Monday, February 23, 2009

I Give Up...Until Next February Anyway.

So anyway, every year about this time I spend one quiet Sunday evening in February going completely insane for a few hours. I'm, of course, talking about Oscar night. Tonight was no different - for one, since I've taken up Vampirism & Commerce for the last few years I don't actually get to see the ceremony. Secondly, and as a direct result of the the first point, I end up screaming at my computer monitor at work. I'll just say it's usually more than twice, but less than would cause concern for my mental well being. And again I say, tonight was no exception.

Every year after the event, I swear it off. There's always at least one winner that gets the blood boiling. Who knows...maybe I'll mean it this year. To begin with, I've been pretty miffed ever since the nominees were announced. I'm not going to be so bold as to suggest that my opinion on the matter should be the end all/be all definitive say on who should have been nominated. But I do think it's safe to say that I, as well as most of you, along with a virtual army of thousands of film fans around the country can agree that they fucked several of the categories this year. Regardless of our thoughts on the matter, in the end I think it's safe to say that had Wall-E and The Dark Knight received their respective Best Picture nominations (as they should have), they still couldn't have overcome the wave of Curry Fever that has swept Hollywood in the last few weeks.

I should be fair in noting that I haven't actually seen Slumdog yet. I thought about it - then I went to Blockbuster one day and saw I only had to wait for a couple more weeks for the DVD, so I said fuck it - I can wait. I still can't help but think though that no matter the accolades it's received, I'm still not going to be blown away by it the way I was with the little robot and The Joker, and Some Guy in a Batsuit. Still, it was nice to see Heath get the award - honestly, could anyone on the entire fucking planet not see that happening - if any of the other nominees had actually won, about the only thing they could have done to avoid a riot would have been to go onstage and hand it over to Ledger's family in concession. In retrospect, I think it was really a Best Leading Actor role (let's be honest, he was in the movie almost as much as Bale). I'll have to YouTube his family's acceptance speech later at home.

Then there's the music categories. All I can say is, "My give up, MY GIVE UP!!!". Well...at least it wasn't fucking Gustavo Santa-wa-wa. I can't figure out why Academy voters just don't seem to think American composers can fucking write good music anymore - but that seems to be the case more often than not lately. If I'd been Tom Newman, as soon as I lost the second one I would have stood up from my seat, given the whole theater a double-finger with a big fat raspberry, and walk the fuck out! I have nothing against Rahman - actually I've never heard anything he's composed. But nothing, and I mean abso-fuckin'-lutely nothing will ever convince me that anything he did for Slumdog was even remotely as good as Newman's Wall-E.

I can't help but think that Dave Fincher's feeling about the same as Tom Newman right about now - or at least how I'd like to imagine Tom Newman should be feeling (see above). His best chance ever at acceptance (or should that be fortune & glory) in Hollywood just got pissed all over by the little non-Bollywood indie-darling that could. And he really fucking deserved it for Ben Button - especially since the Academy members didn't have enough sense (or were just too damned chickenshit) to nominate the cartoon and the superhero movie for the big show. The same thing happened a few years ago - when the best picture of the year really was a cartoon/superhero movie - you might remember it, it was called The Incredibles.

Anyway, fuck the Oscars, at least for another year. All this year's awards did was serve to further solidify just how out of touch the Academy members are with their audience. But that's okay I guess - after all, do they really give a shit?! Most of them can afford not to. It's just that yearly excuse to parade themselves out looking extra-smashing and pat each other on the asses for their collective awesomeness. At any rate...see you next year!

Friday, February 13, 2009

Pathos

So anyway, I got the following in an email today, and I just wanted to share with anyone who might stumble by my little blogsphere here. It probably won't be particularly interesting to anyone except me...just know that I've been working in the same place for going on seven years - and this would be uproariously funny if it weren't so pathetically dead-on:


You Know You Work for a Bank When

  • You sit at the same desk for 4 years but work for 3 different departments.
  • You work for the same department for 4 years but sit at more than 10 desks.
  • You’ve been the same job for 4 years but have had 10 different supervisors.
  • You order your business cards in “half orders” instead of whole boxes.
  • When someone asks about what you do for a living, you cannot explain it in one sentence.
  • You get really excited about a 2% pay raise.
  • You use acronyms in your everyday speech.
  • Your biggest loss from a system crash is that you lose your best jokes.
  • You sit in a cubicle smaller than your bedroom closet.
  • It’s dark when you drive to and from work.
  • The words “challenge” and “opportunity” make you shiver in fear.
  • You see a well-dressed, good-looking person and know it’s just a visitor.
  • Free food left over from meetings is your main staple.
  • Being sick is defined as “can’t walk” or “in the hospital”.
  • Workplace art involves a white, dry-erase board.
  • You’re already late on the assignment you just got.
  • You’re bosses most common expression is “when you get a few minutes…”.


Just so you know, I hide my stapler so no one will take it...because if someone were to take my stapler, I'd probably kill every mother fucker in the building!


Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Because You Demanded It...

So...you wanted a shorter post, well...here you go:

Katy Perry

...is fucking HOT!!!

...and I would gladly eat her ass.


Disgust or discuss...


...GO!!!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Someone Please Make Me Understand...

So anyway, I read this article on AOL news and it was all I could do to not punch my computer monitor in. It's like it's 2005, and we're all dealing with Terri Schiavo all over again. Luckily it's not in this country - so this will probably be the last anyone here in the U.S. will hear about this particular case.

...At least I fucking hope so...

I just don't get it. I don't think I'll ever get it. I don't know if there's an adequate explanation out there for the mentality that the Italian government demonstrated here - at least not one that will make me say, "Oh...well I guess you've got a point there!". Look...I know it all boils down to that archaic Catholic dogma that every life is sacred right down to the most worthless little broken spermy man (Spermyman - how's that for a fucked-up superhero?!). I come from a frakkin' HUGE Catholic family - I get that that's where this is coming from. I just cannot wrap my noodle around that thought process though. For fuck's sake - the girl was basically dead anyway - stone fucking dead...her goddamned BRAIN wasn't goddamned DOING anything. Machines were feeding her, relieving her bowels, and allowing her lungs to breathe...that's fucking dead folks! Oh, ok, ok...sorry - her brain was still sending signals to her heart to continue pumping blood through her body - but only because of the MACHINE THAT WAS MAKING HER LUNGS FUCKING BREATHE!!!

Three quotes from this just abso-fuckin'-lutely floor me. Firstly we have Cardinal Barragan from the Vatican saying, "May the Lord welcome her and pardon those who brought her to this point". Hey Barragan - FUCK YOU! Two things brought this poor girl to this point - 1: The CAR that hit her 17 fuck years ago, you imbecile; and 2: YOU!!! You and people like you - the Church, and the holier-that-thou, 17th century, backwoods right-wing fuckhead lawmakers in the Italian government. Which brings me to my second quote, this one courtesy of Rome's mayor who said that the lights in the Colosseum would be on all night in mourning for "a life that could have and should have been saved".

WHAT?!?!?!

Are you completely out of you fucking head?! Do you at least pause for a breath to think about the nonsense that's about to come out of your mouth before you say it?! Read my lips by proxy of my fingers: THERE WAS NO LIFE TO SAVE...capisce? NO LIFE!!! The girl has been brain dead for SEVENTEEN-FUCKING-YEARS! Short of the arrival of the MOTHERSHIP with a library of previously unknown medical knowledge, she was never coming back from this. I refer to my statements above...something about machines and what not. You know...I went through this with the Schiavo thing four years ago...all it succeeded in doing was elevating my blood pressure and giving me an urge to round-up some pro-lifers and some Republican politicians (which I suppose are pro-lifers by default anyway...but, still - you know what I mean), lock them in a Catholic church, and burn it to the ground.

Lastly there's the Italian Health Minister who said, "I hope the Senate can proceed on the established calendar so that this sacrifice wasn't completely in vain". This was in reference of course to the emergency session the Italian Senate held to get a law passed to prevent the girl's doctors from unplugging her. Excuse me Signor Italiano Stupido, um...what sacrifice?! The only thing that was sacrificed was the life the girl could've had had she not been hit by the aforementioned car! She didn't even know anything had happened! I like to believe that if there is a human soul...it would have left the body sometime around, oh I dunno...YEAR ONE!!! Not year seventeen. I'm sorry, nothing in this universe short of The Almighty him/herself coming down and showing me otherwise is going to make me believe that Eluana Englaro was still in that body, or that she had the faintest fuck of a clue what was going on around her. Same goes for Terry Schiavo, and the hundreds, if not thousands of people all around the world sharing similar fates.

I visit my father's grave every year around Memorial Day. I haven't missed a year since he died. For all but about three or four of those years (accounting for age limitations) I've stood at his grave and talked to him for a while...you know, fill him in on what's going on in my life and the world. I would imagine that, including this year, I will have made and broken 30 promises to come back later in the year and visit again. It's not that I don't care; it's not that I don't have the time; it's not that I don't want to. It's just hard...it's a really hard goddamned thing to do. Now...do I believe that my father is there when I go?...Absolutely not! It's a plot of land with a corpse buried underneath. But I do believe it's a place to start - a door to whatever other place he's residing in. I believe a body is just a body - it's an organism, just like the billions of others on this world. We're singularly blessed to be able to learn, create, express and feel the way we do. But a body is just a body. I have to believe that what makes us who we are, call it a soul, call it spaghetti, call it whatever you want - I just have to believe that that thing knows when the body is done - and it checks out accordingly. The selfish need of loved ones to hold on to us for as long as possible is understandable...and just. But who is anyone on this planet to say otherwise when even the people that cared most for someone - needed that someone more than any other - say it's time to let go?

The single most common argument from the religious right is that no one has the right to play God with a life. To say that, and then take the stance they do on issues like these is the most hypocritical thing I have ever had the unfortunate displeasure of witnessing. That is what I'll never understand...THAT is what no one will ever be able to satisfactorily explain to me: How can someone believe that? How can they not see the flaw in their own logic? How can they continue to spew their vitriol without seeing that in so doing, they've already defeated their argument? Someone please make me understand...

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

On the Subject of Dailies, Highlights, and Alternate Takes

So anyway, I suppose my title is a tad misleading (Excuse me miss, how much is a tad? Well, in space terms it's about half a million miles.). On the whole, I'm not writing this one to talk about film production (maybe a little, but generally not overall). The title's more figurative really. Life's just been a little mundane as of late. Aside from a nasty bronchial virus the Monkey caught, nothing's really been happening - it's all been eerily stagnant, like I'm just waiting for the floor to drop out from under me. I've decided it's time for a new career path - ok, that's not true, I still want to be a composer, so I guess you could say it's time for a new "job" path. It floors me how many people (particularly in mid to upper management) can't seem to differentiate between job and career - but I suppose that's a peeve for another posting.

I've basically had about all the banking I care to. I've given up on the idea of moving myself up within the company (something I was doing purely out of financial necessity rather than personal fulfillment). The bureaucratic mentality is the one constant in the universe. And frankly I've had enough of it here. I've seen enough of the management at this bank to know that I want no part of it - and since that's the only place left to go here...fuck 'em. My job isn't going anywhere (literally and figuratively), I don't have a need to find another one, I just want another one. At this point, my job is about as intellectually stimulating as a fucking pop-up book. And the highlight of any given day is ogling a hotty that works on my floor (you know, the standard stuff - undressing her with my mind; wondering just how big those things are under that top; is she going to wear that awesomely short miniskirt again today; is my piercing stare about to burn a hole in that amazing ass; is she an innie or an outie - not the navel; landing strip, furball, or Brazilian bald eagle - the usual stuff, right?!). That shouldn't be the only thing I have to look forward to every evening - that shouldn't be the sole motivation for anyone in any position for that matter. So, I'm looking around. I started by registering with the government's website...I could live with a cushy government job for a while - especially if it got me off the vampire hours.

Hell, at this point any job that gets me off the fucking vampire hours has potential. Fun little factoid (and I apologize for the lack of references): I read an article on CNN.com last year that a university study somewhere found a link between graveyard hours and increased risks of certain cancers. YEA!!! Well, that alone is incentive enough to get the fuck out of Dodge. I don't want to end up with ass cancer just because I held a job in the middle of the fucking night for several years. The catch at this point is finding something that I'm even remotely qualified for and still pays me about what I'm earning now. And since I'm a musician/banker, the field is narrow to say the least. The reason I'm so interested in the government route is that they're a little more forgiving if you don't have any qualifications - for them, a degree in anything (hell it could be 15th-Century English basket weaving) is a plus.

I did have an idea for a piece that might actually have motivated me enough to get my ass down into my basement and use my shit for once. First I just have to put everything back together. I had to take everything apart a while back to get it out of the way for a plumber. And the Arctic tundra that is my basement is enough to dissuade anyone from wanting to go down and do anything productive...but, since I've got a nifty idea, I suppose I'll have to brave it - that's why the Lord saw fit to give us coats, gloves, scarves, ear muffs, hats, thermal undies and electric socks...right?! My basement where my "studio" resides is a concrete tomb. It was never finished (which I'm partially thankful for because had it been I'd have less room for my shit), and though it's ventilated to the furnace, it only stays just warm enough to keep ice from forming on everything. So...yeah, winter - not a good time of year to try and be productive as a composer in my house! With a little convincing from Brad, I've decided on how to arrange the meter - so now I just need to start entering notes (we'll see what happens - I'm nothing if not a world class procrastinator).

I've also noticed an influx of good, slightly older comedies on the telly lately. I suppose good is a relative term as comedy is such a subjective genre of film. More than any other, comedy seems to divide people on what is and isn't good or funny. One person's comedic gem is another's pointless trash. I'm that way with Woody Allen comedies - well, actually all his films, but particularly his comedies. I just don't get them! Really, I don't! I have yet to find anything of interest in a single film of his. I glean nothing from them...and I certainly have never understood why they're considered so amazing - or why he's even had a career for that matter. Anyway, I caught a few minutes of Loaded Weapon 1 the other day. Despite some awful direction and a few lackluster performances (I'm looking at you Kathy Ireland - stick with the 3 B's*), it really is a pretty funny movie - the gags hit a lot more often than they miss. If you've never seen it, it's basically a spoof of all the Lethal Weapon movies - made at a time to cash in on the spoof craze that was hitting hard for a couple of years, and starring Emilio Estevez because...well...because they figured Charlie Sheen had a hit with Hot Shots! so why not see if his brother can bring in some green doing the same spiel (it even has a gag referencing this fact). It also has the virtue of containing two of my top-5 personal favorite exchanges ever - first, Tim Curry, the hench-villain has just caught the hero, Emilio Estevez, off guard and put him in a human shield choke-hold when the following takes place:


Em: Who are you?!
Tim: (in a hysterically awful German accent) I...am you vurst nightmare.
Em: No...waking up without my penis is my worst nightmare!

Second, in a spoof of the toilet bomb scene in Lethal Weapon 2:

Emilio: Luger...where are you?
Sam (the Man) Jackson: Up here.
Emilio: (kicks open the bathroom door) What is it? What's wrong?!
Sam: (matter of factly) Nothin'...takin' a shit.
Emilio: Oh...sorry...(backs out slowly, closing the door)


Those crack me up as much today as they did 15 years ago. Then there's Soapdish - a great little flick from 1991. If you've never seen it, I can't recommend it enough. The cast alone is a really big check in the plus category: Kevin Kline, Robert Downey Jr., Sally Field, Elizabeth Shue, Whoopi Goldberg, Teri Hatcher (when she was still hot and kinda slutty), and Cathy Moriarty (whom if you don't recognize, then you've probably never seen Raging Bull - in which case...SHAME ON YOU!!!). There's even a couple of great bit parts by Carrie Fisher, Gerry Marshall, and Ben (Captain Monotone) Stein. The film basically follows the in's and out's of a highly-popular, highly-illogical, highly-stupid daytime soap. It's been getting a lot of play on the various HBO's the last few weeks...seems like every time I go by it I can't help but stop and watch for a few minutes. I brought up alternate takes in my title because a scene in this movie (completely inadvertently) demonstrates how radically different one take can be to the next. You know, for a guy who's never seen a set during production, I'm oddly fascinated by it and even more oddly aware of what goes on. Anyway, in a scene about midway through the film, Sally Field's character is watching herself from earlier in the day having a complete conniption fit on Entertainment Tonight (is that show even still on?). At any rate, the fit she's having on the television is completely different from the one we (the audience) saw about five minutes earlier in the film. If one were to look up the film on IMDB, you'd see this event listed as a continuity error on the 'goofs' link. Anyway, I just wrote one insanely long friggin' paragraph about something that is only of interest to all of maybe two people in the entire fucking world (me and my other personality) ...but there you go. Incidentally, should one find themselves interested, apparently in the earliest promo material - specifically the main one-sheet - Terri Hatcher's nipples were popping out of her dress. I don't know about your thoughts on the woman now, but Terri Hatcher c.1991 was definitely worth a look!

So here we are. An overly long (and relatively pointless) update into what's going on in the Pikey's world at the moment. If you're thinking you're being treated (read: spoiled by) to two days in a row of updates, keep in mind that I started this post a week ago...so don't blow your wad just yet - I can still frustratingly space updates out with the best of 'em.

*the 3 B's refers to a song called "Be Pretty, Be Naked...and Be Quiet". It's a comedy song I heard on a radio morning show once.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

I Was Taken By It (arr, arr, arr...ooookay)

So anyway, Luc Besson is nothing if not formulaic. With the exception of Léon (which to my eyes is a masterpiece of filmmaking - not that The Professional Americanized pussy-whipped bullshit), pretty much every other film he's either written, directed, or both can be dissected into its parts and ideas that came from earlier films. Presentation on the other hand can change even the most routine idea into something quite special - and Besson excels at presentation (You're entrance was good, his was better. The difference?...SHOWMANSHIP!!!). The Fifth Element had style to burn - despite essentially being the red-headed stepchild of Star Wars, Blade Runner, and The Beatles "All You Need Is Love"; Kiss of the Dragon, while really not much more than an excuse to put Jet Li in a wire-fu action film set in Paris, still had a good deal of warmth and character that a lot of similar films would have just glossed over; we'll try to just forget about The Messenger (aka: A Lame-ass Excuse to Put My Then-Girlfriend in Another Movie...Did I Mention I Used To Fuck Milla Jovovich - Oh Yeah, I Tapped That Shit Baby?!) - everybody gets one mistake. Now we have Taken - the lastest take on the whole "you just fucked with the wrong guy" film.

We've all seen it a dozen times - ex-CIA/Special Forces/über-assassin type has left that world behind; he's struggling with it, but he has his reasons; punk bitches come along and mess with his shit somehow; he fucks them up. Such is the case with Taken, which would be a second-rate first-rate action film if not for the benefit of a tightly-plotted script, and a fantastic performance by Liam Neeson (who you'd never in a million years guess, based on this film, is pushing 60). Such as it is, it's almost a first-rate first-rate action film if not for one nitpick (which I'll get to later). Neeson plays Bryan Mills (coincidentally, I went to high school with a guy with the exact same name...weird - anyway...), recently retired non-descript spook trying to reclaim some of the life he lost saving the world from...whatever. In this case that involves trying to be involved in the life of his 17-year-old daughter (Maggie Grace - most recently of Lost notoriety). I find it funny that such a fuss has been made over Grace appearing too old to be 17. Everyone keeps saying she looks at least 10 years too old for the part - when at the time of filming she was only 24. I suppose people's memories these days are short...considering not that long ago it was common place for 30-somethings to be playing teenagers quite regularly (anyone remember a certain popular TV show with a swanky zip code?). Anyway, when asked by said daughter what is was dad did all those years that kept him away, he says that he was a "preventer"; he prevented bad things from happening - loosely translated: I could kill a guy by stabbing him in the nuts with a toothpick. When Tasty Ex (the always yummy Famke Janssen) and daughter try to get him to sign off on a fun-filled getaway to Paris for the summer, he initially refuses (he knows things...he's seen the world - it's ugly). But he caves, and off daughter goes with bad-influence friend in tow.

A few hours after arriving in gay-Pari, they're swept away (unfortunately literally in this case) by some nefarious types, all while Neeson listens in on the ordeal by way of phone call. Everybody's seen the trailer - you all know the truly kick-ass monologue/ultimatum he delivers to the bad guy on the other end of the phone. Neeson's never struck me as the "don't fuck with me" type, but after that call...I sure as shit wouldn't want to piss him off. He gathers some intel, taps tasty ex's new, rich hubby for a charter flight to France...and away we go. Here's my nitpick. It's quite obvious for several reasons (1: the film is European made/American financed, 2: the trailer tells the careful observer so, 3: the editing feels just feels that way, 4: American distributors of foreign films are usually quite stupid and unaware of their real audience) that this film was trimmed down to a more "family friendly" PG-13 edit. It could be argued that to some degree it worked - the film was #1 at the box-office last weekend. The flip side to that is that they could've just left it alone, taken a chance with an R rating, and people still would have wanted to see it - which I'm inclined to believe. Also, as the film was released in Europe last February, and it's seen its American release date pushed back a couple of times, it would seem that producers wanted/needed time to make it more "accessible" - or in short, they wanted to pussy-fy it. As it is, Neeson's wrath is quite brutal - but being the vicarious, voyeuristic sleaze that I am (and let's face it...most Americans are - whether they'll admit it or not), I wanted a touch more. Necks and other bones crack when they break, bullets cause blood-spatter, people hit by buses and trucks tend to go splat a bit - and there's this underlying feeling all throughout the picture that we're continually denied the money shots.

Still...for what it is, Taken is damned entertaining and engrossing. Besson's (and writing partner Robert Mark Kamen's) script, as directed by DP turned action director Pierre Morel, is teeming with shades of Bourne (can you say shaky-cam boys and girls - and an interesting French variation on a standard Media Ventures score), but that's ok. The end result is still just as satisfying, regardless of the fact that even my 3-year-old son could generally predict where things were going. Even though it's harsh and brutal (and a touch xenophobic), people want to root for Neeson in this, and the (morally questionable) good guys in films like these. We want to watch them as they lay their hammer of justice - their fist of fury - on any mother fucker that's dumb enough to stand in their way. We take solace in knowing that the bad guy's going to get 31 flavors of smack layed down upon him. And Taken delivers in abundance...now, I can't wait for the unrated DVD - THAT...is going to be some brutal shit!

Saturday, January 10, 2009

I Miss My Mustang

So anyway, back in the day (sometime around Nineteen Dickety-Two - never mind) I had a sweet-ass 1967 Mustang Coupe. Given my druthers (don't ask, it's a hillbilly-ism), I'd really want a '67 Shelby Cobra Fastback (Eleanor in Gone in 60 Seconds) - it may be the most perfect car ever made (you fuckin' Camaro enthusiasts can suck my fat, hairy ass). Anyway, my Mustang had a beefed-up 302 (I know Jack and shit about car engines and Jack just left) with all kinds of nifty bells and whistles for drag racing (I got it from a neighbor who bought it for his son when he was a teenager). It had flashy chrome wheels, leather interior (bucket seats), and the touchiest fucking power steering known to man (hand-to-God, you nudge it and the damned car would pull a 90-degree turn). My mom got me a new paint job as a high school graduation present (she wouldn't let me get red - thought I'd be a cop magnet; so I settled for this sharp midnight blue metallic). It died on me not long after I started my second year at Western - luckily, it wasn't long until I met a girl with a car - I shoulda married that one; oh wait...I did! I sold my Mustang to a guy at work for $650 about two years ago - not bad for a car that didn't run. But still, I'd give just about anything to have it back and to have the means to get it fixed up proper.

Which leads me to Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino. Brad commented the other day that it's hard enough for anyone to put a single film together in a year, and Eastwood (at 78) did two!!! I didn't see Changeling - I'm sure it's terrific and judging by the two I'll bet it was his intended Oscar-bait film. But it just sort of seemed like rental material to me. Torino I was dying to see from the very first time I caught a trailer. It just had vintage I-ain't-gonna-take-no-shit-off-nobody Eastwood smeared all over it like gang graffiti on an inner-city bridge. Last time ol' squinty-eyes tried to make two in a year (a whopping two years ago with the Iwo Jima films - aren't people supposed to slow down as they get older?), the second one came out on top as the clear victor - ironic that, like this year (I'm guessing) that's not what he intended. I don't see Gran Torino running away with Oscar nom's and wins this year - but it's certainly one of the most entertaining and well crafted films of the year.

Eastwood stars (and directs of course - out of his last 21 films that he's appeared in, he's directed 15 himself, and has an additional six that he merely directed in that time) as Walt Kowalski - veteran of the war in Korea, recent widower, and one of the last Caucasian hold-outs (in an inner-city Detroit neighborhood) that hasn't run for the hills with the influx of minorities. The character of Walt is this interesting amalgam of Dirty Harry Callahan, Gunny Sgt. Tom Highway (I just lost some of you didn't I - if so, you're required to go rent Heartbreak Ridge now...NOW GODDAMN IT NOW!!!), and Archie Bunker. It's funny actually that the screenplay apparently wasn't written with Eastwood in mind...but frankly, having seen it I can't begin to imagine who else could play it. Kowalski is (at least vicariously through us - the audience) abso-friggin'-lutely hilarious. He's brash, he's hateful, he's bigoted and rude and has the restraint of a pissed-off bull. He's that mean old guy that everyone has met at some point or another - you know, always pissed, hates just about everybody. And he doesn't take any shit off of anyone - mess with him and he will fuck you up...verbally for certain, and physically if the situation calls for it. He's just lost a wife that he worshipped, has two sons that he's never connected with, hates at least one of the daughters-in-law, is disgusted by his grandchildren, and the world's getting too damned fast for him and to hell with trying to keep up. Much of the humor comes from Walt's ranting and grumbling - much of it racially motivated. Fortunately, you find yourself laughing not at all the racial slurs and prejudice, but at Walt's unabashed delivery of it - and more often then not...it's absolutely uproarious.

His life at this point is mowing his 5-square-foot patch of grass (with none other than one of those old rotary blade, non-electric mowers from the 50's), talking to his dog, chasing off or just ignoring the priest from the local church, drinking his beer on his front porch, scowling at the "chinks/gooks/slants" next door...and looking after his baby - a mint condition 1972 Ford Gran Torino - which it seems he purchased right off the factory where he himself "installed that steering column". His neighbors are Hmong (pronounced Mohng), Asian "hill-folk" (for lack of a better term) from various areas in China, Laos, and Vietnam. It's his baby that gets him more involved with his neighbors and serves as the focal point of the story. He slowly befriends the Hmong, first with the older daughter, Sue, then later younger son Thao (whom he "affectionately" refers to as Toad) after he, feeling pressure from a local gang, is coerced into trying to steal the Gran Torino. I love that Walt never gets any of the Asian names right - not that he can't, he just doesn't care. One girl (named Yua) he continually refers to as YumYum (and boy does she earn that moniker). Anyway, as penance for his indiscretion, Thao is forced to spend time with Walt - where the predictable bit of bonding occurs. This bonding however is played out so expertly and delicately that it never feels cliched or forced.

I really miss this Clint Eastwood. The man truly is the original Hollywood bad ass. It's a shame really that he's indicated that this is more or less his final appearance in front of the camera. This was such a gloriously entertaining - and yet simultaneously - touching and intimate film. My only gripe is that I wish he'd let an experienced film composer have a crack at his films - at least this time he didn't try it himself...he let his son do it *joy* (with old faithful Lennie Niehaus orchestrating (?) and conducting). Still...if Clint had two or three more films like this in him I doubt anyone would mind in the slightest. I highly doubt anyone is clamoring for a string of Grumpy Old Men - Kickin' Ass films, but seeing it done smartly, effectively, in the hands of a master - films like Gran Torino would always be worth my $5 or $10 of admission price - fuck it, my mom wants to see it too...I'll be glad to take the trip with Walt again. Damn I love movies like these - and GOD DAMN I MISS MY CAR!!!



I'm going to go find a corner and cry like a little girl now...

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Getting Back On Track...Again...Again...

So anyway, I'm not entirely satisfied with my first two attempts, they're...flawed. Honestly, I have no idea how to write about a film. But, everyone has to start somewhere. At the very least I could benefit from a good editor. Hell, the "top" critics in the country have an editor for crying out loud. So...where do I go from here? Well, I think I'll just jump right into Frost/Nixon. While I don't share Brad's feeling that my previous endeavors completely spoiled the films (for Pete's sake, Valkyrie is a dramatization of historical fact - how much is there to spoil?), I'll concede that they were a bit long in detail. So I'll try to keep things a touch more concise this go around. Keep in mind that there might be an occasional spoiler strewn about...but this was a real event, I'm not going to tell anyone anything more than the wikipedia article on the subject would have. So without further ado...

Watergate is a pop culture buzz word. Strike that, Watergate may arguably be the pop culture buzz word - for at least the last century or so. At the very least, since 1974 any political scandal to reach even the fainest of notoriety has had the suffix "-gate" attached to it. I find it humorous, but not terribly surprising, that many people under the age of 40 (or so) know the term, but don't actually know what it was that Nixon did (just search a message board about the film and you'll see exactly what I mean)! Of my loyal following, I'm the only one that was actually alive when some of the events of the film Frost/Nixon took place - granted, I was still shitting my pants 6 or 7 times a day and could barely roll over under my own will power (wait...how's that different from now...?), but I was alive and breathing. I'll confess, until this film came along, I was completely unaware of David Frost and his series of interviews with President Nixon in 1977. Honestly, I don't even know what he actually looks like now...I haven't bothered to look him up online yet (suppose I'll get to it eventually). The point is, it doesn't matter. The film doesn't offer any insight or new perspective on the events of the Watergate break-in and Nixon's subsequent resignation. What it does do (and damned effectively) is portray, with a great deal of fictionalized drama for plot and effect, a stirring perspective on two men at a singular and important point in American history.

I would absolutely have loved to see this in its stage form. The film was written by Peter Morgan (based on his play of the same name). I can only imagine that a great deal of the first hour of the screenplay has been drawn out considerably - the logistics of staging the final act alone are a bit mind boggling, let alone all the set-up and character development of the first couple acts of the film. Here, the film stars its two original stage leads - Michael Sheen (of The Queen and Underworld fame) as British entertainer and talk show host David Frost (note I refer to him not as a journalist because by this point in his career, Frost was anything but), and Frank Langella as former President Richard Nixon. I've always liked Sheen - his turn as Tony Blair in The Queen was fantastic. Even when he's portraying a villain or just an evil bastard there's still a charm and accessibility to the man. Until these interviews, Frost was a virtual failure here in the U.S., and while popular abroad, still somewhat looked down upon as something of a second-rate entertainer and playboy. Sheen owns it in this character - you love to loathe him and hate to like him, but you do.

Then there's the matter of Langella's portrayal of Nixon. Dozens of actors and comedians have had there stabs at the man in the last 30 years or so. Everybody has a Nixon impression - hell, I have a fucking Nixon impression...you can't help it. Male or female, young or old, you can't help but try to be Nixon when talking about him. Langella is on an entirely different fucking plane of existence with his Nixon. Sure he's got the height and size about right (Nixon was about 6'1" or so, Langella is 6'3"), and has - with the aid of make-up and a few prosthetics - a passable resemblance to him. But the mannerism, the personality - it is Richard Nixon. You might as well have dug the bastard up and brought him back from the dead. It's haunting...it really is. You watch any archival footage of the real Nixon and compare it to Langella's performance - you'd swear he was a freakin' clone or something. A spot-on portrayal of a real-life historical figure seems to be like candy to the Oscar crowd - so, having said that...Langella should be a shoe-in for Best Actor...hell, he's already got the Tony for it. Phillip Seymour Hoffman's Truman Capote was good, Forrest Whittaker's Idi Amin was terrific...but Frank Langella's Richard Nixon - that's fucking art man...abso-fuckin'-lutely poetry in motion!!! The final act - particularly the last interview - is one of the best nail-biting of a film-going experiences as I've ever seen. I need to see the real interviews to see which is the more entertaining - if the film's even close, then goddamn that must have been something to watch.

Given his directorial resume, Ron Howard isn't necessarily the first director I would have associated with this film - and it's one helluva resume. I honestly believe that - and you have to remember what a fantastic group of films the man has directed - this is arguably his finest work to date. It's certainly his most intimate and personal. Howard has said in many an interview that he was inspired to shoot this after seeing the Broadway performance - and it shows. Obviously, by virtue of having originated the roles, Sheen and Langella wouldn't have needed much coaxing or prodding. But I can't help but think that Ron Howard helped them bring the epitome of their "A-game" into the film. It also benefits from some very tight cinematography and the assistance of being allowed multiple angles and takes to get everything just perfect. I also can't help but think that Howard probably really wanted James Horner to score the film...but also knew precisely what kind of score he'd be getting in the end. To which I would venture a guess is exactly what he didn't want. Defaulting to his second favorite composer, Hans "go-team-go" Zimmer didn't exactly seem like a natural choice either, but that's what we ended up with. And honestly, I can say without a second thought that this is the most restrained I have ever heard the man. There's no bombast - no Charge of the Synth-Brigade to be found. It's primarily a piano-based score, with flourishes of string orchestra thrown in when deemed necessary. The final cue of the film (leading into the end credits) is the most intense piece in it and that's not saying much as it's just upbeat and rhythmic. Overall though it stays out of the way mostly, and accentuates the drama when called for.

History (at least for the last 35 years) has done a bang-up job of dragging Nixon's name through the mud, putting the man in a vice and tightening for all it's worth. So much so that any proponents of the man (few that there still are - I certainly don't count myself as one of them) have never had a fair shake at lightening the burden of his disgrace. Nearly every biography, every film, every miniseries and play and documentary about the man and those events can't help but have a left-leaning slant...and certainly Frost/Nixon is no exception. What it does do, despite its own agenda, is still manage to bring a faint glint of pity and dignity to the President (not necessarily Nixon the civilian ,but Nixon the President). Frost's agenda was to get what the American people were foaming at the mouth for - a confession - and (perhaps even more ambitiously) an apology. Everyone wanted to give Nixon the trial he never had...the film doesn't detract from that. Frost (more or less) got what he wanted, and so following did the American people - the film let's us relive that moment. But what it also does is succeed (rather inadvertently or not) in allowing us, the viewers (most of whom likely despise the man) to feel a glimmer of empathy with a disgraced man - who, whether you believe it or not, seems to have only been doing what he thought was the right thing to do at the time.

Call it bullshit, call it whatever you want - hate the bastard as much as ever, I do...and I wasn't even fucking there (hell, many of us weren't even sperm yet)! I still say that by the end of the film you just can't help but feel ever-so-slightly sorry for what (at least by the portrayal in this film) was a broken man with a debt that could never be repaid and a crime that could never be forgiven. I'm of the opinion after watching Frost/Nixon that in about five years from now (give or take a month) a Frost/Bush series of interviews would be just as well received and serve to relieve some of the anger and bitterness that has engulfed this nation for the last eight years. The parallels between the events then and those now are uncanny, and it almost seems ironic, maybe even precognitive that this film was made and released when it was.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Getting Back on Track...Again

...aaaaannnnndd, we're back! Ok, so when I left off, things were getting a bit long, so I decided to relegate my take on The Curious Case of Benjamin Button to this post. As it happens, I've now also seen Frost/Nixon so we'll just see how much of a blowhard I can be about Ben Button before deciding what to do about Tricky Dick and the Brit. By the by, I should add that as I sit here at my desk at work listening to my iPod through the Bose dock, I just...I just have to say that...WOW...I love Bose products. If you have the means, or just the opportunity (I'm not condoning theft, I'm just saying some things may be worth it...) I'd highly suggest acquiring one (hah - I sound like Ferris Bueller and that damned Ferrari), it's like having your iPod pumped through a top-rate home stereo ("It's like wiping your ass with silk...I love it!")...ugh...I think I just made a mess. But anyway, onward and upward or whatever, and be ye warned: thar be spoilers ahead mateys...

Two things right off the bat. Firstly, a shit ton (which I think weighs somewhere between a bunch and a fuckload) of hyperbole has been tossed about in regards to this film. From my point of view most, if not all of it is deserved. This really is a gorgeous, mesmerizing, intriguing film and should (whether it wins best picture or not) hold up well along with most of the great films from years past and to come. I'll elaborate more in a moment but first I want to get to my second thought, which is that a lot of comparisons have been drawn (good and bad) between this and Forrest Gump. To which I say...DUH!!! Right away it should be noted by anyone with half a brain (and an internet connection and/or DVD player) that both films were written by Eric Roth.

The story of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (the production, not the tale itself) begins apparently just over a decade ago. It's March, 1994 and Forrest Gump has just taken home six Oscars - including best (adapted) screenplay. Peruse Roth's resume and you'll see (regardless of the quality of the finished film) he has a thing for character rich, sweeping drama's (adaptations mostly) with a touch of the occasional whimsy. Sometime after his Oscar win and before the mess that ended up being The Postman (though I actually find a lot to like about that film despite Kevin Costner), it seems he found an old short by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It told the tale of a man who was born old (though in Fitzgerald's story he had the mental faculties of an elderly man, not just the physique) and began aging backwards (both mentally and physically - in the film, Benjamin is born old in physique, but grows mentally like any normal child).

The screenplay ended up in the hands of some hack director who enjoyed making films about nice aliens and some adventurer type with a fedora, amongst other things. It was originally supposed to star one Thomas Mapother - he would later nearly commit career suicide by jumping up and down on talk show couches and ranting and raving about his alien cult. Thankfully, that film never got off the ground...and the screenplay sat on a shelf, and sat, and sat...and just for good sport sat some more. Finally, long time production associates of the aforementioned hack, Kathleen Kennedy and Frank Marshall, placed it in the hands of David Fincher. And God bless them for doing so. Aside from The Game, which I just couldn't get into, despite it's merits, I've found a considerable amount of enjoyment from all of Fincher's films (Fight Club in particular is a top-10 staple) - I would add however that, to date, he's only made seven feature films (if you exclude his Roger Corman days, the documentary, and Avatar which is still in production, that's one more that James Cameron - and look at his fucking resume - it's like my wife always tells me "size isn't everything"...ahem, anyway...).

Fincher should be oh-so-pleased with himself on this one. For that matter, everyone else should be pleased with him as well. This is a landmark film in a year already ripe with landmark films. As I said in my last post, the Best Picture race at the Oscars this year should be excruciatingly tight. If I were to guess - and keep in mind I'm no authority on this whatsoever - I surmise that the final five should (not necessarily would) be: WALL-E, The Dark Knight, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Frost/Nixon, and, oh hell, I don't know...we'll just go with Doubt or Slumdog Millionaire (based solely on all the critical raving they've also been getting - I haven't seen either, and I'm not getting my skirt blown up by the prospect of either one honestly). At any rate, Fincher's a director with style, and an eye for finding the most intriguing and unique ways to shoot his films. That said, this is his most "traditional" film to date. It's relatively devoid of tricky camera movements or shots that could only be attained through computer enhancement. But...having said that, it's all but a shoe-in for one of the three visual effects nominations and make-up nominations as well. Throughout the better part of the first third to first half of the film, it takes what Peter Jackson did with size differences for the Hobbits and dwarfs (obscured and odd camera angles, and green screen superimposing), and focuses all it's attention on a single character.

The film is told as pages from a journal, being read by the daughter (Julia Ormond) of an elderly woman in her New Orleans hospital death bed, hours before the arrival of Katrina. You ever notice Julia Ormond usually always plays a home wrecker? It was kind of refreshing to see her just be a normal - oh well. We learn that the elderly woman is named Daisy, she's dying (from what appears to be some form of cardio-pulmonary or respiratory failure - it's never explicitly said), and it's both comforting (and apparently her dying wish) that her daughter read this journal and take the journey with the writer. The story begins with Daisy recalling the tale of a clockmaker, a Monsieur Gateau ("Mr. Cake" as she puts it - played by Elias Koteas, one of my favorite character actors...you may remember him as Casey Jones in the Ninja Turtle films), who has been commissioned to build the clock for the new central train station. Mr. Cake is blind, but considered one of the finest clock makers in the world. As it begins, he's sending his only son off to fight the Germans (WWI not WWII), and shortly thereafter, welcomes him back home as he's laid to rest in the family cemetery. As a result, he finishes his clock with a lonely determination, and it's put in place at a ceremony (attended by none other than an aging Teddy Roosevelt no less) to celebrate the completion of the station. As it's starts, it begins to run backwards - we hear from Mr. Cake that he has done this intentionally, so that his boy, and all the boys lost in Europe, might someday come back to their mothers and fathers. It's a touching and poignant moment - and I'm not ashamed to say it left me a touch misty-eyed. It's also a foreshadowing of more or less everything that follows, if not overly-simplified.

Benjamin's tale begins on the last day of the war in 1918, his father, Thomas Button - owner of Button's Buttons, the largest button maker in the world - rushes home to his wife who is delivering their child. The devastation of both losing his beloved and the grotesque sight of the newborn stir a panic in him as he steals the child and seeks to drown it in the river. However, before her dying breath, Mrs. Button made him promise that it would always have a home - so, a nearby policeman and a change of heart convince him to leave the child on the steps of a nearby home. Coincidentally, this home is a home for seniors - a clever, if not a tiny bit convenient plot device that aids in Benjamin's ability to fit in later in the film. One of the caregivers, Miss Queen, and her would-be lover nearly kill themselves tripping over the bundle of wrinkled joy on the stairs, and she decides to take him in. Everyone expects him to die of natural causes soon enough anyway (which he obviously doesn't - wouldn't that be a short and pointless film if you ever saw one), so what harm does it do?

He lives, he grows, he adjusts. The first ten or twelve years of his life he spends in a wheelchair - confined there by the extreme calcium deficiency in his bones and arthritis in his joints. It's around the age of eleven or twelve (exact dates and their ages are rarely said out loud throughout the film, so a little light arithmetic is required often times through the film to deduce how old they are - Ben is 7 years older than Daisy) that he meets a fiery, adventurous red-head with impossibly blue eyes named Daisy (cut back to 2005 - daughter's starting to figure things out). She's the granddaughter of one of the ladies in the home, and so they strike a friendship - spending time together every few weeks when it's family visitation week. Eventually, thanks to the "healin' power of Jee-sussss" he learns to walk - well, hobble really, then after time honest walking. He meets Lieutenant Dan, er, sorry...wrong movie, Captain Mike - proud Irishman, and owner and operator of a tugboat. who introduces young Benjamin (now about 14 or so) to the pleasures of women and drink (an absolutely uproarious scene happens where Capt. Mike, thinking Ben must be about 90, is absolutely flabbergasted that he's "never been with a woman...NEVER?!"). That's actually a sort of running gag for a better part of the first half is that only a few people know and truly understand that Benjamin Button is a child - he looks older than God, but he's still just a child. Benjamin's faculties improve as time goes on, he eventually joins Capt. Mike as a merchant sailor, traveling the world, falling in love, doing what most young men with dreams but no direction do I suppose - and never forgetting, night after night, to say goodnight to Daisy (who often times finds herself wishing the same sentiment to him). The crew is in Russia on December 7th, 1941, and the boat is more or less drafted into the Navy. 

An attack by a U-Boat sometime around 1944 or so kills off most of the crew, including Capt. Mike, and it's here where Benjamin really learns two of the more prominent lessons from the film. Overall the film has three main points (or at least so I noticed) - firstly, cherish what's really important, because nothing lasts forever, no matter which way you're aging. Secondly, it's never too late to start over, no matter how old you are - you're only as old as you feel (appearances mean nothing) - and you're never too old to find out who you really are. The third, which Ben learns the hard way later on - when life gives you opportunities, take them. I neglected to mention that Benjamin's father has been keeping tabs on him for most of his life, even befriending him (under somewhat false pretenses), and it's this point that causes a big change in Ben's life when he returns home to New Orleans. The truth of things is told, and eventually, a reconcilement - followed shortly by the death of Thomas Button. Leaving everything to Ben provides him a means to do whatever he wants, but he takes his time. Daisy eventually comes back into his life - having now become a ballet dancer in New York. Signal's get crossed and the two eventually end up on the out's with each other for a time. After a tragedy, they eventually end up together for at least a decade (it's not made entirely clear how long they were together). Miss Queen eventually passes, and again, Benjamin is reminded how short life is - even though, at this point he's just starting to look like that impossibly good-looking fucker that all the ladies swoon over - goddamned pretty boy. 

The big surprise (that's really no surprise to anyone in the audience at this point) comes when Daisy's daughter discovers that Ben was her father. He leaves when she's a year old. His reasoning that for one, she'll never understand why her father is so young, two, that she needs a father - not a playmate, and three that it's not fair to Daisy to have to raise two children. He wanders the globe again, getting younger year by year. It's around 1980 or 1981 when he comes back into Daisy's life - now looking (thanks to some rather impressive digital smearing on the face) about 22-ish (though obviously he's 63 or so). Basically, Daisy's moved on, found a father for her daughter, made a life for herself - but he needs to see her one last time while he still has his wits about him. They enjoy one last night together, and he leaves again.  It is sometime later, presumably in the early 90's, when child services contacts Daisy to assist with a "problem". They found a teenage boy with no ID, only a journal with her name pasted all over it. It's odd to just about everyone that this adolescent boy is showing early signs of dementia. He's allowed to stay at the retirement home with Daisy, who is now a guest there following the death of her husband. He eventually regresses into a young boy, then a toddler - senility and dementia taking over his mind. Benjamin Button passes away in 2003 in what has to be one of the more startling and tragic deaths I've ever seen put to film, Daisy says goodnight to him one last time (by this point my face was a total waterfall - all I'll say is, if you have children...it'll mean a lot more to you and be so much harder to watch). We return to old Daisy, moments before Katrina begins utterly ripping apart New Orleans, who in her last breath whispers a goodnight to him again - and in a final scene, we're shown that definitively, this story is over. 

The film is such an emotional roller coaster. At times so cute and charming and quirky, at other times, tragic and heartfelt and tender. There's a particular sequence involving one of the retirees in the home and a bolt of lightning that just had everyone in the audience in stitches. I won't ruin it - but it's a highlight of the film, and serves, in a subtle way, to drive the finer points home. I liked that about the film...it didn't try to beat you over the head with its morality tale - it just unfolded, gradually, easily...and it breathed, and as an audience member, you're allowed to take it all in. Alexander Desplat's score was a great help in achieving all that. Up until this film, I was absolutely not a fan of the man's work. I had yet to hear a score of his that resonated with me whatsoever. That's changed with The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. So much so that I'm considering re-evaluating his prior efforts to see if I just flat-out missed something. He wrote a motif, and I can't recall the exact instrumentation, but I know it was mostly percussion - it was a "theme", if you will, for the clock. Eventually, through various incarnations, it becomes the primary motif for the film. And it's absolutely brilliant because - like the rest of the film - it's subtle, never really beating you over the head, never forcing you to make a conscious association. 

My favorites in scores this year read like my favorite films: WALL-E, The Dark Knight, and Benjamin Button. But they're so close I'm really honestly struggling to make a decision on which is my true favorite. In the case of Benjamin Button, performance were fantastic across the board, as was the screenplay, the cinematography, the special effects, the production design...all of it A+ effort. So deciding which film is really your favorite - it's like moving into a new house, and you've got three masterpieces of art to hang on a focal wall - they all fit the room, and they're all equally impressive. So which one do you put up? They all have their merits, there are sweeping strokes that you love, and subtle touches that you adore. So which is it...which is the better? FUCK!!! It's going to drive you mad. Maybe in the end you just put the fuckers in constant, daily rotation just so you can think about other things, like what's for dinner?; what am I gonna do about lil' Joey's cleft pallet?; should I euthanize the cat?;should we invite MY mistress or my wife's mistress over for the hot threesome? You know...the little things!

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Year-End Odds and Ends and Getting Back on Track

So anyway, 2008 has been interesting to say the least. My son finally started talking (thanks to a small, but necessary, surgical procedure). I came within a pubes-length of scoring an actual feature film. Said film, by the way, just to add insult to injury, has been selected as an official entry at Sundance this year - so, yeah...big kick to the nuts on that one. Christmas and my birthday were relatively good to me - got that Bose iPod dock I'd been wanting, and a couple of tasty John Williams Signature Scores. And, surprisingly enough, I saw several of the better films I've ever seen in my short 32 years - I honestly can't decide which film I liked better: WALL-E, or The Dark Knight. The former appeals more to my general sense of happiness and inner-child while the latter (as I've previously stated in other postings) is arguably one of the better cinematic endeavors ever put to film and ranks a close second on my all-time favorites behind Empire. I should note at this point that I place a sizable distinction between my "favorite movies" and the "best films I've ever seen". All this leads me to my main point. It was Brad's idea that maybe I should, seeing as how I see a lot of them (although I'm struggling to find anything remotely resembling a compliment in that), try my hand at a little amateur film reviewing.

So...here we are. As it happens, this last weekend put a sizable dent in my "movies-you-need-to-get-the-fuck-out-and-see" list. I'm now half-way to my goal. There were four films I felt were absolute required viewing this holiday season...and as of today I can scratch two off: Valkyrie, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I took it upon myself to request an extended weekend from work this week, so with any luck, I'll get to Frost/Nixon on Monday. Gran Torino will (hopefully) shortly follow when it goes nation-wide on January 9th. So, on with my thoughts on things. Fair warning: while I'll try to abstain from delving into every little minutiae of a plot point, I will say that these will not be spoiler free - read at your own risk.

Friday I saw Valkyrie. I love a good thriller - the problem is...it's hard to get too wrapped up in one when you know the outcome (or for that matter when everyone has known the outcome for over 60 years). All that aside, Valkyrie is top-notch thriller - well executed, well acted, brilliantly shot and directed. But...I can't help but come back to my initial point. How much can one invest in a film like this when they know how it ends? A review I read on another website - though I don't recall which one - offered that it's a brilliant caper film that suffers mostly from the fact that there's no caper...or rather, that the "good-guys" don't pull it off. That says a lot really - I mean, how enjoyable would any of the Ocean's films been if the gang hadn't actually pulled off their big, elaborate heist at the end?!

Still there's a lot to admire and enjoy. If I had one gripe, it's that, much like the theatrical release of Kingdom of Heaven, it feels incomplete somehow. Remember this was originally supposed to release in June - I would have thought they would have spent that extra time in the editing room pulling out all the stops, making what might have been one of the greatest Oscar-baiting World War II films since Schindler's List. In its current form however, it feels more like a truncated, summer flick. That's not necessarily a bad thing - but considering the people involved (in front of and behind the camera) I would have thought a little more character development would be on the menu. In a nutshell (help, help I'm in a nutshell - sorry), the supporting cast of this film is essentially half to two-thirds of the supporting casts from Pirates of the Caribbean and Paul Verhoeven's Black Book (which, in the end is the superior WWII film because of its character).

Let go of your hate - don't let your feelings on the public Tom Cruise dissuade you from seeing this. Like many of his films, his performance transcends his personal life. Let's face it, regardless of how much of a douche he's become in the real world, how many truly bad movies has he really made? In Valkyrie, he portrays real-life Nazi Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg. This was a man who truly loved his country - and was truly hostile at the state that the leader of his country had brought it to. The film begins in North Africa where we get the briefest glimpse at just how much Hitler's ambition and megalomaniacal tendencies outreached his means. Colonel Stauffenberg has been consigned to head one of the last remaining Panzer divisions in the region - as we learn - for voicing his opinion of the state of Germany and his thoughts on Der Führer. In a brief and relatively thankless cameo, (the always awesome) Bernard Hill appears as Stauffenberg's superior, whom the Colonel convinces to allow them to unofficially "get the fuck out of Dodge" only to get blowed-up real good by an Allied air assault. It's this assault that cost Colonel Stauffenberg his right hand, two fingers from his left hand, some permanent nerve damage in various parts of the body, and his left eye. If I've never mentioned it before - I think eyes are icky...eyes, and open chest cavities (seeing a beating heart just makes me yecch). The very idea of someone popping a glass eye into an empty socket just gives me all kinds of heebie-jeebies - but anyway...

It's also this attack and the subsequent loss of various parts that seals the deal for the Colonel. What's left of him returns to the Fatherland, where he is quickly swept up by the German resistance, headed by Hamlet, General Zod, Slarty Bartfast, and Captain Jack's sidekick - Mr. Gibbs. As it happens, a touch of false advertising is afoot as Kenneth Branaugh's part is more a less a glorified cameo as well. This is one of the many things that makes me think there's a 3+ hour director's cut waiting for DVD and Blu-Ray. You just don't stick a guy like Branaugh in such a (seemingly) insignificant part like that. Again, the cast is absolutely superb with the likes of Tom Wilkinson, Thomas Kretschmann, Eddie Izzard (in an amazingly well-done dramatic turn) and Black Book's Carice van Houten as Stauffenberg's wife (again - relegated to an almost thankless cameo...I think she had all of 10 lines in the entire film). I wouldn't be true to my nature if I didn't point out how totally, awesomely hot she is. If you haven't seen Black Book, then my question to you is...WHY?!?!?! Besides being a fantastic film, the cost of the rental is worth watching her on screen for two hours.

At any rate, over the course of the next hour, plans are set in motion, mistakes are made, a seemingly serendipitous hand of bad luck is dealt out, and the whole thing just goes to shit. The location for the bombing gets moved from the bunker at Hitler's Wolf's Lair (which, had the bomb gone off there, everyone inside would have been killed from either the force of the blast or the heat blast that would/should/could have made its way through the corridors, cooking and suffocating anything in its path) to the cottage (it was July - shit gets hot). Only one of the two planned charges went off. It's conjectured (in the film at least) that the briefcase the bomb was in was moved farther away from Hitler, shielding him from some of the effects of the blast. All communication to the Wolf's Lair was cut off after the blast as was planned, but none of the conspirators stuck around to see if the bomb did the job. And lastly...and likely most importantly - General Friedrich Olbricht (Nighy's character), one of the leaders of the conspiracy, under a state of total fear and panic, waited over three hours to send the orders to initiate Operation: Valkyrie. For those that don't know - Operation: Valkyrie was Hitler's contingency plan to secure Germany (or rather the Reich as a whole) in the event of his death. It called for the activation of all reserve troops within Germany to, within six hours of his demise, secure order and continue the fight. In a rather clever play against Hitler's ever building sense of dementia and paranoia, Colonel Stauffenberg was placed in a position within the government to "amend" the plan (cutting the response time down to three hours and placing the lions share of the reserve in Berlin) and, with brass cojones the size of bowling balls, actually got the crazy fucker to sign it!

So, in the end, it failed...Hitler lived, as did (surprisingly) most of the people in the room, having only suffered a few cuts and bruises (and a big boost to his already paranoid state), and the conspirators were either captured and executed, or offed themselves to evade capture. History has revealed that Hitler went so far as to have several of the families of the group rounded up and executed as well - though this isn't shown or referenced in the film. As a testament to just how much I did manage to get wrapped up in the film, I was vocally relieved to read the title card at the end stating that Colonel Stauffenberg's family survived the war (his wife passed in 2006). A lot has been made in the media about the actors not performing with German accents - to which I say, "So-the-fuck-WHAT?!?!" Honestly, who gives a shit. This isn't the first American film in history to take place in a foreign country and have the cast speak with their natural accents. Yeah, the characters are German...but the dialogue is in English, what's the fucking point of having everyone speak with a German accent. All it would do is serve to ham up the film and make half the performers in it look ridiculous because, despite their talents, they can't pull it off convincingly. Why do you think Costner spoke naturally in Robin Hood? It was because his British accent sucked ass - note the scenes where he's disguised as the blind beggar for conformation! Connery barely tried to pull off a Russian in Red October because in the end he knew he'd never get around that thick Scottish brogue. Cruise's Irish accent from Far and Away sounded like the fucking Lucky Charms leprechaun - obviously foreign accents aren't his thing! In the end I agree with Singer, let the actors speak naturally - anything else would be an even bigger distraction, and a disservice to the film. So anyway, all in all, a real treat of a film with a good sense that it potentially could be even better in the future with an expanded edit.

I couldn't live down the shame and pummeling from my loyal following (hah!) if I didn't at least mention John Ottman's contribution to the film. As usual, he served as both composer and editor - and, I don't know if this is a first for him or not, co-exec producer. Generally speaking, I've never had any complaints about Ottman's editing. He's concise, and has a great sense of dramatic timing. I'm generally just not a fan of his music. I enjoyed quite a bit from Superman Returns (although what he did with some of Johnny's material, to me anyway, is nearly unforgivable), X-2 had it's moments, but basically I've never thought much of him as a composer. I've never had much inclination to run right out and pick up one of his score CD's after I saw the film. While I haven't "run right out" and got the CD for Valkyrie, I will say that it's on my list. I was really quite impressed with it overall - subdued overall, but tense when it was necessary, bold when called for, grand when required. The choral piece he composed for the end of the film is quite nice (but I'll reserve final judgement on it until I've heard it away from the film and through my headphones). The suspenseful cues did reek of some of Johnny's work for Munich, but again, overall it was actually pretty damned good - I'd have to give it my full recommendation.

This is getting a touch long, so I'll leave you with "To Be Continued..." for my take on The Curious Case of Benjamin Button saying only that the race for Best Picture this year is going to be excruciatingly tight...