especially comforting. Even though most of us know it on one level or another, no one "likes" to confront head-on the idea that life can be - and so often IS - cruel, unjust and random. That sometimes bad things happen without some definable, "removable" cause. That horrific evil can occur without warning and end without justice. It's not "right." It's not "fair." And it's entirely understandable... indeed entirely human... to be tempted to believe that there always MUST be something to "explain" it, something to have "caused" it. Something which we can find, grasp and maybe even "cut-out" like a polyp or an infected hangnail. But when we succumb to that temptation... when we drop to our knees and beg (knowingly or otherwise) for someone - anyone - to come along and give us something - anything - tangible to "blame"... we leave the doors to our very will open - keys still in the ignition - for anyone to come along and take control of.
Our spirit, our will, our very selves... become weak. And the charlatans, false-prophets and demagogues on all sides and of all stripes specialize in preying upon that very weakness. They want to use your fear, your insecurity, your desire for an "answer" in order to bend you to their will and add your voice to their agenda.
Don't let them.
Don't be weak.
Be STRONG.
Strength is built through resistance to force and pressure. In this case, resistance to the force of sadness, horror and injustice that beat down on us in these kind of dark times. And the the pressure of those political snake-oil salesmen. who'd use any sign of vulnerability to bend you to their agenda. If you support gun-control, censorship, whatever... fine - but support them because YOU honestly do, not because some sleazebag pundit convinced you supporting them would be a "get-meaning-quick" fix.
Be Strong. Stand eye-to-eye with LIFE and let it know you are not afraid. That you are well aware of how cruel and random and unjust it can be... but that you're still here, with a strong will and a free mind... and you can take it.
P.S. Members of the news media: We are now all aware that this is now "officially" the "worst firearm massacre in American history." We get it. It's significant, it's a moment in history, and you got to cover it. Fine. Now can we please stop announcing this little psychopath's body-count like it's some kind of goddamn sports statistic?? Remember, the thing about keeping records is that someone is always looking to break them.
And then I watched the news, the very night of the event, during which time we did not yet even know this young monster's name. I knew it was coming. I knew it was just a matter of time. I knew that their arrival was as innevitable as that of vultures to a carcass. I just thought it would take at least a day longer. But no, there they were.
The cynical, opportunistic "anti-gun" advocates of the so-called "left."
The cynical, opportunistic pro-censorship advocates of the so-called "right."
Both vile, both subhuman, both ready-by-reflex to "spin" this tragedy into an argument for their personal agendas. Disgusting. Depraved. Predictable.
NOW I have something to say.
GUNS DID NOT CAUSE THIS. My personal opinions and/or political thoughts on the subject of the 2nd Ammendment are not connected to that, it is merely a simple statement of fact. "Gun-control" laws, weapon-bans, regulation and any of the other "fixes" peddled cynically by the anti-gun guys in these instances are not a practical solution: The sick and the depraved will merely find other implements for destruction - not a single gunshot was fired, after all, in the carrying-out of 9-11. The Unabomber and Tim McVeigh both used explosives. Those who seek to destroy will seek to destroy, limiting their options merely makes them creative.
EXPLICIT MOVIES, TV, MUSIC & VIDEO-GAMES DID NOT CAUSE THIS, EITHER. My feelings on this are no secret. There has never been, nor is there ever likely to be, conclusive proof or even reasonable evidence to suggest that there has ever been a film, television show, song, game or other work of art that "makes" people do horrible things. Censorship ("self" or otherwise), stricter-ratings, the enforcement of the "family hour," or any of the other "fixes" peddled cynically by the pro-censor "conservatives" (and "liberals," too: looking at you Mr. Lieberman, Mrs. Clinton) are an even less practical solution: The sick and the depraved will simply find other sources to claim "inspiration" from: Hitler loved Wagner. Manson loved The Beatles. Ben Franklin had it right: "Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety."
You know what caused this? A CRAZY MAN. You know what worsened it? APPARENT MISMANAGEMENT ON THE LAW-ENFORCEMENT SIDE.
I know that that's not especially comforting. Even though most of us know it on one level or another, no one "likes" to confront head-on the idea that life can be - and so often IS - cruel, unjust and random. That sometimes bad things happen without some definable, "removable" cause. That horrific evil can occur without warning and end without justice. It's not "right." It's not "fair." And it's entirely understandable... indeed entirely human... to be tempted to believe that there always MUST be something to "explain" it, something to have "caused" it. Something which we can find, grasp and maybe even "cut-out" like a polyp or an infected hangnail. But when we succumb to that temptation... when we drop to our knees and beg (knowingly or otherwise) for someone - anyone - to come along and give us something - anything - tangible to "blame"... we leave the doors to our very will open - keys still in the ignition - for anyone to come along and take control of.
Our spirit, our will, our very selves... become weak. And the charlatans, false-prophets and demagogues on all sides and of all stripes specialize in preying upon that very weakness. They want to use your fear, your insecurity, your desire for an "answer" in order to bend you to their will and add your voice to their agenda.
Don't let them.
Don't be weak.
Be STRONG.
Strength is built through resistance to force and pressure. In this case, resistance to the force of sadness, horror and injustice that beat down on us in these kind of dark times. And the the pressure of those political snake-oil salesmen. who'd use any sign of vulnerability to bend you to their agenda. If you support gun-control, censorship, whatever... fine - but support them because YOU honestly do, not because some sleazebag pundit convinced you supporting them would be a "get-meaning-quick" fix.
Be Strong. Stand eye-to-eye with LIFE and let it know you are not afraid. That you are well aware of how cruel and random and unjust it can be... but that you're still here, with a strong will and a free mind... and you can take it.
P.S. Members of the news media: We are now all aware that this is now "officially" the "worst firearm massacre in American history." We get it. It's significant, it's a moment in history, and you got to cover it. Fine. Now can we please stop announcing this little psychopath's body-count like it's some kind of goddamn sports statistic?? Remember, the thing about keeping records is that someone is always looking to break them.
Monday, 16 April 2007
BEAST FROM HAUNTED CAVE
TYPICAL REVIEW
"After it's over, you'll be scratching your head, asking, "So who's left alive and who's dead?" That's just one of the reasons horror fans love this unconventional B-movie." - Jeff Stafford, Turner Classic Movies
Don't rush to add it to your Netflix Queue just yet, though, as there are some obstacles to overcome. Corman was notorious for shooting two movies simultaneously so he could double up on the sets, the cast, etc. And sadly, from what's on-screen here, it's obvious that the other flick being shot, Ski Troop Attack, got the lion's share of the budget between the two films. And that's a shame, because all of about 5 people have ever watched Ski Troop Attack and the 50 bucks Corman spent on that film could have really benefited Beast From Haunted Cave. Also, as might be expected, some of the acting is less than stellar. Michael Forest is serviceable, but still fairly vanilla as the hero Gil and Linné Ahlstrand as Natalie the waitress is just what you would expect from the Playmate of the Month for July 1958... not an actress. SO not an actress, in fact, that I'm fairly certain in one scene someone off camera is poking her with a stick every time its her turn to speak.
THE PLOT
After staging a heist, a small gang of crooks con ski instructor Gil Jackson into taking them to his mountain lodge where a plane will pick them up. To divert the police during the getaway, the thugs set off a bomb in a nearby newly-opened gold mine. Things take a turn for the complicated, however, when the obligatory blizzard sets in and the getaway plane is unable to land. With the group stranded inside the cabin, tensions begin to rise. Gypsy, the moll-with-a-heart-somewhat-resembling-gold, begins to develop feelings for our hero Gil, much to the irritation of her current boyfriend, gang leader Alex. Worst of all, however, is that the bombed mine shaft was in fact the ancient home of a blood starved ghoul from Hell! (Well, that's how the poster describes it, anyway.) Suffice to say, The Beast isn't very happy to have its home blasted to smithereens, and follows the gang to the cabin for revenge and light snacks.THE POINT
Let's see. Black and white cheapy released by legendary B-master Roger Corman's production company: check. Starring nobody who ever made it above B-movie or television guest star status: check. Special effects eerily reminiscent of Sigmund and The Sea Monsters: check. Well, it certainly sounds like what we've got here is the makings of another one of those late 50s drive-in stinkers that is going to be a real chore to watch without the MST3K guys along the bottom of the screen. Surprise, surprise. This one's actually pretty enjoyable.Don't rush to add it to your Netflix Queue just yet, though, as there are some obstacles to overcome. Corman was notorious for shooting two movies simultaneously so he could double up on the sets, the cast, etc. And sadly, from what's on-screen here, it's obvious that the other flick being shot, Ski Troop Attack, got the lion's share of the budget between the two films. And that's a shame, because all of about 5 people have ever watched Ski Troop Attack and the 50 bucks Corman spent on that film could have really benefited Beast From Haunted Cave. Also, as might be expected, some of the acting is less than stellar. Michael Forest is serviceable, but still fairly vanilla as the hero Gil and Linné Ahlstrand as Natalie the waitress is just what you would expect from the Playmate of the Month for July 1958... not an actress. SO not an actress, in fact, that I'm fairly certain in one scene someone off camera is poking her with a stick every time its her turn to speak.
But that kind of stuff is no shock in these movies. What is surprising about Beast From Haunted Cave is all of the things which work. First time director Monte Hellman makes great use of the location, grounding the film in real world settings that are both familiar and creepy at the same time. The best example is one sequence in the middle of the film in which one of the gangsters trudges through the dark snow-covered woods trying to find the source of some strange noises. Slowly scanning the trees with a small flashlight, he discovers a character he thought was dead cocooned high in the branches. The camera slowly moves in as she opens her eyes and begs for death. I'm glad I missed this one as a little boy because, even now, this scene gave me that little chill you get when a film nails the creep factor perfectly. (I'd be willing to wager that this film did give some poor kid nightmares, a kid who would later grow up to work on the Alien films. Go back and compare some of the chest-burster scenes to this moment and you'll see what I mean. I was literally waiting for a little squealing Alien to pop out.) Another plus, despite the earlier misgivings, is that most of the acting isn't that bad. In particular, Sheila Noonan does a good job with Gypsy, the bad girl considering a turn for the good. She comes across as a poor man's Lauren Bacall recovering from a three day drunk, which is kind of what the roll calls for, so it's okay.
But the best thing Beast From Haunted Cave has going for it is the script. Yes, there are plot holes. One scene in which a man is nearly mauled to death by the Beast is followed by a scene in which everyone seems more concerned about the weather than what is outside the door. But Corman's 2-3 week shooting schedules always allowed inconsistencies like this to slip in, so you tend to accept them as an unavoidable evil. What this movies script does so well is make near perfect use of its time. The movie clocks in at about 73 minutes, which is just right for a film intended as part of a drive-in double feature, but doesn't usually leave much time for little things like, say, character development. This one's different. Every single major character and plot point is introduced in the first 20 minutes, and yet it never feels rushed. The script is so deft at setting up the characters that I was actually surprised when one of the women I had pegged as one of the majors is taken out by the Beast at the end of act one. And although the movie still contains some walking scenes, one of Corman's favorite ways to pad a film's running time, most of the "filler" moments are spent building up the supporting cast so you at least have some investment in them when the Beast starts picking them off in the final reel. Despite its necessary short length, the film has surprising depth for a B-movie.
"The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.", wrote Thomas Jefferson. And that doesn't just apply to federal documents and screenplays. Writing about the Lord’s Prayer, the 3rd century bishop St. Cyprian suggested that Christ did not want “His disciples to be burdened by memorizing His teaching.” Jesus stated the basics, something that could be learned easily by anyone. What basics do we need to know? St. Cyprian quotes the Gospel of John: “And eternal life is this: to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you sent.” And how do you do this? St, Cyprian suggests that it's all right there in the Lord's Prayer where Christ "summarized His teaching on the mystery of eternal life and its meaning with an admirable, divine brevity.”
Divine brevity. The Scriptures are a marvel at it. Consider that Marcel Proust's Remembrance of Things Past holds the Guinness Book of Records title as longest novel. Published in 13 volumes from 1913 to 1927, the work contains nearly 1.5 million words. (Frighteningly, L. Ron Hubbard's Mission Earth comes in at a close second with 1.2 million.) Now, depending on the translation, the Bible clocks in at just under a measly 800,000 words, or about as long as 4 Harry Potter novels. If that still seems long, remember that the Bible is basically a self-contained library, so you have to divide those 800,000 words up between 73 books. (Yes, 73. I'm Catholic remember?) While the actual length of the individual books vary widely, you're still down to about an average of 11,000 words per book, or twice the length of the average article in Time magazine. That means I've got guys in my office who could read an entire book of the Bible sitting on the toilet!
And talk about getting to the point. If you imagine a blow-by-blow description of the current theories regarding the biological process of evolution starting from the beginning of time, you could get to page ten thousand and still not be anywhere close to explaining WHY all of this is going on in the first place. Using literary forms common for the time, the writers of Genesis establish the context of the relationships between God, humankind, and the physical universe... in two pages. Divine brevity indeed.But the best thing Beast From Haunted Cave has going for it is the script. Yes, there are plot holes. One scene in which a man is nearly mauled to death by the Beast is followed by a scene in which everyone seems more concerned about the weather than what is outside the door. But Corman's 2-3 week shooting schedules always allowed inconsistencies like this to slip in, so you tend to accept them as an unavoidable evil. What this movies script does so well is make near perfect use of its time. The movie clocks in at about 73 minutes, which is just right for a film intended as part of a drive-in double feature, but doesn't usually leave much time for little things like, say, character development. This one's different. Every single major character and plot point is introduced in the first 20 minutes, and yet it never feels rushed. The script is so deft at setting up the characters that I was actually surprised when one of the women I had pegged as one of the majors is taken out by the Beast at the end of act one. And although the movie still contains some walking scenes, one of Corman's favorite ways to pad a film's running time, most of the "filler" moments are spent building up the supporting cast so you at least have some investment in them when the Beast starts picking them off in the final reel. Despite its necessary short length, the film has surprising depth for a B-movie.
"The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.", wrote Thomas Jefferson. And that doesn't just apply to federal documents and screenplays. Writing about the Lord’s Prayer, the 3rd century bishop St. Cyprian suggested that Christ did not want “His disciples to be burdened by memorizing His teaching.” Jesus stated the basics, something that could be learned easily by anyone. What basics do we need to know? St. Cyprian quotes the Gospel of John: “And eternal life is this: to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you sent.” And how do you do this? St, Cyprian suggests that it's all right there in the Lord's Prayer where Christ "summarized His teaching on the mystery of eternal life and its meaning with an admirable, divine brevity.”
Divine brevity. The Scriptures are a marvel at it. Consider that Marcel Proust's Remembrance of Things Past holds the Guinness Book of Records title as longest novel. Published in 13 volumes from 1913 to 1927, the work contains nearly 1.5 million words. (Frighteningly, L. Ron Hubbard's Mission Earth comes in at a close second with 1.2 million.) Now, depending on the translation, the Bible clocks in at just under a measly 800,000 words, or about as long as 4 Harry Potter novels. If that still seems long, remember that the Bible is basically a self-contained library, so you have to divide those 800,000 words up between 73 books. (Yes, 73. I'm Catholic remember?) While the actual length of the individual books vary widely, you're still down to about an average of 11,000 words per book, or twice the length of the average article in Time magazine. That means I've got guys in my office who could read an entire book of the Bible sitting on the toilet!
THE STINGER
“I want to know how God created the world. I am not interested in this or that phenomenon, in the spectrum of this or that element. I want to know His thoughts, the rest are details.” Albert Einstein said that, you may have heard of him.
COMING ATTRACTIONS: BEAST FROM HAUNTED CAVE
Sadly, I can't find any trailers anywhere for this one. Nice pulp poster art though.
Saturday, 14 April 2007
Another new "Transformers" clip to make you feel dead inside
Batman has pointy ears. Daredevil has horns. Superman wears a cape. "Zelda's" Link sports of floppy, pointy hat. Godzilla has leaf-like back spines. Hobbits have fuzzy feet. Charlie Brown wears a yellow shirt with a wraparound jagged-line design. The Super Mario Bros. wear overalls and hats with their initials on them. The Lone Ranger, Zorro and The Spirit all wear masks.
These are simple, basic design-elements. Easy to remember, instantly-identifiable visual traits that make characters recognizable. The "icon" part of the term "iconographic."
Also on that list, at least as far as I'm concerned: Optimus Prime doesn't have, or require, a visible mouth. Except that now he does:
http://iesb.net/index.php?option=com_xevidmegafx&Itemid=139&func=detail&id=457
And the ongoing saga of "Godzilla 1998: Take Two" continues. Sigh...
Already a couple of you are rolling your eyes. "Silly fanboys, getting all worked-up about minor changes to a bunch of dopey old toy robots." It's almost not even worth trying to explain anymore, but the general "fanboy" malaise over these re-designs most-definately isn't just a bunch of overgrown children complaining about a screw out of place here or there. Character-design changes are usually welcomed by all but the most deeply obsessive... When they're good. You won't find many Batman fans, for example, all that upset that the movie/animated-series Bruce Wayne does his crimefighting in a black cowl as opposed to the comic's traditional blue. The claws come out when re-designs are BAD: Think the innexplicably be-nippled Batman of "Batman & Robin," or the aforementioned 1998 American bastardization of Godzilla.
Right down the line, the nominal "stars" of "Transformers," even setting aside the pre-existing comic/toy/cartoon designs, are some of the worst-looking cinematic robots in recent memory. They all look like asymetrical, unwieldy scrap-metal sculptures. This is the very definition of OVER-DESIGNED; obviously the art department guys had a ball figuring out all the little gears and bits and intricacies, but moving around at large scale they look like ass, plain and simple. And now, thanks to the above TV spot, we now know that - in addition to the moronic "whoa, dude!" flame decals - Optimus Prime now sports a ridiculous-looking pair of liquid-metal monkey lips. Oh, well.
But enough moping. Some nice fellow on YouTube put up this clip from the recent live-action version of the oldschool Japanese anime classic "Tetsujin 28" ("Gigantor" to us Americans.) The video-quality isn't spectacular, and there aren't subtitles, but still... take a look at what you get when big-budget CGI giant robot movies are made by people who actually give a damn:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooma9dvfZwk
And since I'm not able to embed that one, apparently, here's the trailer:
I've got this on DVD (so can you, Geneon has a fine English Subtitled version out in general release they didn't publicize for whatever reason) and let me tell you: They probably spent less making this whole movie than it likely cost to cater the "Transformers" set for a week (I mean, can you imagine how much it costs to get a fresh village maiden for producer Don Murphy to drain of blood every day??) but it's fun as hell, has charm to spare and it's giant robot sequences kick visual ass on a level Michael Bay couldn't attain if he was mainlining mescalin atop Mt. Everest.
These are simple, basic design-elements. Easy to remember, instantly-identifiable visual traits that make characters recognizable. The "icon" part of the term "iconographic."
Also on that list, at least as far as I'm concerned: Optimus Prime doesn't have, or require, a visible mouth. Except that now he does:
http://iesb.net/index.php?option=com_xevidmegafx&Itemid=139&func=detail&id=457
And the ongoing saga of "Godzilla 1998: Take Two" continues. Sigh...
Already a couple of you are rolling your eyes. "Silly fanboys, getting all worked-up about minor changes to a bunch of dopey old toy robots." It's almost not even worth trying to explain anymore, but the general "fanboy" malaise over these re-designs most-definately isn't just a bunch of overgrown children complaining about a screw out of place here or there. Character-design changes are usually welcomed by all but the most deeply obsessive... When they're good. You won't find many Batman fans, for example, all that upset that the movie/animated-series Bruce Wayne does his crimefighting in a black cowl as opposed to the comic's traditional blue. The claws come out when re-designs are BAD: Think the innexplicably be-nippled Batman of "Batman & Robin," or the aforementioned 1998 American bastardization of Godzilla.
Right down the line, the nominal "stars" of "Transformers," even setting aside the pre-existing comic/toy/cartoon designs, are some of the worst-looking cinematic robots in recent memory. They all look like asymetrical, unwieldy scrap-metal sculptures. This is the very definition of OVER-DESIGNED; obviously the art department guys had a ball figuring out all the little gears and bits and intricacies, but moving around at large scale they look like ass, plain and simple. And now, thanks to the above TV spot, we now know that - in addition to the moronic "whoa, dude!" flame decals - Optimus Prime now sports a ridiculous-looking pair of liquid-metal monkey lips. Oh, well.
But enough moping. Some nice fellow on YouTube put up this clip from the recent live-action version of the oldschool Japanese anime classic "Tetsujin 28" ("Gigantor" to us Americans.) The video-quality isn't spectacular, and there aren't subtitles, but still... take a look at what you get when big-budget CGI giant robot movies are made by people who actually give a damn:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooma9dvfZwk
And since I'm not able to embed that one, apparently, here's the trailer:
I've got this on DVD (so can you, Geneon has a fine English Subtitled version out in general release they didn't publicize for whatever reason) and let me tell you: They probably spent less making this whole movie than it likely cost to cater the "Transformers" set for a week (I mean, can you imagine how much it costs to get a fresh village maiden for producer Don Murphy to drain of blood every day??) but it's fun as hell, has charm to spare and it's giant robot sequences kick visual ass on a level Michael Bay couldn't attain if he was mainlining mescalin atop Mt. Everest.
REVIEW: Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters
It's not really possible to describe WHY "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" is funny. It just is. That more or less sums up the entirety of the "in-house" produced fare that runs on Cartoon Network's nighttime "Adult Swim" block. Oh, there are "jokes," yes, but the majority of the humor is organic; derived from the rambling oddities spewed from the "mouths" of nominally-animated characters imbued with gloriously unhinged, definable-yet-hard-to-pin-down vocal performances. The voice-actors inhabit their strange, largely self-created dreamscape in a manner that's much more characterization than "schtick," resulting in humor that (in it's best spots) brings to mind the famous positive critique of "Rocky & Bullwinkle" calling it "a very clever radio program with the bonus of accompanying drawings." (or something to that effect.)
Which is a very "fancy" way of saying that I have no freaking idea how one is supposed to review "Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters." I can tell you that it's incredibly funny, that one part in particular (and opening gag spoofing vintage movie theater pre-show ads) may end up being the single funniest piece of film of the entire year, but also that it's not quite the second coming of the "South Park" movie, etc. I could tell you all that... but I can't really say "why." It just is.
It's tempting to take the easy route and say (as the film does) that no one who isn't already a "convert" to the Aqua Teen fanbase need not apply, but I don't agree. On the contrary, fans of this style of humor who haven't yet seen the show will have benefit of encountering the recurring "bits" and guest-characters freshly. Of course, that begs the question of exactly WHAT this style of humor even IS...
But, for the record: The Aqua Teen Hunger Force (the characters originated as a creepy sendup of fast food mascots on "Space Ghost Coast to Coast" and gradually evolved into their present form) is a 'superhero' team of talking food items: Super-smart Frylock, a box of fries; childlike Meatwad, a meatball, and obnoxious Master Shake, a milkshake. They don't really "do" much hero-ing, though, prefering to slack around their rented New Jersey house, bug their slovenly neighbor Carl and let all manner of supernatural strangeness come to them. Try to imagine a hybrid of "Fantastic Four" and "Sandford & Son." Except they're all food. And not actually anything like that.
If there is a specific, overriding "theme" of the gags in the movie, it's the idea of a self-effacing ribbing of the very nature of it's being: i.e. big-screen feature versions of animated cult TV shows; and all the mandatory "promise" they're supposed offer of larger-scale adventures, multi-character cameos, backstory revelations and long-in-coming showdowns or character turns. To this end, the ATHF confront a potential apocalypse in the form of a demonically-powered exercise machine, "The Insanoflex"... but it's a bit unclear as to how or WHY this thing is going to end the world. Perennial fan-fave bad guys The Mooninites, The Plutonians, Dr. Weird and the Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past are all on hand... not necessarily "doing" anything. Fans may or may not have been waiting to see the "final battle" of Frylock and Dr. Weird, but they'll get it... sort of. And we finally get to learn the secret origins of the Aqua Teens... or maybe we don't... or maybe we do.
It's kind of impressive that this thing works at all, considering that if ANYTHING has a dubious chance of working as a feature film a 10-minute cartoon short certainly qualifies. But, somehow, what's finally just a slightly-more-elaborate, nines-times-longer version of the show fits together pretty damn well. Or... maybe it doesn't. I dunno, at times this is sort of like trying to divine if Picasso actually knew how to draw. What I do know is that Bruce Campbell turns up, as does "Rush" drummer Neil Pearth. And that's pretty damn awesome, right there.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
Which is a very "fancy" way of saying that I have no freaking idea how one is supposed to review "Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters." I can tell you that it's incredibly funny, that one part in particular (and opening gag spoofing vintage movie theater pre-show ads) may end up being the single funniest piece of film of the entire year, but also that it's not quite the second coming of the "South Park" movie, etc. I could tell you all that... but I can't really say "why." It just is.
It's tempting to take the easy route and say (as the film does) that no one who isn't already a "convert" to the Aqua Teen fanbase need not apply, but I don't agree. On the contrary, fans of this style of humor who haven't yet seen the show will have benefit of encountering the recurring "bits" and guest-characters freshly. Of course, that begs the question of exactly WHAT this style of humor even IS...
But, for the record: The Aqua Teen Hunger Force (the characters originated as a creepy sendup of fast food mascots on "Space Ghost Coast to Coast" and gradually evolved into their present form) is a 'superhero' team of talking food items: Super-smart Frylock, a box of fries; childlike Meatwad, a meatball, and obnoxious Master Shake, a milkshake. They don't really "do" much hero-ing, though, prefering to slack around their rented New Jersey house, bug their slovenly neighbor Carl and let all manner of supernatural strangeness come to them. Try to imagine a hybrid of "Fantastic Four" and "Sandford & Son." Except they're all food. And not actually anything like that.
If there is a specific, overriding "theme" of the gags in the movie, it's the idea of a self-effacing ribbing of the very nature of it's being: i.e. big-screen feature versions of animated cult TV shows; and all the mandatory "promise" they're supposed offer of larger-scale adventures, multi-character cameos, backstory revelations and long-in-coming showdowns or character turns. To this end, the ATHF confront a potential apocalypse in the form of a demonically-powered exercise machine, "The Insanoflex"... but it's a bit unclear as to how or WHY this thing is going to end the world. Perennial fan-fave bad guys The Mooninites, The Plutonians, Dr. Weird and the Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past are all on hand... not necessarily "doing" anything. Fans may or may not have been waiting to see the "final battle" of Frylock and Dr. Weird, but they'll get it... sort of. And we finally get to learn the secret origins of the Aqua Teens... or maybe we don't... or maybe we do.
It's kind of impressive that this thing works at all, considering that if ANYTHING has a dubious chance of working as a feature film a 10-minute cartoon short certainly qualifies. But, somehow, what's finally just a slightly-more-elaborate, nines-times-longer version of the show fits together pretty damn well. Or... maybe it doesn't. I dunno, at times this is sort of like trying to divine if Picasso actually knew how to draw. What I do know is that Bruce Campbell turns up, as does "Rush" drummer Neil Pearth. And that's pretty damn awesome, right there.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
Monday, 9 April 2007
STUDENT BODIES
TYPICAL REVIEW
THE PLOT
The idea of sex is so yucky to high-schooler Toby that she wears a "Sex Is Bad" button on her sweater.... AND another one under it. This might turn out to be a prudent stance, however, as a mad-killer known as The Breather is stalking every teen who gets the slightest bit turned on. And they're ALL getting turned on except for Toby. In fact, she is so vocal in her opposition to pre-marital sex, that both the police and the school administration suspect Toby might just be the killer herself. Can The Breather be caught before the entire student body ends up in green plastic trash bags? Naturally, it all leads to a showdown at the big school dance.THE POINT
"This motion picture is based on an actual incident. Last year 26 horror films were released...None of them lost money."So begins Student Bodies, which I'm fairly certain is the first ever slasher movie parody. Made in 1981, only one year after Friday The 13th hit the screen, it was more proof that the slasher genre and all of it's perceived cliches were already becoming ingrained in the public conscious. In fact, slasher movies were so omnipresent in the early 80s, I find it a little hard to believe there were only 26 of them released in 1980. But regardless of the actual number, there was more than enough slashers to establish recognizable scenes and situations ripe for parody. And, if you have a high tolerance for silliness, Student Bodies does the job nicely. But, be warned, you do need a very high tolerance. How high, you ask? Well....
Like any good slasher, Student Bodies begins on a holiday, but with all the good ones already taken, it settles for the best it can find; Jamie Lee Curtis' birthday. All slashers need their unique murder weapon, and The Breather is no exception, brandishing such deadly objects as an unfolded paper clip, a garbage bag, an eggplant, and a horse head bookend. (Don't even get this movie started on horse head bookends.) Once the victims begin to pile up, a big flashing number appears on screen to tally the body count, eventually reaching the grand total of 13... and 1/2. As the investigation flounders, The Breather calls to taunt the authorities, disguising his voice by talking through a rubber chicken. Unperplexed, one administrator responds, "I thought it sounded like you were speaking through a rubber chicken."
Goofy dialog like that is one of the things that makes Student Bodies so enjoyable. It's just one ridiculous line after another. "Julie, you're not responding to my maleness." "Great physical beauty can be a handicap, too." "Hasn't there been enough senseless killing? Let's have a murder that makes sense!" "Horse head bookends make me hot!" (Again with the horse head bookends.) And it's all delivered in perfect deadpan by a likable cast who all but disappeared after making this movie. I'd really like to know where these folks went to, especially the actor who played Malvert The Custodian, a double-jointed human oddity listed in the credits only as "The Stick".
It's all such dumb fun that I've become really fond of this movie, liking it much better than the unfunny and crude Scary Movie franchise. I'll concede, though, that your enjoyment of Student Bodies will likely depend on your familiarity with the genre's cliches. Unlike the aforementioned Scary Movie, which parrots and skewers widely recognizable scenes from hit films, Student Bodies rolls along on its own course, expecting you to recognize the motifs as they appear while rarely pointing them out. (Well, unless pointing them out is part of the joke like, say, flashing the word "Suspect" on the screen any time a new character is introduced.) Outside of some slow parts, this reliance on fan boy in-jokes is probably the greatest weakness of the film for the casual viewer.
Thanks in large part to the Scream franchise, however, even the infrequent horror viewer is probably familiar with the primary slasher movie cliches. And Student Bodies relies heavily on the grandaddy of them all, the notion of the slasher movie as Morality Play. Popular in the 15th & 16th centuries, Moralities were a form of secular theater in which allegorical characters representing vices and virtues faced a number of perils, with only the ones who stuck to the moral path left standing in the end. While the sheer number of slasher movies released in the early 80s guaranteed exceptions, it's probably safe to say that the majority of them fit comfortably into the Morality Play mold. Generic young adult stereotypes like the jock, the geek, the slut, the stoner, etc. give into vice and are systematically slaughtered. By the end of the movie only the virgin (or at the very least, the sober monogamist) is left to overcome the embodiment of evil. Student Bodies embraces this concept whole heartedly, especially with its truly bizarre and rather serious ending. Toby wakes up Wizard Of Oz style and realizes the whole movie was nothing but a bad dream brought on by her sexual repression. To cure her "condition", Toby decides to finally offer herself to her boyfriend, at which point he promptly murders her. All sinners must die. The End.
In his book "Decade of Nightmares", Professor Philip Jenkins implies that this kind of movie arose out of some irrational collective fear religious conservatives were feeling over the emerging cults, serial killers, and general permissiveness of youth culture in the 1970s. Professor Tony Williams goes as far as to suggest that the killers in slasher movies were "patriarchal avengers" for the Reagan era religious right. In contrast, many of the filmmakers themselves denied this religious/political subtext, with Halloween's director John Carpenter flat out declaring that critics missed the point entirely. Be that as it may, the critics won out and their views have become the generally accepted theories. Which brings up the question; If these films do represent some kind of Christian death wish for the transgressors of the world, do we really have the right to make that kind of wish in the first place?
It sure would be easy to quote "vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord", declare the case closed, and move on to the next subject. Unfortunately, there's that pesky Bible to deal with. There's more than enough instances in both the Old and New Testaments where someone seemingly calls down the wrath of God on an enemy. Some of the Old Testament scripture comes across so harsh that a 2nd century sect known as the Marcionites actually demanded the entirety of the Jewish texts be removed from Christian canon. But we kept them, (the Scriptures, not the Marcionites) and so, must deal with them.
But how, especially when you have infamous passages like 2 Kings 2:23-24? This is the story where the prophet Elisha is verbally abused by a gang of young children because of his bald head. Elisha curses them in the name of the Lord, at which point two she-bears amble out of the woods and maul 42 of the kids to death. Woo-hoo! Tell me, is there a single anti-Christian website in all of cyberspace that doesn't drag out this story as proof that God is nothing but a cruel sadistic jerk? Can there be a rational Christian response to this story?
Thank God (seriously), Catholicism does not require us to be literalists in the same sense that some Protestant faiths do. The Catechism states that "In Sacred Scripture, God speaks to man in a human way. To interpret Scripture correctly, the reader must be attentive to what the human authors truly wanted to affirm, and to what God wanted to reveal to us by their words. In order to discover the sacred authors' intention, the reader must take into account the conditions of their time and culture, the literary genres in use at that time, and the modes of feeling, speaking and narrating then current. For the fact is that truth is differently presented and expressed in the various types of historical writing, in prophetical and poetical texts, and in other forms of literary expression."
So, taking all that into account, what might be happening in this story? One possible explanation is that what we have here is not meant to be taken as historical reporting, but as more of a parable told in a style not dissimilar to Grimm's Fairy Tales. You see, it turns out that calling someone "bald" was sometimes meant as an insult to there authority and power, not necessarily their hairlessness. And as for all those children, well, the number 42 might be important. Like many ancient societies, the Jews had a complex and meaningful numerology. If you wanted to imply something immeasurable, one way was to multiply it by 7. (Forgive your brother 7 x 70 times, remember?) And the number 6 often represented evil. So if you've got 7 x 6 "children", you've actually got ultimate evil. In other words, regardless of whether or not the event happened as described, the story is told in such a way which the audience at that time would have recognized as an allegorical tale of a just God exercising his power and triumphing over the evils of the world. Like I said, it's one possible explanation. Take that, internet!
So really, the answer actually was "vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord" all the time, it just required a little clarification in this instance to prove it. "Deliberate hatred is contrary to charity." states the Catechism. "Hatred of the neighbor is a sin when one deliberately wishes him evil. Hatred of the neighbor is a grave sin when one deliberately desires him grave harm. "But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven." So, while the general public has accepted the critics' assertion that slasher movies represent some type of Christian revenge fantasy against individual sinners, we, as Christians, cannot. Which just about wraps up a particularly long review. Now, if only I could come up with one more clever thing to say about horse head bookends...
THE STINGER
I'm not ordained and I've had no schooling in religious studies. I'm just one of those church geeks who likes studying this stuff. With no credentials of my own and not having discussed this yet with anyone with some authority, I really have no way of knowing how much credibility my solution to the Elisha story has. But it is at least more consistent with the overall attributes of God taught by the Church than the idea that God is some vindictive child killer. The nice part is that it only took about two hours of internet research to come up with. (And at least an hour of that was sifting through websites using the story as part of anti-Christian diatribes.) 120 minutes in exchange for a possible answer I didn't really have before seems a fair trade. "The Church "forcefully and specifically exhorts all the Christian faithful. . . to learn the surpassing knowledge of Jesus Christ, by frequent reading of the divine Scriptures. Ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ."
Uwe Boll crosses "the line"
People, this is WHY you need to listen to the Geeks on these things.
For the last several years, the Geek Community has been trying to warn people about Uwe Boll, director of "House of The Dead," "Bloodrayne," "Alone in The Dark" and possibly the most singularly awful filmmaker working today. These warnings have been ignored and brushed-off, because after all "who cares" if some Z-list German filmmaker is making crummy adaptations of video games? After-all, screwing up an entry in a genre the mainstream holds boundless contempt for isn't regarded as any kind of cardinal sin to "most" filmgoers, critics, etc.; and the Geeks were just being "silly" when we called him EVIL.
For awhile now, Boll has been hyping up his latest disasterpeice, "Postal," by boasting that he was embracing ultimate shock-value by peppering the film with (among other things) "9-11 jokes." No one was really sure WHAT he actually meant by that... by now we have what is apparently the "leaked" opening to the movie courtesy popular anti-Boll website Bollbashers.com - depicting a World Trade Center window-washer getting wiped-out by the first plane. No, really.
Take a look, but you have been warned:
http://www.bollbashers.com/trailers/postal_clip.mov
There's no secret to what's up here. Boll isn't talented, so he's angling for newsworthy controversy in order to get attention for another bad movie. It's natural to see this and get worked-up and call for boycotts, bans and the man's head... but he doesn't deserve the credit or the time. He's a despicable human being, something the Geek World has known for three movies and counting now, and he deserves only to continue getting what he's already BEEN getting: Hate and scorn from us, general indifference from the rest of you.
For the last several years, the Geek Community has been trying to warn people about Uwe Boll, director of "House of The Dead," "Bloodrayne," "Alone in The Dark" and possibly the most singularly awful filmmaker working today. These warnings have been ignored and brushed-off, because after all "who cares" if some Z-list German filmmaker is making crummy adaptations of video games? After-all, screwing up an entry in a genre the mainstream holds boundless contempt for isn't regarded as any kind of cardinal sin to "most" filmgoers, critics, etc.; and the Geeks were just being "silly" when we called him EVIL.
For awhile now, Boll has been hyping up his latest disasterpeice, "Postal," by boasting that he was embracing ultimate shock-value by peppering the film with (among other things) "9-11 jokes." No one was really sure WHAT he actually meant by that... by now we have what is apparently the "leaked" opening to the movie courtesy popular anti-Boll website Bollbashers.com - depicting a World Trade Center window-washer getting wiped-out by the first plane. No, really.
Take a look, but you have been warned:
http://www.bollbashers.com/trailers/postal_clip.mov
There's no secret to what's up here. Boll isn't talented, so he's angling for newsworthy controversy in order to get attention for another bad movie. It's natural to see this and get worked-up and call for boycotts, bans and the man's head... but he doesn't deserve the credit or the time. He's a despicable human being, something the Geek World has known for three movies and counting now, and he deserves only to continue getting what he's already BEEN getting: Hate and scorn from us, general indifference from the rest of you.
Saturday, 7 April 2007
REVIEW: Grindhouse
The trick to the retroactive affection for "Grindhouse" (read: low-rent urban movie theaters in the 70s and 80s) era movies is in understanding that they aren't good. That's not the same as saying that they weren't entertaining, worth-watching and even worth preserving and celebrating long past their shelf-date; but it's important to take them at what they were and not get TOO carried away by those who like to claim - based on VERY shaky analysis and some HEAVILY cherry-picked examples - that the "genre" (category, really) was uniformly some sort of subversive, sociologically-important treasure trove like the similarly-rescued "Film Noir" entries turned out to be. Nostalgia isn't powerful enough to turn a Big Mac into the cure for cancer.
Fortunately, the above-described pretense isn't really what Quentin Tarantino (surely the High Priest of post-millenial Grindhouse Worship) and Robert Rodriguez (his most accomplished acolyte) are up to with "Grindhouse," an epic-length 2-movie gagfest framed as a "double feature" of two (mostly) complete feature-length films by each man recreating various feels of the various "Grindhouse" subgenres, plus faux-trailers for similar (phony) films and wacky era-appropriate ads. As you might guess, the making of this has essentially entailed both men writing themselves a license to jam their favorite recurring actors, themes and fetishes (both visual and otherwise) into an asthetic where crude, sensation-focused disregard for narrative finery is considered a blessing and cut the hell loose, playing around with wacky dialogue, unlikely scenarios and jokey digital "film scratches" and "reel missing" jokes to their heart's content. Make no mistake about it: What you're watching is masturbation, plain and simple; but if (the rather Grindhouse-y itself) "Body Double" taught us anything, it's that masturbation can in fact be quite diverting given the proper "performer."
In the broadest sense, there are two categories of "Grindhouse" films: The ones that actually WERE consistently entertaining and diverting because of the freedom afforded by the loose strictures of low-budget "sex and gore" filmmaking; and the (more common) entries that were largely forgettable (and usually rather talky) save for one or two unique/noteworthy elements that made them pop-culture immortal..."You won't BELIEVE the car chase in this one!," "THIS is THE MOVIE where ______ is topless!," etc. Rodriguez has made the first kind, Tarantino the second, and while both evidence a frighteningly-precise familiarity with the form they're also (thankfully) both cheating just a bit: Rodriguez's "Planet Terror" nails the "as much as you can, however you can" kitchen-sink buzz of early-80s Golan Globus offerings - but with special effects and cinematography flourish that the "real thing" could only dream of, while Tarantino's "Death Proof" painstakingly recreates the "pad-it-out-to-90-minutes" talkathon's of mid-70s car-crash entries - save that instead of space-filling jabber his characters are spitting out.. well, vintage Quentin Tarantino dialogue. This isn't Grindhouse Cinema they way it was, it's Grindhouse Cinema the way it's remembered.
"Planet Terror," the opening feature, is a lockstep John Carpenter/George Romero knockoff about various hard-bitten characters fighting off a zombie/virus outbreak in and around a rural army base. Dark-past-sporting scallawag El Wray (Freddie Rodriguez) stripper Cherry Darling (Rose McGowan finally in a juicy lead part) and hard-luck-lesbian-fleeing-abusive-psycho-husband Dakota Block (Marley Shelton) are the principal good guys, an uncredited Bruce Willis as a preposterously-backstoried paramilitary leader is the heavy, and an army of puss-oozing cannibal infectees provide the canon fodder - exploding in bursts of jet-propelled good that looks absolutely nothing like actual blood as the goodies mow them down with bombs, bullets and blades while genre/Rodriguez-Tarantino veterans like Michael Parkes, Michael Beihn and Jeff Fahey (!) dash around the margins making mischief and adding to the action.
You've seen most of the best bits of "Planet" in the trailer, including Cherry's improbable but glorious employment of a (functional) machine gun as a post-amputation artificial leg and the best use of a helicopter as an anti-zombie weapon since "Dawn of The Dead." But the peice never gets dull or wears out it's welcome thanks to the "into it" cast and Rodriguez vaunted gift for concieving mind-shreddingly original ways to off bad guys and stage mass-carnage. He's visibly liberated, by the inherent put-on nihilism of the style he's recreating, from what little connection he had in the first place to the traditional concepts of formula - literally sending the story and characters in direction you can't imagine a "sane" filmmaker going (I'll predict that the exit of at least two characters from the film will turn some folks right off before it's even half over.)
"Death Proof" is an entirely different animal, even if it's breathing most of the same fumes as "Planet." Overall, it's the superior of the two entries in terms of execution, but it's also going to be the most "difficult" for most audiences - even the ones garaunteed to be there with bells on for the movie-proper. Here, Tarantino opts to not only celebrate but also deconstruct and ultimately reinvent the least accessible "side" of the Grindhouse experience: Heavily-padded, overall-forgettable bad movies memorable for a single performance, theme or scene. It conjures up a formula stalker-thriller about a crazed stuntman who gets off murdering young women with his "death-proof" musclecar, featuring a live-wire turn by Kurt Russell as the psychotic "Stuntman Mike," an ultra-memorable crash sequence, a car-chase that's one for the ages and... a lot of time-filler chatter in between.
In that respect, it ("Death Proof") feels just a bit more on the authentic side, for better or worse. It's easy to imagine a "real" version of this movie, one that would be reccomended with great enthusiasm by... well, by hardcore film geeks like Quentin Tarantino, really... to friends for the "insane!!!" performance Russell gives or "one of the ALL-TIME greatest car chases!!!" in the final act - immediately followed by the caveat that "you've gotta sit through A LOT of talk-scenes to get to the 'good parts,' but it's soooo worth it" and the knowing observation that they've attempted to compensate for "all the dialogue" by putting it in the mouths of super-hot actresses. The difference here is that Tarantino, as a writer, is never better than when he's putting longform conversational chatter in the mouths of quick-witted hotties and hard-nosed genre vets. The non-action sequences of "Death Proof" play out like filler because they ARE filler... but GOOD filler in the form of some of Tarantino's best marathon squawk-session writing since at least "Jackie Brown."
The first half of "Death Proof" is dominated by mood, music and Russell's switched-on stalker vibe. But the second half, despite the (understandable) hyping of the inhumanly-beautiful Rosario Dawson, reveals itself as a surprise star turn evidencing (once again) Tarantino's uncanny ability to spot a "movie star" in unlikely performers and craft roles specifically measured to unleash them: This time it's Kiwi stuntwoman Zoe Bell, Uma Thurman's "Kill Bill" stunt double hear playing "herself" as part of a tight-knit group of film-industry girlfriends who go from being Stuntman Mike's second batch of potential victims to his table-turning avenging angels... and, heaven help us, he's done it again.
Bell, who's career to this point has largely involved doubling for female action-heroes, is a bona-fide STAR in her own right, and it'll be entirely unsurprising if she doesn't start turning up AS the star of action movies after this. The initial impetus for her casting, it would seem, is to give authenticity to the incredible car-stunt sequence she takes part in... but it's led to the most remarkable "star turn" by a stuntperson since Ray Park stepped onscreen as Darth Maul. She's a uniquely-lovely, immediately-engaging actress with a cute Kiwi accent; and the way she goes throwing herself at the chance to drive a car "just like the one from 'Vanishing Point!,'" engage in a ridiculously dangerous-looking stunt game or take down a road-killer maniac with the same gung-ho "pep" is downright infectious.
There's a distinct possibility, it must be said, that Rodriguez and Tarantino may have created a monster here. It's depressingly easy to imagine lesser filmmakers using the "grindhouse homage" fig-leaf as an excuse for more general ineptitude, slapping digital film-grain and synth-scores over bad movies and hoping to "fake" some of the magic. It won't be the first time either man has "started" something not-altogether positive (how many bad films have YOU seen that obviously wanted to be "the next Pulp Fiction!" or "Desperado?") And at the end of the day there isn't really much "to" "Grindhouse" beyond it's theme-park-ride/nostalgia intentions. It's an "event movie" for a niche audience that typically feigns apprehension of "event movies," a "have you seen it?" touchstone aiming for audience-participating and repeat veiwings. In other words, it's a blockbuster... and we should be so lucky that all blockbusters actually made so good on their vow to entertain.
FINAL RATING: 9/10
Fortunately, the above-described pretense isn't really what Quentin Tarantino (surely the High Priest of post-millenial Grindhouse Worship) and Robert Rodriguez (his most accomplished acolyte) are up to with "Grindhouse," an epic-length 2-movie gagfest framed as a "double feature" of two (mostly) complete feature-length films by each man recreating various feels of the various "Grindhouse" subgenres, plus faux-trailers for similar (phony) films and wacky era-appropriate ads. As you might guess, the making of this has essentially entailed both men writing themselves a license to jam their favorite recurring actors, themes and fetishes (both visual and otherwise) into an asthetic where crude, sensation-focused disregard for narrative finery is considered a blessing and cut the hell loose, playing around with wacky dialogue, unlikely scenarios and jokey digital "film scratches" and "reel missing" jokes to their heart's content. Make no mistake about it: What you're watching is masturbation, plain and simple; but if (the rather Grindhouse-y itself) "Body Double" taught us anything, it's that masturbation can in fact be quite diverting given the proper "performer."
In the broadest sense, there are two categories of "Grindhouse" films: The ones that actually WERE consistently entertaining and diverting because of the freedom afforded by the loose strictures of low-budget "sex and gore" filmmaking; and the (more common) entries that were largely forgettable (and usually rather talky) save for one or two unique/noteworthy elements that made them pop-culture immortal..."You won't BELIEVE the car chase in this one!," "THIS is THE MOVIE where ______ is topless!," etc. Rodriguez has made the first kind, Tarantino the second, and while both evidence a frighteningly-precise familiarity with the form they're also (thankfully) both cheating just a bit: Rodriguez's "Planet Terror" nails the "as much as you can, however you can" kitchen-sink buzz of early-80s Golan Globus offerings - but with special effects and cinematography flourish that the "real thing" could only dream of, while Tarantino's "Death Proof" painstakingly recreates the "pad-it-out-to-90-minutes" talkathon's of mid-70s car-crash entries - save that instead of space-filling jabber his characters are spitting out.. well, vintage Quentin Tarantino dialogue. This isn't Grindhouse Cinema they way it was, it's Grindhouse Cinema the way it's remembered.
"Planet Terror," the opening feature, is a lockstep John Carpenter/George Romero knockoff about various hard-bitten characters fighting off a zombie/virus outbreak in and around a rural army base. Dark-past-sporting scallawag El Wray (Freddie Rodriguez) stripper Cherry Darling (Rose McGowan finally in a juicy lead part) and hard-luck-lesbian-fleeing-abusive-psycho-husband Dakota Block (Marley Shelton) are the principal good guys, an uncredited Bruce Willis as a preposterously-backstoried paramilitary leader is the heavy, and an army of puss-oozing cannibal infectees provide the canon fodder - exploding in bursts of jet-propelled good that looks absolutely nothing like actual blood as the goodies mow them down with bombs, bullets and blades while genre/Rodriguez-Tarantino veterans like Michael Parkes, Michael Beihn and Jeff Fahey (!) dash around the margins making mischief and adding to the action.
You've seen most of the best bits of "Planet" in the trailer, including Cherry's improbable but glorious employment of a (functional) machine gun as a post-amputation artificial leg and the best use of a helicopter as an anti-zombie weapon since "Dawn of The Dead." But the peice never gets dull or wears out it's welcome thanks to the "into it" cast and Rodriguez vaunted gift for concieving mind-shreddingly original ways to off bad guys and stage mass-carnage. He's visibly liberated, by the inherent put-on nihilism of the style he's recreating, from what little connection he had in the first place to the traditional concepts of formula - literally sending the story and characters in direction you can't imagine a "sane" filmmaker going (I'll predict that the exit of at least two characters from the film will turn some folks right off before it's even half over.)
"Death Proof" is an entirely different animal, even if it's breathing most of the same fumes as "Planet." Overall, it's the superior of the two entries in terms of execution, but it's also going to be the most "difficult" for most audiences - even the ones garaunteed to be there with bells on for the movie-proper. Here, Tarantino opts to not only celebrate but also deconstruct and ultimately reinvent the least accessible "side" of the Grindhouse experience: Heavily-padded, overall-forgettable bad movies memorable for a single performance, theme or scene. It conjures up a formula stalker-thriller about a crazed stuntman who gets off murdering young women with his "death-proof" musclecar, featuring a live-wire turn by Kurt Russell as the psychotic "Stuntman Mike," an ultra-memorable crash sequence, a car-chase that's one for the ages and... a lot of time-filler chatter in between.
In that respect, it ("Death Proof") feels just a bit more on the authentic side, for better or worse. It's easy to imagine a "real" version of this movie, one that would be reccomended with great enthusiasm by... well, by hardcore film geeks like Quentin Tarantino, really... to friends for the "insane!!!" performance Russell gives or "one of the ALL-TIME greatest car chases!!!" in the final act - immediately followed by the caveat that "you've gotta sit through A LOT of talk-scenes to get to the 'good parts,' but it's soooo worth it" and the knowing observation that they've attempted to compensate for "all the dialogue" by putting it in the mouths of super-hot actresses. The difference here is that Tarantino, as a writer, is never better than when he's putting longform conversational chatter in the mouths of quick-witted hotties and hard-nosed genre vets. The non-action sequences of "Death Proof" play out like filler because they ARE filler... but GOOD filler in the form of some of Tarantino's best marathon squawk-session writing since at least "Jackie Brown."
The first half of "Death Proof" is dominated by mood, music and Russell's switched-on stalker vibe. But the second half, despite the (understandable) hyping of the inhumanly-beautiful Rosario Dawson, reveals itself as a surprise star turn evidencing (once again) Tarantino's uncanny ability to spot a "movie star" in unlikely performers and craft roles specifically measured to unleash them: This time it's Kiwi stuntwoman Zoe Bell, Uma Thurman's "Kill Bill" stunt double hear playing "herself" as part of a tight-knit group of film-industry girlfriends who go from being Stuntman Mike's second batch of potential victims to his table-turning avenging angels... and, heaven help us, he's done it again.
Bell, who's career to this point has largely involved doubling for female action-heroes, is a bona-fide STAR in her own right, and it'll be entirely unsurprising if she doesn't start turning up AS the star of action movies after this. The initial impetus for her casting, it would seem, is to give authenticity to the incredible car-stunt sequence she takes part in... but it's led to the most remarkable "star turn" by a stuntperson since Ray Park stepped onscreen as Darth Maul. She's a uniquely-lovely, immediately-engaging actress with a cute Kiwi accent; and the way she goes throwing herself at the chance to drive a car "just like the one from 'Vanishing Point!,'" engage in a ridiculously dangerous-looking stunt game or take down a road-killer maniac with the same gung-ho "pep" is downright infectious.
There's a distinct possibility, it must be said, that Rodriguez and Tarantino may have created a monster here. It's depressingly easy to imagine lesser filmmakers using the "grindhouse homage" fig-leaf as an excuse for more general ineptitude, slapping digital film-grain and synth-scores over bad movies and hoping to "fake" some of the magic. It won't be the first time either man has "started" something not-altogether positive (how many bad films have YOU seen that obviously wanted to be "the next Pulp Fiction!" or "Desperado?") And at the end of the day there isn't really much "to" "Grindhouse" beyond it's theme-park-ride/nostalgia intentions. It's an "event movie" for a niche audience that typically feigns apprehension of "event movies," a "have you seen it?" touchstone aiming for audience-participating and repeat veiwings. In other words, it's a blockbuster... and we should be so lucky that all blockbusters actually made so good on their vow to entertain.
FINAL RATING: 9/10
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