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...

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Reveling in Bad Karma

So anyway, I don't have a lot to say on the subject because frankly, following political punditry on either side of the fence gives me a headache...but, this is just too good to ignore. Apparently, based on an article I read on AOLNews, conservative-extremo-right-wing-überracist-hate-monger-extraordinaire Ann Coulter is, get this, having her jaw wired shut for about three weeks (or so) following a fall that injured it not long ago.

That's just too fucking awesome not to share. Man, Karmic retribution is a bitch ain't it?! I don't read or hear the woman any more than humanly possible - because honestly, she makes me want to hurt her - or just women in general - the theory being that if I beat enough of them senseless, the point will eventually, in some strange and terrible Pay It Forward sort of way, land on her doorstep...and misogyny just isn't cool man (please, for the love of all that is holy, do not think that I in anyway am advocating violence of any kind against the "fairer sex" - I'm just making a point...an awful, awful point)! I liken her to a bleached-out, talking cunt with a yeast infection. The bitch is just vile...plain and simple. So this is almost like a blessing. Like I said, I don't listen to it, but now, thankfully no one will for a short time. Then again, she can still type - too bad the fall didn't break all of her fingers too ("I know a guy...").

Like I said - don't have much to say on the subject - just wanted to share the revelry.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

No One Wants To Play With My Poll

That's it...

Just using the complete lack of interest (or nearly so) in the latest addition to my blog to spew out another shameless pun.

Another insight into my psyche - I saw a headline on CNN.com that read "Ex-SNL star loses 100 pounds". First thought in my mind - "Gee, that's all the further Chris Farley's corpse has rotted since he died?!?!"


Please disperse...nothing to see here...

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Don't Go Away Mad...Just Go Away

So anyway, as I sit and mull the completion of my other post (or whether or not it's even relevant now with the election being over), I can't help but ponder on something else that's bothering me. There's a phenomena that's been plaguing us for some time now, and frankly...I'm tired of it. I'm cut-my-own-sack-off-and-choke-on-it-just-to-make-it-go-away tired of it. I think I'd like to refer to this phenom, this epidemic - if you will - as the In Vitro Celebrity. There's a wave out there of people who, regardless of whether or not they actually do anything, have achieved celebrity status of near epic proportions. Some are "artists" - musicians, actors, etc. (those in question have, more often than not, achieved more celebrity through their actions rather than their...'talent'), some are merely rich and bitchy. And to be honest, I'd like to put most of them in an unpressurized box and send them into orbit.

So, I give, for anyone who cares, my list of people I'm absolutely fed up with seeing (whether it be on my TV or my computer) and why:

1. Amy Winehouse

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!! What in the name of Mary and sweet, sweet bebe Jesuth is with this bitch?! For months she out-and-out plagued my internet with her exploits, and I didn't even know what she DID!!! I finally broke down and read enough of a single article to realize she's a - and I use the term oh so loosely - musician of sorts. Further research by way of iTunes made me realize that really...she's not bad! She's got this catchy 21st Century bluesy vibe going with a semi-pleasant raspy voice that, with enough listens, could really grow on you. But what the FUCK is her problem. Millions of people self-destruct all around the world every year without so much as a blip on anyone's radar...so why the hell do you have to go out of your way to make sure everybody in the free fucking world sees your descent into oblivion. If you need to get away that fucking badly...strap some cheap explosives to yourself, find a cave somewhere, and push the fucking plunger. Seriously, I'm growing a tumor from seeing you...go away.

2. Sienna Miller

If I may, can I ask a question? Who the fuck are you?!?! Supposedly you're an actress. Ok...fine, so I look up your resume on IMDB. Heh...I've seen TWO FUCKING FILMS (Stardust and Layer Cake) you've been in, and frankly...I don't remember you in them. To me, you seem like a poor man's Naomi Watts. I personally don't find you terribly interesting in any manner...which might explain why your presence in the aforementioned films went unnoticed. Unfortunately, thanks to the media, I do know that you used to be sucking Jude Law's cock. Then you stopped sucking his cock and started sucking...Rhys Fucking Ifans cock?!?! Ok sure, why not...bit of a step down appearance-wise, but personality and chemistry can go a long way (which explains my marriage, among other things). Then, poor, poor Rhys...he found out you weren't sucking his cock anymore when the ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD found out you were naked in the Med, sucking Balthazar Getty's cock!!! Balthazar WHO?!?! Ok, so...apparently he's an actor too. He's actually had a fairly decent career - but most of the things I've seen him in I saw when I was in HIGH SCHOOL. Oh...and he's married - your little naked adventure is how his wife found out too! And now, apparently, you don't want to suck his cock anymore because he still wants his wife to do it! Please proceed to the cave on the left - in it you'll find a strung-out, anorexic, English crackhead - please assist her in a certain button that needs pushing.

3. Sarah Palin

Ok, so...with any luck, as of today we may never have to see this crazy bitch again. Don't get me wrong - I actually find her quite physically attractive in a MILF-y sort of way. But the bitch crazy, she wicked crazy! She's actually dangerously crazy. Which actually in some small manner makes me pity the people of Alaska...because now they have to deal with her again. On the other hand, the fucking idiots voted her in in the first place - so maybe they're getting what they deserve! To be honest, I think she should serve out her term then try for something on a federal level...just to see how she fares. Who knows, after a few years in Washington, she may actually get her shit together enough to be a welcome sight again. What she really needs is a few years there to get a little dirty and rub some of the Jesus off of her. Until then...please feel free to fuck off at your leisure. The cave is, again, to the left. You don't have to go in just yet...but feel free to enjoy this complementary front row seat to the show.

4. Kim Kardashian

Ok, so...at this point this list is looking at the very least sexist, if not wholly misogynistic. That couldn't be further from the truth. The fact is however that most of the people in the media that I most want to go on a permanent vacation happen to be of the feminine gender. The fact is that as it stands at this moment, I can't think of any men that I want to be rid of - except maybe the entire cast of Entourage, what's the deal with that show anyway (does anyone think it's funny?!)? In the case of this young lady...well...I don't know really. I actually quite enjoy her "ass"ets as it were. Let's face it, of all the rich bitches in the news, she's arguably the most attractive - one might even go so far as to say she's the only one who's genuinely beautiful. She make my pee-pee tingle. But, in the immortal words of one Wendy Testeburger, "WHAT DOES SHE DO?!?!" And as the gentlemen in that episode appropriately answered, "She's a WHORE!!!" (note that that was supposed to be a positive response). She doesn't do ANYTHING! She's known for being rich, social, gorgeous, and having an awesomely ginormous ass!!! Yet, nary a day goes by where she doesn't pop up in my news headlines or on TV for something. And...thanks to Dancing With the Stars, we got to see her on a weekly basis...for a time. Honestly, she's truly the least troublesome of this lot, her most annoying traits being that she seems relatively ignorant, won't go away, is too rich for her own good, and made the mistake of letting her boyfriend fuck her in the ass and make a tape of it (ok, so only slightly envious). Not exactly a Nuremberg list of crimes...but still enough to wish her out of the public spotlight indefinitely - or at least until she gets an honest-to-goodness hardcore porn career going, in which case...the more the merrier!

5. The Unholy Blonde Trinity (Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, and Lindsay Lohan)

Let's all be honest, of the three of these women - to this day most men would say they'd still fuck the shit out of two of the three (guesses as to which one doesn't make the cut - come on...we all know who it is!). Poor Lindsay...such potential, only to completely and utterly fuck it up because you couldn't lay off the sauce, keep the magic powder out of your nose, or cover that panooch with a tasteful (but still sexy) pair of panties. And now you've sworn off the penis altogether (you know, a couple of years ago it was little dogs that fit into obscenely over-priced handbags - now it's finding the manliest carpet to munch on that you can get and denying it for months at a time...ah, trends). It's actually kind of nice to see that the ex-Mrs. K-Fed is making baby-step sized attempts to get her shit together. Too bad the old axiom still applies: you can take the whore out of the trailer but you can't take the trailer out of the whore. Lil' sis Jaime Lynn is doing oh so good of a job of proving that. As for that rich, obnoxious, over-indulged, blonde bag of antlers, well...what's left to say at this point that hasn't already been said umpteen-thousand times. Just die already - maybe you're little pocket-pooch will go all zombie dog on you and have you for dinner - sooner rather than later would be preferable. I like Patton Oswald's take on Paris - he said something to the effect of , "...if she could get cancer of the AIDS of the leukemia of the eyes, that would be awesome - you know if a big, fat biker could just fuck that into her skull...that would be great!" And for the fates of the other two - the only thing that would make me actually want to keep them around is if they were paying me absolutely ridiculous sums of cash for the privilege of raping my noodle with their assholes on a daily basis.

Ok kids, these five have pretty much tapped me out for today...maybe I'll update the post tomorrow with more as it comes to me, until then, hope you enjoyed it, remember the 9:30 show is completely different from the 7:30 show, don't forget to tip your waitress, enjoy the veal...THANK YOU SEATTLE...GOODNIGHT!!!

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Sandwich

So anyway, say you like ham sandwiches. So, you fix yourself a ham sandwich - thick sliced wheat bread (crust optional); add a bit of mayo...maybe a touch of mustard; about a half-dozen or so slices of brown sugar glazed ham; I'm not a tomato eater - but to each their own; some crisp, leafy lettuce...

...and some fresh-sliced provolone cheese...mmm, yummy.

Anyway, say your significant other also likes ham sandwiches. They gaze upon your sandwich almost lustfully, mouth nearly watering. So...you fix them a sandwich...exactly like yours. But wait...no, no, no, they don't want provolone! No...none of that mister, they want Swiss. But wait, your sandwich doesn't have Swiss...it has provolone - and provolone is so much better than Swiss (I mean come on really - Swiss, when you can have provolone?). You try to explain this - you even offer a small sample of provolone for comparison.

NO!!!
NO PROVOLONE - I ONLY WANT SWISS, they demand. But...you liked the provolone, you counter - it's so much better, and are they really that different anyway? Keep it up and I won't have any cheese at all, they retort. So you cave, and give them the Swiss...knowing full well the provolone is better and that they'd like it too if they'd try it.

And so, you eat your ham sandwiches. Yours is better...you know it, they know it - but there's just no convincing some people. You both finish, maybe top it off with a nice glass of milk. But, to add insult to injury - and perhaps just out of spite - your significant other begins to argue that it wasn't even ham at all...

...it was turkey.

Wait...wha...HUH?!?!?! TURKEY?!?!?!

Where the hell did that come from? Clearly it was ham - and the provolone would have been much better!!!

NO! It was turkey they offer, and with Swiss to boot - and why Swiss? Cheddar or American would have been better!


GAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!

Monday, October 20, 2008

Coitus Interruptus

So anyway, I like to think I can tolerate somewhere between a good to a significant amount of bullshit. I work for a bank...the environment it absolutely teeming with it. But after a while, a decent, hard-working fellow (such as myself) really begins to question what manner of cosmic force he seems to have unbalanced that warrants the magnitude of bovine excrement that seems to keep piling up on his head.

Generally speaking, I'm okay with most of the shortcomings in my life thus far, but some things...well, some things are just unfair. Case in point I offer you: the post-coital migraine. In layman's terms, it basically means that, for what are still essentially unknown reasons, the euphoric rush of adrenaline to the brain combined with the strenuous motion required to bring about ejaculation (hehe - I said ejaculation) result in a BAD FUCKING HEADACHE FROM HELL. Anyone with a passing familiarity with my little blog here knows that I am, in a word...horny. My wife, gentle and fair soul that she is, accepts this and generally attempts to accommodate. When she can't, she accepts that I have "hobbies". So...what does one do when the universe seeks to rid him of his favorite thing(s) in life?

As fun as it sounds, I really don't see Homicidal Rampage as a viable solution. Our society, with all it's eccentricities and contradictions, still seems to frown on individuals taking it upon themselves to rid the world of a few random, albeit unnecessary people. I'm not God for certain, I'm not even particularly divine - but I like to think that I could potentially be a good judge of whom the world does and doesn't need anymore! If this month-long regimen of anti-inflammatory medication doesn't solve my little problem - some mother fucker is going to find out just how judicious I can be. And that's the current state of my status (redundancy intended) - a month of drugs. At the very least, even if it doesn't help my head, my knees should feel pretty damn good (yea - my knees don't hurt, now if I could only pop a load without feeling like I just sat through three hours with my head against Lemmy Kilmister's amp).

One thing I'm not, is patient...generally speaking. I'm patient with my son (he did give me poop as a present after all) - it's as though after he was born, my life became that of a character from a Final Fantasy game, I gained a level - thus giving me access to a new attribute. Too bad it's only good for being able to not kill him! Anyway, the point is frustration can be an ugly thing. It stews like, well...a stew. How does one find release when he can't...release? I'm open to suggestions. I've considered intoxicating my wife and convincing her that it'd be more fun if she did all the work. But I suppose that's a combination of mean, cruel, tasteless, offensive, and probably illegal somehow too! Not to mention, given our fragile state of domestic affairs, I'm not sure introducing addictive substances would be the smartest move on my chess board at the moment. As things currently stand, I'm at a loss - it's like some strange (and somewhat cruel) combination of my dog dying, my favorite TV show getting cancelled, and a heroin addiction.



Besides...who wants to just look at porn?!?! I mean, WHAT THE FUCK, right?! Where's the fun in that?!?! Oooh, look...titties! That's nice, well golly gee whiz...say, I wonder if Macy's is having a sale?

Kill me...




Kill me now, I beg you!!!




"God...come in God. This is Bad Karma...do you read?"

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

"Why oh why didn't I take the blue pill?!"

Please disperse, nothing to see here...
Move along, nothing to see here...
Nothing to see here, please disperse...
Nothing to see here...
Absolutely nothing to see here...



There's absolutely nothing to see here


Consider yourself warned - (NOT WORK FRIENDLY)






hey, you think I could find this shit at work?