Greetings. Jeremy told me I needed to update this blog and even though I’m not sure who all is reading it I agree with him.
So there is a man who writes for ESPN.com named Bill Simmons who writes running diaries of sporting events. I loved the idea and since I had to catch up on my netflix flicks, I decided to rip him off and do it with ‘Man on Fire’, release in 2004, starring Denzel Washington and Dakota Fanning; directed by Tony Scott. I'd heard good things about it on imdb and tony scott directed 'True Romance' and a bevy of other sly, wonderfully shot movies so I thought I'd give it a go.
Here’s what transpired.
3:48 p.m.
Pressed play on the old dvd player. I bought the thing about three years ago. It’s a cheap zenith thing that produces a good picture and decent sound. When I am rich and famous I will still have it and when it breaks down I will take it to the repair shop and pay $97,000 to have it fixed. Why? Because you never forget your first, that’s why.
3:49
Tony Scott always begins his movies with city scenes with quick cut editing. In this one it begins with man walking with his girlfriend in a Latin American city. Some subtitles tell us there is a kidnapping in Latin America every 6 seconds and 70% of those kidnapped never survive. The man is kidnapped while his girlfriend stands around screaming.
The man’s family is alerted and there is a nasty sounding Hispanic man growling directions into the phone. Was anyone else offended by this? I’m Jewish and I’m offended. Why couldn’t Tony have been kidnapped while making this movie? It would have saved a fortune in script development and made for an interesting documentary.
3:52
Denzel makes his first appearance. He’s riding in a car. There is a close up of him: he sports a scraggly beard and sunglasses and looks a little bit like Isaac Hayes. He, of course, looks awesome.
3:55
We are only 7 minutes into the film but if we are to believe it, there is nothing but crime and corruption in Latin America. Latin American travel agencies must hate this movie.
3:56
Denzel is at a barbeque hosted by Christopher Walken. Christopher Walken is scary. Not sure I’d want to eat any meat prepared by him.
In a related note: While I do know that Latin America is a hotbed of crime and corruption, I know neither the characters’ nor the city’s name. Someone should have paid attention to this. Tony Scott gets my vote.
3:58
Mickey Rourke and Marc Anthony are sitting in a restaurant. Mick is smoking a cigar and looking a bit swollen. Marc Anthony looks perplexed. Here is what’s going on in his head: “I can’t act; what am I doing in a movie with Mickey Rourke?”
4:02
Just figured out the plot of the movie: Denzel plays a troubled and drunken counter-terrorism expert. (I have the film on subtitle mode and I still don’t know his name) He has been spending time in the Latin America City for some reason and he goes to see his ex-buddy Christopher Walken (Don’t know his character’s name either but that hardly matters: he talks and eats like Christopher Walken and that’s good enough for me). They talk and Christopher Walken has a job for him but to worries about Denzel’s drinking. To underscore the fact that Denzel drinks, Scott shows Denzel pouring whiskey from a flask into his coffee during this exchange. Nice Tony, didn’t get the point.
4:03
Denzel has shaved, and is driving a car. Marc Anthony (Mr. J-Lo) is in the back seat. He looks to be perplexed again, wondering how he got into a movie with yet another movie star and is also married to J-lo. I’ve never thought much of Marc Anthony but putting all this into perspective, I now want to sing melodramatic songs in a killer voice and marry a mulit-faceted prima donna. Is the world ready for a Jewish Marc Anthony? We shall see.
In any case, Denzel is being hired to guard Marc Anthony’s daughter who looks like Dakota Fanning. Great. Yet another person’s whose name I don’t know. Where was the script supervisor when all this was going on?
4:08
Dakota Fanning is playing the piano and Denzel meets Mr. J-Lo and the woman playing his wife (A Name please?). Dakota Fanning smiles at Denzel, who is none too pleased. He is a Badass, a Loner, a Tough Nut to Crack. How much you wanna bet he’s going to die saving her life? $10? $100? Who can blame him though; Dakota Fanning’s a charmer.
4:12
Denzel is in his room, drinking and playing with his gun. Were I to do this I would no longer have a foot. His reflexes are no longer what they were and this bothers him so he pours another drink. Do you think he sees the irony?
4:14
Mr. J-Lo is seduced by his wife, who is blond and kind of curvy. He still looks perplexed. I’m officially jealous.
4:16
Just found out the film takes place in Mexico City. Mr. J-Lo just said so. I’m glad someone did. I’m so happy in fact that I will now refer to him as Marc.
4:19
Dakota keeps trying to make conversation but Denzel is resistant. He has just explained he is being paid to protect her not to talk to her. He is harsh. He is no nonsense. I am sorry I don’t have a box of Kleenex ® for when he tells her he loves her and vows revenge on those who kidnap her. I just realized I’m made of By-Product-Of-Horse-Hoof.
4:23
Dakota’s film mom just gave me Dakota’s character’s name. It is Pita. Not sure if it’s a nickname (acronym for ‘Pain in the Ass’) or her real name but I’m thankful anyway. Pita’s mom asked if Denzel could be friendlier with Pita. He made it again clear that he was being paid to protect her. Mother looks disappointed but resigned. We are almost an hour into the film and I know the feeling.
4:25
Denzel is drinking and tortured and playing with the gun again. He hears voices of something he’s done. What is it? Who did he hurt? Why is Tony Scott so intent on making suffering so cool and attractive? I’ve suffered before and my suffering looks nothing like Denzel’s. There are no jump cuts and mood lighting. It just burns and feels like there’s not a whole hell of a lot to live for…
I’m going back to the movie.
4:31
Pita and Denzel had their first breakthrough. She is a swimmer and she is concerned about being slow. He tells her she is fast but needs to come off the blocks quicker. She She tells him she is slow and never comes in better than third place. He tells her maybe she is slow. She smiles and I do the same. Why? She just told me his character’s name: It is Creasy. Hallelujah.
4:32
Uh-oh. Parents are leaving town. What’s gonna happen?
In the meantime, Creasy learns that Pita is afraid of the starting gun at the swim meet and Creasy decides to tutor Pita in getting faster off the swimming blocks. He is teaching her not to fear the gun. “The gunshot holds no fear”. I have a feeling we are going to hear this little philosophy later in a different context. There are lots of things that hold no fear. Rewrites. Editors. Other forms of entertainment.
4:35
Creasy and Pita are having a contest to see who can smile last. They are now arguing and making each other laugh. Creasy said he didn’t smile but “smirked”. I love that word. They are connected. I am in heaven.
4:36
The parents are home. And they brought Dakota a dog, Golden Retriever. Whew!
4:38
Creasy continues to help Pita with her swimming. He tells her there is no “tough”, there is only trained and untrained. This reminds me a lot of Yoda in ‘The Empire Strikes Back” when he tells Luke Skywalker there “is no try, only ‘do’ or ‘do not’”. Only those words are spoken by a green puppet who sounds a lot like Miss Piggy, which makes them a tad more palatable.
4:38
Big Swim meet. Pita is ready. She gets fast off the block and someone tells Creasy that today he “is her father”.
Pita is doing fine and Creasy is interested. Interested and proud. She wins! Pita Ramos wins!
(Boy, I sure didn’t see that coming…)
4:40
Pita is sitting with Christopher Walken and Creasy and they are all laughs and stories and smiles. Pita gives Creasy a gift; a pendant of St. Jude, the patron saint of Lost causes. Denzel has an amazing smile; Dakota Fanning is great and natural. Christopher Walken is Christopher Walken and this movie will change none of that. But did anyone think to give Mr. Scott one of those pendants? Cause this movie’s ridiculous.
4:44 (Make a wish)
Pita is going to her piano lesson and just gave Creasy a daisy. Can’t help but feel that something ain’t right. What all is gonna happen?
4:50
There was a shootout involving two cops, Creasy and a couple of kidnappers. Creasy shot two policeman before being shot himself, several times. Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington get shot well. They give blank stares, as if trying to make sense of a bad and untenable situation. Dakota comes screaming to Creasy before being kidnapped herself. Turns out the cops were corrupt but Creasy is arrested for killing the two corrupt officers anyway.
4:52
The Mexican authorities are telling Marc the protocol for getting his daughter back. It is raining outside, the mood is a wet blue-ish gray and Marc looks none too happy. It turns out Mickey Rourke is Marc’s attorney. No wonder he looks miserable.
4:59
The kidnapper is relaying his instructions for the ransom money. He is an unshaven Mexican man with horrible English and greasy hair. Why he speaks to Marc and the Mexican Police in English is beyond me. I’m neither Mexican nor a native Spanish speaker and I’m offended; wasn’t anyone else?
5:02
The police botch the drop-off and the kidnapper implies that because of the botch, the daughter will die and Tony Scott cues the dramatic music but I’m about to throw up because Dakota was paid a couple million dollars to be in this movie and there is no way they are going to kill her off without at least one more scene between her and Denzel. I can just picture Tony going to the head of the studio saying he wants to kill Dakota off and being met with “Are you bleeping out of your mind?” (Only he doesn’t say bleeping).
Back to the movie: The mother is understandably upset. Just wait till she tells Creasy. He’s gonna be pissed.
5:03
Creasy just found out. He grabbed his St. Jude pendant. Those dirty Bandidos are going to pay.
5:10
Turns out there is a brotherhood of corrupt cops and government officials called ‘La Hermandad’. Jenny, my flatmate comes in and laughs. I ask her why and she says “La Hermandad means ‘brotherhood’ in Spanish. I have officially lost patience. I want to throw the remote at the TV and revel in the sound of the screen shattering into a million little pieces. But I can’t; the TV is the only thing I inherited from my grandmother, who died three years ago. And how would I watch ‘Grey’s Anatomy’?
5:13
Is this movie over yet?
5:15
Creasy buying a lot of guns. He can spin them, twirl them, cock them, pull triggers. This is all fine but he’s about to infiltrate a brotherhood of corrupt civil servants. He is either an extremely competent killing machine. There is no time for Mafia Baton Twirler tryouts.
5:25
Creasy just tortured one of hermandad, extracted some information and killed him. Before sending the man in his car off a cliff, there was a flashback to Pita’s poem. It says love creasy, love creasy, love creasy.
5:26
Creasy is now infiltrating a club, torturing more people and extracting information. There is a lot of blood.
5:31
The film threw us a red herring. On of the people denzel is torturing says the girl is alive. She takes Creasy to the girl but it turns out to be a different girl. Creasy sets fire to the club. Alright, Tony and scriptwriter, I get it: he’s angry and beyond morality. Yeesh. Can’t you get him an ice cream cone or something?
5:33
Just looked at the dvd label. This movie is two and a half hours long which give me about 45 minutes to go. I can either finish the movie or remove every single one of my fingernails with a wire cutter. I settle in.
5:40
I’m in hell.
5:44
Christopher Walken voices what amounts to a moral justification to Creasy’s actions. He explains that a man can be an artist at anything and that Creasy’s art is death and that Creasy’s vengeance on the man responsible for pita’s death will be his masterpiece.
So there you have it: Murder is art. Go on all you Ted Bundy’s out there: Hack away.
5:59
Turns out Marc is in on the kidnapping. Creasy gives him a bullet, says “a bullet never lies” and walks out. Marc looks at the bullet, looks at a gun conveniently place about two feet from him (I’m not even asking how that got to be there) and begins walking to it. The scene cuts to Creasy walking away from the room and we hear a gunshot. Creasy doesn’t flinch. You think Marc was taking target practice.
6:00
Quick conclusion: Creasy kills a couple more people in kinda weird ways. Turns out one of the people he tortures is the main kidnapper’s brother. He also takes the kidnapper’s pregnant girlfriend hostage. So Creasy calls the kidnapper on his brother’s phone and tells him he’s going to kill the two of them. The kidnapper pauses and tells him Pita is alive and he’ll arrange a tradeoff because family is so important. Creasy agrees and arranges a meeting place for the trade.
OH COME ON!!!!!!!!!!!!
6:15
I pause the movie and swear repeatedly. I hate myself, netflix, the studio who made it and everyone on imdb who recommended it. 7.5 stars? (*&#$%^&*&^%#@!@)
6:20
Creasy finally sees Pita. They have the following exchange:
Pita: I love you, Creasy. And you love me too, don't you?
Creasy: Yes, I do. With all my heart, Pita. Go.
Pita runs to her mother and Creasy gets in the car. It turns out the trade is not only pita for the baddie’s brother but Pita for the borther and Creasy’s life. I don’t get this but I’m about to wallop my own head with my laptop: Creasy just infiltrated, tortured and murdered a Brotherhood of Corrupt Police, Politicians and Civil Servants, all while nursing open gun wounds (did I mention this?). WHY IS HE GETTING IN THE CAR?
6:26
Movies’ over. Tony thanks Mexico City “A very special place.” Corruption, kidnapping violence. Very special indeed.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Dianetics and The Church of Scientology
‘Dianetics’ or I Know Why The Caged Cruise Sings
When I decided to review the introductory film at the Church of Scientology, I knew two things for sure; that I was going to see the movie and I was going to take a stress test. I decided that no matter what preconceived notions I carried about the Church, Dianetics, L. Ron Hubbard, Tom Cruise, Juliette Lewis, tax evasion, alien landings or John Travolta, I would give myself to the process and record my reactions and sensations. This strategy came about because of something my friend Nick said during a rehearsal: It is so easy to sit back and judge. It is another thing to get involved and come to a conclusion based on the experience. I am probably paraphrasing badly but, well, there it is.
When Gina, Helene and I walked into the Church of Scientology, I was struck by how busy and well stocked the place looked. There were people everywhere, walking along the narrow corridors, looking at the various video and wall displays and talking with various members of the church. On top of that, the place is a merchandising mecca; there were books, DVD’s, T-Shirts, displays, posters, video monitors, cruise pamphlets (the boat kind, not the Tom kind) on display everywhere with copies upon copies just waiting to be bought, taken or taken in. We were immediately approached by a fidgety yet smiling man named L. Ron (not his real name) who asked us our names, where we were from and why we had come to the Church. After giving him this information, L. Ron asked us why we were there and after we told him, he told us he had read the Old & New Testaments as well as the Koran but none of those had the power or insight of Dianetics or the Church of Sientology. He directed us to a narrow hallway filled with posters and TV screens which would give us the basics of each entity. Before leaving, he all but begged us to find him if we had any questions. I smiled, thanked him and found myself wishing he’d be trampled by a pack of wild rhinocerii before we had to see him again. I’m not a violent person by nature so this surprised me.
After looking at the display, I sat down with a man named L. Ron (a different one) to take the stress test. L. Ron had long, clean hair and wore a relaxed, cotton button down shirt. He left the top two buttons open and behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses were a pair of dreamy eyes which rarely blinked. L Ron placed two aluminum cylinders in my hands, and told me to relax. He explained that he would ask me questions and that I all I had to do was react. (The cylinders were attached to a 'stressmeter' via two thin, black wires). He asked me about my job, my family, my relationships and my friendships and each time he did, the needle on the meter either twitched or went berserk and L. Ron would seize upon the movement and ask me what about my answer or thought ‘stressed me out.’ Giving myself to the process, I told him the truth and he seemed to understand what I was saying. I knew this because he said things like ‘I hear you,’ or ‘I get that’ or ‘I understand what you’re saying.’ Everything he asked me to think about caused the needle to twitch and I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me until I remembered that 1) not all stress is bad and 2) the meter consisted of two Coke ® cans hooked up by a wire to a metal box. After that, I calmed down a bit. He gave me a copy of Dianetics and I’m big enough to admit I walked away a bit rattled, picturing a pack of starving wolves tearing the flesh from L. Ron’s still living body. It was a less than loving thought.
They showed us ‘Dianetics: An Introduction’ in a conference room with uncomfortable chairs. (Helene was gone at this point. She had to go meet her boyfriend) The film begins with a Point-Of-View shot of a comet. It is red and tears through the atmosphere, hurtling toward a faraway mountain. Upon impact, the mountaintop explodes, sending fireworks into the air and lava spewing down the mountainside. I’m not sure where the lava came from (was the mountain bleeding?) but as it poured into the surrounding forest, I was haunted by visions of Bambi, Thumper, and countless potential Theodore Kaczynski’s turned into so many charred remains.
Perhaps I wasn’t meant to think about the deaths of thousands of forest denizens while I watched this movie; perhaps the filmmakers wished me to focus instead on the awesome power of the comet and its ability to wreak havoc on nature and transform all known landscapes; perhaps they meant to equate the power of the comet with the power of Dianetics. Who knows? Whatever they meant though, I will always wonder what transpired between Messieurs Bambi and Thump-Thump as they watched the approaching lava.
After snuffing the life out of the furry forest creatures (Boy Scouts and Burning Man participants included), the film changes tracks completely and explains that the human mind is divided into two parts, the Analytic Mind and the Reactive Mind. The Analytic Mind is composed of everything we consciously see, hear, taste, touch and smell. If you go for a ride in the countryside, for example, your Analytic Mind observes the green trees, the rolling hills and the smell of your husband who has not showered for days because he lost his job three weeks ago and cannot bring himself to lift a bar of soap. It is the source of all that is rational and controlled in human beings.
The Reactive Mind, on the other hand, contains all our unconscious thoughts and sensations and is filled with traumatic experiences called Engrams. In moments of stress, the Reactive Mind releases these Engrams upon our helpless selves, causing irrational and self-destructive behavior. The film provides a few examples but my favorite involved a man playing baseball who is hit in the head with a wild pitch and knocked unconscious. While laid out, the man is surrounded by teammates who stand around discussing the amount of pain the man must be in without once stopping to think, ‘Gee, that dude was hit pretty hard in the noggin’. Maybe we should call an ambulance or something.’
Some time later, that same man (let’s call him ‘Dad’) is playing catch with His Son and His Son says ‘Hey Dad: see if you can hit my fastball!’ and Dad says ‘Sure Son!’ and walks over to a bat leaning against a nearby tree. When he touches the bat though, he begins to hear snippets of conversation his Reactive Mind recorded when he was hit in the head and his head begins to hurt. We know this because he grimaces and massages his temple. Dad shakes it off, gets in the batter’s box and digs in. As Dad is waiting for His Son’s pitch, he is inundated with even more images and snippets of conversation from his horrible experience. The kid throws a wild pitch, which sails behind Dad and crashes into various items on a picnic table. Dad hits the deck like a soldier with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, gets himself up, dusts himself off and proceeds to verbally tear His Son a new one. His Son, on the verge of tears, throws his glove down and runs away, angered and confused by his father’s behavior, unaware Dad cared so much about condiments, stale hot dog buns and junk food. Dad is left by himself, ashamed of his behavior. Such a shame: Dad could not control the Engrams in his Reactive Mind.
The Reactive Mind is bad. It is naughty. It should be covered in Crisco and spanked like an errant altar boy. It is why we drink, why we smoke, why we cheat, lie and steal. The narrator tells us that walking around without control of your Reactive Mind is like being permanently hypnotized. And if we had trouble wrapping our minds around that metaphor, the film supplies a scene of a man being hypnotized by the most ridiculous, goateed, arched eyebrowed, British accented hypnotist it'll ever be your misfortune to see. I was holding Gina’s hand and she was shaking. She later showed me the fingernail prints in her palm which she had made to keep from laughing out loud.
The film shows us a couple more traumatic situations (man calls things off with his girlfriend as a result of a car accident), throws in a few images of the Reactive Mind as a ball of Engram-absorbing tar and ends with a couple dressed in white, walking along a beach: wind-swept, smiling and sure. When the lights came up, I found myself wanting to hurl my copy of ‘Dianetics’ against a wall. What the hell was going on?
After the movie, I bought a copy of ‘Dianetics’ and the man who took my money, L. Ron, tried to sell me an accompanying DVD. While Gina took her stress test, a different L. Ron, tried to sell me a two-day, $50 Dianetics seminar. (I respectfully declined). Another L. Ron asked me for my address and phone number so he could follow up with me on my experience. And the L. Ron who gave me the stress test gave me a card for a free personality test which would let me know which aspects of my personality needed working on. At this point I was so upset, I wanted to make like Jesus in the Temple and upturn stuff.
Why? Everything in that place, from the movie to the products to the stress-inducing stress test to the endless parade of L. Ron’s running around trying to sell-sell-sell you stuff, is designed to overload your senses and make you feel as if there's something wrong with the life you lead. The entire evening focused on every negative thing that life had to offer: EVERYONE is ‘stressed-out’ from time to time when it comes to family, friends, relationships and career. But the constant hammering of the negative exploits certain insecurities and then the Church swoops in and offers itself up as the solution. It’s like being in an abusive relationship where the person hitting you then turns around and tells you that they love you. I was so confused I didn’t know what to feel. L. Ron Hubbard might be a genius and Dianetics may be THE way to go but by the time Gina and I literally ran from the air-conditioned building into the humid Manhattan night, screaming, I needed a neck massage and several drinks. Religion and self help should not be a hard sell and it should not be the cause of seeking those things in first place.
Avoid this place. Go to the Times Square Toys R Us ® instead. Or to the movies. I saw 'Scoop' the other night. It was pretty funny.
When I decided to review the introductory film at the Church of Scientology, I knew two things for sure; that I was going to see the movie and I was going to take a stress test. I decided that no matter what preconceived notions I carried about the Church, Dianetics, L. Ron Hubbard, Tom Cruise, Juliette Lewis, tax evasion, alien landings or John Travolta, I would give myself to the process and record my reactions and sensations. This strategy came about because of something my friend Nick said during a rehearsal: It is so easy to sit back and judge. It is another thing to get involved and come to a conclusion based on the experience. I am probably paraphrasing badly but, well, there it is.
When Gina, Helene and I walked into the Church of Scientology, I was struck by how busy and well stocked the place looked. There were people everywhere, walking along the narrow corridors, looking at the various video and wall displays and talking with various members of the church. On top of that, the place is a merchandising mecca; there were books, DVD’s, T-Shirts, displays, posters, video monitors, cruise pamphlets (the boat kind, not the Tom kind) on display everywhere with copies upon copies just waiting to be bought, taken or taken in. We were immediately approached by a fidgety yet smiling man named L. Ron (not his real name) who asked us our names, where we were from and why we had come to the Church. After giving him this information, L. Ron asked us why we were there and after we told him, he told us he had read the Old & New Testaments as well as the Koran but none of those had the power or insight of Dianetics or the Church of Sientology. He directed us to a narrow hallway filled with posters and TV screens which would give us the basics of each entity. Before leaving, he all but begged us to find him if we had any questions. I smiled, thanked him and found myself wishing he’d be trampled by a pack of wild rhinocerii before we had to see him again. I’m not a violent person by nature so this surprised me.
After looking at the display, I sat down with a man named L. Ron (a different one) to take the stress test. L. Ron had long, clean hair and wore a relaxed, cotton button down shirt. He left the top two buttons open and behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses were a pair of dreamy eyes which rarely blinked. L Ron placed two aluminum cylinders in my hands, and told me to relax. He explained that he would ask me questions and that I all I had to do was react. (The cylinders were attached to a 'stressmeter' via two thin, black wires). He asked me about my job, my family, my relationships and my friendships and each time he did, the needle on the meter either twitched or went berserk and L. Ron would seize upon the movement and ask me what about my answer or thought ‘stressed me out.’ Giving myself to the process, I told him the truth and he seemed to understand what I was saying. I knew this because he said things like ‘I hear you,’ or ‘I get that’ or ‘I understand what you’re saying.’ Everything he asked me to think about caused the needle to twitch and I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me until I remembered that 1) not all stress is bad and 2) the meter consisted of two Coke ® cans hooked up by a wire to a metal box. After that, I calmed down a bit. He gave me a copy of Dianetics and I’m big enough to admit I walked away a bit rattled, picturing a pack of starving wolves tearing the flesh from L. Ron’s still living body. It was a less than loving thought.
They showed us ‘Dianetics: An Introduction’ in a conference room with uncomfortable chairs. (Helene was gone at this point. She had to go meet her boyfriend) The film begins with a Point-Of-View shot of a comet. It is red and tears through the atmosphere, hurtling toward a faraway mountain. Upon impact, the mountaintop explodes, sending fireworks into the air and lava spewing down the mountainside. I’m not sure where the lava came from (was the mountain bleeding?) but as it poured into the surrounding forest, I was haunted by visions of Bambi, Thumper, and countless potential Theodore Kaczynski’s turned into so many charred remains.
Perhaps I wasn’t meant to think about the deaths of thousands of forest denizens while I watched this movie; perhaps the filmmakers wished me to focus instead on the awesome power of the comet and its ability to wreak havoc on nature and transform all known landscapes; perhaps they meant to equate the power of the comet with the power of Dianetics. Who knows? Whatever they meant though, I will always wonder what transpired between Messieurs Bambi and Thump-Thump as they watched the approaching lava.
After snuffing the life out of the furry forest creatures (Boy Scouts and Burning Man participants included), the film changes tracks completely and explains that the human mind is divided into two parts, the Analytic Mind and the Reactive Mind. The Analytic Mind is composed of everything we consciously see, hear, taste, touch and smell. If you go for a ride in the countryside, for example, your Analytic Mind observes the green trees, the rolling hills and the smell of your husband who has not showered for days because he lost his job three weeks ago and cannot bring himself to lift a bar of soap. It is the source of all that is rational and controlled in human beings.
The Reactive Mind, on the other hand, contains all our unconscious thoughts and sensations and is filled with traumatic experiences called Engrams. In moments of stress, the Reactive Mind releases these Engrams upon our helpless selves, causing irrational and self-destructive behavior. The film provides a few examples but my favorite involved a man playing baseball who is hit in the head with a wild pitch and knocked unconscious. While laid out, the man is surrounded by teammates who stand around discussing the amount of pain the man must be in without once stopping to think, ‘Gee, that dude was hit pretty hard in the noggin’. Maybe we should call an ambulance or something.’
Some time later, that same man (let’s call him ‘Dad’) is playing catch with His Son and His Son says ‘Hey Dad: see if you can hit my fastball!’ and Dad says ‘Sure Son!’ and walks over to a bat leaning against a nearby tree. When he touches the bat though, he begins to hear snippets of conversation his Reactive Mind recorded when he was hit in the head and his head begins to hurt. We know this because he grimaces and massages his temple. Dad shakes it off, gets in the batter’s box and digs in. As Dad is waiting for His Son’s pitch, he is inundated with even more images and snippets of conversation from his horrible experience. The kid throws a wild pitch, which sails behind Dad and crashes into various items on a picnic table. Dad hits the deck like a soldier with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, gets himself up, dusts himself off and proceeds to verbally tear His Son a new one. His Son, on the verge of tears, throws his glove down and runs away, angered and confused by his father’s behavior, unaware Dad cared so much about condiments, stale hot dog buns and junk food. Dad is left by himself, ashamed of his behavior. Such a shame: Dad could not control the Engrams in his Reactive Mind.
The Reactive Mind is bad. It is naughty. It should be covered in Crisco and spanked like an errant altar boy. It is why we drink, why we smoke, why we cheat, lie and steal. The narrator tells us that walking around without control of your Reactive Mind is like being permanently hypnotized. And if we had trouble wrapping our minds around that metaphor, the film supplies a scene of a man being hypnotized by the most ridiculous, goateed, arched eyebrowed, British accented hypnotist it'll ever be your misfortune to see. I was holding Gina’s hand and she was shaking. She later showed me the fingernail prints in her palm which she had made to keep from laughing out loud.
The film shows us a couple more traumatic situations (man calls things off with his girlfriend as a result of a car accident), throws in a few images of the Reactive Mind as a ball of Engram-absorbing tar and ends with a couple dressed in white, walking along a beach: wind-swept, smiling and sure. When the lights came up, I found myself wanting to hurl my copy of ‘Dianetics’ against a wall. What the hell was going on?
After the movie, I bought a copy of ‘Dianetics’ and the man who took my money, L. Ron, tried to sell me an accompanying DVD. While Gina took her stress test, a different L. Ron, tried to sell me a two-day, $50 Dianetics seminar. (I respectfully declined). Another L. Ron asked me for my address and phone number so he could follow up with me on my experience. And the L. Ron who gave me the stress test gave me a card for a free personality test which would let me know which aspects of my personality needed working on. At this point I was so upset, I wanted to make like Jesus in the Temple and upturn stuff.
Why? Everything in that place, from the movie to the products to the stress-inducing stress test to the endless parade of L. Ron’s running around trying to sell-sell-sell you stuff, is designed to overload your senses and make you feel as if there's something wrong with the life you lead. The entire evening focused on every negative thing that life had to offer: EVERYONE is ‘stressed-out’ from time to time when it comes to family, friends, relationships and career. But the constant hammering of the negative exploits certain insecurities and then the Church swoops in and offers itself up as the solution. It’s like being in an abusive relationship where the person hitting you then turns around and tells you that they love you. I was so confused I didn’t know what to feel. L. Ron Hubbard might be a genius and Dianetics may be THE way to go but by the time Gina and I literally ran from the air-conditioned building into the humid Manhattan night, screaming, I needed a neck massage and several drinks. Religion and self help should not be a hard sell and it should not be the cause of seeking those things in first place.
Avoid this place. Go to the Times Square Toys R Us ® instead. Or to the movies. I saw 'Scoop' the other night. It was pretty funny.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Wordplay
Each year around March, around 500 men, women and children descend upon the Marriot Hotel in Stamford, Connecticut to participate – compete really – in the National Crossword Puzzle Championship, conceived and hosted by The New York Times Crossword Editor Will Short, a skinny, mustached man who looks like an accountant. The competition lasts for three days and consists of seven crossword puzzles and an eighth for the three finalists. There are no elimination rounds: participants do the first seven puzzles, points are tallied up (according to time completed, blank squares and correct answers) and the finalists are given fifteen minutes to complete a giant puzzle on a grand stage in front of 500 people and whoever completes it in the least amount of time with the fewest errors, wins.
To be honest, I could give a damn about crossword puzzles. This may be some kind of sacrilege considering I live in a city with a newspaper containing the most prestigious crossword puzzle in the country and quite possibly the world. But I’ve always found the Times’ crossword puzzle an exponentially descending experience: Monday’s is easy, Tuesday’s a bit less, Wednesday’s nothing short of difficult, Thursday’s/Friday’s/Saturday’s aggressively intimidating and Sunday’s the equivalent of spiritual enlightenment or dating a supermodel: fun to fantasize about but it ain’t happening. I’d be a monkey with a typewriter chancing upon ‘Hamlet’ if I could fill in one letter correctly. This doesn’t bother me because as I said earlier in this paragraph, I don’t care about ‘em.
Lucky for us however, a man named Patrick Creadon does care and he’s put together a wonderfully informative and suspenseful film called ‘Wordplay,’ (Jeremy – who does care about Crossword Puzzles – and I saw the film at BAM but it’s also playing at IFC Center, Beckman One and Two and Lincoln Plaza Cinemas. Outside the five boroughs, you’re on your own)
‘Wordplay’ takes its subject seriously but is never condescending or pretentious. It gives us a brief history of The Crossword Puzzle with a special emphasis on the New York Times Puzzle, takes the time to explore the appeal of puzzles in general and the construction of Crossword puzzles in particular and then follows five people as they make their way to the National Championship. Interspersed between all this are interviews with such Crossword Puzzle fans as John Stewart (host of ‘The Daily Show’), Mike Mussina (pitcher for the New York Yankees), Ken Burns (director of PBS’ Civil War documentary), The Indigo Girls (enthusiastic to be used in a crossword puzzle) and William Jefferson Clinton (if you don’t know who he is, I don’t even know what to tell you). Creadon moves back and forth between the participants with a light and admiring touch and allows each of his subjects to explain his relationship to the puzzle.
My favorites involved Bill Clinton drawing an effective and strangely thoughtful parallel between solving a puzzle and solving more pressing issues (start with what you know and work outward, using it to find the information you’re less familiar with) and then using that to chime in on the nature vs. nurture debate; Ellen Ripstein, a former Crossword champion who, responding to a boyfriend calling her a Crossword geek, replies ‘What are you best in the country at?’; and, forever enshrining himself in the Pantheon of Endearing Geekdom, Norman ‘Trip’ Payne, the youngest ever to win the championship, explaining why he’s “intrigued” by the letter ‘Q’. (The letter ‘Q’ is normally followed by the letter ‘U’, but if you’re not careful, words like ‘qatar’ and ‘q-tip’ can totally throw you off your game).
‘Wordplay’ culminates in the 2005 National Championship and rather than play up the suspense, Creadon throws us a curve and generously shows us the human side of the competitors and the competition. At one point, he interviews a woman who won the competition in the late seventies who confides to us that her husband died on the last day of a competition. This story is used as a voiceover for a talent show in which the crossword competitors take part. (Ellen Ripster takes the stage and shows off her baton skills. I loved her for this). The woman says that while she still expects to see her husband walk through the hotel’s revolving door, she continues to return each year because of the people. They are like a family to her and even though they’ve changed over the years, she says it’s difficult to tell how because the changes happened so slowly.
I won’t tell you how the competition turns out but I will say a deserving person wins and a deserving person loses in unexpected fashion. There are twists and turns and loops and skeedaddles and even though I am still less than enthusiastic about crossword puzzles, there was not a dull moment in this picture. What all this is supposed to say about humanity I’m not sure but see the movie and figure it all out for yourself because it’s not solving the puzzle that’s important but how you approach it.
As a side note: BAM has taken away the $10 popcorn/drink special. Jeremy and I are writing letters but hopes are not high. It could be we were the only ones to ever take advantage of it. It is a sad day indeed.
To be honest, I could give a damn about crossword puzzles. This may be some kind of sacrilege considering I live in a city with a newspaper containing the most prestigious crossword puzzle in the country and quite possibly the world. But I’ve always found the Times’ crossword puzzle an exponentially descending experience: Monday’s is easy, Tuesday’s a bit less, Wednesday’s nothing short of difficult, Thursday’s/Friday’s/Saturday’s aggressively intimidating and Sunday’s the equivalent of spiritual enlightenment or dating a supermodel: fun to fantasize about but it ain’t happening. I’d be a monkey with a typewriter chancing upon ‘Hamlet’ if I could fill in one letter correctly. This doesn’t bother me because as I said earlier in this paragraph, I don’t care about ‘em.
Lucky for us however, a man named Patrick Creadon does care and he’s put together a wonderfully informative and suspenseful film called ‘Wordplay,’ (Jeremy – who does care about Crossword Puzzles – and I saw the film at BAM but it’s also playing at IFC Center, Beckman One and Two and Lincoln Plaza Cinemas. Outside the five boroughs, you’re on your own)
‘Wordplay’ takes its subject seriously but is never condescending or pretentious. It gives us a brief history of The Crossword Puzzle with a special emphasis on the New York Times Puzzle, takes the time to explore the appeal of puzzles in general and the construction of Crossword puzzles in particular and then follows five people as they make their way to the National Championship. Interspersed between all this are interviews with such Crossword Puzzle fans as John Stewart (host of ‘The Daily Show’), Mike Mussina (pitcher for the New York Yankees), Ken Burns (director of PBS’ Civil War documentary), The Indigo Girls (enthusiastic to be used in a crossword puzzle) and William Jefferson Clinton (if you don’t know who he is, I don’t even know what to tell you). Creadon moves back and forth between the participants with a light and admiring touch and allows each of his subjects to explain his relationship to the puzzle.
My favorites involved Bill Clinton drawing an effective and strangely thoughtful parallel between solving a puzzle and solving more pressing issues (start with what you know and work outward, using it to find the information you’re less familiar with) and then using that to chime in on the nature vs. nurture debate; Ellen Ripstein, a former Crossword champion who, responding to a boyfriend calling her a Crossword geek, replies ‘What are you best in the country at?’; and, forever enshrining himself in the Pantheon of Endearing Geekdom, Norman ‘Trip’ Payne, the youngest ever to win the championship, explaining why he’s “intrigued” by the letter ‘Q’. (The letter ‘Q’ is normally followed by the letter ‘U’, but if you’re not careful, words like ‘qatar’ and ‘q-tip’ can totally throw you off your game).
‘Wordplay’ culminates in the 2005 National Championship and rather than play up the suspense, Creadon throws us a curve and generously shows us the human side of the competitors and the competition. At one point, he interviews a woman who won the competition in the late seventies who confides to us that her husband died on the last day of a competition. This story is used as a voiceover for a talent show in which the crossword competitors take part. (Ellen Ripster takes the stage and shows off her baton skills. I loved her for this). The woman says that while she still expects to see her husband walk through the hotel’s revolving door, she continues to return each year because of the people. They are like a family to her and even though they’ve changed over the years, she says it’s difficult to tell how because the changes happened so slowly.
I won’t tell you how the competition turns out but I will say a deserving person wins and a deserving person loses in unexpected fashion. There are twists and turns and loops and skeedaddles and even though I am still less than enthusiastic about crossword puzzles, there was not a dull moment in this picture. What all this is supposed to say about humanity I’m not sure but see the movie and figure it all out for yourself because it’s not solving the puzzle that’s important but how you approach it.
As a side note: BAM has taken away the $10 popcorn/drink special. Jeremy and I are writing letters but hopes are not high. It could be we were the only ones to ever take advantage of it. It is a sad day indeed.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
'Cars'
The week before ‘Cars’ came out, there was an article in the New York Times lauding Pixar’s (the company who made it) track record. Pixar, it said, was the only film company whose first seven films made over $100 million dollars; and if this weren’t enough, the company has retained an integrity and artistic sophistication revered throughout the film industry. At one point in the article, John Lassater, Pixar’s founder and the director of ‘A Toy Story’, ‘A Bug’s Life’ and ‘Cars’, says:
''After each film's opening weekend, we pass the pressure on to the next director,'' he said. ''Pete Docter did it to Andrew Stanton, Andrew did it to Brad Bird and Brad passed it to us. It's almost like we should deliberately put out something that isn't good, just to get it over with.''
It’s a silly quote in a promotional article and I would have laughed it off completely it’s wasn’t the stuff of hubris and even though the issue doesn’t bear as much weight as, say, a man killing his father and marrying his mother or stealing fire from the Gods, it made me wonder about such streaks and what make them end. Success on the $7.3 billion scale (the amount Disney bought Pixar for) can’t be an easy thing to handle and the pressure to live up to the excellence that came before can cause a man, or a company, to think and do strange things. Success ascends and failure descends and what goes up must come down and very few companies or people or sports teams or artists are able to sustain that level of success over an extended period of time.
The good news, for the pocketbooks at Disney, Pixar and the popcorn vendors at your local Cineplex, is that ‘Cars’, to date, has grossed over $200 million to pretty good reviews. The Cars are in Happy Meals and I’m sure the workers in Taiwan are sewing overtime so the shelves at The Disney Store ® and Wal Mart ® runneth over. I’m happy for Pixar though. They are a good company making interesting films who have worked very hard to sustain what they’ve achieved.
Still: because of the article and Mr. Lassater’s quote, I arrived at the film in a state of reluctance; but in the interest of giving the film a fair shake, and learning from my experience with ‘Brokeback Mountain’ (didn’t think you’d ever see these two films mentioned in the same article, did you?), I found my seat in the front row and settled in.
The first twenty minutes take place at a NASCAR racetrack and it is obvious from the start that the animators over at Pixar have done their homework with gusto: the stadium is enormous and bustling and seems to be a live creature. The cars gleam and hug curves, throwing off bits of track and rubber in their wake. (If you listen closely, you can hear the rubble crackle.) The film cuts from car to car, whirling around the action and includes an audio commentary from announcers, all cars themselves. The audience consists of cars too: all dressed cup and cheering and hoping and hollering. In fact, if you look around, every single character in the movie is a car (or should I say ‘Car’), from the pit crew to the announcers to the paper-hatted concessioineers and it took all of two minutes for my ten-year old mind to wonder how these cars procreate. Do they do it via assembly line like something out of ‘Brave New World’ of ‘The Matrix’? Do Mamma Car and Pappa Car go into the garage and exchange anti-freeze? How long do these kiddie cars gestate and is there a placenta? This being a PG movie my questions were bound to go unanswered but I was hoping for an inside joke, a wink to adults so prevalent in animated films these days. Alas: no such joke arrived. I was left to my own devices to wonder just what oil these Cars used to lubricate their pistons.
Our hero is Lightning McQueen, voiced by Owen Wilson. He is winning the race but he almost loses it. Lightning McQueen has a problem you see: he’s brash, he’s arrogant, and thinks he doesn’t need anyone to succeed. He has grit, smarts and determination though and he salvages a three-way tie. This forces the finalists to travel cross-country for a Championship race. At stake is ‘The Piston Cup’ and untold endorsement dollars.
The road to the championship is paved with peril: After a series of accidents and, yes, hubris, he destroys the main street of, and finds himself incarcerated in, a small, forgotten town located off Route 66 (We later learn the town was thrown into obscurity when the construction of a highway causes commuters to just pass them by) Doc Hudson, the town judge, orders McQueen to repair the road and after a couple of unsuccessful attempts at escape (reference ‘The Great Escape’ with Steve McQueen), he realizes the only way he’s getting to the Big Race in California is to repair the road. And while repairing the road, he befriends the towns-folk, gives the forgotten town some deserved Recognition, falls in Love, learns A Valuable Lesson and gets to the Big Race in time to Compete and find Redemption. The lesson he learns may have something to do with loyalty. Or community. Or the value of friendship. I wouldn’t know: I was too busy trying to keep my intestines in place.
‘Cars’ is not a bad film. The animation is extraordinary: full of obsessive detail done by people who know more than a little something about their subject. The characters are interesting and well suited to the cars they represent. (Larry the Cable Guy voices a hillbilly tow truck named Mater --“Like Toe-Mater, without the Toe” he points out; Paul Newman voices Doc Hudson, a sleek, classic 1951 Hudson Hornet; Bonnie Hunt voices Sally, a smart and pretty Porsche; and George Carlin voices a hippy-ish Volkswagon van who passes the time constructing conspiracy theories about government suppression of organic fuels and arguing with a rather militant jeep.) And it contains scenes so clever and imaginative I wanted to stand up and shout to make sure everyone in the audience understood they were witnessing greatness. (Check out Mater and McQueen’s tractor tipping scene; or McQueen’s one vehicle pit crew in the film’s climactic race).
But the film feels empty. One of Pixar’s strengths during its run has been to exploit 3-D animation technology to create worlds and tell stories. In ‘Cars’ though, they seem to have spent so much time on the visual details that they forgot to explore their chosen world and find a story within it. Our world, for example, contains highways, billboards, hotels, restaurants, auto-supply stores and gas stations. The world in ‘Cars’ consists of…highways, billboards, hotels, restaurants, auto-supply stores and gas stations. And with the exception of the hotels – each patron, after checking in, pulls into a garage with a nightstand – none of the above has been altered to accommodate its inhabitants. ‘Cars’ is the first Pixar film which didn’t need to be animated. Aside from the talking cars, they could have cast actors, scouted locations and told a similar story.
This is a shame because cars as a subject present such interesting possibilities: they are a vital part of our daily lives and the way we relate to them has a lot to say about who we are as people. I have a friend who runs himself and his car ragged (and his fuel tank empty) in pursuit of the perfect parking spot. And people seem more affected and vocal about rising gas prices than in a war that is partly the cause of that hike. This is not to say ‘Cars’ should be a political film. It would just be interesting to see an animated film about cars in which they react and relate to the things humans project onto them and make them do. Instead we are given a film in which cars act like people in a world that is strictly homo sapien. It’s not terribly inventive or insightful. It’s just a film on Cruise Control.
''After each film's opening weekend, we pass the pressure on to the next director,'' he said. ''Pete Docter did it to Andrew Stanton, Andrew did it to Brad Bird and Brad passed it to us. It's almost like we should deliberately put out something that isn't good, just to get it over with.''
It’s a silly quote in a promotional article and I would have laughed it off completely it’s wasn’t the stuff of hubris and even though the issue doesn’t bear as much weight as, say, a man killing his father and marrying his mother or stealing fire from the Gods, it made me wonder about such streaks and what make them end. Success on the $7.3 billion scale (the amount Disney bought Pixar for) can’t be an easy thing to handle and the pressure to live up to the excellence that came before can cause a man, or a company, to think and do strange things. Success ascends and failure descends and what goes up must come down and very few companies or people or sports teams or artists are able to sustain that level of success over an extended period of time.
The good news, for the pocketbooks at Disney, Pixar and the popcorn vendors at your local Cineplex, is that ‘Cars’, to date, has grossed over $200 million to pretty good reviews. The Cars are in Happy Meals and I’m sure the workers in Taiwan are sewing overtime so the shelves at The Disney Store ® and Wal Mart ® runneth over. I’m happy for Pixar though. They are a good company making interesting films who have worked very hard to sustain what they’ve achieved.
Still: because of the article and Mr. Lassater’s quote, I arrived at the film in a state of reluctance; but in the interest of giving the film a fair shake, and learning from my experience with ‘Brokeback Mountain’ (didn’t think you’d ever see these two films mentioned in the same article, did you?), I found my seat in the front row and settled in.
The first twenty minutes take place at a NASCAR racetrack and it is obvious from the start that the animators over at Pixar have done their homework with gusto: the stadium is enormous and bustling and seems to be a live creature. The cars gleam and hug curves, throwing off bits of track and rubber in their wake. (If you listen closely, you can hear the rubble crackle.) The film cuts from car to car, whirling around the action and includes an audio commentary from announcers, all cars themselves. The audience consists of cars too: all dressed cup and cheering and hoping and hollering. In fact, if you look around, every single character in the movie is a car (or should I say ‘Car’), from the pit crew to the announcers to the paper-hatted concessioineers and it took all of two minutes for my ten-year old mind to wonder how these cars procreate. Do they do it via assembly line like something out of ‘Brave New World’ of ‘The Matrix’? Do Mamma Car and Pappa Car go into the garage and exchange anti-freeze? How long do these kiddie cars gestate and is there a placenta? This being a PG movie my questions were bound to go unanswered but I was hoping for an inside joke, a wink to adults so prevalent in animated films these days. Alas: no such joke arrived. I was left to my own devices to wonder just what oil these Cars used to lubricate their pistons.
Our hero is Lightning McQueen, voiced by Owen Wilson. He is winning the race but he almost loses it. Lightning McQueen has a problem you see: he’s brash, he’s arrogant, and thinks he doesn’t need anyone to succeed. He has grit, smarts and determination though and he salvages a three-way tie. This forces the finalists to travel cross-country for a Championship race. At stake is ‘The Piston Cup’ and untold endorsement dollars.
The road to the championship is paved with peril: After a series of accidents and, yes, hubris, he destroys the main street of, and finds himself incarcerated in, a small, forgotten town located off Route 66 (We later learn the town was thrown into obscurity when the construction of a highway causes commuters to just pass them by) Doc Hudson, the town judge, orders McQueen to repair the road and after a couple of unsuccessful attempts at escape (reference ‘The Great Escape’ with Steve McQueen), he realizes the only way he’s getting to the Big Race in California is to repair the road. And while repairing the road, he befriends the towns-folk, gives the forgotten town some deserved Recognition, falls in Love, learns A Valuable Lesson and gets to the Big Race in time to Compete and find Redemption. The lesson he learns may have something to do with loyalty. Or community. Or the value of friendship. I wouldn’t know: I was too busy trying to keep my intestines in place.
‘Cars’ is not a bad film. The animation is extraordinary: full of obsessive detail done by people who know more than a little something about their subject. The characters are interesting and well suited to the cars they represent. (Larry the Cable Guy voices a hillbilly tow truck named Mater --“Like Toe-Mater, without the Toe” he points out; Paul Newman voices Doc Hudson, a sleek, classic 1951 Hudson Hornet; Bonnie Hunt voices Sally, a smart and pretty Porsche; and George Carlin voices a hippy-ish Volkswagon van who passes the time constructing conspiracy theories about government suppression of organic fuels and arguing with a rather militant jeep.) And it contains scenes so clever and imaginative I wanted to stand up and shout to make sure everyone in the audience understood they were witnessing greatness. (Check out Mater and McQueen’s tractor tipping scene; or McQueen’s one vehicle pit crew in the film’s climactic race).
But the film feels empty. One of Pixar’s strengths during its run has been to exploit 3-D animation technology to create worlds and tell stories. In ‘Cars’ though, they seem to have spent so much time on the visual details that they forgot to explore their chosen world and find a story within it. Our world, for example, contains highways, billboards, hotels, restaurants, auto-supply stores and gas stations. The world in ‘Cars’ consists of…highways, billboards, hotels, restaurants, auto-supply stores and gas stations. And with the exception of the hotels – each patron, after checking in, pulls into a garage with a nightstand – none of the above has been altered to accommodate its inhabitants. ‘Cars’ is the first Pixar film which didn’t need to be animated. Aside from the talking cars, they could have cast actors, scouted locations and told a similar story.
This is a shame because cars as a subject present such interesting possibilities: they are a vital part of our daily lives and the way we relate to them has a lot to say about who we are as people. I have a friend who runs himself and his car ragged (and his fuel tank empty) in pursuit of the perfect parking spot. And people seem more affected and vocal about rising gas prices than in a war that is partly the cause of that hike. This is not to say ‘Cars’ should be a political film. It would just be interesting to see an animated film about cars in which they react and relate to the things humans project onto them and make them do. Instead we are given a film in which cars act like people in a world that is strictly homo sapien. It’s not terribly inventive or insightful. It’s just a film on Cruise Control.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
'Brick' and 'Stick It'
Jeremy and I missed the opening credits for ‘Brick’. I knew we’d be late getting into the theatre but I thought we’d only miss the previews. When we walked into the theatre though, the movie had begun and I was mildly upset. I hate missing the opening credits and I doubly hate missing the coming attractions. It’s comforting to see which movies I’ll be excited about before seeing the movie I’m excited to see. (Trailers used to come after the movie as a way of getting the audience excited about the movies they could see after they saw the movie they saw. They traaaaiiiiled the movie. That’s why they’re called trailers. Clever, huh?)
‘Brick’ follows the story of Brendan Frye (played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt; light years away from his confused commander in ‘3rd Rock From The Sun’), a high school loner well versed in his school’s social strata but possessing a sense of honesty and sincerity, which keeps him from becoming a part of it. This is too bad because the ex-girlfriend he still loves has been murdered and he must sift through these layers to find whodunit. These layers include a dumb jock, an actress with an unusual lackey, a vice-principal, an unstable and smarter-than-you-think Aryan fellow with a penchant toward violence, an underground drug ring, a sweet-talking dame, a seedy drug lord, and, most sinister of all, the warlord’s sweet, oblivious, milk serving mother. (We’ll get to her in a second) He is kicked, punched, played, teased, deceived, kissed, tied up, probed, questioned, fooled, watched and lied to. He doesn’t sleep much either which would not be a problem but for the number of times a can of whoop-ass is opened on him. At one point his breathing became so labored, I thought he was hemorrhaging and missed twenty minutes of the movie desperately hoping someone would take him to the hospital. Frye was cooked, you know what I mean?
The film employs the structure and style of classic noir novels (think Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammet) while its characters employ the language. The language is lean, muscular and, in the mouths of the students, comes across as uber-sophisticated slang. The BAM box office even provided a glossary so its audience would not get too lost. I found this a clever yet annoying scheme: I would have needed at least a day to memorize the thing and found watching the movie with it akin to keeping up a conversation in a language I didn’t speak armed only with a Lonely Planet ® phrase book.
‘Stick It’ is an entirely different kind of movie altogether. (“It’s an entirely different kind of movie”.) My friend Leigh and I decided on the movie after a game of ‘Blockbuster Shuffle’, which is the dance you do when you go to a video store and spend hours deciding which movie to rent. Our back and forth stemmed from distrust: did we really want to pay $10.50 a ticket for a film aimed at the twelve-year old girl demographic? But armed with an absurd back-up plan (we thought ‘Mission: Impossible III’ an acceptable alternative), we our bought tickets, found our seats, and prepared to be disappointed.
We never came close. ‘Stick It’ is surprisingly good. The heroine’s name is Haley Graham and when we first see her she’s showing off mad biking skillz and being chased by the police. They catch her and she’s forced by a judge to attend a gymnastics academy as restitution. It turns out Haley (played with considerable moxie and six-pack abs by Missy Peregrym) is also a prodigiously talented gymnast who pulled out of the World Championship tournament some years earlier as her team was on the verge of winning the Gold. Why she did this no one knows; but given this film’s demographic, you can be sure you’re going to find out.
Like the high school in ‘Brick’, the academy is fraught with social and emotional peril; and the abuse the hero takes is so friggin’ extreme and painful to watch that Leigh leaned over to me several times during the movie, grabbed my arm and said “She’s going to be paralyzed!” Instruments of torture include: the balance beam, the parallel bars, the vault, a trampoline, a floor exercise, her prodigious talent, her confused, stupid and clueless parent and a lying narcissistic coach who periodically resembles Beau Bridges (played by Jeff Bridges). The film also tries to set Haley up with a rival: a dumb but competitive gymnast (played by Nikki SooHoo and no, I’m not making that name up.) but seeing as it’s never clear how talented this rival really is or what kind of threat she poses, I cannot list her among the heroine’s obstacles. The rival is funny though - a bastion of ignorance and malapropisms - and the film handles her transformation to friend with such wit and sincerity, it would be a shame not to mention her.
The movie is energetically filmed and loaded with Busby Berkeley type numbers which take full advantage of both the gymnast’s talents and the sport’s speed, structure and candy coated costumes. The dialogue was strained at times and the plot forced; but what sets ‘Stick It’ apart from other teen films, and where it shares a strange similarity with ‘Brick’, comes from the kids’ relationship to the worlds in which they live and in their relationships to adults. The former is unforgiving; the latter barely exist.
I am not sure what role adults play in the lives of teenagers. The books (and Oprah) say adults act as guides and mentors but the reality is their role, while important, is far less active than anyone would care to admit. The teenage journey toward self-realization is fraught with peril and the most adults can do is support when it’s needed and know when to stand back. This is difficult because in some ways parents are just as helpless as their children when it comes to learning life’s great lessons and that, more than anything, is what sucks most about being a teenager: the realization that there is a life out there beyond what they know and that their parents -- their until-recent primary caregivers -- can do nothing to save them from it.
These two films do nothing to dispel that notion. The universe as seen in ‘Brick’ is devoid of any structure; there are no rules because the world itself is broken and the kids are smart and jaded enough to know that nothing much will fix it. I counted two adults in ‘Brick’ – the vice-principal who wants to make Frye a snitch and a patsy; and the aforementioned milk-serving mother who waits on her warlord son and his business “associates” while conveniently ignoring all unsavory elements. Adults are bystanders, offering corruption and a glass of milk to these weary teenage travelers.
Adults exist in ‘Stick It’ but they are mostly portrayed as gullible, manipulative idiots. Yes: the lying, narcissistic coach lies to them; but when he owns up to it, they capitulate without argument. They seem to have no control or interest in their daughters’ futures. But to its credit, and to my surprise, ‘Stick It’ comes up with an interesting solution: Haley, she of strong personality and prodigious talents, allows her self to care about her problems and confront them; and more importantly, she slowly allows that self to be cared for by other people. She keeps her personality but she seems to learn that where adults offer disappointment, her friends offer comfort and validation. That the film took the time to establish this reality satisfied me in such a way that Leigh and I left the theatre giggling and weirdly optimistic.
Near the climax of ‘Stick It’, Haley that what she really wants is for an adult, for SOMEONE, to say how proud of her they are; that what she is doing is good and right and just and worth the effort. And on cue, her coach stops her and does that very thing. I found this trite and predictable and unnecessary. But I also stifled a tear and drank it in like the sentimental monkey I know myself to be. I wonder if the kids in ‘Brick’ ever arrived at such a moment. I wonder if they ever screamed for help. I picture Frye having a moment of clarity and just as he was about to ask for some sort of help, being called into the vice-principal’s office and being forced to rat out his classmates. Demoralizing. Both films show teenagers introduced or grappling with issues of what we really know and how much control we have over our lives. The answer is both stark and startling. And I know two or three or six hundred adults who could relate.
‘Brick’ follows the story of Brendan Frye (played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt; light years away from his confused commander in ‘3rd Rock From The Sun’), a high school loner well versed in his school’s social strata but possessing a sense of honesty and sincerity, which keeps him from becoming a part of it. This is too bad because the ex-girlfriend he still loves has been murdered and he must sift through these layers to find whodunit. These layers include a dumb jock, an actress with an unusual lackey, a vice-principal, an unstable and smarter-than-you-think Aryan fellow with a penchant toward violence, an underground drug ring, a sweet-talking dame, a seedy drug lord, and, most sinister of all, the warlord’s sweet, oblivious, milk serving mother. (We’ll get to her in a second) He is kicked, punched, played, teased, deceived, kissed, tied up, probed, questioned, fooled, watched and lied to. He doesn’t sleep much either which would not be a problem but for the number of times a can of whoop-ass is opened on him. At one point his breathing became so labored, I thought he was hemorrhaging and missed twenty minutes of the movie desperately hoping someone would take him to the hospital. Frye was cooked, you know what I mean?
The film employs the structure and style of classic noir novels (think Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammet) while its characters employ the language. The language is lean, muscular and, in the mouths of the students, comes across as uber-sophisticated slang. The BAM box office even provided a glossary so its audience would not get too lost. I found this a clever yet annoying scheme: I would have needed at least a day to memorize the thing and found watching the movie with it akin to keeping up a conversation in a language I didn’t speak armed only with a Lonely Planet ® phrase book.
‘Stick It’ is an entirely different kind of movie altogether. (“It’s an entirely different kind of movie”.) My friend Leigh and I decided on the movie after a game of ‘Blockbuster Shuffle’, which is the dance you do when you go to a video store and spend hours deciding which movie to rent. Our back and forth stemmed from distrust: did we really want to pay $10.50 a ticket for a film aimed at the twelve-year old girl demographic? But armed with an absurd back-up plan (we thought ‘Mission: Impossible III’ an acceptable alternative), we our bought tickets, found our seats, and prepared to be disappointed.
We never came close. ‘Stick It’ is surprisingly good. The heroine’s name is Haley Graham and when we first see her she’s showing off mad biking skillz and being chased by the police. They catch her and she’s forced by a judge to attend a gymnastics academy as restitution. It turns out Haley (played with considerable moxie and six-pack abs by Missy Peregrym) is also a prodigiously talented gymnast who pulled out of the World Championship tournament some years earlier as her team was on the verge of winning the Gold. Why she did this no one knows; but given this film’s demographic, you can be sure you’re going to find out.
Like the high school in ‘Brick’, the academy is fraught with social and emotional peril; and the abuse the hero takes is so friggin’ extreme and painful to watch that Leigh leaned over to me several times during the movie, grabbed my arm and said “She’s going to be paralyzed!” Instruments of torture include: the balance beam, the parallel bars, the vault, a trampoline, a floor exercise, her prodigious talent, her confused, stupid and clueless parent and a lying narcissistic coach who periodically resembles Beau Bridges (played by Jeff Bridges). The film also tries to set Haley up with a rival: a dumb but competitive gymnast (played by Nikki SooHoo and no, I’m not making that name up.) but seeing as it’s never clear how talented this rival really is or what kind of threat she poses, I cannot list her among the heroine’s obstacles. The rival is funny though - a bastion of ignorance and malapropisms - and the film handles her transformation to friend with such wit and sincerity, it would be a shame not to mention her.
The movie is energetically filmed and loaded with Busby Berkeley type numbers which take full advantage of both the gymnast’s talents and the sport’s speed, structure and candy coated costumes. The dialogue was strained at times and the plot forced; but what sets ‘Stick It’ apart from other teen films, and where it shares a strange similarity with ‘Brick’, comes from the kids’ relationship to the worlds in which they live and in their relationships to adults. The former is unforgiving; the latter barely exist.
I am not sure what role adults play in the lives of teenagers. The books (and Oprah) say adults act as guides and mentors but the reality is their role, while important, is far less active than anyone would care to admit. The teenage journey toward self-realization is fraught with peril and the most adults can do is support when it’s needed and know when to stand back. This is difficult because in some ways parents are just as helpless as their children when it comes to learning life’s great lessons and that, more than anything, is what sucks most about being a teenager: the realization that there is a life out there beyond what they know and that their parents -- their until-recent primary caregivers -- can do nothing to save them from it.
These two films do nothing to dispel that notion. The universe as seen in ‘Brick’ is devoid of any structure; there are no rules because the world itself is broken and the kids are smart and jaded enough to know that nothing much will fix it. I counted two adults in ‘Brick’ – the vice-principal who wants to make Frye a snitch and a patsy; and the aforementioned milk-serving mother who waits on her warlord son and his business “associates” while conveniently ignoring all unsavory elements. Adults are bystanders, offering corruption and a glass of milk to these weary teenage travelers.
Adults exist in ‘Stick It’ but they are mostly portrayed as gullible, manipulative idiots. Yes: the lying, narcissistic coach lies to them; but when he owns up to it, they capitulate without argument. They seem to have no control or interest in their daughters’ futures. But to its credit, and to my surprise, ‘Stick It’ comes up with an interesting solution: Haley, she of strong personality and prodigious talents, allows her self to care about her problems and confront them; and more importantly, she slowly allows that self to be cared for by other people. She keeps her personality but she seems to learn that where adults offer disappointment, her friends offer comfort and validation. That the film took the time to establish this reality satisfied me in such a way that Leigh and I left the theatre giggling and weirdly optimistic.
Near the climax of ‘Stick It’, Haley that what she really wants is for an adult, for SOMEONE, to say how proud of her they are; that what she is doing is good and right and just and worth the effort. And on cue, her coach stops her and does that very thing. I found this trite and predictable and unnecessary. But I also stifled a tear and drank it in like the sentimental monkey I know myself to be. I wonder if the kids in ‘Brick’ ever arrived at such a moment. I wonder if they ever screamed for help. I picture Frye having a moment of clarity and just as he was about to ask for some sort of help, being called into the vice-principal’s office and being forced to rat out his classmates. Demoralizing. Both films show teenagers introduced or grappling with issues of what we really know and how much control we have over our lives. The answer is both stark and startling. And I know two or three or six hundred adults who could relate.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
House-Sitting
I am house-sitting for my friends Lisa and Andy, who are taking a well deserved vacation to St. Maartin, Virgin Islands. So far they have snorkeled, lounged on the beach and gotten a sunburn. As part of house-sitting duties, they have left in my care two dogs (or as Lisa calls them, their two bitches) named George and Bella. George is the older of the two, a white and gray haired mutt who, believe it or not, resembles Princess Diana if you flips her ears up and make a bun atop her head. She’s very pretty.
Bella is a puppy with heaps of energy and horrible pooping habits. She’s walked three or four times a day and always waits until we get home to go to the Wee pad laid out for her and poop six inches to the left of them. She’s exuberant though and likes to nibble and pull on George’s ear. George stoically allows this and will periodically look up at me with a look on her face that seems to say “Oh: the things I do…” I always nod in agreement.
Andy and Lisa have cable though. Serious cable with lots of movie channels and HDTV to boot. I don’t know how HDTV differs from regular TV. I don’t know the specifics or the technology but the picture is amazing; you can see the splotches on the actor’s skin where the make-up artist has missed a spot. And watching sports on the thing is almost as good as being there. For those of you who’ve never been to a baseball or basketball game live, you should watch at least five minutes of either game on HDTV: you get a sense of the grandeur and intensity and sweat. It’s a great way to see a game. (What you’re missing though is the majesty; and the sounds; and the smells; and the $17 beer.)
I mention the Cable because since arriving at this apartment last Sunday, I’ve slept on average three hours a night because I have no discipline when it comes to movies. I have watched approximately 7 movies in their entirety and fragments of at least 12 others. I’ve also watched four entire episodes of HBO’s new series ‘Big Love’ which chronicles the adventures of a polygamist played by Bill Paxton. It’s a good series. Watch it.
The funny part of all this is I’m watching movies I’ve seen before. I’ve seen them but I can’t stop watching. I’ll turn the TV on, catch a moment or two and I can’t tear myself away. I know what’s going to happen and I know how it’s going to happen but it’s not enough: I want to see it happen. It’s comforting but there’s something more. It’s satisfying to see. It pleases my story sense in a way that knowing what’s going to happen and not seeing it would leave me unfulfilled.
Sometimes I watch and am disappointed because it wasn’t as clever or good as I found it the first time. Sometimes it’s better than I remembered and I catch new things, which make me see it differently. While anything can effect the way I’m experiencing the movie – my mood, my fatigue, my energy level – what its taught me, or helped me to see, is my ability to see things fresh not matter how familiar I think I am with them. It’s nice to know I can still be surprised. It’s nice to know I can be that open.
Highlights from the Week:
• Spiderman II: This was the first film I watched On-Demand. Kirsten Dunst makes me want to be Tobey Maguire just so I can kiss her. (If nothing else, movies should make you fall in love) Sam Raimi delivers the most fluid and weighted action scenes I’ve ever scene. They look and move like you’d imagine a comic book would but have enough heft to make them seem as if they’re happening in our world. It’s a tremendous achievement.
• Before Sunset: This is the sequel to ‘Before Sunrise’; both are directed by Richard Linklater. ‘Before Sunrise’ follows the story of two young travelers, an American man and a French woman, who meet cute on a train, get off that train, spend the night traipsing around Vienna, spout tremendous amounts of bullshit, fall in love, and, before they part, agree to meet in Vienna in six months time. ‘Before Sunset’ picks up ten years later (or is it nine?) in Paris where the young man (Ethan Hawke) is on the last leg of a book tour promoting a book about the night in Vienna. Both movies are literate and their respective cities play a HUGE role in the couple’s interactions. The woman (Julie Delpy) sings a waltz that never fails to break my heart and the way this movie’s subtle build always surprises me.
• Independence Day: Aliens invade the world, bent on annihilating the human race, and with some know-how and good old fashioned gumption, we humans (led by we Americans) infect the mothership with a computer virus and save the day, Forget the scene where the aliens destroy the White House: the highlight of this film for me has always been the scene where the Scientist (Jeff Goldblum) demonstrates the power of the virus by having a soldier shoot a Coke ® can off a long ago captured alien ship. The first time I saw it, I jumped in my seat. Also: if ever aliens try to take control of our big blue marble, Please enlist Will Smith to kick some alien ass. A subversive gem.
• Napolean Dynamite: Imagine waking up one day and realizing that everyone around you, who you previously took for granted, is your support group. And imagine yourself a part of their support group. And imagine everyone happier for it. This is just a great and funny movie.
Excuse me: Bella is arguing with the toilet brush. Gotta go.
Bella is a puppy with heaps of energy and horrible pooping habits. She’s walked three or four times a day and always waits until we get home to go to the Wee pad laid out for her and poop six inches to the left of them. She’s exuberant though and likes to nibble and pull on George’s ear. George stoically allows this and will periodically look up at me with a look on her face that seems to say “Oh: the things I do…” I always nod in agreement.
Andy and Lisa have cable though. Serious cable with lots of movie channels and HDTV to boot. I don’t know how HDTV differs from regular TV. I don’t know the specifics or the technology but the picture is amazing; you can see the splotches on the actor’s skin where the make-up artist has missed a spot. And watching sports on the thing is almost as good as being there. For those of you who’ve never been to a baseball or basketball game live, you should watch at least five minutes of either game on HDTV: you get a sense of the grandeur and intensity and sweat. It’s a great way to see a game. (What you’re missing though is the majesty; and the sounds; and the smells; and the $17 beer.)
I mention the Cable because since arriving at this apartment last Sunday, I’ve slept on average three hours a night because I have no discipline when it comes to movies. I have watched approximately 7 movies in their entirety and fragments of at least 12 others. I’ve also watched four entire episodes of HBO’s new series ‘Big Love’ which chronicles the adventures of a polygamist played by Bill Paxton. It’s a good series. Watch it.
The funny part of all this is I’m watching movies I’ve seen before. I’ve seen them but I can’t stop watching. I’ll turn the TV on, catch a moment or two and I can’t tear myself away. I know what’s going to happen and I know how it’s going to happen but it’s not enough: I want to see it happen. It’s comforting but there’s something more. It’s satisfying to see. It pleases my story sense in a way that knowing what’s going to happen and not seeing it would leave me unfulfilled.
Sometimes I watch and am disappointed because it wasn’t as clever or good as I found it the first time. Sometimes it’s better than I remembered and I catch new things, which make me see it differently. While anything can effect the way I’m experiencing the movie – my mood, my fatigue, my energy level – what its taught me, or helped me to see, is my ability to see things fresh not matter how familiar I think I am with them. It’s nice to know I can still be surprised. It’s nice to know I can be that open.
Highlights from the Week:
• Spiderman II: This was the first film I watched On-Demand. Kirsten Dunst makes me want to be Tobey Maguire just so I can kiss her. (If nothing else, movies should make you fall in love) Sam Raimi delivers the most fluid and weighted action scenes I’ve ever scene. They look and move like you’d imagine a comic book would but have enough heft to make them seem as if they’re happening in our world. It’s a tremendous achievement.
• Before Sunset: This is the sequel to ‘Before Sunrise’; both are directed by Richard Linklater. ‘Before Sunrise’ follows the story of two young travelers, an American man and a French woman, who meet cute on a train, get off that train, spend the night traipsing around Vienna, spout tremendous amounts of bullshit, fall in love, and, before they part, agree to meet in Vienna in six months time. ‘Before Sunset’ picks up ten years later (or is it nine?) in Paris where the young man (Ethan Hawke) is on the last leg of a book tour promoting a book about the night in Vienna. Both movies are literate and their respective cities play a HUGE role in the couple’s interactions. The woman (Julie Delpy) sings a waltz that never fails to break my heart and the way this movie’s subtle build always surprises me.
• Independence Day: Aliens invade the world, bent on annihilating the human race, and with some know-how and good old fashioned gumption, we humans (led by we Americans) infect the mothership with a computer virus and save the day, Forget the scene where the aliens destroy the White House: the highlight of this film for me has always been the scene where the Scientist (Jeff Goldblum) demonstrates the power of the virus by having a soldier shoot a Coke ® can off a long ago captured alien ship. The first time I saw it, I jumped in my seat. Also: if ever aliens try to take control of our big blue marble, Please enlist Will Smith to kick some alien ass. A subversive gem.
• Napolean Dynamite: Imagine waking up one day and realizing that everyone around you, who you previously took for granted, is your support group. And imagine yourself a part of their support group. And imagine everyone happier for it. This is just a great and funny movie.
Excuse me: Bella is arguing with the toilet brush. Gotta go.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Thank You For Smoking
A couple weeks ago I walked into the Times Square Toys R Us to buy a ‘Magic 8-Ball’ for the guy at the insurance company who saved my bacterial infected eyeballs from blindness. I wasn’t in there five minutes but who should I literally bump into but Geoffrey the Giraffe, Toys R Us’ mascot. He was at least seven-feet tall, with a stitched in smile and a red and white striped jacket like the ones worn by stereotypical barbershop quartets. He was surrounded by a cadre of screaming children and when I bumped into him he put his hands on my shoulders to make sure I didn’t lose my balance. Without thinking, I thanked him; in response, he waved. In response to his wave, I smiled like a little girl. And meant it. Did I mention I’ll be 36 years old in September? (Don’t worry: you have plenty of time to shop.)
So I’m saying I’m not the most difficult person to please, which is why it’s surprising to report that ‘Thank You for Smoking’ was a huge disappointment. This is a movie that has everything going for it: an exceptional trailer (more important than I care to admit: there should be an Oscar ® category for these things); an outrageous premise (being the adventures of a likable Tobacco lobbyists spinning his product while trying to act as a role model to his son); an exceptional and smartly utilized cast (Aaron Eckhart, William H. Macy, Maria Bello, David Koechner, Robert Duvall, Sam Elliot, Rob Lowe, Josh Brody and, one of my favorite character actors ever, J.K. Simmons) an intelligent script (written by Jason Reitman; based on the novel by Christopher Buckley); and a Production design that makes you wish the movie would never end even though the film should come with the warning label ‘Exposure to this film may make the viewer incredibly cranky’.
Why was I cranky? Because the film, smart as it may be, is condescending as hell. The film begins with a montage narrated by Nick Naylor, the Tobacco Lobbyist at the heart of the film, filled with quotes and images showing us who he is and what he’s all about. (“You know the guy who can pick up any girl?” He says. “I'm him on crack”; or “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charlie Manson kills people. I talk.”) Eckhart delivers these lines with an unbeatable combination of charm and smarm that is difficult to dismiss. The montage is great in the way it builds our expectation of who he is and what he does and I could not wait to see him in action.
The montage ends with the film’s first scene: Naylor is taking part as a panelist on a talk show. He is being called on to defend Big Tobacco against panelists from ‘Mother’s Against Teen Smoking’ and a rather timid fellow representing a Wisconsin Senator who is waging a campaign to place a skull and crossbones on packs of cigarettes. There is even a child named ‘Cancer Boy’ who is dying from lung cancer. The audience boos Nick Naylor and given our familiarity with corporate spin-doctors, we can see their point. But then Naylor politely raises his hand to speak. From the montage, I was expecting great things from Nick Naylor. He smiles his smarmy smile and acknowledges both the tragedy of Cancer Boy’s situation and the audience’s hostility toward Big Tobacco. “How on earth would Big Tobacco profit off of the loss of this young man?” He says, referring to Cancer Boy. “Isn’t it in Big Tobacco’s best interest to keep [him] alive and smoking?”
It’s a great line: It’s smart, offensive, audacious, somewhat true and a great opening salvo to a much larger conversation, which I hoped would slowly bring the talk show audience and to his side and illuminate the larger issues at hand. (i.e. what major problems ever get solved via talk show? How did we and why should we take debates on talk-shows seriously? What do we talk about when we talk about cigarettes?) Imagine my horror then when the audience completely capitulates with that one line and begins to applaud. I was shocked and extremely disappointed. The bubble had burst; the Naylor in this scene didn’t match up to the Naylor of the montage. What’s more, the film proceeded as if its point had been made – that this man could sell ice to the Eskimos – and it was difficult to take it seriously after that.
I tried; I really did: I forgave, tried to forget, rationalized, blamed my own ignorance and lack of knowledge, whispered jokes to Jeremy in an attempt to lighten up but nothing worked. The film had built itself on a faulty premise and no matter how hard it tried, the Nick Naylor it presented did not live up to the one they promised and the resulting film seemed too clever and self-satisfied.
Let’s take the quote “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charlie Manson kills people. I talk.” The quote seems to put Nick Naylor and his acumen on par with the legacy of those two people. But Michael Jordan did not merely played basketball. His skill and finesse combined with his business acumen globalized the sport, changed the way basketball was played and marketed and exposed the world to stylish and overpriced basketball shoes from which it will never recover. And Charles Manson did not merely kill people: he was a charismatic leader whose exploits exposed the seedy underbelly of the hippie movement and took its message of peace and love to a disturbing extreme. Nick Naylor does talk but his talk does nothing to seriously galvanize a movement or make people rethink the way they (or we) approach Big Tobacco, smokers, talk shows, Hollywood executives, mothers, fathers, children, families, integrity, dignity or respect that I couldn’t have learned from watching an episode of Entertainment Tonight ®. It seemed like a movie that reaffirmed everything we already knew about these things and was made to make us feel good about knowing. The movie promised complexity and gave us Joan Lunden. Bad filmmakers! Naughty filmmakers! Shame on you! Shame!
That said, a couple things need to be mentioned:
1) Aaron Eckhart’s performance in ‘Thank You for Smoking’ is a breakthrough from past roles. He plays Nick Naylor, the tobacco lobbyist at the center of the film, with a sense of humor and self-assurance of which I thought him totally incapable. (I love when this happens, by the way. I will now have to totally rethink his career, which means I’ll probably Net-Flix every single one of his films. Every film but ‘Possession’. Please don’t make me watch that film again. Please.) His Nick Naylor oozes charm and self-deprecation, an unbeatable combination that makes him impossibly charming yet totally approachable, He also has a great set of teeth (They are incredibly white and mostly straight, like the United States Senate and the cast of ‘One Tree Hill’). And his hair…can we talk about his hair? Blonde and floppy, exquisitely cut, with chocolaty brown highlights. It is the kind of hair you love to look at and dream of running your fingers through. Did I mention Naylor’s skin? Don’t even get me started on his skin…
2) Would somebody PLEASE solve the Katie Holmes problem? I swear on both my grandmothers’ graves that there is an actor in that Tom Cruise hostage. For proof of this, rent ‘Pieces of April’; or get a hold of the final episode of the first season of ‘Dawson’s Creek’; or the episode in season four or five where she is mugged at an ATM. If there are any producers or agents or directors reading this (and I know that’s a HUGE possibility), please stop thinking of her as a dude magnet. Her character’s sex scenes in ‘Thank You For Smoking’ were painful to watch. When this actress is given something to do she’s the rare actress or actor capable of emotional complexity. I swear. Just give her a chance. Please.
3) Rob Lowe is awesome in this movie. Simply awesome. Building upon his character work in ‘Wayne’s World’ and the ‘Austin Power’ films, (and by character work I mean Rob Lowe being Rob Lowe), his Asian-influenced, Hollywood exec is a thing of comic beauty: the scene of him wearing a Kimono and telling Naylor he only sleeps on Sundays is worth the price of admission.
So I’m saying I’m not the most difficult person to please, which is why it’s surprising to report that ‘Thank You for Smoking’ was a huge disappointment. This is a movie that has everything going for it: an exceptional trailer (more important than I care to admit: there should be an Oscar ® category for these things); an outrageous premise (being the adventures of a likable Tobacco lobbyists spinning his product while trying to act as a role model to his son); an exceptional and smartly utilized cast (Aaron Eckhart, William H. Macy, Maria Bello, David Koechner, Robert Duvall, Sam Elliot, Rob Lowe, Josh Brody and, one of my favorite character actors ever, J.K. Simmons) an intelligent script (written by Jason Reitman; based on the novel by Christopher Buckley); and a Production design that makes you wish the movie would never end even though the film should come with the warning label ‘Exposure to this film may make the viewer incredibly cranky’.
Why was I cranky? Because the film, smart as it may be, is condescending as hell. The film begins with a montage narrated by Nick Naylor, the Tobacco Lobbyist at the heart of the film, filled with quotes and images showing us who he is and what he’s all about. (“You know the guy who can pick up any girl?” He says. “I'm him on crack”; or “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charlie Manson kills people. I talk.”) Eckhart delivers these lines with an unbeatable combination of charm and smarm that is difficult to dismiss. The montage is great in the way it builds our expectation of who he is and what he does and I could not wait to see him in action.
The montage ends with the film’s first scene: Naylor is taking part as a panelist on a talk show. He is being called on to defend Big Tobacco against panelists from ‘Mother’s Against Teen Smoking’ and a rather timid fellow representing a Wisconsin Senator who is waging a campaign to place a skull and crossbones on packs of cigarettes. There is even a child named ‘Cancer Boy’ who is dying from lung cancer. The audience boos Nick Naylor and given our familiarity with corporate spin-doctors, we can see their point. But then Naylor politely raises his hand to speak. From the montage, I was expecting great things from Nick Naylor. He smiles his smarmy smile and acknowledges both the tragedy of Cancer Boy’s situation and the audience’s hostility toward Big Tobacco. “How on earth would Big Tobacco profit off of the loss of this young man?” He says, referring to Cancer Boy. “Isn’t it in Big Tobacco’s best interest to keep [him] alive and smoking?”
It’s a great line: It’s smart, offensive, audacious, somewhat true and a great opening salvo to a much larger conversation, which I hoped would slowly bring the talk show audience and to his side and illuminate the larger issues at hand. (i.e. what major problems ever get solved via talk show? How did we and why should we take debates on talk-shows seriously? What do we talk about when we talk about cigarettes?) Imagine my horror then when the audience completely capitulates with that one line and begins to applaud. I was shocked and extremely disappointed. The bubble had burst; the Naylor in this scene didn’t match up to the Naylor of the montage. What’s more, the film proceeded as if its point had been made – that this man could sell ice to the Eskimos – and it was difficult to take it seriously after that.
I tried; I really did: I forgave, tried to forget, rationalized, blamed my own ignorance and lack of knowledge, whispered jokes to Jeremy in an attempt to lighten up but nothing worked. The film had built itself on a faulty premise and no matter how hard it tried, the Nick Naylor it presented did not live up to the one they promised and the resulting film seemed too clever and self-satisfied.
Let’s take the quote “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charlie Manson kills people. I talk.” The quote seems to put Nick Naylor and his acumen on par with the legacy of those two people. But Michael Jordan did not merely played basketball. His skill and finesse combined with his business acumen globalized the sport, changed the way basketball was played and marketed and exposed the world to stylish and overpriced basketball shoes from which it will never recover. And Charles Manson did not merely kill people: he was a charismatic leader whose exploits exposed the seedy underbelly of the hippie movement and took its message of peace and love to a disturbing extreme. Nick Naylor does talk but his talk does nothing to seriously galvanize a movement or make people rethink the way they (or we) approach Big Tobacco, smokers, talk shows, Hollywood executives, mothers, fathers, children, families, integrity, dignity or respect that I couldn’t have learned from watching an episode of Entertainment Tonight ®. It seemed like a movie that reaffirmed everything we already knew about these things and was made to make us feel good about knowing. The movie promised complexity and gave us Joan Lunden. Bad filmmakers! Naughty filmmakers! Shame on you! Shame!
That said, a couple things need to be mentioned:
1) Aaron Eckhart’s performance in ‘Thank You for Smoking’ is a breakthrough from past roles. He plays Nick Naylor, the tobacco lobbyist at the center of the film, with a sense of humor and self-assurance of which I thought him totally incapable. (I love when this happens, by the way. I will now have to totally rethink his career, which means I’ll probably Net-Flix every single one of his films. Every film but ‘Possession’. Please don’t make me watch that film again. Please.) His Nick Naylor oozes charm and self-deprecation, an unbeatable combination that makes him impossibly charming yet totally approachable, He also has a great set of teeth (They are incredibly white and mostly straight, like the United States Senate and the cast of ‘One Tree Hill’). And his hair…can we talk about his hair? Blonde and floppy, exquisitely cut, with chocolaty brown highlights. It is the kind of hair you love to look at and dream of running your fingers through. Did I mention Naylor’s skin? Don’t even get me started on his skin…
2) Would somebody PLEASE solve the Katie Holmes problem? I swear on both my grandmothers’ graves that there is an actor in that Tom Cruise hostage. For proof of this, rent ‘Pieces of April’; or get a hold of the final episode of the first season of ‘Dawson’s Creek’; or the episode in season four or five where she is mugged at an ATM. If there are any producers or agents or directors reading this (and I know that’s a HUGE possibility), please stop thinking of her as a dude magnet. Her character’s sex scenes in ‘Thank You For Smoking’ were painful to watch. When this actress is given something to do she’s the rare actress or actor capable of emotional complexity. I swear. Just give her a chance. Please.
3) Rob Lowe is awesome in this movie. Simply awesome. Building upon his character work in ‘Wayne’s World’ and the ‘Austin Power’ films, (and by character work I mean Rob Lowe being Rob Lowe), his Asian-influenced, Hollywood exec is a thing of comic beauty: the scene of him wearing a Kimono and telling Naylor he only sleeps on Sundays is worth the price of admission.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Brokeback Mountain
The Gay Cowboy Movie
‘Brokeback Mountain’ begins on the plains of Wyoming. It is either dusk or dawn: difficult to say. The shot is wide and the plains go on forever. The hazy sunlight sees to that. There is a truck, a rig, driving along a road and it is heading east, or, at the very least, toward the right side of the screen. This is symbolic of nothing. I just thought I’d let you know.
The truck stops, the passenger door opens and out comes a man in blue jeans, and a beige cowboy hat. He carries a jacket bunched up in his hand. He closes the passenger door, puts on his jacket, looks back toward the rig and turns into a pillar of salt. Just kidding. But the look is something mean and he sidles up to a trailer and waits in front of the door and smokes a cigarette and I swear to god that man’s a hunk.
Then the camera picks up a sorry looking black pickup truck. The engine sputters and coughs, its wheels wobble and you wonder if it’s going to reach its destination. But it does, and where it arrives is the same trailer where the hunky cowboy waits. The driver gets out: he’s wearing blue jeans and a cowboy hat too. He walks to the bed of the truck, makes eye contact with the hunk, puts his hand on the bed of the truck, juts out his hip and flashes him a devilish grin that says ‘I can and will see you naked.’ Who is this man? He is a member of the Village People. I’m kidding again. I’m sorry. I can’t stop. I’ll explain why in a moment.
What these two people are waiting for is a job, and the job they soon have is tending sheep on Brokeback Mountain. The foreman, played by Randy Quaid -- reasserting a set of acting chops I’d figured had disappeared somewhere around the second ‘National Lampoon’s Vacation’ movie -- gives them this job: they will be shepherds on Brokback Mountain.
The first half hour of ‘Brokeback Mountain’ is almost entirely devoid of dialogue. It is chock full of images and detail and the movie is patient enough to let those things show you the world in which the story takes place. The Hunk, Ennis Del Ray (Heath Ledger) and the Village Person, Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhal, sporting a nice if obvious name) guide the sheep up the mountain with dogs and horses at their disposal but are not averse to using their hands to get a stray sheep out of the river and back to the pack. There is also a sequence in which Jack tames his horse. We don’t see all the hard work that goes into the breaking of this wild creature; but in image after image, the horse gradually becomes rideable. These are two people who belong on that thar mountain.
Once they reach their destination, they spend their days looking out over the mountainside, chopping wood, cooking, protecting their gear from the elements, and, in Jack’s case, drinking whiskey and playing the harmonica badly. The two men spend their days and nights apart except for dinnertime when they gather by the fire to eat, talk some, drink whiskey and, on one particularly cold night, fornicate. The force of this encounter came as a surprise even though I knew it would happen. Jack makes the first pass. Ennis resists the advances but Jack persists, and Ennis finally relents. He turns Jack around, tears off his pants, spits in his hand, lowers it towards Jacks bum and it was at this moment I wanted walk to the projection booth and ask the guy inside to start the movie over. The fault, dear readers, lay not in the movie but in myself.
Let me explain: It took close to a month to get anyone to see ‘Brokeback Mountain’ with me. Most of my friends had already seen the film and the ones who hadn’t – mostly men – didn’t seem all that interested. When I asked why, answers ranged from ‘Because’ to (my favorite) ‘Because I can just imagine myself telling people I went to see Brokeback Mountain with this "very good friend" who lives upstairs from me who comes down to "visit" every night where we "talk" and sometimes we sit in my room and play "video games."’ One of the most direct answers not involving a joke was ‘It’s a love story. I don’t like love stories.’
And by the time I started asking around, the film had already passed into the popular vernacular. Even those who hadn’t seen the film knew what the phrase ‘Don’t go all Brokeback on me’ meant. Even before its release, it had earned the moniker ‘The Gay Cowboy Movie’. So I came to the movie thinking I already knew what it was going to be. I thought I was above it. This was, and is always, a profound error. Jack is not a member of the Village People; Ennis is not merely a Hunk. And their sex scene brought this into profound relief.
There was no sound for one thing. No swelling music. And at first it is not consensual. Ennis is surprised to the point I thought he would become violent. And when it happens, it happens so quickly that they don’t even look like they’re enjoying it. Ennis tears into the act as if he’s on the run and has to do it before he gets caught.. There aren’t soft kisses, warm caresses, witty banter or charming naiveté. It is violent, it is immediate, it is raw and it is earnest.
It’s this last quality, earnestness, which threw me for a loop. I had almost forgotten what an earnest movie looked liked. I had a hard time recognizing it so I spent the rest of the movie analyzing ‘Brokeback Mountain’ according to my knowing attitude. But I knew I was missing something. I wanted the movie to stop so I could adjust and put this movie into a better perspective. But it wasn’t stopping (what does?) and it took some effort to catch up to it. It was exhausting. I’m not at all sure how I did.
I couldn’t see what brought them to that first sex scene and I could never figure out what kept them together. (Their attraction and chemistry are neither palpable nor electric.) And I never felt the risk in their loving one another. Not from their spouses or a homophobic society. But it was the lack of these things that gave the film some of its power. In most films we witness a couple falling in love and then watch as that love is tested. We root for the couple because we know how they were together and root for them to be that way again. ‘Brokeback Mountain’ puts two men tohether in an impossible position from the getgo and explores the effect it has on them. It explores the ways in which this separation and longing to be together eats away at their identities and their relationships. It also explores pain and longing and regret and desire. Big themes. Heady stuff.
So my friend was right: it is a love story. But to steal from J.D. Salinger: It is a love story, pure and complicated.
‘Brokeback Mountain’ was just released on DVD. I’d like to give it another go.
‘Brokeback Mountain’ begins on the plains of Wyoming. It is either dusk or dawn: difficult to say. The shot is wide and the plains go on forever. The hazy sunlight sees to that. There is a truck, a rig, driving along a road and it is heading east, or, at the very least, toward the right side of the screen. This is symbolic of nothing. I just thought I’d let you know.
The truck stops, the passenger door opens and out comes a man in blue jeans, and a beige cowboy hat. He carries a jacket bunched up in his hand. He closes the passenger door, puts on his jacket, looks back toward the rig and turns into a pillar of salt. Just kidding. But the look is something mean and he sidles up to a trailer and waits in front of the door and smokes a cigarette and I swear to god that man’s a hunk.
Then the camera picks up a sorry looking black pickup truck. The engine sputters and coughs, its wheels wobble and you wonder if it’s going to reach its destination. But it does, and where it arrives is the same trailer where the hunky cowboy waits. The driver gets out: he’s wearing blue jeans and a cowboy hat too. He walks to the bed of the truck, makes eye contact with the hunk, puts his hand on the bed of the truck, juts out his hip and flashes him a devilish grin that says ‘I can and will see you naked.’ Who is this man? He is a member of the Village People. I’m kidding again. I’m sorry. I can’t stop. I’ll explain why in a moment.
What these two people are waiting for is a job, and the job they soon have is tending sheep on Brokeback Mountain. The foreman, played by Randy Quaid -- reasserting a set of acting chops I’d figured had disappeared somewhere around the second ‘National Lampoon’s Vacation’ movie -- gives them this job: they will be shepherds on Brokback Mountain.
The first half hour of ‘Brokeback Mountain’ is almost entirely devoid of dialogue. It is chock full of images and detail and the movie is patient enough to let those things show you the world in which the story takes place. The Hunk, Ennis Del Ray (Heath Ledger) and the Village Person, Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhal, sporting a nice if obvious name) guide the sheep up the mountain with dogs and horses at their disposal but are not averse to using their hands to get a stray sheep out of the river and back to the pack. There is also a sequence in which Jack tames his horse. We don’t see all the hard work that goes into the breaking of this wild creature; but in image after image, the horse gradually becomes rideable. These are two people who belong on that thar mountain.
Once they reach their destination, they spend their days looking out over the mountainside, chopping wood, cooking, protecting their gear from the elements, and, in Jack’s case, drinking whiskey and playing the harmonica badly. The two men spend their days and nights apart except for dinnertime when they gather by the fire to eat, talk some, drink whiskey and, on one particularly cold night, fornicate. The force of this encounter came as a surprise even though I knew it would happen. Jack makes the first pass. Ennis resists the advances but Jack persists, and Ennis finally relents. He turns Jack around, tears off his pants, spits in his hand, lowers it towards Jacks bum and it was at this moment I wanted walk to the projection booth and ask the guy inside to start the movie over. The fault, dear readers, lay not in the movie but in myself.
Let me explain: It took close to a month to get anyone to see ‘Brokeback Mountain’ with me. Most of my friends had already seen the film and the ones who hadn’t – mostly men – didn’t seem all that interested. When I asked why, answers ranged from ‘Because’ to (my favorite) ‘Because I can just imagine myself telling people I went to see Brokeback Mountain with this "very good friend" who lives upstairs from me who comes down to "visit" every night where we "talk" and sometimes we sit in my room and play "video games."’ One of the most direct answers not involving a joke was ‘It’s a love story. I don’t like love stories.’
And by the time I started asking around, the film had already passed into the popular vernacular. Even those who hadn’t seen the film knew what the phrase ‘Don’t go all Brokeback on me’ meant. Even before its release, it had earned the moniker ‘The Gay Cowboy Movie’. So I came to the movie thinking I already knew what it was going to be. I thought I was above it. This was, and is always, a profound error. Jack is not a member of the Village People; Ennis is not merely a Hunk. And their sex scene brought this into profound relief.
There was no sound for one thing. No swelling music. And at first it is not consensual. Ennis is surprised to the point I thought he would become violent. And when it happens, it happens so quickly that they don’t even look like they’re enjoying it. Ennis tears into the act as if he’s on the run and has to do it before he gets caught.. There aren’t soft kisses, warm caresses, witty banter or charming naiveté. It is violent, it is immediate, it is raw and it is earnest.
It’s this last quality, earnestness, which threw me for a loop. I had almost forgotten what an earnest movie looked liked. I had a hard time recognizing it so I spent the rest of the movie analyzing ‘Brokeback Mountain’ according to my knowing attitude. But I knew I was missing something. I wanted the movie to stop so I could adjust and put this movie into a better perspective. But it wasn’t stopping (what does?) and it took some effort to catch up to it. It was exhausting. I’m not at all sure how I did.
I couldn’t see what brought them to that first sex scene and I could never figure out what kept them together. (Their attraction and chemistry are neither palpable nor electric.) And I never felt the risk in their loving one another. Not from their spouses or a homophobic society. But it was the lack of these things that gave the film some of its power. In most films we witness a couple falling in love and then watch as that love is tested. We root for the couple because we know how they were together and root for them to be that way again. ‘Brokeback Mountain’ puts two men tohether in an impossible position from the getgo and explores the effect it has on them. It explores the ways in which this separation and longing to be together eats away at their identities and their relationships. It also explores pain and longing and regret and desire. Big themes. Heady stuff.
So my friend was right: it is a love story. But to steal from J.D. Salinger: It is a love story, pure and complicated.
‘Brokeback Mountain’ was just released on DVD. I’d like to give it another go.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Dave Chappelle's Block Party
Prologue: Last Thursday I met up with Jeremy at BAM Rose Cinemas for the 9:30 p.m. showing of Dave Chappelle’s Block Party. BAM is one of the best places in the 5 boroughs to see movies. The screens are large, the seating comfortable, and the popcorn special is, well, special. For $10 you get a huge tub of popcorn and two 24-ounce drinks. The popcorn’s usually drenched with butter but colons be damned, the stuff is addictive and delicious. One of the saddest days of my life will be when my doctor tells me to lay off the stuff.
A question: “If you could have a dinner party with five people living or dead, who would they be?” I can’t remember the first time I heard it but it’s a fun question (Midwestern alert! Midwestern alert!): get the five people/historical figures you’ve always wanted to meet, bring them together and let mayhem ensue. It’s a question probably confined to dinner parties among strangers or internet dating sites but it’s an idea whose reality I’ve always thought about: would Einstein really have all that much to say to Hitler? Would Malcolm X refuse to pass Socrates the salt?
The premise of Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is an interesting variation on this question: What if I held a block party in Bed-Sty, invited my favorite singers and musicians to play it, invited a bunch of people I like from my hometown, chartered buses for all those people to attend, and had director Michael Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind as well as countless uber-imaginative music videos) follow it all with a camera? The result is a hilarious and energetic film, which gives us an idea of what the hypothetical question would look like.
After a quiet and curious opening sequence in which Chappelle tries to help two men fix their car’s engine (the two men don’t seem to have any idea who he is; one man even waves him off), the film follows the comedian as he hands out invitations to people in his Ohio hometown, friends and strangers alike. These scenes are endearing not only for the jokes but for the effect the invites have on the invited. There is an interview with two young, black men who after they are given tickets, decide to go golfing and are met on the course with some extremely racist remarks. Instead of striking back at the perpetrator, they decide to remain calm and let it go lest they miss their opportunity to attend the Party. And in one “Holy-Crap, No Way This Is Happening” moment, Mr. Chappelle offers to charter two buses for an entire university marching band to perform at the block party. The moment the band’s conductor announces the band will be allowed to go was worth the price of admission. Standing amid the jumping and screaming band members, the film’s star looks a little surprised and overwhelmed by the havoc he’s created.
The second part of the film details the concert itself whose performers include Kanye West, Jill Scott, Dead Prez, Erykah Badu, Big Daddy Kane, The Roots, Bilal, Common, The Fugess (whose reunion is treated with a reverence reserved for a Beatles reunion) and Mos Def, or as I like to call him, God. Since I as white as wonderbread with mayo, I have run these names by people in the know: it’s a mighty powerful line-up.
The party itself was not at all what I expected. For reasons unknown to me at this time, I have been trying to find a comparison between this and other concert films and have come up empty. It shares a quirky sensibility with Stop Making Sense (My favorite concert film of all time) but lacks that film’s rhythm, momentum and theatricality; It also has a similar sense of curiosity with it’s subjects as U2’s Rattle and Hum but does veers far away from its stylization (it was made by a music video director) and (thankfully) its pretension (I like U2, and ‘With or Without You’ is a fine song, but after spending two hours listening to them explain and expand upon their artistic vision, I felt like the main character in A Clockwork Orange). The closest I could come was Wattstax, a documentary concert film about a concert at the Los Angeles Coliseum held on the seventh anniversary of the Watts riots. That film also flip-floped (sorry Senator Kerry) between concert footage and interviews with actors, comedians, musicians and citizens which dealt with racial and social relations of and within the African-American communities. (with especially deft observations from none other than my beloved Richard Pryor and a foul-mouthed, mutton chopped Teddy Wilson, known for playing Isaac the Bartender on The Love Boat).
But the political commentary in Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is more subtle because it’s an effect of the event, rather than a reaction to a far more serious one (i.e. the Watts riot). That Gondry includes this leads me to believe he’s more interested in the event and what it means to those involved. In one scene, Wyclef Jean of The Fugees sits at a piano, speaking to the members of the marching band and asking them questions about what music means to them and what they’d like to do with their lives. The marching band was rapt and appreciative. It was easy to see how much it meant to them to be speaking this way to someone they admired and would otherwise have little chance to speak with.
Gondry also seems keen to show the work involved in putting the party together. In one sequence, he gives us footage of Erykah Badu sporting a GINORMOUS afro performing a song called Back in the Day; he then cuts to her rehearsing the same song in the studio; then cuts back to her performance when a gust of wind blows the afro off (it was a wig), and then cuts to poet/performer Jill Scott watching Ms. Badu’s performance in a makeshift green room telling us how much she likes, but how different she is from, Erykah Badu then cuts back to Badu singing and leaping into the audience. The cuts kept me on my toes and the overall effect was mesmerizing. I’d only heard of Erykah Badu before after watching this sequence, I am fully prepared to have her babies. (Aaah: the magic of movies.)
The constant cutting from the party to the interviews wreaks a bit of havoc with the rhythm of the concert but since this block party is more than just a block party, I went with it and made a note to myself to buy the sound track. And since Dave Chappelle is involved, it is very funny. Chappelle is a tall, skinny guy who drags his feet as he walks. He holds himself like an athlete and seems to approach comedy that way: he lopes around the edges of the action waiting for an opportunity then springs to life when the moment arrives. The jokes are not always funny but he’s seasoned enough to make weak jokes work through sheer force of personality, inflection and timing. There are several examples of this throughout the movie but one of my favorites occurs when it begins to rain on the party. Since this is his concert, he rallies the troops and entertains the crowd. The film cuts to Chappelle underneath an umbrella, beating on a set of bongos:
(beats on the bongos) 5,000 black people chillin' in the rain.
(beats on the bongos a little more and a little longer) 19 white people peppered in the crowd.
(Beats on the bongos again then stops completely. Pause.) Time to find a Mexican
(Beats the bongos like crazy as the crowd laughs and screams)
His presence is relatively quiet. He’s more content to sit back and let things happen. He’s involved but distant; taking stock of everything going on around him. I didn’t know before seeing the film but roughly eight months after shooting it, Dave Chappelle walked off the set of Chappelle’s Show and booked a flight to South Africa, essentially giving up $50 million dollars in the process. I remember hearing this and wondering:
1) Who cares? It’s nobody’s business. It may be Comedy Central’s business but since I don’t have cable or work for them I felt I could easily relinquish my right to know and proceed to the sports page to see how the Detroit Pistons were doing, (They won. Whoo-Hoo!)
2) Wait-What would make someone walk away from $50 million dollars?
In interviews he’s done since returning from South Africa, Chappelle speaks candidly about why he did it. He talks about the pressure and the fish bowl existence and about all the people he suddenly has to answer to. Here’s what he told Simon Robinson in Time Magazine: "everyone around me says, 'You're a genius!'; 'You're great!'; 'That's your voice!' But I'm not sure that they're right." And then he says: "I want to make sure I'm dancing and not shuffling." He also wonders, like any sane person would, if he made the right decision, But it takes a crazy courage to walk away from that much success to make sure you’re ‘not shuffling.’ He says at the beginning of the film: “This is the concert I always wanted to see.” There is no shuffling in this film. I wonder if the experience of making it got him to thinking?
Epilogue: The moment the film ended, I turned to Jeremy and said ‘That was awesome!” to which he replied “That was one of the best things I’ve even seen”. We threw away our half eaten bucket of popcorn, went to the bathroom (a necessity, given the 24 oz. drinks) and left the theatre. Ten feet from the theatre I felt so good about what we had just seen that I screamed ‘Oh my G-d that was good’ and we both whooped and hollered into the sky. In the morning I woke up thinking about it. I emailed Jeremy and he said he was thinking about it. I’m listening to the soundtrack as I type this and I’ve been thinking about it all week. How often does this happen? Go see this movie.
A question: “If you could have a dinner party with five people living or dead, who would they be?” I can’t remember the first time I heard it but it’s a fun question (Midwestern alert! Midwestern alert!): get the five people/historical figures you’ve always wanted to meet, bring them together and let mayhem ensue. It’s a question probably confined to dinner parties among strangers or internet dating sites but it’s an idea whose reality I’ve always thought about: would Einstein really have all that much to say to Hitler? Would Malcolm X refuse to pass Socrates the salt?
The premise of Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is an interesting variation on this question: What if I held a block party in Bed-Sty, invited my favorite singers and musicians to play it, invited a bunch of people I like from my hometown, chartered buses for all those people to attend, and had director Michael Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind as well as countless uber-imaginative music videos) follow it all with a camera? The result is a hilarious and energetic film, which gives us an idea of what the hypothetical question would look like.
After a quiet and curious opening sequence in which Chappelle tries to help two men fix their car’s engine (the two men don’t seem to have any idea who he is; one man even waves him off), the film follows the comedian as he hands out invitations to people in his Ohio hometown, friends and strangers alike. These scenes are endearing not only for the jokes but for the effect the invites have on the invited. There is an interview with two young, black men who after they are given tickets, decide to go golfing and are met on the course with some extremely racist remarks. Instead of striking back at the perpetrator, they decide to remain calm and let it go lest they miss their opportunity to attend the Party. And in one “Holy-Crap, No Way This Is Happening” moment, Mr. Chappelle offers to charter two buses for an entire university marching band to perform at the block party. The moment the band’s conductor announces the band will be allowed to go was worth the price of admission. Standing amid the jumping and screaming band members, the film’s star looks a little surprised and overwhelmed by the havoc he’s created.
The second part of the film details the concert itself whose performers include Kanye West, Jill Scott, Dead Prez, Erykah Badu, Big Daddy Kane, The Roots, Bilal, Common, The Fugess (whose reunion is treated with a reverence reserved for a Beatles reunion) and Mos Def, or as I like to call him, God. Since I as white as wonderbread with mayo, I have run these names by people in the know: it’s a mighty powerful line-up.
The party itself was not at all what I expected. For reasons unknown to me at this time, I have been trying to find a comparison between this and other concert films and have come up empty. It shares a quirky sensibility with Stop Making Sense (My favorite concert film of all time) but lacks that film’s rhythm, momentum and theatricality; It also has a similar sense of curiosity with it’s subjects as U2’s Rattle and Hum but does veers far away from its stylization (it was made by a music video director) and (thankfully) its pretension (I like U2, and ‘With or Without You’ is a fine song, but after spending two hours listening to them explain and expand upon their artistic vision, I felt like the main character in A Clockwork Orange). The closest I could come was Wattstax, a documentary concert film about a concert at the Los Angeles Coliseum held on the seventh anniversary of the Watts riots. That film also flip-floped (sorry Senator Kerry) between concert footage and interviews with actors, comedians, musicians and citizens which dealt with racial and social relations of and within the African-American communities. (with especially deft observations from none other than my beloved Richard Pryor and a foul-mouthed, mutton chopped Teddy Wilson, known for playing Isaac the Bartender on The Love Boat).
But the political commentary in Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is more subtle because it’s an effect of the event, rather than a reaction to a far more serious one (i.e. the Watts riot). That Gondry includes this leads me to believe he’s more interested in the event and what it means to those involved. In one scene, Wyclef Jean of The Fugees sits at a piano, speaking to the members of the marching band and asking them questions about what music means to them and what they’d like to do with their lives. The marching band was rapt and appreciative. It was easy to see how much it meant to them to be speaking this way to someone they admired and would otherwise have little chance to speak with.
Gondry also seems keen to show the work involved in putting the party together. In one sequence, he gives us footage of Erykah Badu sporting a GINORMOUS afro performing a song called Back in the Day; he then cuts to her rehearsing the same song in the studio; then cuts back to her performance when a gust of wind blows the afro off (it was a wig), and then cuts to poet/performer Jill Scott watching Ms. Badu’s performance in a makeshift green room telling us how much she likes, but how different she is from, Erykah Badu then cuts back to Badu singing and leaping into the audience. The cuts kept me on my toes and the overall effect was mesmerizing. I’d only heard of Erykah Badu before after watching this sequence, I am fully prepared to have her babies. (Aaah: the magic of movies.)
The constant cutting from the party to the interviews wreaks a bit of havoc with the rhythm of the concert but since this block party is more than just a block party, I went with it and made a note to myself to buy the sound track. And since Dave Chappelle is involved, it is very funny. Chappelle is a tall, skinny guy who drags his feet as he walks. He holds himself like an athlete and seems to approach comedy that way: he lopes around the edges of the action waiting for an opportunity then springs to life when the moment arrives. The jokes are not always funny but he’s seasoned enough to make weak jokes work through sheer force of personality, inflection and timing. There are several examples of this throughout the movie but one of my favorites occurs when it begins to rain on the party. Since this is his concert, he rallies the troops and entertains the crowd. The film cuts to Chappelle underneath an umbrella, beating on a set of bongos:
(beats on the bongos) 5,000 black people chillin' in the rain.
(beats on the bongos a little more and a little longer) 19 white people peppered in the crowd.
(Beats on the bongos again then stops completely. Pause.) Time to find a Mexican
(Beats the bongos like crazy as the crowd laughs and screams)
His presence is relatively quiet. He’s more content to sit back and let things happen. He’s involved but distant; taking stock of everything going on around him. I didn’t know before seeing the film but roughly eight months after shooting it, Dave Chappelle walked off the set of Chappelle’s Show and booked a flight to South Africa, essentially giving up $50 million dollars in the process. I remember hearing this and wondering:
1) Who cares? It’s nobody’s business. It may be Comedy Central’s business but since I don’t have cable or work for them I felt I could easily relinquish my right to know and proceed to the sports page to see how the Detroit Pistons were doing, (They won. Whoo-Hoo!)
2) Wait-What would make someone walk away from $50 million dollars?
In interviews he’s done since returning from South Africa, Chappelle speaks candidly about why he did it. He talks about the pressure and the fish bowl existence and about all the people he suddenly has to answer to. Here’s what he told Simon Robinson in Time Magazine: "everyone around me says, 'You're a genius!'; 'You're great!'; 'That's your voice!' But I'm not sure that they're right." And then he says: "I want to make sure I'm dancing and not shuffling." He also wonders, like any sane person would, if he made the right decision, But it takes a crazy courage to walk away from that much success to make sure you’re ‘not shuffling.’ He says at the beginning of the film: “This is the concert I always wanted to see.” There is no shuffling in this film. I wonder if the experience of making it got him to thinking?
Epilogue: The moment the film ended, I turned to Jeremy and said ‘That was awesome!” to which he replied “That was one of the best things I’ve even seen”. We threw away our half eaten bucket of popcorn, went to the bathroom (a necessity, given the 24 oz. drinks) and left the theatre. Ten feet from the theatre I felt so good about what we had just seen that I screamed ‘Oh my G-d that was good’ and we both whooped and hollered into the sky. In the morning I woke up thinking about it. I emailed Jeremy and he said he was thinking about it. I’m listening to the soundtrack as I type this and I’ve been thinking about it all week. How often does this happen? Go see this movie.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Why Movies?
I don’t remember the first movie my parents ever took me to. I discussed this with them recently and they don’t remember either. It might have been ‘Star Wars’ or ‘The Wiz’, where the boy sitting behind me stuck gum in my hair just as Diana Ross woke up from her dream of Oz. (My mother took me to a nearby shopping mall after the movie where a sales clerk from Sears gave me an impromptu haircut and a gob-stopper while my mother received sympathy and the relief of knowing, for at least one month, she was spared the experience of taking me to the barbershop and watching me cry and scream for twenty minutes before the guy cutting my hair flat-out gave up on niceties and tied me to the chair. Priceless.)
But the first time it meant anything happened one afternoon in the summer of 1979 (this would make me all of eight years old) when my father kidnapped my older brother (Jeff) and I and took us to an afternoon showing of ‘Richard Pryor: Live in Concert’. Why my father took our eight and ten-year old selves to see a Richard Pryor concert film will forever elude me but the experience was explosive. The theatre was packed, we had our popcorn, Twizzlers ® (in honor of Mom; she loves licorice), and Coke ® and absolutely no idea who this Richard Pryor person was. Waiting for the movie to start, I noticed the absence of children in the theatre as well as the ethnic and racial diversity of the audience, a rarity of the suburb in which I grew up. The lights went down, the curtain parted (there were still curtains then), everyone went quiet and after a voiceover-ed introduction, Richard Pryor walked out. He seemed a funny looking fellow wearing a shiny red shirt and black pants with a skinny body constantly in motion even in stillness (a perfect comedian’s body). He said hello, made a couple of jokes and then, in response to a female heckler, he said “Why don’t you show me your Pussy!” It was then everything went silent.
Language expansion was something of an obsession back then, with profanity of particular interest but I knew from experience that this particular word carried serious eardrum-shattering, privilege-revoking, wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap consequences. In the split second it took me to look over at my father, my mind was flooded with images of him scooping my brother and I out of our seats and into another theatre to see the latest ‘Herbie’ movie (worse things could happen) lest we all get in trouble with my mother. When I saw him though, he was laughing. And when I saw that, I took a deep breath. And when I took that deep breath, it was as if someone had turned the soundtrack up and that soundtrack was full of laughter. I relaxed into this Richard Pryor person as he spun tales of “Macho” men, winos, girlfriends, parents, heart attacks, shooting his car with a .357 magnum (an object of fascination in those days due to a friend of mine name Chris K. who claimed he had seen one), the nastiness of Doberman pinschers and a rather surreal tale about a horny monkey and its owner’s ear. Sure he swore and used language considered offensive and I didn’t understand half of what I was hearing but not understanding didn’t bother me at all. Everyone was laughing and having such a good time that understanding seemed unimportant.
On the way home my brother and I reenacted certain moments, profanity included, while my father laughed and laughed. Up to that point we had been reared on Bill Cosby and while he was funny, he was nothing like this. Here was a world in which children and adults swore and did not get into trouble; where people pursued sex to an almost humiliating degree but pursued it anyway because the rewards seemed to outweigh the consequences; a world in which adults were not perfect and, more importantly, seemed to be as imperfect and oblivious as children. Bill Cosby was a controlled voice speaking of messy things; Richard Pryor was total anarchy. Here was an adult talking about adult things who felt exactly like I did. As an overly sensitive suburban kid with a stutter and serious confidence problems who found life perpetually and painfully confusing, this was powerful stuff.
Did I realize any of this at the time? Not at all. But in the experience of seeing that movie and driving home and swearing with my brother in front of my father, something happened: There was bonding and freedom but there was also something else: there was a feeling of a world out there full of people I might never meet and experiences I might never have but wanted to know about; there were people who could make me laugh until my stomach hurt and I wanted to meet them; there were words that I would someday be able to say without repercussions (and which would also get me into more serious and complicated kinds of trouble); and most importantly, there all these incredible stories to hear and more than anything else I wanted to hear them. Life as I knew it opened up. It seemed bigger and possible and for the first time I was excited.
Movies always make me feel that way. Always.
Even the bad ones.
Post Script: When I recently asked him why he took us to see the movie, my father didn’t remember and was in fact surprised he’d done it. “I did that?” he said. “I’m a terrible father!” (He was fine)
Post-Post Script: The story about the barbershop is true. Adults – every single one of them - terrified me as a kid and the one my mother took me to every month who carried big scissors gave me nightmares. The only thing that kept me still when tied to the chair was the fear that if I moved, he would grab me by the scruff of my dirty, ice-creamed stained t-shirt and plunge those scissors straight into my brain. The manifestation of this fear must have been a horrible thing for my mother to watch. Sorry Mom.
But the first time it meant anything happened one afternoon in the summer of 1979 (this would make me all of eight years old) when my father kidnapped my older brother (Jeff) and I and took us to an afternoon showing of ‘Richard Pryor: Live in Concert’. Why my father took our eight and ten-year old selves to see a Richard Pryor concert film will forever elude me but the experience was explosive. The theatre was packed, we had our popcorn, Twizzlers ® (in honor of Mom; she loves licorice), and Coke ® and absolutely no idea who this Richard Pryor person was. Waiting for the movie to start, I noticed the absence of children in the theatre as well as the ethnic and racial diversity of the audience, a rarity of the suburb in which I grew up. The lights went down, the curtain parted (there were still curtains then), everyone went quiet and after a voiceover-ed introduction, Richard Pryor walked out. He seemed a funny looking fellow wearing a shiny red shirt and black pants with a skinny body constantly in motion even in stillness (a perfect comedian’s body). He said hello, made a couple of jokes and then, in response to a female heckler, he said “Why don’t you show me your Pussy!” It was then everything went silent.
Language expansion was something of an obsession back then, with profanity of particular interest but I knew from experience that this particular word carried serious eardrum-shattering, privilege-revoking, wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap consequences. In the split second it took me to look over at my father, my mind was flooded with images of him scooping my brother and I out of our seats and into another theatre to see the latest ‘Herbie’ movie (worse things could happen) lest we all get in trouble with my mother. When I saw him though, he was laughing. And when I saw that, I took a deep breath. And when I took that deep breath, it was as if someone had turned the soundtrack up and that soundtrack was full of laughter. I relaxed into this Richard Pryor person as he spun tales of “Macho” men, winos, girlfriends, parents, heart attacks, shooting his car with a .357 magnum (an object of fascination in those days due to a friend of mine name Chris K. who claimed he had seen one), the nastiness of Doberman pinschers and a rather surreal tale about a horny monkey and its owner’s ear. Sure he swore and used language considered offensive and I didn’t understand half of what I was hearing but not understanding didn’t bother me at all. Everyone was laughing and having such a good time that understanding seemed unimportant.
On the way home my brother and I reenacted certain moments, profanity included, while my father laughed and laughed. Up to that point we had been reared on Bill Cosby and while he was funny, he was nothing like this. Here was a world in which children and adults swore and did not get into trouble; where people pursued sex to an almost humiliating degree but pursued it anyway because the rewards seemed to outweigh the consequences; a world in which adults were not perfect and, more importantly, seemed to be as imperfect and oblivious as children. Bill Cosby was a controlled voice speaking of messy things; Richard Pryor was total anarchy. Here was an adult talking about adult things who felt exactly like I did. As an overly sensitive suburban kid with a stutter and serious confidence problems who found life perpetually and painfully confusing, this was powerful stuff.
Did I realize any of this at the time? Not at all. But in the experience of seeing that movie and driving home and swearing with my brother in front of my father, something happened: There was bonding and freedom but there was also something else: there was a feeling of a world out there full of people I might never meet and experiences I might never have but wanted to know about; there were people who could make me laugh until my stomach hurt and I wanted to meet them; there were words that I would someday be able to say without repercussions (and which would also get me into more serious and complicated kinds of trouble); and most importantly, there all these incredible stories to hear and more than anything else I wanted to hear them. Life as I knew it opened up. It seemed bigger and possible and for the first time I was excited.
Movies always make me feel that way. Always.
Even the bad ones.
Post Script: When I recently asked him why he took us to see the movie, my father didn’t remember and was in fact surprised he’d done it. “I did that?” he said. “I’m a terrible father!” (He was fine)
Post-Post Script: The story about the barbershop is true. Adults – every single one of them - terrified me as a kid and the one my mother took me to every month who carried big scissors gave me nightmares. The only thing that kept me still when tied to the chair was the fear that if I moved, he would grab me by the scruff of my dirty, ice-creamed stained t-shirt and plunge those scissors straight into my brain. The manifestation of this fear must have been a horrible thing for my mother to watch. Sorry Mom.
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