Island of Misfit Toys

Hugo

2011-11-27T15:44:00.002-07:00

I've been going to the movies since I was 3 years old. When I was a kid, and for as long as my parents and relatives would tolerate it, I saw a lot of movies. The rule was simple: if it wasn't rated PG-13 or R, I could most likely see a movie. How often would a PG-rated movie have content that was unsuitable for children? Of course, this meant that some movies I saw went over my head, not because they were too adult, but because not every PG-rated movie is intended for children first.

But I saw a lot of movies. And if I liked a movie, I'd see it twice, or I'd try to see it twice. My parents--usually my dad, who was more patient--would see the movie with me the first time, and if I walked out saying "That was the BEST movie," I would likely be able to see it again, as long as my aunt Mary was willing to see it with me. She lived about 20 minutes away and rare was the time when she didn't see a movie with me, just to spend time with me. Now, I was a kid and a lot of movies for kids aren't really that good. I didn't know any better--and growing up during the Disney Renaissance made it so me wanting to see Beauty and the Beast or The Lion King multiple times didn't and still doesn't seem crazy. As I grew up, I didn't see a lot of movies twice in theaters, simply because I didn't have the disposable income to do so. (My parents and aunt didn't have disposable incomes, either, but a) movies were cheaper back in the 1990s and b) I wasn't a very pampered kid with tons of toys and gizmos at home.) In the grand scheme of things, seeing a movie twice isn't the biggest luxury, but time and money are frequently more important than seeing a fictional story twice, especially when it'll be available to own in a few months.

I bring all of this up because now, if I see a movie twice, it's because that movie is going to hold a special place in my heart, and I want to give it all the space it needs. Every once in a while, I do see a movie multiple times, from Toy Story 3 to The Dark Knight to There Will Be Blood. For various reasons, those movies mean something to me, and weren't movies I wanted to see on the big screen just once. This weekend has brought two new movies, The Muppets and Hugo, that will likely hold similarly vaunted places for me in years to come. I don't know if I'm likely to see either of them in theaters again, but I'd like to. I've already written about (and recorded a podcast, too) The Muppets over at Mousterpiece Cinema, so I want to talk about Hugo right now. I don't know that children will like Hugo or dislike it, but guess what? I don't have kids, so who am I to say what child will or won't like it? I saw Martin Scorsese's latest in a 3D theater yesterday; while it was probably not as packed as a theater for The Muppets was, there were a lot of families and children in the audience. They didn't seem restless, but frankly, I don't care if kids like this movie or not. Martin Scorsese didn't make this movie for children. He made it for people.

There's been plenty written about the irony of making a movie that argues strenuously and passionately for film preservation in digital 3D, not 35MM film, which is in its dying days. But it's important for us to remember that film preservation can take many forms. Yes, we can argue strictly to preserve the very concept of physical film, but it's just as important--if not moreso--to preserve the movies that men and women have created either on film or digitally. As I watched Hugo, Scorsese's 22nd film (have there been only 22 over the past 45 years?), I was constantly thinking of the visionary British filmmaker Michael Powell. After the film, I was nudged to consider Powell's personal relationship to Scorsese as a mentor in a different way, thanks to an e-mail exchange with fellow film aficionado Gabe Bucsko, but in the moment, I was reminded of Powell's versatility as a filmmaker. In a seven-year stretch during the 1940s, he and writer Emeric Pressburger collaborated to make a whimsical romantic comedy, an epic war biography, a melodrama about repressed nuns, an ode to ballet as the center of creativity, a rustic screwball romance, a jittery and tragic character study, and a mercurial and moving love letter to the beauty of living the slow life.

Everything about those woefully brief synposes (see the movies of the Archers, by the way; it'll change your life) shouts versatility. Michael Powell didn't just make romantic movies, he didn't just make dramas, he didn't just make comedies; he made movies. He made great movies, but he couldn't be typecast as a writer and director. Martin Scorsese has been proving lately that he shouldn't be typecast either, even if most people assume Scorsese is a mobster-movie director. Think of the films he's made over his career, from the splashy and entertaining biography of Howard Hughes to the dark and introspective look at the last days of Jesus Christ to the crowd-pleasing drama about a pool hustler and the kid he's mentoring to the post-WWII musical. Yes, Scorsese made Goodfellas and Casino. Yes, he won the Oscar for The Departed, another mobster movie. But typecast Scorsese at your discretion. Still, that's what people are doing. They read the logline for Hugo, about an orphaned boy who lives in a Parisian train station, fixing its clocks after his father passes away and uncle leaves him to his own devices, and they scratch their heads. People so often forget that Martin Scorsese is and has always been making movies he'd want to see, movies he would've loved when he was a boy, unable to go out due to his asthma.

Here's something else: people fall over themselves to praise Clint Eastwood for his work ethic. And, hey, why not? An 81-year old man directing one movie a year? Good on you, sir. Even more credit is given him because he's clearly very versatile, jumping from genre to genre with ease. Let's be clear: I don't really share that opinion. Yes, I appreciate that Clint Eastwood is very old and still making movies that have unique scopes and motives. I also don't think a lot of those movies are very good. The last film of his I legitimately enjoyed was Million Dollar Baby; just last week, I saw and was underwhelmed by J. Edgar, and I've put myself through the tortures known as Hereafter and Gran Torino, so I'm not coming at this without any prior knowledge. And sure, Martin Scorsese turns 70 next year, so he may not be as sprightly and energetic in a decade. I sure hope he is, though, because look at the output of work he's done in the last decade. Gangs of New York. The Aviator. The Departed. Shutter Island. Hugo. And I haven't forgotten his work on the pilot episode of Boardwalk Empire, or the six documentaries he's made since 2003, including three in the past 18 months. Martin Scorsese could've chosen to relax after finally winning the Best Director Oscar for The Departed. Instead, he's challenging himself with an ostensible kids' movie.

What a movie it is, by the way. I've spent so much time talking about pitting elder-statesman directors against each other that I almost forgot that Hugo is an incredible achievement. First, it proves once more that 3D is not a completely useless format. There are a lot of things to champion about Hugo, a myriad of elements to praise, but let's start with the 3D. Yes, friends, this is a movie you need to see, and you need to see it in 3D. I wish I could remember who said it on Twitter this week, but someone (not me, I promise) said that watching Hugo in 2D is like watching Modern Times without the sound on. You get the same story, but the experience is so much different. That person was dead right, too. From the very first shot, a swooping, zooming tracking shot that introduces us to the set where the majority of the film will take place, that train station, Scorsese is inviting and instructing us to strap in, because he's not just going to utilize the 3D format to thrust sharp objects at the audience. This is 3D at its most immersive. We may not be entering the world of Pandora, but the world of Hugo, as designed by Dante Ferretti and shot by Robert Richardson, is just as welcoming and exciting to watch.

The story of Hugo, written by John Logan and based on a book by Brian Selznick, is a tricky one, because it changes gears halfway through, unexpectedly zigging instead of zagging. Hugo is a 12-year old orphan whose father died mysteriously. He lives in the walls of a Parisian train station circa 1932, fixing its many clocks because his ne'er-do-well uncle left him to go drinking. All that really keeps Hugo going is the thought of fixing the one thing his father left him: an automaton that is meant to write out...something. Hugo hopes it's a message from his dead father, but even with all of the parts he's pilfered from the train station, mostly from a toy store run by a grouchy old man, there's one part of the machine he can't find: a heart-shaped key that seems to power the automaton. Even the notebook with detailed instructions that his father left behind hasn't helped Hugo, but one day, the grouchy old man sees that notebook and takes it away from the boy, for no discernible reason. Hugo meets Isabelle, the goddaughter of the grouchy old man, known as Papa Georges, soon after and they become fast friends. The mystery deepens when Hugo realizes that Isabelle is wearing the very key he needs to turn on the automaton. Once the automaton is turned on...well, things take a turn.

The less said, the better, frankly. Some film buffs will know, or have some inkling, of where Hugo is going, but most people won't. Certainly, almost every child watching this movie won't know the wonders and surprises of the second half of the film. But let's make something perfectly clear: Hugo doesn't become a great movie in its second half. It's a great movie from the beginning, only getting better. Even once the movie leaves the train station, the visuals are sumptuous and dazzling. The music, from Howard Shore, is playful and romantic, hearkening to a forgotten time, a time that might have only truly existed in people's minds, their imaginations. As it goes with pretty much every Scorsese film, the cast is excellent, from Asa Butterfield and Chloe Grace Moretz as Hugo and Isabelle, to Ben Kingsley as Papa Georges, Sacha Baron Cohen as the antagonistic train inspector, and Michael Stuhlbarg as a man with surprising knowledge up his sleeve. Kingsley, in particular, is incredible. He's proven here and in other recent roles that he's one of the finest older actors working in Hollywood; now, he just needs to stop appearing in Uwe Boll movies.

Though it would be wrong of me to reveal the secrets of the final hour of Hugo, let it be said that this movie should be necessary viewing for kids. Kids should have an appreciation of film, good and bad, simply so they can see what wonders can be achieved, and what wonders have been achieved, through the medium of cinema. There may not be crass or gross-out humor in this movie, and sure, it's a period piece. But an entertaining, edifying movie is what it is. Children can embrace this as well as adults can, because in Hugo, Martin Scorsese taps into a primal instinct we all have when we watch certain movies: the silver screen can make us all children again, can tap into our inner child easily. Hugo is a movie for the film lover in each of us, and it's one of the best films of the year.

The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

2011-11-16T20:36:00.003-07:00

Who doesn't love the Muppets? I suppose that's a question being posed across the country right now, as some people's love for these felt characters is being sorely tested with the release of the seventh movie starring Jim Henson's group of characters, The Muppets. Now, consider that for one moment: we are getting ready for the seventh film starring a group of puppet characters whose lines and actions are performed by men and women kneeling or crouching in carefully placed sets and trenches to interact with human performers. How the hell have there been seven Muppet movies? How was there even one?

It's worth considering this fact: at the height of their popularity, there were apparently 300 million people around the world watching The Muppet Show, their five-season syndicated series from the late-1970s. 300 million people. Can you imagine such a number? TIME Magazine called the program one of the most popular shows on TV ever, and with numbers like the one I mentioned above--apparently the only one available on the Interwebs--it's hard to argue with that statement. Equally impressive is that, in 2011 dollars, the 1979 film The Muppet Movie would have made over $200 million. I imagine that Walt Disney Pictures is crossing its collective fingers for a number that's close to half that, let alone higher, for the new movie coming out in a week. But I'm writing this post mostly to give a major shout-out to The Muppet Movie, which I watched for the first time in a couple of years this weekend and fell in love with all over again.

Here's a potentially bold statement: The Muppet Movie is one of the best all-around family entertainments. Ever. I know that I come into watching the movie for the umpteenth time with knowledge of what jokes are coming around the bend, the music, and general nostalgia for the characters. But I remain impressed and floored with what came out of Jim Henson, Frank Oz, and the rest of the Muppet performers and writers to make this movie. If you want proof in this world that children can grasp relatively complex concepts, look no further than the conceit of this film: the Muppet characters, like Kermit, Miss Piggy, Sam the Eagle, Gonzo, and the others, are watching The Muppet Movie. They're watching the movie of how they made it in Hollywood. Meta humor, thy name is Muppet. The movie-within-the-movie also makes plenty of fourth-wall jokes; the best part is actually appreciating them once you get to a mature enough age. I can tell you that when I was a kid, I laughed at both the "You should try Hare Krishna" and "Good grief, it's a running gag" lines in the El Sleazo Cafe sequence. I can also tell you I had zero idea what those jokes meant. The delivery made me laugh. Now, the meaning makes me laugh.

And hey, that's kind of the point: The Muppet Movie is really, really funny. It's funny in ways I hadn't been aware of, even when I last watched the movie. One of the great joys I find in watching films I've seen countless times before is seeing something new. How it is that the human mind can't perceive every element of a movie they're presented with (or choose to present themselves with) numerous times is beyond me. But so it goes. The example from this viewing: when Kermit and Miss Piggy get stuck in a trap set by the evil Doc Hopper--who wants to make Kermit the new spokesman for his frog's-legs restaurant, but you knew that already, right?--they face off with an evil German doctor played by Mel Brooks. This mad doctor plans on hypnotizing Kermit to want to be Doc Hopper's shill; he makes some joke about turning Kermit's brains to jelly, but after a few seconds of Hopper and his cronies laughing, he stops them. "I detest the surfeit of provincial laughter," he says curtly.

My hand to God, I hadn't ever heard that line before. It wasn't that I'd heard it and didn't get it. I just had never heard it before. Maybe it's that Brooks talks quite fast as the doctor, or that I was too young to ever take into account his riposte, but there you go. And hey, that's a funny Goddamned line of dialogue, too. There are a lot of funny lines, and not just from the massive cast of celebrities who show up for a few minutes here and there. But they're all pretty great, from Steve Martin ("Don't you want to sniff the bottle cap?") to Carol Kane ("Yeth?") to Milton Berle to the climactic cameo from Orson Welles. But the rest of the Muppets are hilarious, too, and sometimes moving. I don't know if the new movie can capture that mixture of tones as well as this one does, but I'm hoping for the best.

Now, I'm not going to get too far in-depth about either this movie or the Muppets as a whole now. I leave that for the Disney movie podcast I host, Mousterpiece Cinema, which you're listening to, right? Go check it out. But I did want to give a bit of an appreciation to this movie, especially in its music. We all know, of course, "The Rainbow Connection," the sticky-sweet song that Kermit sings as the opening credits roll. I have no idea how this song still works, even for a guy at age 27, but saccharine lyrics and plaintive banjo be damned. Maybe it's that I cannot resist the charms of Kermit the Frog, maybe it's that the tune is catchy, but whatever the case, "The Rainbow Connection" is untouchable. The other music, though, in the movie is equally important, if not as instantly iconic as the opener.

I didn't appreciate it until watching the movie this time, but there are only a few main characters or groups in this movie, if we base it solely on the songs. There's, of course, Kermit, who sings "The Rainbow Connection" solo and is a co-lead on a few other songs. There's Miss Piggy, his paramour, who sings "Never Before and Never Again," the overwrought love song she dream-sings after spying Kermit at the beauty pageant she wins halfway through the film. There's Kermit's unflappable sidekick, Fozzie, who co-sings "Movin' Right Along." There's the Great Gonzo, who sings the melancholy "I'm Going to Go Back There Someday" at the gang's darkest hour. Then, we have Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, who sing "Can You Picture That?" and also help Kermit and his pals out at various key moments. If you're looking for a deus ex machina, that's them. Finally, there's Rowlf, who takes the lead on "I Hope That Something Better Comes Along."

Now, I imagine that once we get past Kermit, Miss Piggy, Fozzie, and Gonzo, you might assume that there really shouldn't be any other main characters. And that's not really incorrect, but the more I thought about the music in this movie, the more I realized that these are all main characters in some respect. Hell, Rowlf sticks around with the group after his song--and if there's a flaw, it's that while Kermit does verbally encourage the other characters to join him, we don't see him do so with Rowlf--all the way to the end of the movie. I don't know that I'd fully appreciated his presence in the tour bus after Dr. Teeth and his crew pick the gang up in the middle of the desert until this viewing. The point remains: if we look at the music, these are the main characters. What's more, we should look at that music, because this is a musical. It's got romance, comedy, drama, action, and horror, but this is a musical first and foremost. The only major difference is that none of the humans sing a word. Considering the structure of The Muppet Show, it's a little surprising to me that Jim Henson and friends didn't find a way to sneak in a musical performance of some kind from one of the human characters, but so it goes.

Anyway, I've written a bit more on this topic than I'd expected, but here's the thing: I've gotten far more excited in the last week or so for The Muppets. Part of me, I will not lie, is worried that the people making the new movie won't be able to pull off the tone, that they are banking on nostalgia more than anything else. Worse yet, I'm also worried that I'm going to let that nostalgia blind me. Honestly, even if the movie isn't as great as I'm hoping it will be, I want it to do well. If there's a franchise I want revived, it's this one. I'm more than fine with Disney milking every drop from Kermit and his friends, as long as it means more Muppets in pop culture. If that's what comes from people going gaga for these characters again, I'm cool with it. And I mean...it's the Muppets. Who doesn't love the Muppets?

Do The Right Thing

2011-11-11T17:39:00.004-07:00

Oh, what a week. I say I'm glad to have it over, but then again, I'm not Rick Perry, Herman Cain, Joe Paterno, Brett Ratner, Eddie Murphy, or any of the other people who've had a publicly bad week. I only want to talk about one of these major scandals, as it's the one that will likely be going on for quite some time. And folks, I'll be honest: this is not an issue where I will budge easily. When I was younger and would fight for my point on the most minor thing, whether it was why I liked Movie A and someone else didn't or something equally trivial, my parents would sit me down and remind me that the world is not black and white, right and wrong, whatever. There is gray in everyone, in all of the world. And while that's true, I just can't budge on the Penn State ordeal.

I have been consistently impressed and amazed this week at how immensely stupid people can be in this world. NPR has been covering the story in a mostly evenhanded fashion, but something in each of their stories over the past few days has set me off. This is one of those major media circuses that is both horrifying and compelling to behold. If ever there was an example of rubbernecking at a train wreck, that's what this is. Today, for example, a reporter told Steve Inskeep that people at Penn State are now concerned about what this disgusting story will do for their reputation.

Let's pause for a second. You may not know much about the story I'm referring to. So, context: last Saturday, a grand jury report came out that a former assistant coach for Penn State's college football team, the Nittany Lions, had, over a period of 15 years, been molesting young boys on campus grounds. Since at least 2002, the team's coach, Joe Paterno, as well as a few other coaches and high-level administration officials including the college president, were aware of the allegations. None of them ever went to the police. The former coach, while not being an employee of the college since 1998, was able to access the campus because he still had an office thanks to his cushy friendship with Paterno. Since the grand jury report was revealed, the assistant coach was arrested, Paterno was fired as was the president of the college, and others are being charged with perjury. The level of cowardice in this story is breathtaking. The level of deification, while somewhat expected, is staggering.

So, back to the present. People at Penn State University are concerned what this scandal is going to do to the institution's reputation. I have bad news, Nittany Lions: your reputation is in the toilet and will continue to be if the public perception you give off is that YOU ARE CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR REPUTATION. One of the greatly troubling aspects about this story is that those from the university shouting loudest are not shouting about the tragedy that a number of young boys, some now in college and some older, have gone through because people stood by and did nothing. The incident in 2002 where Paterno and the others were alerted to the assistant coach's proclivities occurred when a former PSU quarterback-turned-coach literally saw the coach raping an 11-year old boy in the locker room showers. His first move was to ask his dad what to do. He could've stopped the elderly coach, but he did nothing. He could've gone to the cops, but he did nothing. He went to Paterno. Paterno did nothing. The administrators and president did nothing. So, Penn State? You have no reputation anymore. You are an embarrassment to the idea of higher education in America. You are an embarrassment to what it means to be decent and moral.

Of course, what I was shouting at my radio this morning was more along the lines of "Fuck your reputation, you selfish sons of bitches. Fuck your reputation, and fuck you." I would normally apologize for my profanity, but you know what? I don't care. This is one of those rare moments when I get enraged at something that's legitimately worth getting enraged about. I got enraged when I heard the reaction from PSU students and fans when Paterno was fired on Wednesday night. (By the way, consider this: it took the PSU Board of Trustees FIVE DAYS to take any action of any kind. Boys, you made the right decision, but it took you far, far too long to do so.) Earlier that day, Paterno had made the decision to retire at the end of the season, just so he could leave the way he wanted to when he wanted to. For some people, this was appropriate; let the guy finish out the season, right? I mean, sure, he sat by as one of his former employees used his privileges at a nationally respected university to have illicit sex with boys, but he's JoePa! (The stupidest Goddamn nickname I've heard in a long time, that is.)

So, what did the PSU students do--fairly put, not ALL of them--when they heard of the firing? They rioted. They rioted because they were angry that Joe Paterno was fired.

I'll write that again: students rioted in favor of a man who let criminal actions go by under his watch. People were protesting against going to the police. They were protesting against doing the right thing. They protested against morality. They protested against decency. I'm being dramatic, you think. I'm being hyperbolic, you say. But think about what that action was. Why are these people protesting? The easy answer, the simple one, is that the coach of the football team got fired and people did not agree with the circumstances of that firing. But what WERE the circumstances of that firing? Well, he got fired because he didn't do enough. He didn't do enough to prevent child abuse from occurring on campus. He didn't do the right thing, the moral thing, the decent thing. So, tell me again: how is that being dramatic? How is this hyperbolic? This is just the fact of the matter.

Now, there are some people floating in the ether who think that Paterno did his duty, by telling administrators. Wrong. Crime happened, and you don't sit on it. You don't let the man who's accused of pedophilia work at the college. You don't let him continue to run his charity for helping out troubled young boys. You don't let him anywhere near children. You call the cops. The so-called legal thing to do is not to tell an administrator. You go to the cops so you can sleep at night, so you can look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow. Now, of course, we're getting to the crux of the problem: a lack of empathy for the victims.

As I mentioned, a lot of people at PSU are assuming that they are the victims. How will they manage in the aftermath of this incident? How will the rest of the football season be? How can they handle the national media being all bothersome? These are not questions you ask a week after finding out the tragedies that occurred on the campus. You ask about the victims. You ask about their health. You ask about their well-being. You don't focus on yourself. You think about yourself last. No, strike that: you think about Joe Paterno last, yourself second to last. So when Alec Baldwin asked on Twitter yesterday if it wasn't tragic that Joe Paterno's legacy was forever tarnished because of this scandal, I went out of my way to say that, no, really, it's not tragic. A man's record as a coach of a sport being ruined because he didn't do the right thing is not tragic. What's tragic is that, by not doing the right thing, he let the wrong thing happen. Paterno let the assistant coach, Jerry Sandusky, molest children because he didn't want to ruin his precious football program.

So, to anyone concerned about Penn State University's reputation after this scandal, fuck you. For anyone who feels bad for Joe Paterno, a man who had a job well past his expiration date, a man who let absolutely atrocious acts happen on his campus, fuck you. And if you think you have a right to riot because a man is fired justly, if you think that the anarchy you display is the right message to send to the rest of the country, to the rest of the world, fuck you. And, to those people, I wish--oh, how I wish this--I could be in the room when it happens. The rest of you--the sane ones--know what "it" is. "It" is the moment of epiphany. The moment of realization. Sometime soon, probably not for a year or so (though hopefully, some of you will realize earlier), the students who rioted on Wednesday night will be struck with the realization that part of what they've given to the world is a rash act of stupidity. College is partly about being stupid. You're meant to learn, to be educated, but you're also meant to get those last bouts of immaturity out. So you get drunk before you're allowed to. You fool around, because you can. Rioting is not immature. It's chaotic and childlike. It's throwing a large-scale temper tantrum. And guess what, kids? In a year, you are going to be embarrassed. Eternally embarrassed. And I wish to God I could see what that looks like.

There is, of course, no light way to end this post, but I've gotten out a lot of bitterness, because that's all I feel right now about this reaction from people who don't appear to be mental patients. Anyway, this is just one of those "I have to write this or else I'll keep shouting in my car" kind of posts, so thanks for indulging. Have a good, safe, and moral weekend.

All Or Nothing

2011-11-09T19:49:00.002-07:00

The proliferation of Internet culture mixing with everyday life is well documented, but make some room on the pile for another bit of chatter. I can only admit to being at the top of the pile now because I've been having these thoughts for a while, and who says this isn't a great time to write it down? (Also, as much as I'd love to talk more about Brett Ratner, Eddie Murphy, and the Oscars, I said my piece earlier in the week, back when they both were involved with the awards show.)

I suppose I have a different mentality when it comes to the way people communicate on the Internet. While I appreciate that everyone has the ability to act like a huge asshole online simply because the people they're being assholes to are likely never going to run into them at the grocery store, it's not how I operate. (Please, throw the parade tomorrow at lunchtime. Thank you in advance!) I have to watch my words on a constant basis, not because I fly into rages without being kept in check, but because the job I have doesn't give me the ability to speak like I would if I was trolling on a comment board. I have to communicate as succinctly, as honestly, and as nicely as possible, all at the same time. But I also have my opinions, and most times, I'm going to fight for those opinions until my throat goes dry. So, I like a healthy debate. Debate is good.

Not on the Internet, though. Here, debate is bad. Here, you love something or you must hate it. You hate something or you must love it. This happens frequently with popular culture, depending on what the topic is. You should feel comfortable arguing your love for The Middle, because most people won't contest that love one way or the other. But if you say a single bad word about Community or The Dark Knight or any other bit of modern entertainment that's considered untouchable by the seeming masses of people who make up comment boards, watch out. (And let me clarify: I love Community and The Dark Knight. So don't flame this post.) Here's the real issue: it's not that we love what we love, or we hate what we hate. It's that for many people, there is no in-between area. There is nothing between love and hate. There's one and the other. You're with me or you're against me.

The real issue for me is that we're shutting down conversations before they begin, simply because a person has no interest in engaging in a discussion, a debate, even an argument about a topic. Here's an example. As you may or may not know--and you really should--I'm running a Disney movie podcast called Mousterpiece Cinema and have been for the past few months. (Shameless plug: check it out on iTunes.) One of the ways I'm trying to get the word out for the show is by posting in the Disney fan forums all over the Internet. I'm focusing on four, because they're the biggest and because I don't have all the time in the world to dedicate to posting to mostly travel-dedicated Disney forums. (Sidebar, that I'll likely explore in the podcast's blog at one point: why are so many Disney fanatics online--I consider myself such a person, mind you--not Disney movie fans? I don't say this as a way to complain that the folks on these forums aren't listening to the show, but to point out that each of these forums puts all entertainment-related discussion at the bottom of the boards, as if it's not important. To those people, I say only that the parks you love do not exist without the movies I love. End sidebar.) On one such forum, there cropped up a discussion about the new ABC drama Once Upon A Time.

Now, far be it from me to make an opinion into a declarative statement. So, I'll just say this: I don't think much of Once Upon A Time. I think the concept is OK for a movie or miniseries, but not a TV show, and the execution is sometimes legitimately laughable. Frankly, I don't think I'm lying to say I've laughed out loud at something that's clearly not supposed to be funny at least once in each of the first three episodes. (To answer the question you're all asking, my wife likes the show, so I've seen all of the episodes so far, even though that streak will likely end soon.) So, on this board, it may not surprise you to know that the opinions offered about this Disney-produced show about the Disney version of fairy tale characters was positive. Most of the opinions were short and sweet. They were also riddled with grammatical errors, but that's neither here nor there. I ventured in to offer my slightly longer, more detailed thoughts. My response was, "That's too bad for you. It's a very good show."

One of my many flaws is that I can't let things go. Of course, most of the things I can't let go are minor, thus making my inability to drop a subject even more perplexing. (You could even, if you wanted, assume that me writing this post is proof of not letting the issue go, or trying to make it evaporate through a blog.) If this had been a discussion I'd had in real life, depending on who I was talking to, I might've countered with, "Well, you may think that, but it's not a fact. I don't like the show." There wasn't much of a follow-up (though another poster took the time to list out, in number form, the problems they had with the show, and bless their heart for doing so), because it wasn't worth it for me to get into a virtual shouting match with someone who uses the Internet as a place to throw out their quickie reviews and just shrug off anyone who disagrees.

Listen, the issue at hand is not about whether Once Upon A Time is a good show or not. The issue I have is that, too frequently these days, we shut down conversations if it involves us having to defend something. That, dear reader, can be the beauty of liking something so much. Not only will others not share your opinions, but you need to defend it. Why shouldn't we defend what we like? One of the more engaging, exciting aspects of the Internet is that we're interacting with people we'd never have met before, and we're talking with them about our interests. Difference of opinion should be encouraged on the Internet as should debates about those opinions. If you like something and I don't, tell me why you like it. Maybe you'll convince me. If I like something and you don't, let me tell you why. Sometimes, it'll be as simple as, "It makes me laugh," or "The characters appeal to me." Sometimes, it can be a comment the size of a term paper. But the defense should be welcome. I hesitate to say that if you can't tell me why you like or dislike something, your opinion is invalid, but if you're willing to open yourself up to the vast expanse of the World Wide Web, you better be prepared to do a bit of thinking.

I also suppose this ties into another frustration I have with some folks on the Internet: everything doesn't have to be the best thing ever. This is a weird argument to make, I know, and it positions me as a real misanthrope. But honestly, there comes a point where you being positive about everything makes me feel like I'm on a neverending sugar high. I notice it with some folks in Hollywood (not all, mind you, but there are a select few I have in mind who I won't name here), and it happens on some of these forums. It's a real challenge to, in my case, have a Disney movie podcast that will not gush about every single Disney movie in the history of cinema (hint: this is because they are not all the best thing ever), and go to forums where people treat those movies as happy awesome happy cool happy. I feel weird having to say this, but I am not a hateful miser. I like things. I love things. I love Disney; hence the show. (A personal favorite I just discussed on the show is Ratatouille, which I discussed about at length, because I could defend my enjoyment.) But not everything is perfect. And being unwilling to engage with people who don't feel the way you do is a way not only of shutting down discourse, but of saying you don't want anyone to tell you different. That's a real shame.

How do we learn anything in this world? Do we just parrot what our parents tell us? I mean, I know that some of my beliefs were shaped by my parents, and I certainly have similar characteristics to them, but I also know that we have frequent debates and disagree on various issues. (They don't like The Royal Tenenbaums, which is crazy because it's THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS. Who doesn't like that?) And sometimes, my opinions are challenged by them, by my wife, by my friends, and by others online. Guess what? GOOD. I want to be challenged. I want to challenge ideas, and I want to have mine challenged. Maybe a challenge to my opinion means I need to reevaluate why I think that way. Changing my opinions doesn't mean I'm weak, it means I'm adapting. Hell, even listening to the opposition is a form of adaptation, because it means I'm willing to hear out what others say. I guess the rambling form of this post is my way of just saying to you, whoever you are: positive opinions and negative opinions are all well and good, but don't be surprised that everyone else in this world doesn't agree with you and don't get angry if you have to back your thoughts up. That's a good thing.

That Old Saw About Assuming

2011-11-07T18:38:00.002-07:00

If you'll indulge me, I'm going to spend most of this post making wild comparisons between the frivolity of pop culture and the seriousness of the real world. So, you're warned. Anyway, thanks in no small part to the stupidity of pop culture news today--hey, everybody who needed confirmation that Brett Ratner is a douchebag, this is your lucky day--I got thinking about the way this year has unfolded. We began the year with what's been dubbed the Arab Spring, in which the people of Middle Eastern countries began rising up against their leaders, creating democracy as opposed to waiting for another dictatorial move.

The way the people of Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and other countries spoke out against tyranny was inspiring and will remain so for the future. You want your Time Person of the Year? Look no further than the men and women of those countries, those brave people who stood up for a righteous cause even under the threat of torture or death. Now that Gaddafi (or Qaddafi, or however his name is spelled, and wasn't that the worst type of topical humor this year? I digress.) is dead, the remnants of the Arab Spring remain outside of the Middle East. In Greece, we've seen the establishment of politics get unseated due to financial worries. And in our country, the Occupy Wall Street protests have gathered steam quickly over the past couple of months. The attitude of these protests is the same as that from the Arab Spring.

Of course, the media has been stymied by the Occupiers from the beginning. "What do you want? Why don't you have a clear list of demands? We don't know how to cover complex issues anymore!" It's harder to overhaul the financial system than to overthrow a dictator, sure, but it's also very clear that the cynicism dominating this country is echoed by the Occupy Wall Street protests. What's more, when we see stories of peaceful protesters being attacked by cops in Oakland or Boston or somewhere else, you just have to wonder if the establishment has any idea how that looks to the so-called 99 percent. But what the establishment thinks the rest of us wants versus what we actually want is a very common theme this year.

It happened in the Arab Spring, it's happening in Occupy Wall Street, and lately, it's been happening in popular culture. Another term that will live with 2011 is Qwikster. You all remember Qwikster, right? Back in the halcyon days of September, the people who run Netflix thought that their subscribers secretly wanted two separate sites and bills for the separate actions of streaming movies and watching them on those boring old DVDs. (Aren't DVDs and Blu-rays BORING, you guys? Barf.) What Qwikster will be remembered for isn't just as being one of the great bonehead moves in modern business. What people remember is that the Netflix execs, lead by Reed Hastings, almost immediately reversed their decision. Only a couple of weeks after announcing Qwikster's existence, they said they made a mistake and promised to keep Netflix the way it is...well, except for all those pesky price hikes. Those are here to stay. And while Netflix isn't as establishment as a dictator or greedy American politicians, the attitude the company exuded during this debacle is that we didn't know yet that we wanted Qwikster, but we really did, so stop all yer whinin', folks.

The establishment reared its ugly head when the Oscars hired Brett Ratner to produce the Oscars. I'll only spend a few sentences on this, because I did spend a lot of time talking about Ratner and the Oscars yesterday. It just so happens that in the last 24 hours, some comments that Ratner made at a Q-and-A in Los Angeles Friday night made news on the Internet. In response to a question about whether or not he rehearsed with his actors, Ratner said, "Rehearsal is for fags." Though Ratner has already apologized for his idiotic remarks, what some have wondered is if the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences will make Ratner step down. Listen, I'd love for him to not produce the Oscars, but I have a feeling AMPAS will just shrug and assume we'll all forget about Ratner's homophobic comment by the time the Oscars air. (I, of course, will be watching to see if every aspect of the show seems improv-ed or...you know, REHEARSED. 'Cause that would be so queer, AMIRITE, FELLAS?)

But here's the thing: Brett Ratner has long cultivated his "I live the Entourage lifestyle every day and isn't that baller?" persona. So to anyone surprised, shocked, or disappointed by these comments, I'd like to heartily extend my welcome to you from the cave you've been living in for so long. Thanks for checking out the blog, folks. To everyone else, I guess the only question I'd ask is: why are we so much more angry that Brett Ratner used a homophobic slur than his demeaning comments about Olivia Munn last week? There were rumors that she was referring to Ratner and his allegedly tiny manhood in her book, and a few days ago, he said that he'd "banged" her back when she "wasn't Asian," and a shiny farthing to anyone who can tell me what the hell that means. And you know, I'm not the biggest fan of Olivia Munn, but Ratner's just as demeaning towards women as he is to gay people. Be outraged, sure. But be equally outraged. And don't hold your breath for a new Oscar producer. AMPAS thinks we want a young Oscars, and they think Brett Ratner has his finger on the pulse of the country. When AMPAS realizes they made a mistake, maybe they'll hire Justin Bieber to host next time.

I suppose my basic point here is that the establishment's tone-deafness has been much more obvious as of late. I was thinking this again over the weekend, when the absolutely disgusting controversy at Penn State emerged publicly. For those who haven't read the story, it goes like this: Jerry Sandusky worked under Joe Paterno for the PSU footabll team until 1999, when he resigned. Sandusky is now being charged with pedophilia for having forcibly raped young boys all the way from 1994 to 2009. And Paterno, the college president, and other higher-ups at the college knew. They were told by a then-grad assistant (who's as at fault as anyone else for not telling, you know, THE POLICE) in 2002, after said assistant witnessed Sandusky having sex with a boy in the showers. Two of the higher-ups have resigned or gone on sabbatical, but let's be clear: this is an embarrassing and nauseating abuse of power, and everyone involved needs to be brought up on criminal charges. The grand jury investigation related to this took place over 2 years, and the evidence is more than damning. The response from the college's president is as noncommittal and jaw-dropping as you can imagine; Graham Spanier is unaware or unwilling to accept his complicity in this matter, and his public response just makes me wonder what it is about people.

Is it that these people are born into wealth and never grasp what the rest of society is like? Is it that these people let money warp their minds once they get it? I guess this is just an extrapolation of fears I have about growing up. I'm a relatively progressive guy, and the old stereotype is that young progressives harden into old conservatives. One day, people my age will see me as the establishment. I can't imagine that day, but I can only hope that I won't represent the establishment if this is what the establishment looks like.

Childish Things

2011-11-06T18:06:00.003-07:00

How many little kids, do you think, got audibly excited about the Academy Awards every year? How many kids get excited about such awards shows? Not for the fashion, not for seeing the famous people. No, how many people get excited about the Oscars simply for appearing to treasure the best in each year's output of cinema? I did when I was a kid. Each of us, when we're young, gets to that point where we want to be adults. We want to be grown up, mature, whatever. But we all hit that point, and it manifests in different ways. I have no easy explanation for why it was always movies, but that's it. It's always been movies. And when I was young, the best example I could latch onto was the annual awards show that was as big as the Super Bowl to me.

I equated adulthood with movies, to boil it down to the bare essentials. I loved movies, but for a long time, I didn't get to watch as many as I wanted. Maybe this is why I'm still a Disney fan (and why I'm doing a Disney movie podcast): those were pretty much the only movies I could watch when I was a kid. My classmates would brag about having seen The Terminator or even Jurassic Park; I could only count down the days to when I was allowed to watch these movies. But every year since I could remember, my parents let me stay up and watch the Oscars, because where was the harm? Whatever inappropriate moments there were in movies like Unforgiven, Schindler's List, and Forrest Gump, among others, would be cut out for network television. And sure, I doubt I got half of Billy Crystal's jokes (and Lord knows I was completely stymied by David Letterman's hosting at the innocent age of 10). But they let me be an adult for one night...an adult wearing pajamas and holding onto an Eeyore stuffed animal, but dammit, I could stay up until midnight.

Growing up, being able to actually watch some of the movies that might be nominated for the Oscars, had its good and bad points. On the good side, I could actually see the movies people would talk about as they talked about them, not catching up to them years after the fact. Sure, I like The Silence of the Lambs and Goodfellas--OK, I love the latter--but I had to catch up with them years after everyone else knew about the fava beans and a nice Chianti, or Joe Pesci asking how exactly Ray Liotta found him funny. But I got to see some of the big movies of 1999 right around the time when they were released. I got to see movies like Being John Malkovich and The Matrix and The Sixth Sense as they came out. (And yes, I did say The Sixth Sense. I loved it when I was 15, and I bet it still holds up, unlike almost all other M. Night Shyamalan movies.) The problem, of course, was that the Oscars were beginning to disappoint me.

I was slowly being introduced to the very real idea that, hey, guess what? The people who vote for the Oscars and I didn't always agree. I got a big reminder of that in 2000, when Gladiator won the Best Picture Oscar. Who knows why I, a nearly 16-year old, found that movie stifling, dreary, and dull, but there you go. So, even though it was a big-budget epic action movie, I was massively disappointed that the voters fell for this overheated silliness. (I grant you, had they done the same for the outrageous, stupid 300, the only other wildly successful swords-and-sandals epic in the past decade, it'd be a lot, lot worse.) As the decade continued, I mostly found myself out of sync with the Oscars, and I'll tell you something you've probably already guessed: it took me a very long time to truly grasp that my disappointment with the Oscars was perhaps accurate if fruitless. I don't know that the 8-year old version of me would believe it, but it took me a very long time to fall out of love with the Oscars.

Over the last few years, as movies I treasure get passed over, I've finally come to terms with the idea that I should not care about the Oscars. I would be lying to you if I said I wouldn't watch the show early next year, but my hopes are not high, for the telecast and the awards. Regarding the former, it's somewhat of an inspiration for this post. See, this is the weekend when Tower Heist opened in theaters nationwide. You know, this is the Ocean's Eleven-lite with Ben Stiller and Eddie Murphy teaming up with other disgruntled blue-collar workers to steal from a Bernie Madoff type. The movie is important not just because it heralds, in some small way, Eddie Murphy's return to legitimate comedy, not just idiotic family movies. (Those movies are, by the ways, ones I'd have seen if I was still a kid.) No, Tower Heist is also important because it's directed by well-known purveyor of douche-y blandness Brett Ratner. Ratner is this year's Oscars producer. Murphy is this year's Oscars host.

Now, when Murphy was announced as the Oscars host, there was a great big fooforah online where film writers, fans, and Oscar prognosticators sent hosannas left and right, praising the Academy for hiring Murphy. I, of course, could be wrong, but it seems like all of that praise was rooted in nostalgia for Coming to America, Trading Places, and Murphy's incendiary 80s stand-up specials. (I forget if only one of them deserves the subtitle "Homosexuality is Weird, Right?") Don't get me wrong, folks: Eddie Murphy has the capability to be incredibly funny. His last truly funny performance was in Bowfinger, which happens to be Steve Martin's last truly funny performance. Murphy is brilliant in a dual performance, and it may be one of the true highlights of his 90s-era roles. And I do like Trading Places, Coming to America, and 48 Hrs., but I guess I'm more of a cynical realist than others. I am presented with a man whose career has some highs, but a lot of lows. The Eddie Murphy of the last decade is not someone I'm looking forward to as Oscar host, certainly not with Brett Ratner guiding him along.

Here's where Tower Heist enters into it. It was no coincidence that the director and one of the stars of the movie were going to join the Oscars for the first year; it was frequently said that the movie being a hit would help cement the idea that audiences nationwide were primed to see Eddie Murphy's comeback explode at the big televised ceremony. So what are we left with when seeing that Tower Heist fell to Puss in Boots at the box office this weekend by a gap of over $8 million? I've mostly left behind any interest in box-office discussion, but this combines a few passing interests of mine. Last year's Oscars telecast was an unmitigated disaster; when both hosts are admitting, after the fact, that the show was kind of a train wreck, you know you have a turkey on your hands. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has had a quandary on its hands for a few years now, and adding Ratner and Murphy to the show isn't likely to help. The ratings for the Oscars telecast have pretty steadily decreased since Titanic took the top honors in early 1998, and AMPAS is trying to figure out how to keep viewers from watching something else. Maybe the movies aren't famous enough for mass audiences to tune in? Let's nominate 10 movies! Wait, that experiment only worked a bit for one year? (The ratings for the 82nd Oscars, where The Hurt Locker won, were up a few million, but down just as much this past year.) Let's make it possible but not mandatory for 10 movies to be nominated! Hey, we need young people to watch this show. Let's have James Franco and Anne Hathaway, the king and queen of the teen set (circa 2002), host! Ooh, that didn't work. Let's put Eddie Murphy in there instead!

I think the real problem is that other people are realizing the same thing I've realized: the Oscars are not going to share my opinion in film, so why should I watch? There are 18 billion types of awards for movies these days. (Don't check that number. Just trust me.) Frankly, you could probably get away with creating your own awards and getting people interested; it's almost like there could be blogs that do just that. Why watch the Oscars anymore, especially when it's presided over by very old people who are struggling to understand what the young people like these days. I don't say this to be ageist or anti-seniority, but I'd rather the elders of the Academy stick to what they know best and not attempt to be hip and pander to people under the age of 30. While hiring Eddie Murphy to host the Oscars is not the most boneheaded move the Academy has made recently (it will be difficult to top the Franco/Hathaway choice, even if Ratner's hiring comes close), it's not a massive saving grace. And this weekend at the box office proves that.

What is a boneheaded idea is saying that if Tower Heist made a lot of money, it would validate hiring the two men for the Oscars. Maybe if the movie was released mere days before the Oscars aired, I could get behind that idea. Why not ride some potentially massive buzz into one of the biggest TV events of the year? I get that. It makes sense. But Tower Heist is opening months before the Oscars. Hell, it's not even the same year. Some folks will discuss the controversy surrounding Universal Pictures' failed attempt at charging sixty dollars--let me repeat that, so it sinks in: SIXTY DOLLARS--to watch Tower Heist on demand; this is not why Tower Heist has done solidly but not fantastically. (Quick sidebar: I admire Universal head Ron Meyer for his recent honesty about some bad movies his studio has released, but his willingness to stick with the VOD idea is ridiculous. Unless the movie is The Magnificent Ambersons and it has the fabled missing reel of footage, I'm not paying sixty dollars for any movie on VOD. Also? That hypothetical situation includes me getting two large pizzas.)

Tower Heist making just over $25 million at the box office happened for the same reasons that most movies these days do not make massive amounts of money: "I didn't want to see it," "I didn't want to see it this weekend," "I'll wait for Netflix," teenagers didn't want to go, "There wasn't enough money," "I couldn't find a babysitter," "I just didn't have the time," "I didn't know it came out this weekend," "I wanted to rewatch every episode of The Wonder Years," and finally, "What's Tower Heist?" There is not a reason. There are many. This is why TV ratings are plummeting, except there, the issue also revolves around multiple points of access. But the point is this: pinning your hopes for an Oscar telecast on a safe action comedy (get it? "Safe!" And it's about a heist! Oh, I kill me.) is dumb. It's just as dumb as pinning your hopes for an Oscar telecast to succeed based on the performance of any movie. There are no guarantees that one movie will be the key to success. Hey, you never know, AMPAS: this year might be the year with boatloads of viewers, but it won't be thanks to Eddie Murphy and Brett Ratner.

Like I said earlier, I'll watch the show. I'll probably end up watching the Oscars for years to come, but I treat the Oscars now the way I treat film school. Both were things I desperately wanted to be part of when I was a kid. I don't think I was incredibly vain to want to be part of the Oscars; again, mostly, this was due to me wanting to be a grown-up and seeing that as the ticket in. But I really wanted to go to film school, to be a writer. I didn't get in, which is disappointing, sure, but then along comes YouTube and Flip cams, and I started to wonder just how necessary it was to have a film degree to be a filmmaker of any kind. And I've started to wonder why it is we need the Oscars, or any awards show, to lend legitimacy to movies we like. The answer is, of course, that we don't. If you like the Transformers movies, if you think they're your favorites, good for you. (As much as I dislike those movies, I mean this sincerely.) If you think there hasn't been a great comic filmmaker since Preston Sturges, good for you. But if you think movies need awards to justify your opinion of them, it's time to reevaluate that. It's time to mature, to grow up past that position, folks.

No One To Blame But...

2011-09-02T16:18:00.002-07:00

Before I truly get into this rant, let's go over a few things. Yes, it is more than just a little predictable for someone to bitch and moan about George Lucas tampering with the Star Wars movies. Yes, it is fruitless to do so, because Lucas is one of the richest, most powerful figures in Hollywood and he's going to do whatever the hell he wants with his movies. I am also aware that I am one of, oh, say, billions of people to take to the Internet to lodge my complaints with Mr. Lucas, formal or informal. So, while this may be a pointless, fruitless rant directed at a person who would not read it if he was forced to, I'm powering ahead. Join me, won't you?

Like I said, I've made my peace with the fact that George Lucas is going to forever and always feel the need to tinker with the original trilogy. Hell, I'll go ahead and admit that, in 1997, when the original three were re-released in theaters, I didn't really care that much about the changes that had been made. Now Han gets to talk with Jabba! The special effects are even cooler, 'cause they don't look as cheesy! But I was also 12 years old and still far more naive than most other kids my age, and certainly more naive than the people who were 12 in 1977 or 1980 or 1983. So I not only didn't really notice a lot of the changes, but I didn't really care that much. When the new trilogy began in 1999, I knew that something was off, but it didn't fully sink in until after I saw it that the Star Wars of old was not being replicated anew.

Frankly, what rankles me now is not that Lucas continues to tamper with the movies he made because he thinks the masses want him to do so. (Make no mistake, as much as I am annoyed about Lucas updating the original trilogy for the Blu-ray release on September 16, and as happy as I'm going to be to boycott said release, it'll sell millions to people who don't know better or don't care.) What I don't like is that George Lucas assumes he knows what people want, vis a vis removing the original versions of the movies as much as he can. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised; fans know well of his long attempts to essentially erase the "Star Wars Holiday Special" from existence. Being fair, in that case, he's absolutely right to want it banished from the world, as it is legitimately, hilariously terrible. The real problem is that by continuing to update the original trilogy, George Lucas assumes what we all want is the new.

And why not, right? We're all going to buy the trilogy on Blu-ray, the new format, so why wouldn't we want everything to look fancy? Bring on the bells and whistles, right? What Lucas doesn't grasp is that, at least for some fans, new doesn't work. At all. While I know that plenty of young audiences flock to the new trilogy and Clone Wars like moths to a flame, just as many people think of George Lucas and shudder, for good reason. So, when I read that Lucas is screwing around with the ending of Return of the Jedi or making Ewoks blink, I shake my head. I don't do so in disbelief, mind you, because like any half-intelligent person, I expect this kind of behavior from Lucas. I don't like it and wish it wouldn't happen, but I expect it. What annoys me most, though, is something I should've done a while ago: buy the original trilogy on DVD. The most recent DVD release, in 2008, included the original, untouched films, thrown in as something of an afterthought. I didn't buy it then, leaving me with the 2004 release in fullscreen. Talk about shuddering.

This should pose no problem, right? I've seen it on Amazon and Best Buy, and it's only 30-something bucks. More than worth it to hold onto the last remaining vestiges of old-fashioned fun in the Star Wars franchise, so I'll just--hold on a second. Why isn't Amazon selling the 2008 DVDs? Why is it only used and--holy shit, 100 bucks for a used copy? I'll just go to Best Buy. But...not there either. Or on Target's website, or on Walmart's. Or on any number of DVD sites. Because, apparently, the 2008 DVDs have been discontinued. What exactly is George Lucas accomplishing by removing an option from a prospective buyer? It reminds me slightly of how Disney puts its animated releases into the vault for a number of years before re-releasing those movies on a new format or with updated features. Except, you know, Disney DOES release those movies again. And other sci-fi films with numerous cuts, such as Blade Runner, get released with all options available. Do you want to see the version Ridley Scott said was the director's cut in 1992? Check out Disc Two. Want to see his 2008 version? Disc Three. But not with Lucas.

I am going to get the original trilogy, as it was meant to be seen in 1977, 1980, and 1983. It'll cost me more than I want, but it's worth it, almost as a fuck-you to Lucas. I understand that he would say the movie he wanted to make in the 1980s wasn't possible because technology just wasn't up to snuff. I get that he thinks he's improving the movies. I don't get why he assumes I wouldn't want to look at the old version, too. That's the real shame here.

Catching Up With Doctor Who

2011-08-06T13:53:00.002-07:00

It's so easy to get addicted to some form of media, especially these days. I can imagine that 10, 20, or 30 years ago, there were fewer pop-culture obsessions to latch onto, and fewer yet more fervent people latching on to begin with. But these days, we have a consistent, constant entertainment overload and I'm just as guilty of letting myself get too inundated with every kind of obsession. As I type this, I'm watching the previews in front of the Cedar Rapids Blu-ray and have Twitter, Gmail, Netflix, and Wikipedia open on my Google Chrome browser. I don't mean to, here or anywhere else, decry how we're losing our focus; I've found that I leapfrog from addiction to addiction within media and this is just another one of those examples.

I'm a moderate fan of science fiction TV and movies. I say "moderate" because while I've enjoyed some of the Star Trek movies and TV series, I've never gone to a convention or considered dressing up like Spock. The same goes for Star Wars: the closest I ever got to true fanaticism there was lining up a few days before The Phantom Menace opened to get tickets for opening day. But I've never been against genre fiction in television, I've just never gotten so sucked in that it dominates my life. That's still the case, but I've crossed another show off my to-do list: BBC's Doctor Who. I never had much interest in Doctor Who, seeing as the old incarnation of the program ended when I was five, and the fact that there was a TV-movie on Fox in the mid-1990s was news to me when I started looking into the show's history a few months back. Even though I enjoy British comedy and a lot of modern sci-fi shows like Fringe and Battlestar Galactica, when the new Doctor Who began airing in 2005, it just sailed right past me. Six years later, enter Netflix Instant.

There's been a lot of heated discussion lately about Netflix, its positives, and its negatives. What with the company upping its prices--a move that sucks for the average consumer, but isn't really that surprising when you think about it--people are reevaluating what they actually use on Netflix. Do people need to have a 2-at-a-time DVD plan plus streaming? (That's my plan, and after some initial hemming and hawing, that's going to remain my plan for the indefinite future.) While Netflix is certainly nudging its consumers to all-streaming, all the time (something that will work only when they have a lot more current material on streaming, and when the quality of the video is far closer to what's available on even a 2-year-old DVD), the streaming plan does work and work well depending on what you find. My wife found the USA show Psych through Netflix Instant, and we've both watched plenty of movies and TV shows that are just easier to get through without having to wait a couple of days for the DVD or Blu-ray to arrive in the mail. One constant with Netflix Instant is that a lot of similar movies or TV shows are there, if they're there at all.

So it is with Doctor Who, which I added a few months ago mostly out of curiosity. I'd read from a few critics I respect that the new version of the show was worth the time, and once the fifth season, which began airing in April of 2010, kicked off, the critical praise was at an all-time high, or so I thought. I added the show to my Instant Queue and, a few months later, watched the first couple of episodes. (You know how it goes: you add something to the queue and, unless it's an immediate must-see, you let it linger, sometimes until Netflix takes it off Instant.) I really didn't know what to expect, so I was mostly bemused by what happened in the first few episodes. Christopher Eccleston, as the enigmatic Doctor, and Billie Piper, as his companion, Rose, were both a lot of fun in what seemed to be mostly just sci-fi as camp, as cheese. Though I'd heard of it, Doctor Who is one of those British shows that was just too British for me to get. "He's an alien...who can regenerate...and travels around space and time in a police box called the TARDIS. O....k." Still, the show was watchable enough in the first few episodes that it kept me engaged, mostly due to Eccleston and Piper, who managed to take themselves seriously enough without losing their humor when fending off threats such as the Daleks.

As it usually goes, there was a moment when I knew I was all in with Doctor Who. I've mentioned it in the past, but with shows like Deadwood, Lost, and others, there's that one ineffable moment when you know you're sticking with a show until the bitter end. There were a few moments close to that in the first season of Doctor Who, such as parts of "The Empty Child," one of the first two-parters in the series, but it came to the second season and a brand new Doctor to cement my love for the show. The episode is "The Girl in the Fireplace," and the concept is deliciously clever: the Doctor is able to interact with Madame de Pompadour, the mistress of King Louis XV, through a fireplace in her room. Somehow, he can enter at one time and then, in what feels like minutes to him, see her once again years in the future. The lovely Madame is being hunted by creepy clockwork androids who want her brain for seemingly nefarious purposes, but what grabbed me was how moving and emotional the episode became. The Doctor, as played then by David Tennant, feels so much and is so devastated by losing this woman even though he spent a few short minutes with her. It's hard enough to make the audience feel for a character throughout a long-running TV series, but it's harder still to do so for a relationship that is created solely for one story. That it happens, courtesy of Tennant, Sophia Myles, and writer Steven Moffat, made me sit up and truly pay attention at the show.

Something that concerned me, and still does--I'm just about to finish up season four and the specials that closed out Tennant's time as the Doctor--is that switching actors as the Doctor or as companions would be detrimental for a simple reason: what happens if I don't like the new person? I got concerned with it when Eccleston's Doctor regenerated into Tennant's Doctor (and having seen not a single second of the last two seasons, I'm concerned still about the change from Tennant to Matt Smith), and I felt the same when Piper left and Freema Agyeman took the role of the Doctor's companion. Change and transition can be good, but I always worry that a show like this can only change so many times before it steps wrong. Concern trolling aside (yeah, I hate doing it, too), none of the changes have turned me off the show. If anything, I've become more and more compelled by the last two seasons of the show, even as the stories get more and more tense, more and more wild, and more and more epic. (The third season's three-part finale was particularly wild and over-the-top, but never in a way that turned me off.)

The second half of the sixth season begins in 3 weeks; by that point, I hope to be caught up. At worst, I'll be caught up with all of season six by the time the finale airs, on October 1. (Quick rant: I really, truly hate when networks split up a show's full season of episodes. It happened with TNT's Men of a Certain Age, which has recently left TV for good, and it's happening with Doctor Who, both on BBC America and BBC One. On the one hand, sure, the show is coming back for another season and remains wildly popular. But on the other hand, are networks that hard up for content that they'd rather stretch a show's season out interminably as opposed to let it run its natural course? Grumble.) I don't know that I'm going to be decking myself like the Doctor anytime soon or putting the TARDIS all over my computer or desk, but I have to admit: mostly due to its charm and emotion, I've become truly hooked on Doctor Who.

Enduring Love in John Adams

2011-07-18T19:22:00.002-07:00

I don't expect to cry at movies, or TV shows, or books. Even the ones that are tagged as tearjerkers don't get me. Frankly, those are more likely to leave me with a stone face, if only for being slightly more manipulative, slightly more shameless in trying to get its audience to show emotion. Though I've teared up a few times at entertainment over the past few years, notably the last 20 minutes of Toy Story 3 and the last scene of the Lost series finale (yes, I am a nerd), I don't do it often, and I don't ever have any inkling of when it will happen, or what will get me. So getting teary at the end of the seven-part HBO miniseries John Adams, which was reaired on July 4, was not something I planned on.

Circumstances always get us in unexpected places, and so it was with John Adams. I began watching this gargantuan project the night after the seven parts aired back to back, but only the first few minutes. I rarely have enough time to set aside from an hour or 90 minutes of television (at least, when it's not something I already consider to be appointment TV), so I figured I'd watch as often as I could, for as long as I could. I was initially struck and mildly surprised at how much of the miniseries, directed by now-Oscar winner Tom Hooper (and I will get to him in a bit), is a love story between a happily married couple, John and Abigail Adams, both played magnificently by Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney. I've never read the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography by David McCullough, so I really didn't know what to expect going in.

Because of timing issues, I ended up watching the bulk of the miniseries over a two-day period where I was all by myself in my house, unless you count our cats. My wife was staying over at her sister's, keeping her company and helping out with her two kids as her husband traveled to the Grand Canyon with a friend. This left me at home, mostly to tend to our cats and to have wild parties. Or watch John Adams. Now, mind you, a lot of this series, written by Kirk Ellis and Michelle Ashford, is about Adams' march through history, from defending Redcoats against his fellow citizens to nearly willing the Declaration of Independence into existence to becoming the second President of the United States. But the most constant story throughout the series, which encompasses over 50 years, is John's love for his wife, and hers for him. He treats her as his equal, and she often guides him in his decision-making. When he leaves for France as an American dignitary, she excoriates him (and he lets her) for leaving her to help their children grow up, making her responsibility even greater by also having to tend to their Massachusetts farm. When they reunite in the fourth installment, it's nothing short of a catharsis, partly because the previous episode left Adams extremely sick. While there is, of course, a medical reason for the illness, you have to wonder if it's a sickness of the heart.

There's too much to cover, really, when talking about John Adams, which didn't seem to get a massive amount of critical love despite winning every possible award it could. (Seriously, when this came up for awards during the fall of 2008 and winter of 2009, I thought Paul Giamatti was winning awards he wasn't even eligible for.) I'm sure plenty more could be dramatized from John Adams' relationships with such revolutionaries as Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and Alexander Hamilton, and I crave for even more. But what there is on the screen is truly incredible and powerful. My biggest complaint with the entire series is something that I'm always going to push back against, as long as the man has a career: Tom Hooper can't direct himself out of a paper bag. It's impressive to me that I watched all seven parts and want to watch it again, despite his flat-footed "style," which amounts to taking a normal shot and having the camera present it at a wacky angle. (The worst offender is in the final hour, when we watch a grizzled and aged John Adams walk through the fields of his farm. Simple enough, except the camera is turned upside down. Literally.) This is a case of every other element, especially the acting and subtle yet powerful writing, elevating itself from the man behind the camera.

While there's plenty to praise from in front of the camera (I feel like I could take up an entire post just listing each actor and character in this damn thing), Giamatti, Linney, Tom Wilkinson as Ben Franklin, Stephen Dillane as Jefferson, and Zeljko Ivanek as John Dickson all deliver standout performances. Giamatti has been one of my favorite actors for the last decade or so, and watching him in John Adams is watching the performance of a lifetime. He may not be in every single scene, but he dominates the entire series from the first minute. But what got me emotional at the very end was the romance between John and Abigail. Though they ended up spending most of their married lives together (something Abigail comments on in the final chapter), I felt the absence between John and Abigail in the third episode as much as I was about to feel the two-day gap when my wife wasn't in the house. Who knows what that says about me (and don't tell me, I'd rather not know), but there you go.

But what got me was that final chapter, titled "Peacefield," where John and Abigail live out their final days, he rightly concerned that he'd be condemned by historians to obscurity and she trying to encourage him to peacefully enjoy the time he had left on this Earth. When Abigail falls deathly ill, instantly looking as if she's nodded off, it comes as a shock (and honestly, I was glad that her death scene wasn't just looking like she fell asleep, which is the opposite of good drama). When she wakes up once more, half-delirious, and then dies in her husband's arms, it's hard not to be overcome with emotion. It was almost certainly just me being affected by being alone for a couple of days (last week was the first time since I've been married that I didn't sleep in the same bed as my wife), but Paul Giamatti's acting here is titanic and painfully realistic. In this scene and the few that follow, with him alone except for his memories and then, near the end of his life, correspondences with Thomas Jefferson, Giamatti's loneliness just rang so true to me.

Yes, this element of John Adams is clearly manipulation on the filmmakers' parts. I don't care; it worked on me. I was more than mildly beset by the emotion of love lost, though I didn't get as worked up as I did at the end of, say, Toy Story 3. But considering that I had few expectations for John Adams, I came away pleasantly surprised for having been so moved. As a historical adaptation, I was fascinated. As a treatise on why history should look kindly upon John Adams the man, if not John Adams the president, I was convinced. As a story of two people whose love crosses everything including geographical boundaries, I was deeply shaken.

Diamond In The Rough: Season 2.5 of Men of a Certain Age

2011-07-09T16:16:00.003-07:00

I imagine that, when TNT looks at its typical demographics and who it's hoping to target with its programming, I don't fit the profile for watching Men of a Certain Age. One could argue, very easily, that the dramedy, having just finished its second season (the sophomore season was split into two halves, with six episodes each), isn't really a good fit for TNT or really any network. It doesn't fit the common themes expressed by the more popular TNT shows, or the shows on USA, FX, AMC, Showtime, or HBO. The show doesn't have a high concept--it's about the trials and tribulations of three middle-aged best friends approaching or passing the age of 50--and it's not outrageously salacious or profane.

That doesn't, of course, mean that Men of a Certain Age isn't entertaining, intelligent, funny, and surprisingly moving. The show--created by one of its stars, Ray Romano, and one of the writers from Romano's successful CBS sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond, Mike Royce--is possibly the most realistic show on TV, now that Friday Night Lights has gone gracefully into the night. While it's never as dark or bleak as that show, it's had its moments in the past season and none come as a shock. Though the writing has always been a strong suit, to the point that when the show ever hits a false note (it's rare, but the finale had one minor character whose appearance was uncharacteristic for the show and unwelcome), I cringe. I know that Men of a Certain Age, easily the most underrated show on TV, is better than these few moments.

One of the reasons why Men of a Certain Age is such a strong show, one of the best of the year, is its three leads. Romano, Scott Bakula, and Andre Braugher, week after week, knock their material out of the park. The writing is so equally compelling for each performer; there's never been a dull moment or storyline, no matter who's the main player on screen. I could easily have seen this kind of show, with either weaker writing or weaker actors, being two-thirds or one-thirds as satisfying. However, Romano, Bakula, and Braugher bring unique qualities to their characters to make them all contenders, in a perfect world, for Emmys when the nominations are announced this coming Thursday.

Romano plays Joe, a divorced father of two who owns a party store. The two things that have defined him (or that he's let define himself) over the series are his gambling addiction and his passion for playing golf. As the show has progressed, Joe's managed to mostly curb his addiction, though his closer-than-he'd-like relationship with his bookie, Manfro, has gotten him in a lot of trouble. One of the final moments of this past half-season, a truly chilling scene in a show that usually has none, was when Manfro confronted Joe, who had been pretending to take bets for his bookie while just vicariously gambling through these unknowing bettors. Joe's friendship with Manfro has always been tenuous; the latter has wanted to be friends, while Joe wants nothing of the sort so he can make a clean break from his addiction. Their face-off was both unexpected and exactly what should have happened. It'd be unrealistic to assume the season would've ended without us getting something final from this skewered relationship, but the way that it panned out (with Manfro destroying one of Joe's teeth, mixing his fury with a bit of concern) was true in its disquieting nature. Joe's love for golf has kept him afloat in the last few episodes, as he barely makes it through to the PGA senior tour. His talent is there, but his determination has faltered in the past. I only hope that, should the show return for a third season, Joe will get more opportunities to excel in the sport.

Scott Bakula plays Terry, a man who seems only passionate to a point, unable to focus on one thing, on one area of his life. As soon as he finds one tangible commitment, he moves onto something else, while trying to make it sound like he's not dropping out of his prior job or romance. He's now entangled with Erin, a schoolteacher who initially saw her time with Terry as some sort of fling. Whatever the case, Terry is firmly with Erin; it was with her that he first felt heartache, clearly. When it comes to his job, though, he's chosen to switch professions at exactly the wrong time. He began this half-season as arguably the best salesman at Thoreau Chevrolet, currently run by his and Joe's other best friend, Owen. By the end of the finale, Terry has decided to give up selling cars to become a commercial director based on his daylong experience as something of the helmer of an uber-cheesy Thoreau Chevrolet ad that is as obnoxious, memorable and likely ubiquitous as a real TV commercial for a local car salesman. Though Erin agrees to give him a year at this new job, she's clearly concerned that as she's moving in with Terry, she's thrown her lot in with someone who's bound to disappoint her.

As mentioned above, Terry's just left a job as a car salesman at Thoreau Chevrolet, run by Owen Thoreau, played by Braugher in a role originally written for Treme star Wendell Pierce. While one can easily see how Pierce would have fit into the role of the passive son of a former pro basketball player who doesn't seem to have the strong will to run a car dealership, Braugher has been his typically excellent self through the series' two seasons. Braugher's frequent head-to-heads with Richard Gant, who plays his father, are emotionally charged and always believable. Their relationship seems to have come to a boiling point in the last minutes of the finale, as Owen's dad sells the dealership, which he'd long ago put into financial ruin, without telling anyone, including his son. When Owen accuses him of doing so and then labels him a "pathetic old man," it's not only true to life but it cuts to the core. Romano, Bakula, and Braugher each have had monumental moments of acting on the series (yes, I'm sure there's at least one skeptic out there who doubts Romano's acting prowess, but believe it, folks).

Getting into a discussion of why no one's watching the damn show (relatively speaking) is fodder for another post entirely. Suffice to say, the ratings for the show aren't nearly as impressive as they are for other TNT series like Falling Skies, Franklin and Bash, or Memphis Beat. That said, one would hope that the executives at TNT have been watching Men of a Certain Age and taking note of its creative growth over the last couple of years. I would also hope that, should the show return, the TNT execs rightly don't split it up into two half-seasons like this past year, with 12 episodes spread out over nearly 9 months. Some shows can tell their stories like that, but they have to be far more serialized, I'd argue. While Men of a Certain Age certainly isn't a series chock full of standalone episodes, its storytelling isn't as feverishly serialized as some other cable dramas. In many ways, Men of a Certain Age is on its own island, probably unable to be compatible with most other series. I only hope that TNT realizes what a diamond in the rough this show is and how foolish it would be to let it go to waste.

Do Watcha Wanna: Season 2 of Treme

2011-07-07T18:49:00.002-07:00

Sometimes, shows sneak up on you. That's all there is to it. I've been watching TV seriously--as opposed to just watching it because, you know, it's there--for just over a decade. While I certainly don't have as much contextual experience as older, wiser critics like Alan Sepinwall, Matt Zoller Seitz, or Mo Ryan, I've watched long enough to know that, nine times out of ten, it only takes a certain amount of episodes for me to know that I'm on board with a show or if it's time to jump ship. As an example of the latter, I watched the first four episodes of the recently renewed TNT science-fiction drama Falling Skies and, though I was somewhat impressed with the performance from Noah Wyle and the show's serviceable special effects, the show wasn't grabbing me as I hoped it would.

What's more, I watch plenty of TV as it is; even though I now have two DVRs with 1 terabyte of recording space between them, I can't double the amount of time I have in a day, a week, or a month. Falling Skies isn't a bad show, but it's not particularly remarkable. I knew that, 40 percent of the way through the show's inaugural season, I wasn't suddenly going to be switched around. Maybe down the line, should the show have a creative upturn, I'll go back to the beginning, but I'm not holding my breath. My basic point, though, is this: more often than not, I know if a show's going to hold my interest well enough to merit a season pass. But sometimes, I'm gradually compelled to keep watching a show, not immediately. Such is the case with HBO's Treme, which concluded its second season this past Sunday. The show, from David Simon, creator of the esteemed HBO drama The Wire, is not as critically beloved, but it's no less satisfying or immersive than that Baltimore-set program.

I ended up catching up with both seasons of the show over roughly six months, as the first season was being rerun over the first few months of this year. I've done the same thing with another HBO drama, the far more popular and far less dramatically cohesive True Blood. I wonder if prolonging my exposure to the first season of Treme while having read a little bit about the show via critics such as Mr. Sepinwall and Mr. Seitz has made me appreciate it more. I knew, even before the show premiered, that I shouldn't go in expecting a New Orleans version of The Wire. The shows do have obvious and subtle similarities, from shared cast members (notably Wendell Pierce, formerly Bunk, currently Antoine, a raffish trombonist) to a shared dissertation into how a modern American city thrives and survives. But Treme is a celebration of New Orleans, where The Wire was detailing the demise of a city that should be far greater than it is. The most important difference is that Treme is a show about atmosphere and The Wire is a show with plot oozing from every pore.

For that reason alone, I didn't get immediately pulled into Treme, initially being far more interested in stories focused on characters played by Pierce, Kim Dickens, Oscar winner Melissa Leo, John Goodman, and Steve Zahn, mostly because I knew these actors better. But Treme, which began its first season mere months after the disaster of Hurricane Katrina, can suck in any viewer, whether you've been to New Orleans or if you've only dreamed of walking down the French Quarter. Eventually, the actors melt away and their characters shine through. We're no longer watching Wendell Pierce, but Antoine, a trombonist who starts out the series trying to make it from day to day with any gig he can get and ends up the second season leading a group of high school musicians in a triumphant performance on the street. We're not watching Kim Dickens, but Janette, a chef who's great at what she does but still doesn't know what she really wants (aside from living in the Big Easy).

The list goes on, extending quickly to plenty of actors whose faces aren't nearly as recognizable. There's Lucia Micarelli, as the sweet and charming fiddler Annie, starting out the series in a damaging relationship with Sonny, a would-be musician who doesn't appreciate that his talents lie far from the music scene. Annie is now with Davis, a brash DJ portrayed by Zahn, someone who desperately wants to prove his New Orleans cred, or to prove that he's right, even at the detriment of his own career. Sonny has skipped out on music and the crippling addiction that screwed him over, and is now making time on a Vietnamese fishing boat that, in one of the second season finale's final scenes, ominously passes by some oil platforms that are beginning to leak...just a bit. Another actor from The Wire, Clarke Peters (who, quick note, will be playing Othello opposite Dominic West, as Iago, in England soon; wouldn't you love to see Lester Freamon and Jimmy McNulty go head to head?), plays Albert Lambreaux, the Big Chief of the Mardi Gras Indians. His son, Delmond (Rob Brown), has come to appreciate and embrace his heritage and build a relationship with his strident, stubborn father. Their back-and-forths have been among the most pleasing and entertaining moments of either season. Finally, in the truly haunting storyline of the season, LaDonna (Khandi Alexander), a bartender, is gang-raped outside her establishment, and has to go through the harrowing process of accepting what's happened to her and fighting back. Alexander has been excellent on both seasons, but her work this year (especially in the season finale, where she confronts one of her attackers) is jaw-dropping in its brilliance.

Something that critics of the show have mentioned is how little plot seems to matter. You're more likely to watch 15 minutes of nearly unbroken musical performances than to get major dumps of information. Even if you weren't a fan of The Wire (which would render you insane or lacking in taste, but that's neither here nor there), you may not dig the show's languid pace. I'll admit that the first season was something I admired more than loved, partly because there wasn't a moment for me to jump into the action; instead, I felt like someone standing outside the window, watching the fun go by without as much context as I'd have liked. I don't know what changed this season, but I've gone from admiring this show to flat-out loving it. There wasn't a specific scene that hooked me completely, or even a character. What Treme has become, in its sophomore session, is a great hang-out show. In short, I've learned enough about these characters that I'm fine with just hanging out with them each week. I no longer feel like a voyeur, but like I'm there right next to these people. Every time there's a musical performance, I'm standing right there with the rest of the crowd, taking in the sweaty, smoky, exciting vibe. Each time food is on screen, I'm looking at it, drooling, wanting to dig in. Each character, diverse as they are, is a reward to the viewer.

Now, mind you, Treme is not perfect. While I though David Morse and Jon Seda were fine additions to the cast, their performances didn't match the often weightless storylines they were placed into. Morse, I hope, will return next season; Seda, though I liked him, seems to have no purpose in the future of the show. Despite some storytelling flaws, I've come to love Treme as much as I ever did The Wire, even if the latter show is clearly superior in terms of its overall scope. That aside, I found it fitting that the show's second season finale came on the eve of Independence Day. That holiday is, of course, the most blatant celebration of America we have; watching Treme, a show about the ups and downs of life for the creative and the driven in one of the jewels of this country, is a weekly look into the triumph of the human spirit, an hourly commemoration of this flawed, sometimes infuriating, sometimes transcendent country.

Looking Back: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

2011-07-04T19:05:00.002-07:00

How much responsibility does a director bear on a movie? I guess that question's answer depends on whether or not you subscribe to the auteur theory. I don't know that the auteur theory can be applied to every director; for every director whose style is unmistakable, from Paul Thomas Anderson to Michael Bay--yes, both are auteurs, quality be damned--there are journeyman helmers like Martin Campbell or Joe Johnston. Arguably, Chris Columbus, who directed the first two Harry Potter movies belongs in the latter camp.

Something that is going to be very stark as I go through each Harry Potter movie is the schizophrenic nature of the directorial styles, or lack thereof. Chris Columbus did a very capable job of hiding his lack of style or flair by having skilled production designer Stuart Craig create the world of Hogwarts over the first two films, but his inability to grasp anything beyond basic directing skills is more on display in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, not 2002's Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Columbus used different cinematographers for the movies; John Seale was behind the camera for the first film, but frequent Terry Gilliam collaborator Roger Pratt took the reins for Chamber of Secrets, which really shows. Even though a lot of the tricks Pratt uses to heighten suspense and menace are kind of rudimentary in style (odd camera angles, lots of panning, and so on), it's more than what's on display in the first movie.

What I remember from first seeing this movie in November of 2002 is that everything was improved. There aren't any vast changes, but what happens on screen is clearly the result of people knowing what they can and can't do with the story, though there are still moments of stilted dialogue or unnecessarily over-the-top performances. While Columbus's skill as a director didn't really improve much from the first to the second movies, the movie doesn't feel as elementary. Having said that, there are plenty of flaws on display. Something I had forgotten is this: Chamber of Secrets is 161 minutes long; the extended edition is nearly 3 hours long. For those fans of the book series who were infuriated when future cinematic adaptations didn't feature, you know, every little subplot, this movie is likely manna from heaven. I'm not sure if this is a case of the structure of J.K. Rowling's book being unwieldy, or Columbus and writer Steve Kloves not knowing how to tell the story on film correctly, but the first fourth of this film doesn't even hint at the title location. What's more, the final fourth takes place almost entirely inside said location. In between, there's a fun yet obviously wasteful Quidditch scene and a spider attack. But it really doesn't need to be 160 minutes long.

Either intentionally or otherwise, this movie is the most male-centric, I think, in the entire series. I'd forgotten that Hermione is taken out of the equation with just over an hour to go; she, like a few other supporting characters, is petrified by the monstrous basilisk that's been unleashed on the school by a hypnotized Ginny Weasley. Thus, the final hour is basically Harry and Ron fighting off various creepy-crawlies, followed by Harry facing off against a young Tom Riddle, who'd soon turn himself into Lord Voldemort. The first half of the movie is mostly dominated by Harry's rivalry with Draco Malfoy, which hits a fever pitch that none of the other movies even attempt to match. (While Harry presumes the worst of Draco in future installments, he never figures Malfoy is being tasked with killing Dumbledore.) That rivalry culminates in the Quidditch scene; for being mostly special effects, it's well-shot, but in the greater context of the film and book series, Quidditch seems like an unnecessary diversion.

Chamber of Secrets also introduces us to one new, somewhat important character (Lucius Malfoy, hammily played by Jason Isaacs) and one recurring theme, in the form of a consistently new Defense of the Dark Arts teacher. This time, it's shameless celebrity Gilderoy Lockhart, as portrayed delightfully by Kenneth Branagh. I'll admit that I'd love to know what Hugh Grant, who was apparently originally cast but couldn't do it for scheduling reasons, would have done with the character. Still, Branagh is possibly the first person in the entire series, with the exception of the reliably entertaining Alan Rickman, who is enjoying himself with goofy material. That alone is infectious enough to make this movie enjoyable. Lockhart was, with the exception of a quick cameo in Order of the Phoenix (the book, not the movie), only in this one, but the sense of self-aware fun and charm is welcome here. Branagh may not have had much substance to his character, but he's appropriately fun.

I mentioned Terry Gilliam earlier, and it's worth bringing up to wonder what might have been with other directors working on the first two films. Gilliam was one of the notable directors who was up for the job but either didn't get it or refused. The most well-known director to never officially work on the series is Steven Spielberg; it's said that he wanted Haley Joel Osment to star as Harry. Since Rowling always nixed any American actors in the films, he was out pretty quickly. But anyone who knows about 1980s movies probably knows that Chris Columbus came to prominence thanks mostly to Steven Spielberg's influence. He wrote Gremlins (though, based on his other films, you'd barely know it), which was produced by Spielberg back in 1984. Though he had nothing to do with the movie, watching Chamber of Secrets is like watching something akin to Super 8, the recent JJ Abrams movie that wore its Spielbergian influences on its sleeve.

From the scene where Lockhart introduces Cornish pixies to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class (said creatures look like a CGI version of the Gremlins) to Harry facing Tom Riddle in the Chamber to Harry and Ron being beset upon by large spiders, a lot of this movie just seems like a stew of Spielberg movies from the mid-1980s, those movies that were darker, meaner, more menacing than E.T.. Now, obviously a lot of this is because it's what J.K. Rowling wrote. But I wonder if a different director would've interpreted the plot differently, or if this movie would remind me of Steven Spielberg productions no matter who was behind the camera. Though there aren't any father-son issues on display here, a lot of the themes and action sequences are extremely reminiscent to the point of distraction.

Still, a lot has improved here. I know that what's to come will be a major shift in the series' production value, but the seeds were being planted here. Though not every one of the actors acquits themselves well enough (Rupert Grint and Tom Felton are as cartoonish here as they ever will be, and I can only blame Columbus for not reeling them in), Daniel Radcliffe clearly got better tips or just applied himself better here. I can't say that the dialogue is very naturalistic, but he and Emma Watson seem a bit less forced, a bit less actor-y here. The lead three kids would soon all seem less like actors and more like their characters, but it starts for two of them here. But there are problems here that are just as apparent in the books now that I think about them for more than a few seconds.

While Robbie Coltrane is just as rustic and charming here as Hagrid, the character's time to shine pretty much stopped after the third story. The most drama revolving the character is in this story, and aside from introducing us to Azkaban, we don't have much in terms of suspense to chew on. Hagrid gets the final burst of applause at the end of this movie, and the congratulations don't feel earned, in the same way that they would be if I actually went to Hogwarts. What's more, by the time the fourth, fifth, and sixth installments in this series come around, Hagrid and Coltrane have very little to do, aside from standing around in some shots to remind us that yes, the big guy is still here. Mostly, watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets is like watching the end of a prologue to the other five--OK, six--movies in the Harry Potter series. Play time is over; it's high time that we got a little more serious, and right quick.

Larry Crowne

2011-07-02T19:26:00.003-07:00

The best thing I can say about Larry Crowne is that I ought to hate it, but I don't have the coldness to do so. Don't get me wrong: there are so many things wrong with this movie, it's hard to figure out where to start. If anyone's at fault, it has to be Tom Hanks, who's almost too charming, too decent, too Tom Hanks-ish here. But he's not just playing the title character, he's the producer, director, and co-writer (with Oscar nominee Nia Vardalos--yes, everyone, she got an Oscar nod for her My Big Fat Greek Wedding script); since he wore the most hats, he's the first target. But Larry Crowne is so sunny, so cheery, and so forced in maintaining its good-time attitude that it's both infuriating and mildly charming.

The lack of a conflict, or even of an antagonistic character, is the main culprit here. Hanks plays Larry, an eternally nice guy who gets fired from his job at a Wal-Mart-esque store because he doesn't have a college education. (I can't help but thinking, as other critics have pointed out, that Larry could have easily sued the store and won a lot of money, had he wanted to.) Larry decides to go to community college, so he can have an education and get a better job. While in his speech class, he meets and falls for his teacher, Julia Roberts. Now, she plays a character whose name looks kind of like, but not really at all, the words "tie knot." But she's Julia Roberts. And he's Tom Hanks. 15 years ago, this movie would've been huge. Now, it's almost something of a relic. But that's the movie in a nutshell. A guy learns to change his outlook in life while being the same upbeat person, gets a scooter, and falls in love.

With so little plot to dispense with, you'd think the movie would have plenty of time to fill in its main characters, but there's barely any development. We're told that Larry is divorced, but never meet his ex-wife or even get an idea of what happened in their marriage. Seeing as the economy plays something of a role in the story (Larry's deep in the hole with his mortgage, partly bought out from his ex), it makes no sense for the movie to gloss over this major part of the main character's life. We know from the cartoonish depiction that Julia Roberts is in a loveless, hateful marriage (to Bryan Cranston of Breaking Bad, no less), but we know nothing of what brought them together. From the very first scene, it's clear that Roberts hates her husband, or that she should. He calls himself a blogger, but he's really just into looking at porn. (Speaking of, I highly await the part of Bryan Cranston's AFI highlight reel that includes the clip from this movie where he shouts, seriously, "I like BIG knockers!")

Roberts and her character are also central to the film's failings. It's no spoiler, I hope, to tell you that she and Hanks get together at the end of the movie. But you knew that, because OF COURSE they get together. Why would you see this movie expecting anything else? As it was pointed out by a few others who saw the movie with me, she and Hanks have no chemistry. At all. We know they'll get together because they're supposed to, but there's nothing on screen to make us interested in the coupling. What's worse is that we have no sense of Roberts playing a character outside of...well, Julia Roberts. Hanks has the same problem. The image that Hollywood has given us of Tom Hanks (and I think most everyone buys it, myself included) is that he's the late-20th-century version of Jimmy Stewart: ultra-nice, ultra-decent, ultra-good. That is the way Larry Crowne himself is written, so most of the movie plays as "young people" giving Tom Hanks a strange makeover that only makes him look cool to the other characters in the script, not anyone in the real world. Crowne is apparently a dope for not driving a scooter (granted, the mileage is great and cheap), and for not wearing scarves to college, and for myriad other weird things that no one in real life would get on a guy for. In essence, the biggest problem this movie has is that its view of the world is so skewed, you wonder when people like Hanks, Roberts, and Vardalos last entered it.

The way the younger characters and new media in general are portrayed is equally baffling. As I mentioned, Cranston's character is a self-proclaimed blogger, but this movie defines that vocation as looking at porn. Facebook and Twitter are name-dropped at the beginning of the movie by a fellow community college professor for being the main cause of short attention spans. It's nice to know that we never had ADD issues before 2004. When characters text, they do so with a rudimentary knowledge of how people communicate; maybe my frustration regarding the media aspect of this movie is that every single time the word "blog" is uttered, the contempt oozes off the screen. The young people are equally obnoxious here, even though they're played by relatively game actors. Gugu Mbatha-Raw is a lovely young actress and acquitted herself well enough on the failed NBC series "Undercovers," but her character, Talia, is a frightening insight into how Hanks and Vardalos see people under the age of 30. She's yet another Manic Pixie Dream Girl (that term is, of course, copyrighted by Nathan Rabin of the A.V. Club), someone who exists to change another character, someone who is filled with forced whimsy, unnatural and beaming the entire time.

See, it's Talia who changes Larry's life, redoing his house with feng shui, getting him to join her scooter gang (which is led by Wilmer Valderrama, trying so very hard to make us all forget that he was Fez once), changing his hairstyle, changing his clothes, and on and on and on. Not that Larry is presented as being so much of a schlub that he needs a makeover, but this platitude-spouting cipher says so, thus it happens. So why don't I hate this movie? The cast, aside from Roberts, who I think is the real weak link here, does their very best with really shoddy material. Hanks is always going to be a charming screen presence, even though his characterization of Crowne is weak. There are plenty of actors I like in other projects here, from Cranston to Malcolm Barrett of the late, lamented "Better Off Ted," to Rami Malek from "The Pacific." They, and the film's standout, George Takei (yes, that one), are having a lot of fun here, and make for the sparse moment of humor.

But I'll be honest: this movie is a spectacular mess, at best. I was watching this and honestly asking, "Is this movie real?" When Valderrama and his scooter group starts to snap, a la West Side Story, I couldn't help but bug my eyes out in shock. That such a scene is meant to be funny just made it more galling, honestly. This movie has its heart in the right place, I know, but it's such a miss from Hanks and company that I want to know what they thought they were accomplishing. For the most part, this is a piece of fluff, and I wonder if Hanks was aiming for anything more than a pleasant diversion. But on the other hand, when the economy is mentioned as being a weary burden on Crowne, I figure that, maybe, Hanks and Vardalos were aiming high and undershot it so much. What a strange, odd, and somewhat awful movie this is.

Looking Back: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

2011-06-27T17:33:00.002-07:00

How many of us are doing this, I wonder? Come November, it will have been ten years since the first Harry Potter film, directed by Chris Columbus, was released around the world. It's already been more than 10 years since we all entered the age of breathless cynicism surrounding major entertainment projects. These days, oohing, aahing, and tsking about the latest casting announcement for the new Twilight movie, or the impending Hunger Games series is old hat, but it started (at least, for me) in 2000, when the world was first introduced to Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint. They were all pretty much unknown, yet these days, they've turned into an earnest Broadway performer, a budding fashion icon, and a happy oddball character actor.

So, as I said, with the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 less than 3 weeks away, I wonder how many of us are going back to the early films or watching everything up to and including the final installment. Because I'm married to someone who's always been far more fanatical about the Harry Potter film series than the books (we've both read them all, but I was way more amped up for the releases of the last two books), I've seen all of the movies countless times. The only difference in watching 2001's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Philosopher everywhere else in the world, but you know us Amurricans think philosophy is a snooze, so Sorcerer it is) was watching the Blu-ray version.

Watching HDTV is as old hat to me as is reading about casting announcements, but every now and then, I'm reminded of one of the negative aspects of high-definition content. On the one hand, with HD quality, you can see every pore, every color, and every element of an image. On the other hand...well, you can see every pore, every color, and every element of an image. I'm sure it registered with me in the past, but when I watched one of the major action sequences of this chapter of the series--Harry, Ron, and Hermione taking on an escaped troll--I was presented with some truly awful special effects. I suppose that Columbus and his special-effects crew was able to get away with Harry astride the large troll being, literally, a cartoon, because of how rapidly both characters are moving, but 10 years down the line, it's almost cringe-inducing to watch. There are a couple of other moments where the special effects show their seams, but that's something I can forgive more than the troll scene.

In some ways, I bet the folks who've been involved in making each Harry Potter movie look at the first one as a mulligan, creatively speaking. The fever pitch surrounding the book series hit its highest initial peak in the summer of 2000, when Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was released to the worldwide public. Everyone read every word of each book. We all knew the series in and out, and some people went much further with their fandom, as we all do depending on the story. The producers of the film knew that they had a seriously hot property on their hands, but it could blow up in their faces very quickly if they made one step wrong. I can understand that from a business standpoint, mind you. The Harry Potter series has proven, predictably, to be one of the biggest cash cows Warner Bros. Pictures (or any film studio) has ever had. We all know that the first reason why there's even a Part 2 to the final installment is to make more money. Yes, I can delude myself into thinking that the final book just had too much for one movie to cover (unless said movie was six hours long). But we all know money is the biggest draw for Warner Bros. If they could do what The Onion joked about last month--splitting the last five minutes into five separate movies--they would.

My point is, Warner Bros. didn't want to screw up any Harry Potter movie, so the producers and Columbus had to tread carefully. Very, very, very carefully. They may have figured that as long as they stayed faithful to the first book, audiences wouldn't charge at them with torches and pitchforks. The problem, creatively, is that by the time the first movie came out, the fourth book had been read, and re-read, countless times by the devoted fans. What's more, we all knew that the first book from J.K. Rowling was so vastly smaller in scope to even the fourth one--gasp! a Hogwarts student gets killed, and that's just when Lord Voldemort makes a massive return--that it's almost quaint to watch the first movie and think of its minor-league aspirations. So, yeah, I can understand the producers' wariness to make one wrong step with Sorcerer's Stone, but no amount of concessions can eliminate one fact: Chris Columbus is not a great director, and for these movies, you either need a great director or a director who can fool us into thinking they're great. Columbus isn't a woeful helmer; he can point and shoot just like most filmmakers. But giving this man the keys to a massive franchise was too safe a choice, especially when you consider that Warner Bros. wanted Steven Spielberg (which makes sense, more for the first two films, honestly) and would have been fine with Terry Gilliam. (I want to see the alternate-universe version of the Harry Potter film series, where Gilliam directed the same cast. Can you imagine what that would've looked like?) Columbus, while an 80s-era protege of Spielberg, was too bland, too simple, too American. In a series where no American characters even existed, it's at odds for Columbus to direct the first two chapters.

When Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was released in theaters, a good portion of critics went nuts for it. Roger Ebert and Richard Roeper, I remember, were over the moon, the latter comparing it to The Wizard of Oz. While it's probably true that, 50 years from now, the Harry Potter series will be remembered fondly, I don't think that, even in 2001, I knew why the comparison made any sense, qualitatively. On the one hand, bringing so precisely to life the world that Rowling began creating works out well. Each performer was cast well, because they exactly fit the character they were playing. The evocation of Hogwarts looks, mostly, accurate. It fails, though, in the same way that the first two films in the series fail: it looks fake. I recoil when I see a movie or a TV show wherein characters walk around a clearly fake environment. Sometimes, it can't be helped, but here's a movie where money was thrown around willy-nilly. As the series has progressed, that money has been well-spent, but in looking at the Hogwarts of the first film, it reminds me of the climax of Blazing Saddles, where the good guys build a facade of the town that the villains want to ransack, hoping to divert them. That's what Hogwarts looks like in this movie: a facade, ready to tip over when it's attacked by a stiff breeze.

20 years from now, I wonder if Radcliffe, Watson, and Grint will wince when watching footage from this movie. None of the kids are bad, mind you; all are given monumental tasks just in becoming these beloved characters, and acquit themselves well enough for child actors. But a lot of the tics that have haunted each of them (Grint's cartoonish mugging, Watson's propensity for acting with her constantly moving eyebrows, and Radcliffe's apparent insistence, early on, in almost baring his teeth in every shot) show up here and don't leave. To be honest, there's nothing too notable from the actors here. The only person who really sticks out is Ian Hart, who gets probably the most thankless major role in the entire franchise. Does anyone remember Professor Quirrell? The villains in the subsequent films usually have more substance or more connection to the overall mythology, but Quirrell gets one big scene and Hart overplays it as much as he can. The other adult performers don't go too far out of their comfort zones, which means they're almost underplaying; Alan Rickman, an inspired choice for Severus Snape, in particular, recites his lines at the lowest possible boil. (My favorite delivery of his comes much later in the series, though: "You....just....know.") Hart's over-the-top style wouldn't be matched until Helena Bonham Carter showed up in the franchise.

Every time I watch the first two films in the Harry Potter franchise, though, I forget that someone other than Michael Gambon played Albus Dumbledore. It's not that Gambon was so indelible as Dumbledore, but he's had a lot longer to work with the character, and the material he's had is a lot more substantial than what Harris had. Harris was a very talented actor in his time, but either because Columbus told him to do so or because he chose it, he plays Dumbledore solely as a grandfatherly figure. While that's not a bad decision--certainly, the complexities that defined Dumbledore don't rear their head early on in the books--I always wondered if Harris would be able to convincingly change on a dime once the third film came around. He's fine here, delivering his dialogue in a twinkly manner, but he's treated as an afterthought, as is Maggie Smith as Professor McGonagall. Only Robbie Coltrane, as Hagrid, makes a serious mark here, but that's because Hagrid has a lot more to do early on in the series.

These days, I don't watch Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone that much, nor Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, which almost seem like British versions of The Goonies. Part of this is because so much of what made this series of books become so classic came after the first two books. Don't forget, the hype grew bigger once Prisoner of Azkaban hit the bookshelves. I eagerly await revisiting the other films in this series, but my hopes are only marginally higher for the second installment, in large part because it's better known as The Kenneth Branagh Show. Branagh gets a delightfully hammy part to play and does so marvelously, but at least he's actually having fun. The first film doesn't have a lot of fun in it, to the point where even transitions--such as when Nearly Headless Nick, portrayed by John Cleese, all but announces to the audience that Harry's become the Gryffindor Seeker--seem rote and lifeless. Lifeless is the worst thing any of these movies could be.

Starting a Podcast From Scratch

2011-06-25T21:51:00.004-07:00

Sometimes, knowing that the first person you can let down is yourself is a good incentive to do something. I've been listening to podcasts for the last 3 years, and only recently got involved in creating one, the now-fallen Entertained. That podcast was originally a hodgepodge of entertainment subjects, hosted by myself and my friend Grant. One thing led to another, and we eventually morphed the show into an analysis of Disney movies, starting from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. However, as time went on and Grant found it harder to balance being a new dad and devoting the proper amount of time and energy to the show, something had to give. My pleas for him to give his child up for adoption went on deaf ears. Grant, you will regret that decision! (Not really.)

Now, I've decided to do a podcast solo. My greatest fear has been and will be that doing a solo podcast won't be as interesting as listening to two or three people go back and forth on a topic or a group of topics, but I also know that I have plenty to say about Disney movies. With that in mind, I'm proud to introduce you to my new podcast, Mousterpiece Cinema. By the time you're reading this, the first episode, in which I review Cars 2, is up on iTunes (right here!), ready to be downloaded, subscribed, rated and reviewed by all of you. I want to hear your feedback, but please make sure to direct it to the appropriate places. Here's a link to the show's Facebook page. The blog for the show is here. Also on the blog, there's a calendar of movies I plan on discussing for the rest of 2011. On Twitter, I'm @mousterpiece.

I know some of you may be skeptical about listening to a Disney podcast, but let me be clear: if I'm being nerdy about anything Disney on the show, it's the movies. I may mention the theme parks, or the associated merchandise, but this is a podcast about movies. They happen to be Disney movies, but they're movies nonetheless. I'm very excited about the show, and I want to know what you think. Tell me that I'm wrong to worry about doing a solo podcast. Tell me I'm right to worry and what I can do to update the format. Tell me what you think of the movies I talk about. In short, make me know you're listening and are engaged. Not every week will be solo; I'm hoping to get Grant on a few shows, depending on the movie and his schedule, and I may well encourage my wife to jump on board once or twice. Anyone who's reading this who's a Disney fan is welcome to petition to be a guest. I know I'm not the only one out there who loves Disney movies and wants to talk about it at length. I've got Skype, so if you've got a headset and a passion for all things Mouse-related, we can work it out. I hope you'll all check out the show, and let me know what you think.

(cross-posted at Mousterpiece Cinema)

Separate But Equal: Season 1 of Game of Thrones

2011-06-22T19:17:00.003-07:00

Fandom has become so troubling in so many ways since the advent of the Internet. People who are already fiercely protective of something they've read, seen, or listened to (even if they had nothing to do with that thing's creation) become even more so when an outside force seems prepared to tamper with it. When a popular book is turned into a movie or TV show, as goes the obvious example, the truly dedicated fans of the book become fervent devotees to every bit of news, from casting to set design to music. Some are devoted to saying that all the news stories, big or small, mean that the book's adaptation will be the best thing since sliced bread. The other half are usually there to deride each decision as an example of the adaptation's impending failure. Then the damn adaptation is released to the public, and something even worse happens: the general public, unfamiliar with the book, gets to deliver their even more diverse opinions.

Example: in episode 9 of the first of hopefully many seasons of Game of Thrones, HBO's latest and greatest drama, the ostensible good guy of the show, Lord Eddard, or Ned, Stark, potentially faces execution on false charges of treason. He's chosen to swear fealty to the current King of Westeros, the young King Joffrey. Joffrey is the son of the late King Robert Baratheon, but Ned has found more than enough evidence that proves Joffrey isn't Robert's son at all, but a product of incest between the Queen and her brother, a supposedly dashing knight. Ned doesn't really believe Joffrey is the true King, but to protect his family, he's willing to be exiled to the far North, where he'll spend the rest of his days as part of the Night's Watch, who guard Westeros from whatever may or may not lie beyond their Wall.

I know, for someone who's unfamiliar with the show, the preceding information may seem like too much to handle. (And believe me, reader, there's a lot more plot-heavy details where that came from.) I bring up all of that so you understand the vital element of the climactic scene in "Baelor": Ned has to swear fealty to the new King or get killed in front of a crowd hungry for blood. Now, we've all watched plenty of TV shows and movies. We know the way things work in terms of building suspense. A character may get killed; that seems inherently suspenseful. But when I tell you that Ned is played by Sean Bean, formerly of the Lord of the Rings series, among others, you may assume that Ned's going to be safe. Why wouldn't you? Bean is the most recognizable actor in the show's cast, and the marketing for the show has centered around him. Also, as I said earlier, his character is the closest there is to a pure good guy on this show. (That, despite his having fathered a child with someone who isn't his wife.) Ned's going to be fine. But when Ned swears fealty, the snotty young King twists things around; as the King, he won't ever let treason go unpunished. Despite the confusion that reigns around him, Joffrey's demand is not unheeded. Ned soon loses his head, and plenty of viewers who'd never read the books and avoided the spoilers within, according to the media, went as crazy as the crowd in the show.

There were cries that people wouldn't watch the show anymore, because they had apparently forced themselves to watch 9 hours of television for one actor, despite his being one of many, many characters on the show. Now, I don't doubt that some people did actually think they'd give it up, but honestly, those people weren't watching the show for the right reasons. I've only read the first book in the series (the next three are in my house, staring me in the face, but I've yet to power through the second installment), but I was very confident that the HBO series, developed and written almost entirely by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss, would do a more than adequate job of bringing the book to the small screen. I picked up the first four books after the series was announced, and saw how simple it would be to make each book at least one season of a television series. The Song of Ice and Fire series, written by George R.R. Martin, is absolutely epic, but Martin's prior work in television shows, as most of the chapters in the book, which are all POV from eight characters, are structured like back-to-back scenes in a serialized drama. Martin made wise choices in writing characters like Tyrion Lannister, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, and Jon Snow, not only in creating singular human beings, but in subverting a lot of fantasy-novel tropes. Bringing them to further life, Benioff and Weiss managed to subtly define Game of Thrones as its own entity with ease and an appropriate amount of caution.

I don't know that Game of Thrones is ever going to succeed in making me forget that scenes added specifically for the show didn't originate in the book, but what's been added, taken out, or altered for dramatic purposes rarely seems forced or unnecessary. Something that does seem a bit unique to the TV version is its continued reliance on something Myles McNutt of Cultural Learnings has deemed "sexposition," meaning a scene where characters are having sex or watching someone have sex, solely so they can deliver an info-dump of a monologue. I don't know that every episode featured one of these moments, but I'd bet that more than half of the episodes did. The finale included such a moment, when Grand Maester Pycelle, a supposedly doddering wise man who sits on the King's Council, talks about what makes a true king after apparently having sex with a prostitute named Ros, who has clearly heard such ravings before. These scenes, it's been argued, are just here to maintain a level of titillation for the audience members who only want to see fantasy TV shows where clothing is optional.

To clarify, I was less offended than I was distracted, never more so than during a scene where the devious Petyr Baelish, known as Littlefinger, was watching two prostitutes in the brothel he owned having sex while essentially telling us all about his childhood. On the one hand, as a fan of the HBO series Deadwood, I'm not against scenes where we learn about characters' motivations or histories while having sex. That show had a famous first-season scene where saloon owner Al Swearengen was describing his dark past as he received oral sex, something that helped solidified that show's legendary status for me. The reason that scene works and the scene with Littlefinger didn't is because the sex didn't seem like a natural part of the scene; instead, we were watching, as was he, two ladies get it on, because--hey, look, it's two ladies getting it on, OK?

Despite the sometimes gratuitous nature of these scenes, Game of Thrones, from its first scene to the last shot of the season finale, was an exciting, darkly escapist journey. The basic story is that Ned Stark gets entangled with the political machinations of the country of Westeros when his old friend, King Robert, asks him to be the king's right-hand man. Ned is too decent, too driven by his sense of honor to realize that he's descending slowly, but surely, into a pit of vipers, led by people such as Queen Cersei, who only wants her family, the Lannisters, to rule all of Westeros. The Starks' feud with the Lannisters exacerbates over the season, especially once Ned's wife, Catelyn, takes Cersei's brother Tyrion (known as the Imp, since he's a dwarf) prisoner. Tyrion, it turns out, may have tried to murder Catelyn's second youngest son, Bran. Bran was unlucky enough to see Cersei and her other brother, Jaime, having sex; all this gets him is paralyzed, once Jaime pushes him out a window to keep his secret. Once Tyrion is taken prisoner, the Lannister patriarch gets involved and declares war, just as Ned tries to maintain the appropriate bloodline to the throne so Cersei's illicit son, Joffrey, doesn't get to take the throne after King Robert dies in a potentially mysterious fashion.

Like I said before, there's a whole hell of a lot of plot in this show. Benioff, Weiss, and the scant few writers who contributed to the first season had a delicate balancing act to keep up. Unlike the books, which include plenty of inner monologues to complement the twists and turns, the TV series had to do a lot of work to keep the characters as important as the story they were living. While not every effort was perfect, as the season continued, it became clear that this show knew exactly what it was doing. The performances on the show, from the big names like Bean or Peter Dinklage as Tyrion, to younger actors like Maisie Williams and Emilia Clarke. Clarke, in particular, had one of the most challenging roles in the show, partly because of how separate she is from the main action.

Clarke plays Daenerys Targaryen, the daughter of the man who used to be King, the late King Aerys. Aerys was overthrown by King Robert, who fears that Daenerys and her scheming brother, Viserys, will try to overthrow Robert and take back their rightful place in Westeros. Viserys plans on doing just this, by marrying his sister off to the head of a savage army, which will descend on Westeros and help him become King. Of course, things don't go as they're supposed to, mostly because Daenerys, who begins the series as a frightened, shy, and weak young girl, grows into a strong and powerful woman at the side of her husband, Khal Drogo of the Dothraki tribe. In the beginning, she is tossed around as a piece of meat, but when she reclaims, in no small way, the sigil of her family (the dragon), it's truly thrilling to watch. Clarke sells this transformation and this character as well as anyone else on the show. (Keep in mind, on the face of it, Dinklage steals every scene he's in, as he clearly relishes having such a fun, clever character to play.)

Salon's TV critic, Matt Zoller Seitz, argued earlier this week that Game of Thrones' first season was the best first season of any show since the first season of Deadwood. At first, I paused at this assertion, but the more I think about it, the more it seems clear that there are really only a few shows that began airing since 2004 that could claim to have had an incredibly strong first season. I'm not sure that the first season of Mad Men couldn't easily win this argument, but then again, I haven't that show's inaugural season since it aired, so I'd have to go back and reconsider it. (Boy, that would be a fun experiment. That might just happen, folks.) As it stands, Game of Thrones began as an enormously ambitious series, possibly the most ambitious dramatic undertaking on American television. When its first season ended this past Sunday, it stood as a major milestone in TV history: an adaptation whose scope exceeds all other shows and most movies that managed to exceed all expectations. That is, unless you were only interested in watching Sean Bean.

Jumping On The Top of The Dog Pile, or Season 1 of The Killing

2011-06-20T17:04:00.004-07:00

Oh, where do I start with The Killing? This AMC series ended its first season last night with a finale that has, for the most part, landed with a resounding thud, inciting vitriol most places on the Internet. Add to that an interview with the show's head writer that quickly topples into surreal humor, two strange defenses of the show from The New York Times TV critic, and a disturbing profile of AMC itself over the weekend, and you have plenty of grist for the mill. I'll begin with the show itself, which gradually presented viewers with a disquieting problem. Which is worse, dear reader: a crime drama about two detectives who aren't good at their job, or a crime drama about two detectives who aren't good at their job, but written by people who think said detectives are unquestionably the best?

There were myriad problems with the first season of The Killing, but this is the worst of all. The show's protagonist, Sarah Linden, is offered to us, from the get-go, as the cop who can't let the case go. While I appreciated that, from the outset, Detective Linden wasn't made from the current mold of TV detectives (I have a photographic memory! I'm obsessive-compulsive! I pretend to be a psychic!), she still fit into a pretty basic stereotype of the crime procedural: the cop who doesn't know when to quit, even if it gets results, dammit! Linden, portrayed by Mireille Enos, is a dour, sometimes pouty character who thinks highly of herself, yet is presented at almost every turn as being strangely bad at what she does. The case that took place over a 13-day period chronicled in the season's 13 episodes was a murder of a teenage girl named Rosie Larsen. Rosie was found, drowned, in a car owned by the Darren Richmond for Mayor of Seattle campaign, and for whatever vague reasons, Linden immediately identifies with the girl and the case so much that she drops her plans to fly to Sonoma, California to get married for a second time.

That impending marriage and her sullen teenage son were albatrosses on the series from the beginning. Even though the conceit of the show--that each episode took place, roughly, over one day, back to back to back--didn't cause it to be too unrealistic that she might push back her wedding a couple of weeks, we all knew nothing would come of it. No one assumed that we'd see Linden get betrothed during one of the episodes, so each time we dipped our toes back into the waters of that subplot, you get antsy. We all know she's staying, Leoben from Battlestar Galactica, so stop asking her to run away from this case! Linden's son, Jack, was as much of a rough sketch, not a character, as was Linden's fiance. The character's never really given anything remotely close to a personality, so when he starts drinking to act out, or runs away for an episode, we're not truly invested in his safety and survival. I might care about Jack if I knew anything about him.

Another major problem is that characters' motivations would change from day to day. As an example, we're introduced to Linden's ex-husband and Jack's father in the penultimate episode (played by another Battlestar vet, Tahmoh Penikett). From the beginning, we've known little about this guy except the obvious: Linden's no fan. She gets in his face when he appears at the local precinct, trying to reach out, but then, in the season finale, when she hears that her son's just hanging out with the guy, she barely raises an eyebrow. What did I miss in the two episodes, readers? This is but one example of the sloppy, 24-at-its-worst writing that plagued each hour. But the biggest problem in terms of characterization were with the main characters: Linden, her apparently evil partner Holder, Richmond, and the Larsen parents. The show's head writer, Veena Sud, decided to play things so cool that personalities were almost beaten out of each actor, from Enos to Billy Campbell to Michelle Forbes. Don't get me wrong, the performances on the show were rarely the problem (though during one particularly prickly moment where Linden shouts at her son, I wondered if I had a problem with the character or Enos' squinty, do-I-smell-something-stinky style of acting; I'm still not sure which it is), but they can only do so much.

The writing was always the problem, from the get-go. As critics such as HitFix's Alan Sepinwall pointed out when they reviewed the premiere episode, a whole third of the show was devoted to Richmond's mayoral campaign and how the Rosie Larsen investigation affected it. But here's the problem: why spend time on a political campaign that is pretty much entirely separate from the murder investigation and from the grieving parents of the deceased, unless someone on the campaign is involved implicitly or explicitly in the murder? No amount of charm that Campbell, Kristin Lehman, or Eric Ladin possess as performers could save this storyline, which never moved past being inert. From the first episode, there was one of two outcomes: either someone on the campaign was involved in the murder and, thus, everyone is automatically suspicious, or the writers had no idea what they were doing.

Here, I'll delve into the finale, "Orpheus Descending." AMC plastered the country with ads for The Killing, most of which were daring because they featured a character played by an unknown actress who would also be dead by the time the first episode began. The posters showed the face of pretty, smiling, enigmatic Rosie Larsen, with the obvious question: "Who Killed Rosie Larsen?" Add to that the obvious title of the show, and you have audience members intrigued. Before the finale aired, I was arguing to someone that the show's amount of dramatic suspense was always going to be muted, because the show's storytelling style posed a serious problem: whatever else happened, we weren't going to find out who killed the girl until the finale. It would have been daring and unexpected for Sud to say, around episode 8, that we'd find out who murdered Rosie Larsen, and there was no reason for us to assume it would happen that way. But we'd find out in the finale. I mean...there was no way that we wouldn't, because who would be stupid enough to drag the storyline even further than it had already gone?

There is, it seems, an answer to that question, and its name is Veena Sud. Yes, if you haven't already read the scathing and incisive reviews from justifiably angry writers like Mo Ryan or Alan Sepinwall, well...read those after you finish reading this. Their screeds are scathing enough, but the point is this: if you, the viewer, want to find out who killed Rosie Larsen, you have to wait for another year, because the season finale ended as a lot of episodes ended this season: with an obvious suspect's guilt being questioned heavily. The penultimate episode ended by making it all but glaring that Richmond, for unknown reasons, drowned Rosie. The final episode ended with Linden finally on the plane to Sonoma, but finding out that her partner had falsified an image pretty much putting Richmond at the scene of the crime. Oh, and the Larsen's creepy friend may have shot Richmond as he was being taken away. See you next spring, everybody!

I don't know how this is reading so far for you, but if the tone is spittle-flying anger, I'm doing something wrong. I'm not angry about the ending of The Killing. I'm not even that disappointed anymore. I was intrigued by the first few episodes of the show, but I wasn't hooked as I was when I finished the first seasons of Mad Men, Breaking Bad, or even The Walking Dead, which had a weak first season, but wasn't nearly as flawed as The Killing ever was. Something that had been clear, in many ways, for the last five or six episodes of this show was the following: the writers for this show had absolutely no idea what they were doing. Why AMC picked the show up for a second season is somewhat beyond me. The ratings were OK, but nowhere near as impressive as those for The Walking Dead, and the critical noise surrounding the show hasn't been positive for a while. Maybe the executives realized it was too late to close the first season definitively, and wanted to see what the resolution would look like, as opposed to just hearing Veena Sud's pitch. Whatever the case, it's been clear that the writing staff figured out very early on the dilemma they were faced with. Example: as anyone with a working brain noticed, this show has a lot of actors who would, logically, only be around for the Rosie Larsen case. If it ended after one season, why would Michelle Forbes, Brent Sexton, or Billy Campbell show up once Rosie's case was closed? It may not seem like a very big dilemma--just go figure out a new mystery to solve, right?--but something must have shaken Sud and her writing staff to their very core, because the ending that we all saw is inexplicable, made all the more so by the reaction from Sud herself and a notable publication's critic defending it.

Sud was interviewed by Sepinwall here, and it's scarily illuminating despite being maddeningly vague. When Sepinwall mentioned that plenty of his readers would be disappointed that the season didn't have any closure, Sud responded, "We never said you'd get closure at the end of season 1. We said from the beginning, this is the anti-cop cop show. It's a show where nothing is as it seems, so throw out expectations." I suppose I should applaud Sud. As I said previously, I literally didn't expect the show to not tell me who killed Rosie Larsen at the end of its first season, partly because of those pesky ads that asked..."Who killed Rosie Larsen?" Sepinwall then mentions one of the show's biggest issues: that episodes would end pointing at one suspect and then exonerate them quickly. Her response, in part, is as follows: "It does feel like, initially, there's a bit of juggling between the 'he did it,' 'she did it,' 'he said,' 'she said,' the natural course of an investigation, and then landing on someone who the cops think potentially did it. And then we spent on a while on [Bennett Ahmed], until that twist happened." Yes, until that twist happened. When you read the entire interview--and you really should--you get the idea that Sud is a better executive than a writer, comparing her show to Mad Men and Breaking Bad, not just because they're also AMC dramas. Her comments to Entertainment Weekly make it clear that the finale's divisive nature is comparable to the reactions to the series finales of The Sopranos and Lost. I could spend an entire post explaining why that's wrong, but let's just say the obvious: Veena Sud's lack of self-awareness is mind-boggling.

Also mind-boggling is this article from the Hollywood Reporter. In it, Tim Appelo posits that AMC is now claiming Emmy glory from HBO, what with shows like Mad Men and Breaking Bad, which have won some big Emmys over the past few years. The problem is that the article essentially ignores that AMC hasn't done nearly as well since those two dramas. While The Walking Dead is a ratings hit, its Emmy chances are probably slightly less than another genre drama, Game of Thrones, which has similar buzz surrounding its twists and violence. Rubicon, while a compelling thriller, only lasted a season because of its low ratings. The Killing may have had solid ratings, but the reviews fell off a cliff even before the finale, and the ratings for the second season may well fall in a similarly precipitous fashion. What's more, with shows like the aforementioned Game of Thrones and Boardwalk Empire, it's hard to ignore the fact that, if anything, HBO has reclaimed its own mojo as the dominant source for out-of-the-mainstream, high-end drama. While The Killing is only mentioned a couple of times, it's used as a positive example. And, don't forget Sud's choice quote in that article: "Always assume the audience is smarter than you are." I fear for the intelligence levels of the writers of The Killing.

But finally, in the gold medal for baffling insanity, we have the issue of Ginia Bellafante, TV critic of The New York Times. Bellafante got plenty of Internet heat in April when she said that the HBO series Game of Thrones was pandering, through its gratuitous sex and nudity. Pandering to ladies. Ladies who, as you all know, never, ever, ever read fantasy novels. Bellafante came to the latter conclusion because, you know, she's never read or been interested by fantasy novels. Yesterday, around 8 p.m., Eastern time (two hours before The Killing aired its season finale, Bellafante posted this column, meant for publication in today's physical paper. The piece, which has since been slightly updated with...well, wait for it, 'cause it's good, said, in no uncertain terms, that Richmond was the killer. When I read the article, I was surprised, not that Richmond was the killer, but that the Times was essentially spoiling the ending of the show before it aired. Though anyone who only reads the physical paper wouldn't have to worry, anyone with a bit of know-how would've found out before the show even got to anger everyone else. But then the episode aired, and, well, as you've figured out by this point, it's pretty clear that Richmond may not be the killer. He's perhaps the most suspicious of the suspects, but...the evidence was faked. Sud herself said, in that quote, that the show didn't have any closure. Well, Bellafante has, as I said, added to the article, with the following quote, originally a parenthetical paragraph: "As a matter of due process, it should be said that the series satisfies conspiracy theorists with the .0009 percent chance that Richmond is actually not guilty. The sane among us will run, as they say, with the facts on the ground."

There was, I guess, a contest to see if anyone writing about The Killing could be crazier or less self-aware than Veena Sud in her interviews. Ms. Bellafante, congratulations. You've won, and no one else should even compete. I don't know why the Times continues to employ someone who prides herself on watching TV and treating her job as a sport to do whatever the opposite of sanity is, but the proof is in these two articles. The initial review makes you wonder if she even watched the finale, or wrote the article presuming that the penultimate episode's revelations wouldn't be negated. The follow-up blog, found here, makes it clear that Bellafante is blinding herself from the truth that even Sud would argue for: the finale for The Killing does not include a clear answer on who killed Rosie Larsen. That it doesn't is a failure, but not one I'll bemoan past this article. The fact that a person like Bellafante is still employed despite being a bad writer is troubling. I have no idea what person who thought the finale left a bad taste in their mouth would watch season two, though. Even though I stayed with the show through the first-season finale, it was to find out what I thought was obvious: who killed Rosie Larsen? I had originally figured that, barring some wild creative makeover, I'd not watch any more episodes of The Killing. By ending the episode with the very first extended middle finger in the form of a TV show, Ms. Sud did the job for me. Rest in peace, The Killing. Well...maybe, just rest.

Can Pixar Prove Me Wrong?

2011-06-09T18:20:00.002-07:00

I really dislike when people concern troll about, oh, pretty much anything. I may have made a comment relating to this pet peeve recently, so without further ado, let me introduce my hypocritical side today. Yes, this post is likely going to amount to me being a concern troll, something I truly dislike. What's wrong with concern trolling? Well, if I have to choose a type of Internet troll, I'll take the concern troll, but at the same time, I almost physically recoil when someone starts worrying about something they literally cannot control. Why worry about something you have nothing to do with, right? Well, for the majority of us, it's something to talk about, I guess. Hence today's post.

Let me also say this: I so want to be wrong about today's topic. I want to be as wrong about this as anyone has ever been wrong. I want to be as wrong about this as anyone who ever doubted the airplane, the television, the cell phone, or the iPod. Granted, the issue of whether or not Cars 2 is a major step down for Pixar Animation Studios is nowhere near as gigantic, but it's a topic worth discussing. Still, the point is, I want to be wrong. I want very much to see Cars 2 and be blown away, not only by the animation (which, based on the trailers, is going to be typically excellent), but by the characters and story. On the latter point, I fear already that I'm going to be let down.

But let's be clear about something else: I have worried about the past four Pixar films and been wrong each time. What troubled me with Ratatouille, WALL-E, and Up was the strange ambition behind each film's concept. A talking rat who wants to be a chef in Paris? Forgive me if I pause a little at such an eye-catching, yet potentially disastrous idea. A movie about two robots who fall in love, 700 years in the future? That's a bit weird, but--wait, they don't speak English? Wait, there's almost no dialogue of any kind in the first 45 minutes? OK then. Oh, and don't forget about the one character who appears as a human. Like, a real, live-action person. Uh-huh. Last, but not least, a movie about a very old man who lifts his house up by balloons to Venezuela? Now, all of these movies have such arrestingly original ideas, but they also are movies that, with a minute, slight push in the wrong direction, could have spelled the end for Pixar. Instead, these three movies, along with Toy Story 3, made up a mini-Renaissance at the animation studio, proving that Disney's decision to buy Pixar was its wisest move in a long time.

The bookends to this creative zenith are the two Cars movies. Each Pixar movie has at least one iconic scene, something that sets it apart not only from its fellow Emeryville films, not just from other family films, but from other movies in general. Ratatouille has the climactic review from critic Anton Ego, Up has the montage of Carl and Ellie's married life, and Toy Story 3 has the final scene where Andy passes his toys onto a loving child. Though I unhesitatingly place Cars at the bottom of the Pixar releases, it has one of the most jaw-droppingly beautiful singular sequences, placed about halfway through. Lightning McQueen, the cocky race car who needs a lesson in accepting others into his life, is taking a drive around Radiator Springs with Sally, the pretty, smart, and feisty Porsche who functions as the town's lawyer. Their driving is somewhat flirtatious, but the scene kicks off when Sally takes the lead and Lightning follows behind, taking in the natural beauty of the Southwest, full of jagged rocks, lovely greenery, and the suntan color of the landscape. It's a bit cocky for the main character of the film to essentially be laid low by the photorealistic animation on display, but I can't argue when...well, the animation is incredible.

Ostensibly, this scene is the beginning of Lightning's transformation into a decent, unselfish character, but what the scene lacks is a forceful amount of character development. Cars does not lack for flash or childlike charm, but it has a deficiency of character. The biggest reason why Cars doesn't stand out among other Pixar films is the same reason why A Bug's Life is something of an afterthought in the filmography of this great studio: it's not that original. On the surface, Pixar movies are generally meant to place human emotions in something inhuman: toys, monsters, fish, rats, bugs, cars, superheroes, and robots. The notable instance where humans are the leads, Up, manages to not need hyperhuman characters, just a stylized background. The real problem is that Cars and A Bug's Life are so formulaic that you can almost see it. I'm not going to tell you that Ratatouille is some kind of consistent surprise of storytelling (we all know that Remy will get some realization of his dream in the end), but the story moves so swiftly and Brad Bird, the film's co-writer and director, has such confidence in how he's depicting the events that you don't see the next turn in the story around the corner. Because Cars and A Bug's Life are so clearly based on memorable films, implicitly or otherwise, we're not lured into a state of surprise or shock.

You may, at this point, be thinking back in your mind; "Which movies are Cars and A Bug's Life based on?" Thanks for asking, reader. (Yes, I can hear you asking these questions, even if you're only thinking them. The Internet is powerful!) The latter film is heavily influenced (and John Lasseter acknowledged it) by Seven Samurai, the Kurosawa classic, and Three Amigos, which, in itself, is influenced by Kurosawa. The connections are clear--a ragtag band fights off a powerful enemy, lead by a group of warriors (or, in Three Amigos and A Bug's Life, a group who says they're warriors)--so the movie's entertainment is only on the surface. Animation fanatics may get a kick out of the leaps and bounds taken by Pixar in terms of bringing the world to life, and how they used the Cinemascope format, but this story has been told time and time again. Pixar does their best to put a fresh spin on it, but the movie's only so successful. And then there's Cars, which is based, almost to a T, on Doc Hollywood. Yes, friends, the 1991 comedy starring Michael J. Fox and Julie Warner. (Remember, back in the early 1990s, when she was one of the up-and-coming leading ladies who was supposed to take the mantle from Michelle Pfeiffer?)

Yes, Cars and Doc Hollywood share a surprising amount of similarities. In both movies, the lead character is a hotshot at his profession. In both movies, the lead character sees his local ties (in the former, Lightning's sponsor; in the latter, Dr. Ben Stone's city of residence) as a hindrance dragging him down. In both movies, the lead character crashes his red sports car in a small town, and is sentenced by the local judge to community service before he can leave. In both movies, the lead character falls in love with a woman who practices law. In both movies, the lead character has to make a decision about heading to Los Angeles or staying in a small town. Now, don't get me wrong: Doc Hollywood is not the most original film ever made, and many aspects of the movie are as old as cinema itself. But the two movies are strikingly similar (I'd heard a joke about the two being alike a long time ago, but until I watched Doc Hollywood last summer, I didn't realize that the filmmakers could probably sue Pixar and have a damn good case). The difference between Cars and A Bug's Life is simple: John Lasseter acknowledged that the latter was a tribute to a previous film. No one has done so with Cars.

So, for that reason and a few others (Larry the Cable Guy), Cars is not a movie I've ever loved. I've seen it quite a few times, and while I appreciate what Lasseter was trying to do in terms of truly embracing small-town values, it's never hit me on the same level as the four films that followed it did. On the other hand, I've always freely admitted that if the movie was released when I was about 6 or 7 years old, I would love it more than life itself. Probably the only way to make the movie better if it had been about dinosaurs and cars, honestly. So it doesn't surprise me to see that Cars, while not the most successful Pixar film at the box office, is the biggest merchandising cash cow Disney has had in years. (And I do mean "biggest," as a Hollywood Reporter article today said Disney expects the franchise to make $10 billion in merchandising by the end of this year. TEN BILLION DOLLARS.) From a business standpoint, how could anyone not want to make a second Cars movie? Frankly, why not just announce that there will be a third in the series? We all know that press release is coming down the pipe.

But here's where I concern troll a bit: is this movie, Cars 2, going to be...you know, good? As I said, I've doubted Pixar in the past, and I was wrong. Frankly, I have my doubts about Monsters University, the prequel to Monsters, Inc. coming in 2013. The plot--that Mike and Sully met in college and, guess what, they hated each other--is all well and good, but I'm just predisposed to loathing prequels, since they remove suspense from the story, because we know what will happen further down the line. But I'm less worried about that, because I thoroughly enjoyed Monsters, Inc. back in 2001. I'm more emotionally tied to the characters than I am with Lightning McQueen or Mater, so I'll be more tolerant of that continuation. Some parts of Cars 2 intrigue me. The idea of using the cars in a car chase makes so much sense, it's almost baffling why there wasn't such a sequence in the first movie. Having Michael Caine in the movie (I presume as a mentor, based on the scenes I've seen) is a good way to get me more interested, too. But then I look at the cast list and see some of the character names, and groan all over again. This is the final nail in the coffin for me with the Cars movies: they are two steps removed from being DreamWorks movies.

Remember Shark Tale? Don't work too hard at trying to rack your brain, the movie's not worth it. If you don't remember it, the movie is essentially a mob movie with fish. Yes, what Finding Nemo was missing was a crime family! I bring Shark Tale up not to mock the story, but to criticize its animation and uncreative names. For example, the movie features the voices of Will Smith, Martin Scorsese, and Angelina Jolie, among others. If you can't identify their voices, don't worry: the animation helps out, since Will Smith's character looks like Will Smith, Scorsese's looks like Scorsese (replete with the bushy white eyebrows), and so on. What's more, there is a cameo from Katie Couric, who plays Katie Current. Get it? Get it? This Flintstones-style in-joke is so cheap and pandering that it drives me crazy. And if you watch Cars and Cars 2, you'll find the same cheap, pandering jokes. He's not Bob Costas, he's Bob Cutlass! That's not Darrell Waltrip, that's Darrell Cartrip! In the new movie, for example, you can hear the voice of Brent Musburger playing a character named Brent Mustangburger. Lasseter himself apparently makes a voice cameo, as John Lassetire. What's the point of this kind of joke? It's not even worth a full laugh, and the many kids who will flock to this movie don't get it or care. None of these kids are going to see Cars 2 will snicker knowingly when they hear Darrell Waltrip's voice, but see a different name. Hell, a hefty amount of the adults in the audience won't even get it, if they don't watch Nascar. But the jokes remain.

My concern is this: when I think of Pixar, I don't think of laziness. When I think of most DreamWorks Animation films, I think of laziness. There are exceptions in the case of the latter--though it's not God's gift to animation, How To Train Your Dragon is quite good--but DreamWorks is typically just to make money. While I know Pixar isn't a nonprofit, they typically tell great stories that do not reek of needing to make money. Cars 2 reeks of needing to make money. Toy Story 2 and Toy Story 3 didn't feel that way, even if the original film didn't seem to cry out for one or two sequels. I want Pixar to continue its winning streak. More to the point, let's be clear about something else: while I'm no fan of Cars, it was still the best animated film of 2006. It's just that, compared with the other films from Pixar, it's a very weak link. I'm honestly concerned that Cars 2 is going to make Cars look like Ratatouille in terms of quality. I want Pixar to prove me wrong. Maybe, if I lower my expectations, I'll be pleasantly surprised come June 24. Allow me to doubt that until the film opens.

A Moratorium on Referendums in Pop Culture

2011-06-07T19:35:00.002-07:00

Before I get too deep into this topic, let's just get one thing clear: box office tracking is as trustworthy as snake oil. In essence, I'm going to be railing against media reaction to box office tracking, but bear with me. There are stories today, which amount to concern trolling, wondering/worrying that Super 8, the new JJ Abrams movie that is a Steven Spielberg-sanctioned homage of Steven Spielberg movies, will not do very well at the box office when it opens this Friday. I want to clarify: while I have not yet seen Super 8, I'm very excited to do so. More to the point, making a Spielberg homage is fine by me, as long as we're focusing on his earlier work (basically, anything up to Jurassic Park). Since the movie is set in 1979, I'm not too concerned.

And, before I get too worked up, it's important to also point out the obvious: Super 8 might make $10 million this weekend, or it might make $100 million. It won't matter one bit if I don't like the movie, because unlike with, say, television, the movie's qualitative success isn't tied to its quantitative success. Sure, if the people who made the movie would love to tell more stories with the characters, they may need it to do well at the theaters to get a sequel. But it doesn't matter to me if a movie is a blockbuster or staggers to a payday that's half its budget. I've always feverishly followed TV ratings, and while it's a frivolous hobby to do so, it makes some sense. When I start watching a show and begin to enjoy it, I want more of it. It's rare for a TV showrunner to create and write one season's worth of episodes and be done with the whole affair. Shows like Community and Parks and Recreation need to get good ratings (well, NBC's version of good) to continue airing new episodes. Super 8 does not need to make a certain amount of money this weekend for me to see it. (What's more, based on what I know of the film, I don't foresee Abrams working on a sequel, unless it makes so much money that he's legally forced to.)

What galls me is a term that was used in an article on Vulture today. This isn't meant to be a slam about Vulture, a pop culture blog I quite enjoy. The inciting word is "referendum." The article, by Claude Brodesser-Akner, posits that Super 8 is something of a referendum in Hollywood because, while it's clearly heavily influenced by the films of Steven Spielberg, it is technically original. The film has an original script (by Abrams), it's not based on a book, graphic novel, play, etc., and it's not a remake or sequel. I don't have the schedule in front of me, but Super 8 is one of the only truly original movies to open this summer. The most recent original summer movie (possibly the only other candidate) was Bridesmaids, which, as we all know, was the referendum on whether ladies can be funny without being played by Kate Hudson.

Can we stop with the whole "referendum" argument? Last July, the same meme played out with Inception, the enormously successful thriller from writer-director Christopher Nolan. There are, of course, many differences between Super 8 and Inception, most notably that the former film boasted many well-known actors, while the latter film has Kyle "Coach Taylor" Chandler and Noah Emmerich. The other notable difference--that Inception was Nolan's first film since The Dark Knight--is somewhat moot. Arguably, the concept of Inception is a harder sell than the concept of Super 8. And yet, the point is this: what happened in between last July and now? There was a referendum on original movies then and, based solely on the box-office returns, the public voted in favor of originality, right? Inception pulled in over $800 million worldwide, so the issue is laid to rest, yes? Ah, but of course not, because we've all forgotten about that movie by now. No, now, we have to focus on the latest trend, which the media has decided is once again whether Joe Public is smart enough to not always want to watch movies based on toys, comic books, or books.

We've come to a point in our culture, unfortunately, where talking about what audiences like to watch is absolutely pointless. More than likely, even if it doesn't make as much as Paramount Pictures wants, Super 8 is going to be this weekend's number-one movie, if only be default. Will it be a massive hit? Perhaps. Will it be a disappointment? Perhaps. But the idea that one movie represents the future of originality or the future of women in comedy is laughable for so many reasons. If one movie did represent the future of a trend in Hollywood, then why is this summer and the next one and the next one filled with movies based on preexisting properties of any kind? Why am I reading about a movie based on Battleship? Why am I reading about the potential of a third Hangover movie set in Amsterdam? (Kudos on the obvious choice, rumormongers.) Because, shockingly enough, the media can try and set trends, but if people continue to see movies just because...well, the movies are there, nothing will change.

Maybe a better way to put it is that audiences aren't always going to be sheep. While I roundly reject the dual ideas that Bridesmaids being a success equals manna from heaven for ladies and that it was the female version of The Hangover, the movie has done very well in theaters, having crossed the $100 million mark last weekend, even without any majorly bankable actresses. However, as soon as you get too happy about Bridesmaids doing well, you notice that the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie--which you'll remember, I did like somewhat--has made more than $800 million worldwide in less than a month. I'm sure people at the studios know this, but some media writers don't acknowledge this too often: regular, non-industry people go to the movies for the same reason that they watch television. It's there. When you give people lots of options, they will spread the wealth, which can be a good thing (see: the slow but steady rise of cable programming over the past 2 decades) or a bad thing (see: the rapid decline of broadcast network ratings over the past decade). If you make movies like Bridesmaids, enough people will seek it out. If you make movies like Pirates of the Caribbean, people will seek it out. Make both types of movies, and you are doing something the studios should be doing more: encouraging people to go to the movies. What studios are doing now is just assuming that we'll go and spend money on anything. Though that's mostly true, it's clear from the last few 3D-centric releases that...well, that economy's getting pretty though and a pair of easily discarded glasses ain't gonna fix it.

The whole point of this post is to say that Super 8 is as much of a referendum on original product as Inception was, which is not one at all. I hope to enjoy Super 8 and can't wait to see it this weekend. I'm not worried about the movie's success, and no one outside of the industry--hell, no one outside of Paramount--should be worried about it. I'm more concerned with studios not getting the message about what people want to see: more of everything. We want choices. Give us choices, as long as it's not between 2D and 3D.

A Sheltered Childhood

2011-05-26T17:34:00.001-07:00

When I was a kid, I didn't see R-rated movies. Most of the time, I didn't see PG-13-rated movies, either. Hell, I remember begging and begging my parents to let me watch an episode of that scandalous, controversial TV show The Simpsons when I was 8 and barely being able to watch a single episode. (I remember it well: the episode was, I think, "Itchy and Scratchy: The Movie," wherein Bart is forbidden from seeing the new movie with his favorite cartoon characters because of how typically bad he is. Though I've seen the episode a few times since then, all I remember from that night in 1992 is hearing my mother say, as I was getting ready for bed, "Well, that won't be happening again for a while.") When I see kids with or without their parents at movies that are--or should be--way over their heads these days, I have to wonder if I was lucky, a rare case, or something far different.

This train of thought comes about for two reasons. The first is that I was briefly engaged a couple of days ago in a Twitter conversation with Slate's film critic Dana Stevens (@thehighsign) and Salon's TV critic Matt Zoller Seitz (@mattzollerseitz) about R-rated movies and kids. Stevens was commenting on having seen children under 10 at a screening of The Hangover: Part II, a movie that's clearly inappropriate for most, if not all, kids under the age of 13. Stevens was rightfully horrified at this sight. In fact, I remember a few weeks back that Stevens was asking her Twitter followers about whether or not it'd be appropriate for her to bring her child to a screening of the newest Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which is far less inappropriate for kids. (Fun fact: when I saw the movie this past weekend, there was a child around 1 year old who cried almost nonstop through the second half of the film. The child's dad was, I guess, hell-bent on seeing the movie, so he just sat with his kid on the front step of the theater, which was merely 10 feet from where my wife and I sat. Classy move, fella.) If nothing else, Stevens, like most critics, is smart enough to know which movies her kids are right to see and which movies aren't. Better still, she's savvy enough to know when to ask for advice, which is something most parents clearly don't care about doing.

The second reason this train of thought arose is from a screening experience I had last night, in Tempe. If you're an avid enough reader of various film blogs, you know that sites such as HitFix, Collider, and Ain't It Cool News helped sponsor a screening of the new British film Attack the Block last night in 25 cities across North America. Having read nothing but good things about this movie, I picked up a couple of passes and was eager to see what the fuss is about. Though this isn't going to be a review, know this: the hype you may have heard is dead-on. Attack the Block is a great piece of entertainment, scary and funny and intense stuff about a group of teenage thugs who band together with a nurse they mugged to fight off an apparent alien invasion. I had seen no footage, only knowing that Edgar Wright produced the film and Nick Frost had a supporting role, so I was pleasantly surprised with the film's twists and turns. Attack the Block's writer and director is Joe Cornish, someone who I wasn't familiar with until now. Knowing that he, Wright, and Steven Moffat (of Doctor Who and Sherlock fame) have written the script for the Tintin movie being helmed by Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson, though, makes me automatically excited for that project.

But, to the point. While I waited for Attack the Block to start, I saw a few kids walk into the theater, accompanied by parents. One of the parents was either press or was invited by a member of the press, because she got to go past the tiny velvet rope that blocked off the first two rows of stadium seating in the theater. Now, suffice to say, Attack the Block will be rated R for, among other things, profanity, gore, and drug use. The kids I saw at this screening ranged from under 5 to around 10 years old. I'm sure the older kids may have gotten a kick out of the action (or maybe a nightmare or two), but it just baffles me that even in a controlled setting like a screening, no one thought the kids should maybe stay home. Of course, I come at this as a) someone who doesn't have kids and b) someone who never got to see R-rated movies as a youngster. Maybe I'm jealous? Seriously, my wife and I plan on having kids, and though we were raised differently, I can't imagine that movies such as Attack the Block or Bridesmaids (which we saw the weekend it opened, and, yes, there were kids present) will be allowed in the house until our kids are of a certain age.

One thing I know: when my kids get frustrated or angry or sad at me for not letting them see, say, the new Saw movie (I have seen into the future, and predict a 15th film in the franchise!), I'll feel their pain. I still remember being almost physically crushed at the prospect of not seeing Jurassic Park in theaters in the summer of 1993. That massive, PG-13-rated blockbuster was pretty much the only movie to see that year, as far as I cared. I was a big movie fan even then, but for the most part, I didn't see anything above a PG rating. Still, even as an 8-year old waiting to turn 9, I saw the previews and did the math in my head: Steven Spielberg plus dinosaurs. Where do I sign up? My parents knew how badly I wanted to see the movie, and they made a simple rule: if it's rated PG, I can see it. If it's PG-13, no dice. The film's opening day was June 11, 1993 (a date that I'm so confident of remembering, I'm not even looking it up), so I didn't find out the film's rating until June 6 of that year.

How am I sure of the date? Well, June 6 would've been a Sunday, and Sunday meant a few things in my house: we got donuts that morning, my parents and I listened to Will Shortz and Leann Hanson on Weekend Edition, and my dad got the Sunday New York Times. We lived in a suburb of Buffalo, New York, so we only got the Grey Lady on Sundays. For me, reading the New York Times on Sundays equaled one thing: the Arts and Leisure section. This was before the Internet was common enough in our neck of the woods, and because I didn't watch much TV, I wouldn't find out the movie's rating until I opened up the Arts and Leisure section to the page where the film's poster was staring out at me...along with a PG-13 icon on the bottom right-hand side.

I couldn't believe it. I wasn't often prone to getting angry when there was an apple fritter staring me in the face, but I couldn't believe my parents wouldn't let me see the movie. Half of me, surely, was also furious at Steven Spielberg. What was wrong with this man? I thought he was brilliant, but for making a dinosaur movie that I couldn't see, he obviously had a few screws loose. Even worse, as the film's opening loomed, Spielberg (if memory serves) told USA Today that he didn't really want his kids, who were 10, seeing the movie in theaters. "You're not helping, Mr. Spielberg!" I can imagine myself being even more distressed when my longtime babysitter told my parents that there was one particularly traumatic scene where a Tyrannosaurus rex attacked two kids who were supposed to be 10 and 8. "You're not helping, longtime babysitter!" I felt bereft, knowing that plenty of kids in my classes would see the movie long before I ever did. I still remember hearing from one kid in my third-grade class about how cool the second Terminator movie was.

Obviously, I've seen Jurassic Park many, many times. In fact, the first time I saw any of it was on VHS during the fall of 1993. Something else that happened on Sundays for pretty much all of my adolescence was that my dad volunteered for a local radio station that read newspapers, magazines, and books to the blind in the Western New York area. I would go with my dad each Sunday, mostly just to sit around and spend time with intelligent adults who managed to tolerate my chatty nature. One morning in October, we walked in and a giant T-Rex was staring me in the face from the 19-inch TV. Jurassic Park had come out on VHS the past week, and the head of the radio station bought it as soon as he could. This story doesn't end with my dad grabbing me, covering my eyes, absconding with me back to the car, or anything. No, in my family, my dad was more permissive, so he let me watch as much of the movie as I could until we had to go, knowing that he couldn't really do too much. Two years later, when I was old enough to finally get more of the jokes on The Simpsons, and it was airing twice a day in syndication on CBC, a Canadian station our TV picked up, he was more than happy to turn the other cheek and not tell my mom.

I delve back into my memory to say this: as much as I wish I could've seen R-rated movies back when I was a kid, I hesitate to know what's to become of the kids who were plopped down in front of Attack the Block, Bridesmaids, The Hangover: Part II, or any of the other R-rated options out there now. As I said to Stevens on Twitter two nights ago, I can't remember the last R-rated movie I've seen where there WEREN'T kids in the audience. I can look back on my childhood and wish I'd been there for Jurassic Park or Terminator 2 or any of the other cool movies I could've seen, but I was way too young to appreciate them. I may have more sheltered than my peers, but I doubt they really knew what was going on.

That's really the issue at hand: I'm not trying to argue that seeing R-rated movies leads you down a path into all things wicked and foul, as much as I'm saying that these kids are being forced to potentially endure something simply because their parents are too damn lazy to be parents for a couple of hours on a Wednesday night or on the weekend. Each child is different, of course; some can withstand the most terrifying images on screen, and some are like me, at age 4, shouting in fright at the sight of Christopher Lloyd turning himself from a dour, black-coated judge into a bug-eyed Toon in the climax of Who Framed Roger Rabbit. How I got through that movie, I'll never know, but even in that mostly over-my-young-head movie, I was mostly thrilled to the colors, the sensations, and the allure of old Hollywood. I doubt the kids last night were thrilled. If we're lucky, they were just bored.

Time To Revoke My Film Buff License

2011-05-22T20:07:00.002-07:00

I liked Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. What is wrong with me, right? More than enough of the reviews for the latest entry in the massive Disney saga based on a theme-park ride have been nasty, barbed, and altogether harsh. One of the reviews went so far as to say that watching the movie was worse than eating maggot-filled meat (something that the reviewer experienced a few years ago). Anyone who knows me knows that I'm more often on the side of critics than I am of the masses, so am I finally turning into a brainless zombie, someone who gleefully enjoys the newest pablum from Hollywood's blockbuster machine?

The answer, of course, is not, but before I defend--and based on how few reviewers liked it, it will sound merely like a defense--Captain Jack Sparrow's most recent adventure, let's talk about some of these reviews. I have no idea why there's so much bile being leveled at this movie. There have been bad blockbusters, movies that deserve the vitriol from journalists in print and online. When the third Transformers movie opens in late June, I eagerly await massively scathing reviews, but expect some critics to either be shocked that it's bad (as they were with the second film, seemingly forgetting how inept, loud, and stupid the first film in the franchise is) or to say that, well, it could've been a lot worse!

I suppose I could mount the same argument for the new Pirates movie. Following up a widely disliked movie is hard, but by not releasing a three-hour, overcomplicated epic, director Rob Marshall and producer Jerry Bruckheimer succeed at not providing an equally overstuffed piece of craziness. But I have to admit, I was surprised to enjoy the movie as much as I did (though, don't get me wrong, it's not perfect, nor nearly as fun as The Curse of the Black Pearl), simply because when most critics say a movie is bad, I'm usually agreeing with them (or avoiding the movie, because I don't want to waste my time). Maybe it's because I genuinely enjoy watching Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush as Captains Jack Sparrow and Hector Barbossa, but I liked this new movie, even as I note that having Rob Marshall direct a Pirates of the Caribbean movie is a lot different than when Gore Verbinski was behind the helm.

I was skeptical, since Marshall had never directed an action movie. In terms of directing swordfights, for example, Marshall still has a lot of work to do, as pointed out by many critics. The only thing I'd point out has less to do with this movie and more to do with Hollywood: Marshall has as much work to do to become a solid director of action sequences as pretty much EVERY director does. Again, Michael Bay has been making a name for himself for 15 years and counting by editing his action sequences to the point that they're more reminiscent of visual seizures more than anything else. Marshall's work was not uniquely bad; the few swordfights in the movie aren't great, but they're also not too terrible. Two other criticisms: while the movie isn't that long (at 137 minutes, it's the shortest in the series), cut out the love story between a cleric and a mermaid (because, of course), and you've saved me a lot of time on a story that no one cares about. Finally, I didn't see this movie in 3D, but even I noticed that the movie seemed darker than it should. I can't imagine how bad this movie looked in 3D, even though a few shots were clearly filmed so they'd be "Gotcha!" bits in the 3D format.

But I liked this movie; I like Depp, I like Rush, and Ian McShane did a fine job as Blackbeard. Would he have been better had he been able to use the same vocabulary he did when he was on HBO? Well, sure, but this movie's not for adults only. Some aspects of the story are as notably silly as they were in the previous films, or not as well developed as they could be (the idea of people or ships being controlled by a magical sword is really cool, but the mythology of the idea goes no further). Still...OK, this is becoming more about the movie's flaws, which are noticeable, and less about the fun I had. I'm not sure how much of the movie's charms come from Depp, Rush, and Penelope Cruz being able to elevate the material, and how much of it is just wanting to watch a fun piece of entertainment on a hot day.

I didn't love Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, but I only love the first in the franchise. The worst thing I could say about one of these movies is what the execs at Disney don't want: that I wouldn't want to watch another movie with these characters. Clearly, that's not happening with this movie. If you can put characters like Captain Jack Sparrow and Captain Hector Barbossa in fun, exciting storylines with some supernatural flair, I'm there. I can wish all day about what this movie could have done better, and hope about what will be done for the next film--which we all know is coming--but this movie didn't completely screw up the franchise, in the way that the last two movies did. If, however, the next movie is directed by someone closer to Verbinski in terms of style, though, I won't complain.

Planning Ahead, Redux

2011-05-20T18:53:00.002-07:00

So, last night, The Office aired its seventh-season finale, titled "Search Committee." I talked early last week about how concerned I was that the previous Will Ferrell-lead arc was just a way of killing time, a way for the producers of the show to essentially let someone else shoulder the burden of not having a lead actor anymore. The finale didn't, in the end, provide us with a clear shot for who will be the next branch manager, which...I mean, I know that this has never been a densely plotted show, but give me a break.

There are so many ways to start this off, but let's aim straight at the supposed frontrunner. Hell, before I get there, let's get this "supposed" business out of the way. I honestly think it's quaint and kind of cute that anyone in the world thinks that any of the guest stars from last night's episode ever were going to be the show's lead (or the Scranton branch's manager). There's a story that's circulated on the Internet over the last 24 hours that Catherine Tate (who played Nellie, Jo's friend who is essentially a female version of David Brent, based on her short time onscreen) is the producers' top choice for the new boss.

There's some love online for Tate, whose work I'm unfamiliar with. (Though if I'm able to work through the five seasons of the new Doctor Who on Netflix over the summer, I'll get acquainted with her time on that show.) I've got no beef with her performance, even if it felt too reminiscent of Ricky Gervais, who showed up in a cameo that he has rightly dubbed pointless. But does anyone think there's more logic in hiring someone who American audiences are largely unfamiliar with, as opposed to putting Ed Helms or Craig Robinson at the head of the show? Granted, Helms is more recognizable thanks to his starring turn in The Hangover, but Robinson has been on the show longer.

I'm not automatically against the producers bringing in someone new, I'm just against them bringing in someone from last night's show. And honestly, it pretty much extends to the old characters, as Darryl became, for no good reason, a schmuck who figures that even in a job interview with colleagues, he shouldn't have a resume (and he apparently has no resume at hand). Andy did well in his interview (the back-and-forth with the ripping-apart-at-the-seams Gabe was funny), but he seems to think of himself as Dunder Mifflin Sabre's version of Jeff Zucker: always, inexplicably failing upwards. Dwight, while determined, will clearly not get the job, even if the penultimate episode was the absolute funniest episode of the season, reminding us of how great this show used to be; don't forget, Steve Carell wasn't on the episode, nor was Will Ferrell. No guest stars were required for humor then.

Did NBC make a mistake in so heavily marketing this episode's cameo appearances? On the one hand, I say yes, but on the other, it's hard to blame them. Why wouldn't a network want to promote, in big letters, cameo appearances from people like Ray Romano, James Spader, and Jim Carrey? It doesn't help, though, that the marketing department pretty much gave away entire jokes; why have Jim Carrey appear on your show to only give him two or three lines, at most? None of the cameos were terrible; at worst, they were pointless, because we all know that Will Arnett--soon to be on another NBC sitcom--and Ray Romano aren't getting the job.

So we have a summer to speculate, until NBC announces who they've hired or who hasn't been hired. I'm not too terribly excited; in the past two years, The Office has been quickly supplanted as one of the freshest and funniest network sitcoms by two fellow NBC programs, Community and Parks and Recreation. Salon's Matt Zoller Seitz brought up an interesting point today: do we criticize older shows simply because they're not new anymore? I can see the argument, but then, which shows remained consistently good, if not great, past its first few seasons? I don't know if Community or Parks and Recreation will last as long as The Office, which will have at least eight seasons, will. Hell, who knows if the creative teams behind those shows even want them to run for eight seasons? I don't have a problem with shows running long, unless they're just running out the clock for syndication purposes. The problem is simple: these days, what long-running show isn't just on to make money in syndication? Now that I can watch episodes of The Office on local channels and on TBS, the answer there is clear.

The Importance of Planning Ahead

2011-05-10T19:32:00.002-07:00

The writing process varies for anyone who puts pen to paper, literally or figuratively. Some people think of an idea and dive into it, headlong, without knowing where that idea will lead them, or even if it will have a definitive ending. I've tried that when writing scripts, and have been mostly thoroughly displeased with the results. Whether it takes me a week, a month, or a year, I'm almost always going to know the vague aspects of the ending of any story I tell. It's worked the opposite way one time, but I wonder how much of good timing and luck entered into it. The point remains: some people write with a roadmap in their minds, and some don't. But we all have a process.

While I imagine there are advantages (or people would say there are) to diving in headlong, I have to wonder sometimes why people don't plan ahead when they're writing. Specifically, I'm thinking about the writing staff on NBC's highest-rated scripted series, The Office. I've been a fan of the comedy for almost its entire run (I tried out the first few episodes, didn't like it very much, but then came back near the end of the second season and was impressed with the show's improvement), but have grown more and more concerned as its seventh season has progressed. As probably everyone and his mother knows, the show's ostensible star, Steve Carell, has left the show. He made the decision official at the end of April of 2010, and his farewell episode aired at the end of this April. Let's presume, for a second, that Carell had let someone on the show, such as the executive producer or showrunner, know that he intended on leaving (as opposed to just saying so to get a bigger contract) well before he announced it in public. Even if he didn't, we know that the writing staff had a year's head start, roughly, to craft Michael Scott's exit strategy.

I will freely admit that I was getting extremely frustrated with the show this year, because as each episode aired, I kept asking myself the same question: "Why on Earth is Michael Scott going to leave these people behind?" The idea that Michael would not only leave the titular office, but leave the Scranton area (he'd have to, because otherwise the fictional documentary crew would film him at home or at a new job, as they've done with other characters in the past) made less and less sense as no actual plot emerged. Once the exit strategy came into play, I was either impressed with the story or just dazzled by Carell and Amy Ryan playing off each other. Whatever the case, I was fine with Michael's reasons for leaving Scranton. His farewell episode was funny and moving. With one exception.

I love Will Ferrell's comedy. I've been a fan of him since his time on Saturday Night Live. Anchorman is one of my favorite comedies. And, let's be fair: whatever issues there were with Deangelo Vickers, Ferrell was not one of them, which would have been pleasantly surprising. Ferrell is notorious for being an over-the-top comic performer, which is the antithesis of what is needed on The Office. But, lo and behold, Ferrell was appropriately low-key in his four-episode stint. Unfortunately, that was the one consistent element of his character's development or lack thereof. His final episode was especially baffling, because I kept asking myself a variation on the aforementioned question: "Why is this character going to leave the show, forever, by the end of this episode?" With only a couple of minutes left, the question was left unanswered until Deangelo was felled by an errant basketball hoop, giving him apparently permanent brain damage. I'm going to pause here so you can laugh so hard that drool drips all over your keyboard.

You good? OK then. So, yeah, Ferrell's gone. And I have to wonder, why did the writing staff on the show not have any better idea of what to do once Carell left? When Will Ferrell's casting was announced, some people wondered if it amounted to Ferrell (or someone at NBC) saying that he wanted to be on the show to reunite with Carell. Clearly, that's exactly what it was. There was no point to Deangelo Vickers (even the name is so jokey that you knew he'd be gone soon), and there never was. What's more, while I'm kind of curious to see actors like Will Arnett and Jim Carrey (oh, and Ricky Gervais, because the show's writers really like tempting fate, I guess) interact with the cast, it's so obvious that these people are showing up simply so the show or the network can stave off the fears that The Office is creatively kaput until the fall. I welcome an injection of creativity in season 8 of the show, but I'm not holding my breath.

More on Hype in TV

2011-05-04T19:55:00.002-07:00

We are all notorious for building things up in our minds and then being disappointed when those things--or related items--don't live up to our own hype. I've talked about hype some in the past, but it's important to note that so much of it is self-created. Sure, there's going to be plenty of hype for some of the big summer blockbusters at the multiplex this year, but if you're going to see the final installment in the Harry Potter series, it's likely not due to you seeing an ad on TV and thinking to yourself, "Oh, yeah, I should see that." You've either read all of the books and loved the movies, seen all of the movies and want to finish the saga, or some combination of those. Warner Bros. hypes the movie, but there are times when the merits of a piece of entertainment, standing by itself, are enough to make or break you.

But today, I once again talk of hype in TV. We're now three episodes into Game of Thrones, which has clearly managed to evade sagging ratings (that its most recent episode improved its nightly ratings on the same night that President Obama announced that the U.S. military had killed Osama bin Laden is almost breathtaking) and negative hype. Who knows if the ratings will go much higher, of course, but I imagine HBO will be fine with the numbers Game of Thrones is putting up. One hopes that more people get into the show by the end of the season, because while the first book in the Song of Ice and Fire series is great, dark fun, it comes off as much more of a slow burn in the episodic style. My main focus today, though, is not on Game of Thrones, which had hype of a major kind, but two long-dead and two new series, one of which has yet to premiere. The new series have levels of hype that Game of Thrones will never have--and is lucky to be free of such hype.

As I've mentioned in the past, I re-subscribed to HBO because I wanted to watch Boardwalk Empire before it came to Netflix roughly a year after its premiere. It didn't have to do with The Sopranos, a show that I...still have not watched. But a lot of people were going nuts for the very thought of Boardwalk Empire because it brought one of the older show's writers back to the network, because Steve Buscemi was an acting connection from one show to the other, and because both are about mobsters in New Jersey. Some people seemed disappointed, let down that such a show (with a pilot directed by Martin Scorsese, no less) wasn't the Second Coming. If there's any comparison I would make between Boardwalk Empire and a preexisting TV show, it's Mad Men. Both shows were created by ex-writers of The Sopranos, both shows are set in a unique past time period, both shows are stunning to look at in high-definition, and both are dark dramas with a massive ensemble cast.

Now, don't get me wrong: while I very much enjoyed the first season of Boardwalk Empire and anxiously await its return, it was, indeed, NOT the Second Coming. The difference between me, it seems, and a lot of viewers is that I was never expecting it. I know that HBO put a lot of money behind the marketing for the show--as well they should have--but I was never put off by the show not being The Sopranos in the Prohibition. What the show offers me (and what it offers anyone willing to accept that their notions of what a show is can differ from what the show actually is) includes a slew of great performances, a dynamic and colorful period setting, surprising story arcs, and sharp, snappy dialogue and direction. Hopefully, some viewers have learned their lesson and are willing to open up their minds to different enactments of what the Mob was like in New Jersey.

What I'm most worried about is not following this edict when it comes to an all-new HBO drama that is, for me, the very definition of can't-miss television. When you hear that Steve Buscemi is starring in a pilot directed by Martin Scorsese, about the Prohibition-era Mob, from a longtime writer on The Sopranos, airing on HBO, you know it can't miss. How can such a show fail in any way? The same goes for Luck. If you haven't heard, the show is set in the world of horse racing in California. It stars Dustin Hoffman, Nick Nolte, Dennis Farina, and others. The pilot was directed by Michael Mann, and the show was created by David Milch, formerly of NYPD Blue and, most importantly, Deadwood. Here, again, is the definition of can't-miss TV. How can this show not be awesome? It's here that I remind you of this key fact: in my opinion, Deadwood is the best TV drama ever. Yes, I know: I've not finished The Wire and I've only seen the pilot of The Sopranos. While I know I can't speak for the latter, after having watched the first three seasons of The Wire, I know this much: it's a great show, clearly. But it's not on the same level of pitch-perfect entertainment, of high and low drama, as Deadwood, which often gets short shrift among most TV fanatics because it didn't get a chance to run its full course thanks to some contract disputes between HBO and Paramount Entertainment. It's a creative crime that the show didn't get to see its proper ending, but the 36 episodes spread over 3 seasons that exist are among the best TV has ever offered.

Is there a better cast of characters than the ones in Deadwood? While some shows have come awfully close, for the life of me, you can't beat people like Al Swearengen, Seth Bullock, Sol Star, Dan Dority, Alma Garret, Trixie, A.W. Merrick, E.B. Farnum, and the rest of the denizens of this Old West outpost. The show is, yes, notoriously and gloriously profane, but it's nothing short of a modern-day attempt at Shakespeare. David Milch is a strange poet of a TV writer, and due to my undying love for Deadwood, there's just about no way I'm not going to watch every episode of Luck. I know that Milch's last show, John From Cincinnati was a failure for most people (I'm almost scared to watch it), but Luck seems like it's right in his wheelhouse. I just need to remind myself: don't buy into the hype. Ignore the hype. Fingers crossed that the show's good enough that I don't need to remind myself.

Letting Go of TiVo...

2011-04-24T16:00:00.002-07:00

By June 1, I may be saying good-bye to TiVo. Hell, I may be saying good-bye to cable. The prices for my local cable provider, Cox, have gone up (not by a lot, but by enough) to make me ponder whether or not it's wiser to change to satellite. I've had TiVo for nearly 5 years, and for various reasons, I think it may be time to cut the cord. This is a case where TiVo hasn't done anything wrong, so much as my needs have changed based on the marketplace.

I see TiVo in the same way that I see Netflix and HBO: if the service is something you will use frequently enough per month to justify the cost, go for it. Regarding the latter examples, I have never felt that my Netflix subscription was a waste, even when the very idea of instantly watching movies on my computer or via my Blu-ray player was a glimmer in someone's eye. Since I've had HBO, as I've discussed in past posts, I've been watching more than enough content to justify the price. What's more, since it'll be a cold day in hell before HBO lets Netflix put its shows up via Netflix Instant, having both makes sense. For me. Not for everyone.

The real issue with TiVo is something you've probably figured out by this point in the post. Netflix is a unique service. Yes, there is competition, in the form of Redbox and Blockbuster Video (also, DirecTV Cinema, but...no). But Netflix is still the king of what it does, at the moment. It has to continue adapting to the ever-changing world of technology, but the company has done well enough in the short-term over the past 6 years (since I've been a subscriber) to work. HBO is...well, we can all make fun of the old tagline, but it's not just normal TV. While TiVo is a recognizable name, the service it provides is not as unique as it could be. For a while, I thought I loved TiVo, but now I realize that what I love is a DVR service. I just didn't realize, for a long, long time, what the difference between those two things is.

I'm waiting to make this change--presuming I do, which is still not a guarantee, but I'm fairly confident--until June because I want to make sure that whatever hiccups may happen do so after the normal network season is over. If problems crop up, I'd rather they happen when I have nothing to watch. But I'm hoping nothing bad happens, and the transition is smooth. I'm still not completely sold on DirecTV's DVR layout (while the one I've seen in person isn't their newest model, based on a YouTube tutorial showing off how the new DirecTV DVR is very fast, the layout hasn't changed), I'm sold on a lot of the services they offer that Cox does not. I've been looking for a satellite provider that would give me at least what I have now in terms of channels, plus a monthly DVR fee that would be demonstrably less than what I pay for with Cox and TiVo. Over a 24-month period, I'll be saving about 500 bucks. Hard to argue with that.

I've never had satellite before, so I'm still a bit wary, but I'm also fairly intrigued to see what the difference would be; I've already heard from some people who say they'd never go back to cable providers now that they've got satellite, so maybe I'll become an acolyte soon enough. It feels a little weird to be even thinking of saying good-bye to my TiVo (especially since I've upgraded the equipment, meaning it's not the same one), but until the vaunted day with DirecTV and TiVo finally release a new DVR (from what I read, that day will come roughly when Netflix and HBO team up), I think it's about time to cut that cord.

Nostalgia

2011-04-21T16:47:00.003-07:00

Nostalgia has become one of the most prevalent, pointless arenas of entertainment over the past decade, to the point where it's choking out the quality of any movie or TV show that exists partly for nostalgic reasons. Because she loves the original trilogy, my wife dragged me to watch Scream 4 (because, as you may have guessed, I have no interest in using the faux-title being plastered all over the poster and marketing materials) last weekend. I'm not a big horror movie fan, but the first movie in the series was relatively funny and scary, and the second movie has the only genuinely creepy moment in any of the films. But I'm baffled and mildly disturbed that some people (including my lovely wife) think the movie not only deserves a pass, but was pretty damn good.

Maybe it's just that I don't get the point of the modern slasher (or torture porn) horror movie: introduce a group of zero-dimensional pretty people to get killed in presumably creative and gory ways. Oh, but there's at least one or two people who don't get killed, so they can get attacked in the sequel. Lather, rinse, repeat. I get that people like to be scared, and I see the value in a good horror movie, but most American horror movies are lousy, uncomfortable, and disgusting. Scream 4 is no different, eschewing any interest in character motivations, plot, and themes for nostalgia. Remember that one bit in that one movie 15 years ago? What do you say to a rehash of that one bit with all new actors? Wouldn't it be really funny to have characters in the movie comment on how dumb horror movies (like the movie they're in) are?

What fascinated me most is that I rebelled against the meta jokes in this movie, and boy, are there a lot of them. As an example, I love the NBC comedy Community. It's one of my favorite current shows on television. Anyone who watches the show knows that it can be very, very meta. One episode this season, using the "bottle show" structure (wherein the majority, if not the entirety, of the episode takes place in one setting with a minimum of characters), had characters directly commenting on being in a bottle episode. So how does Scream 4 represent the opposite side of the line from Community? (Fun fact: Alison Brie, who plays Annie in the latter, is also in the former, and is one of the only performers enjoying herself.) The problem lies in a lack of investment for the characters.

Only three characters from the original Scream films appear in this new movie, played by Neve Campbell, Courtney Cox, and David Arquette. Three guesses on how many of the characters in the movie, including all the newbies, make it out alive, and the first two don't count. Why place any investment in a new movie if all but three of the characters exist to become dead meat of some kind? Does it really matter who's behind the mask if that person is just going to die? While I have to give credit to Kevin Williamson, the writer of the film (or, rather, the sole credited writer), for not ending the movie on a note where we assume the killer will magically spring to life for the next entry in the saga, that doesn't make the outcome of the movie any less dull or lifeless. And, yes, I know: I must be thinking too hard about a silly horror movie, right?

I loathe that kind of mentality. I straight-up hate it. If the people making the movie didn't put any thought into it, why should I pay any money for it? Some folks enjoy mindless trash (and make no mistake: that is what Scream 4 is), but I prefer my mindless trash to not be mindless. Some of the best action movies manage to be slick, entertaining, and suspenseful without actually being stupid. At the very least, great action and horror movies make you forget about any potential plot holes while you're watching. Is Die Hard an airtight film in terms of plausibility? I'm sure it isn't, but when I watch it, I never think about whether or not it makes sense. Many genre movies, including Scream 4, call attention to their flaws, leaving aside only the flashing red arrow pointing at the problem. For audience members like my wife, any flaws are washed aside because of nostalgic callbacks.

Make no mistake, this is nothing new. Nostalgia in movies and television is a spreading cancer in the entertainment industry, and unfortunately, the onslaught is because of us. If movies like Scream 4 tanked (and it didn't), Hollywood would stop making them. If you don't make money, you're out. But people like to be reminded (even when they are paying to be reminded) about stuff they used to like way back when. Sometimes, the nostalgia factor can work, but it only works if there's more to the story than just the past. Looking back fondly, wistfully, at times gone by is not a bad thing, but doing so has to work on multiple levels.

Another recent sequel that was extremely nostalgic while being incredibly satisfying is Toy Story 3. The most climactic, powerful, emotional moment in the movie is leavened by one of the best and most elaborate callbacks in movie history. (Spoilers ahead if you are the one person who has not seen the movie.) Woody, Buzz, and their pals are at the end of the line: the villain in the film has left them to die in a massive, hellish incinerator in the local dump. Initially, Woody looks around to find something, anything, that will save them. They can't go out like this. But then, he notices that Buzz, Jessie, Rex, Potato Head, and everyone else are accepting their fate. They hold hands. If they're going to go, they'll go together. Woody joins them. They get closer and closer, and then suddenly, the lights come on. A massive iron hand lifts them out of the trash (yes, this is a literal deus ex machina). Who saved them? Why, it's the little green men who've been in each film of the trilogy...maneuvering a giant claw, just like the one they once revered as a deity.

Even writing about it, I get a little emotional (and I don't care how dumb that makes me look). Why? Because even though that climax plays on our nostalgia for the characters, it's presented them with very real, very high stakes. It's to the credit of everyone involved in making the movie that, as I sat there in the theater, watching this moment, I had lost all logical sense, because I actually thought Woody and everybody else was about to die. "Holy shit, they're going to kill one of them? All of them?" This was my thought process. Of course, looking back on it, the filmmakers would have been both daring and idiotic to kill off some of the most beloved animated characters of the past two decades, even if it made for thrilling cinema. But I'd forgotten about the little green aliens, or about the possibility that the good guys would get out of it. I was hooked, in the moment.

I'm not trying to take Scream 4 to task for not being as ambitious a movie as Toy Story 3 was. I wasn't walking in expecting that. I was hoping--barely, mind you--that the movie would attempt something other than exactly what is expected. We know the motions; some people may get glad that we're seeing it all over again, but I was hoping for a little shake-up. Instead, the final entry (hope springs eternal) self-consciously copies the original, trying to substitute a meta commentary on the flaws of the script as enough of a pass for the script being so shitty. Nostalgia is not a bad thing, even in this case. But nostalgia does not make a movie good. Too much can make a movie bad, forgettable, or just misguided.

Buying Into The Hype

2011-04-19T17:32:00.002-07:00

Hype surrounding various pieces of entertainment are, these days, almost more common than the actual entertainment. Hype about a movie, a new album, a TV show, a book...there's always something to be excited about before it's been released to the general public. The latest victim of hype (and while hype can be generally positive, I do think it's bad for any piece of entertainment) is HBO's newest drama, Game of Thrones. I talked a bit about the show in my previous post, but now that the show's aired its first episode to general praise, I wanted to talk a bit about the show and the surrounding media coverage.

First of all, to no one's surprise, the ratings for Game of Thrones were solid and respectable enough to garner it a second-season renewal. Some people are feigning shock at this news, but if you pay attention to the trends in past shows, this isn't surprising at all. Two days after Treme and Boardwalk Empire premiered, those shows got renewals for their second seasons. While the latter program had much more dominant ratings after one airing--its first night got 7.1 million viewers, whereas Game of Thrones got 4.2 million--a show like Treme only got 1.4 million viewers for its first night, and still got the renewal. And yet today, people are throwing around terms that make it sound like Thrones had far more meager ratings.

Of course, the stakes are different for Game of Thrones, a series that HBO has been marketing in various ways for the past six months or so. The show has, presumably, a built-in audience that's familiar with the source material (as a note, I've read the first book, and am reading the second currently), but even the book's fans may not have HBO. Also, where Treme can afford to premiere a new season with 1.4 million viewers, Game of Thrones is expected to do better, because it's costing HBO a relative fortune. So part of what frustrates me about the ratings comparisons with Boardwalk Empire, which certainly had a similar built-in interest and high costs, is that everyone is looking at the first numbers, not the last.

The first airing of the first episode of Boardwalk Empire got 4.8 million viewers, which is pretty impressive for a network that has 28-plus million subscribers. The first airing of that show's season finale garnered less than half that number. No one put up a fuss when this news came out, partly because the season finale's ratings didn't matter; the show had a second season on the way, so there was no hand-wringing among fans about whether or not the show would be on the bubble. But something that no one seems to acknowledge, unless they want to mock HBO, is that the first airing doesn't matter. It almost never matters. Yes, HBO has some genuine out-of-the-gate (in this case, referring to the first airing) hits, such as True Blood, which has tripled its audience since the first season, often getting somewhere around 7 million viewers as an average on Sunday nights. But if you have HBO, you know that it's not a big deal if you miss the new episode of True Blood on Sunday night, because it will air again. And again. And again. Also, you can watch it on demand. Or on HBO Go. One would assume that the executives at HBO have ways of finding out what those numbers are.

I mentioned above that there was a bit of mocking from the media about how HBO is making sure every one of its subscribers knows that Game of Thrones premiered this week. There have been 12 airings since Sunday night's inaugural episode, and most have scoffed at this frontal marketing attack. On the one hand, I get it. It's certainly stacking the deck in the network's favor. But on the other hand, why not? As some have pointed out, if you subscribe to HBO, it's likely that you don't forget the channel. Ordering a standard cable package sometimes means you forget what channels you have or don't have, but ordering something like a premium channel means you're likely aware of its existence in your cable box. Here's another note: this tactic HBO is using for Game of Thrones is not new. They used it recently...with Boardwalk Empire. And yet I don't remember the commentary being as loud (though the point was brought up then). The stakes are, of course, quite high for HBO, but they were high last year, too. Grumbling aside, though, it's satisfying to see the assumptions made by pretty much everybody (that the show would return for a sophomore session) confirmed today by the network.

But what of the program? Unsurprisingly, it's quite good. I can't speak to whether or not the show's any good if you haven't read the book, of course. I can understand that someone might be confused in some of the more minor details and character identifications of the pilot (two of the regulars, at least, have lines but aren't ever really identified, in terms of what their roles are related to other people), but in general, I think that the show's creators and head writers, David Benioff and D.B. Weiss, did a great job of acclimating the audience to the world of Westeros within the span of an hour. While not everything is spelled out, that's a necessity: the first episode takes up the first 80 pages of the first book in a seven-book series. You can't get all the answers immediately.

After watching the pilot a second time, I'm warming up to the idea that it's on the same storytelling level as the pilot episode for Deadwood or The Wire, two of the crown jewels in HBO's cache. Though some critics, who may generally enjoy the program, have pointed out that the expository dialogue can sink some scenes, it doesn't happen here. Yes, there is exposition in this pilot (and a few lines are more blatant about it than others), but there's exposition in any television pilot. Sometimes, it can be dealt with efficiently, never calling attention to itself, but that's frequently very rare. I won't try to excuse the show for being expository just because that's how the book is; I just felt that there's never a point where the exposition is left hanging out in the open, ready to be slammed or snarked upon.

The scale of the show is immense without overdoing anything, which is a fine balance to create. Jumping from land to land to land within this fantasy world is enough of an imaginative challenge when you're reading the Song of Ice and Fire series by George R.R. Martin. It's another thing entirely to see those lands created to scale on your TV set. The near-tropical allure of King's Landing is palpable in the few minutes it's onscreen, as believable as the harsher climate of Winterfell, where the majority of the episode takes place. Pentos, a more exotic city on the harbor of the narrow sea, is both inviting and somewhat chilling. The production design, to me, doesn't end there; in some ways, casting this show is keeping in line with the show's sets. While the actors aren't props, they have to look the part especially when people have been holding images of what the characters should look like for nearly 15 years.

The cast is large, but only a few names are recognizable to most people, partly because some of the cast are young newcomers. Sean Bean, Mark Addy, and Peter Dinklage are the marquee stars here, and all are perfectly cast. Though only the latter gets to really let loose (Bean and Addy have a couple moments of levity, granted), all three are suited for their roles as Ned Stark, King Robert, and Tyrion Lannister. The standouts here, including those three, also include Emilia Clarke as Daenerys Targaryen, a shy, beautiful teenager who's being married off to a savage warlord so her power-mad brother can reclaim the throne; and Kit Harington, as Jon Snow, Ned's bastard son who wants to serve his kingdom at the Wall, the massive ice structure that keeps Westeros safe from the supposedly extinct White Walkers, who are very much alive and seem like thoughtless killing machines. Both Clarke and Harington exude a vulnerability that never topples into camp; Clarke especially has a difficult role, not just because of the purposeful objectification her character goes through in this episode, but because of her future arc. She seems more than capable of pulling it off.

That should be it, but there's one more thing I wanted to discuss about the show, and that's another aspect of the media reaction. As it goes with pre-hyped entertainment, there's a backlash to that hype. It happened with movies like Inception and Toy Story 3, and it's happened with Game of Thrones, which is somewhat fascinating because the praise for this show has been consistently positive, but not overwhelmingly so. Also, the good reviews aren't all universally saying the show is the greatest thing since sliced bread. The built-in audience is, true, trained a bit to react harshly against any kind of criticism, but for a while, it seemed like there'd be no harsh reviews to rail against. Enter Ginia Bellafante of the Grey Lady, the paper of record, the New York Times.

Have you ever noticed that, while the Times is appropriately lauded for its film criticism, the same doesn't go for its television coverage. This review is a great example of why we should scorn the newspaper's critics. In case it's not already clear, let me say this: having a negative opinion about anything is fine. Having a completely unjustified negative opinion is something else. A few folks, including HitFix's Daniel Fienberg, sarcastically praised Ms. Bellafante for writing a review of a new TV show without talking about its plot, characters, or actors, but there you go. The main issue with the review has been the section including this choice quote: "While I do not doubt that there are women in the world who read books like Mr. Martin's, I can honestly say that I have never met a single woman who has stood up in indignation at her book club and refused to read the latest from Lorrie Moore unless everyone agreed to 'The Hobbit' first."

In the same vein, while I do not doubt that there are men who watch Oprah Winfrey, I can honestly say that I have never met a man who does. So Oprah is bad. Right? That logic holds water, yeah? Of course it doesn't. More to the point, Ms. Bellafante, I couldn't care less what you think about the entire genre of fantasy if you're going to dismiss anything within that genre for existing. Her review generated appropriate amounts of ire from pretty much everywhere online, especially from women who were shocked to realize that they didn't like fantasy novels, even if they'd been reading them for years. Her response to this hubbub came today, and...well, it's another doozy.

Her condescension knows no bounds, as evidenced by this quote: "As I wrote in the review, I realize that there are women who love fantasy, but I don't know any and that is the truth: I don't know any. At the same time, I am sure that there are fantasy fans out there who may not know a single person who worships at the altar of quietly hewn domestic novels or celebrates the films of Nicole Holofcener or is engrossed by reruns of 'House.'" Again, Ms. Bellafante, I don't care if you do or don't know any woman (or anyone, for that matter) who likes fantasy novels or the genre. In the confines of a review, it doesn't matter who you know or don't know, or what the people you know or don't know like to read or watch. What matters is what you think; other people's thoughts shouldn't invade your criticism. Oh, and here's what: there is a possibility, Ms. Bellafante, minute as it may seem to you, that some people like movies directed by Nicole Holofcener AND the genre of fantasy. Please. Sit down. Don't get crazy at the mere idea I'm offering. But, seriously? Your pretensions are disturbing, not because they're unique (the fantasy genre has plenty of detractors), but because they're being published by the New York Times.

I'm OK with buying into the hype on Game of Thrones. I was OK with it when I watched and very much enjoyed the first season of Boardwalk Empire, but then, I wasn't disappointed to find that the show wasn't a carbon copy of The Sopranos. Sometimes, the hype lets you down, but there are rare times when the people behind a TV show, movie, book, or album get it right. In some ways, HBO has become the premier TV network for big TV, and big hype around big TV. (The preview of the new David Milch series Luck is the first bit of marketing for that show, but I'm ready for it now.) They're good at both, which is lucky for anyone who's willing to have an open mind and enjoy shows as diverse as those about Prohibition-era gangsters, or about vampires, or about curmudgeons, or even fantastical lords and ladies.

Is It Worth It?

2011-04-17T15:11:00.002-07:00

I've been an HBO subscriber off and on over the last five or six years. I had it for a couple of years back when I was in college, back when shows like The Sopranos, Deadwood, and The Wire were still airing new episodes. But then, for one reason or another, I dropped it. I went back to being a subscriber last September, when Boardwalk Empire, HBO's first attempt in a while to be the top cable network began its first season. I'd been pondering becoming a subscriber again, and had to ask myself the question I first remember asking when I began my Netflix subscription: is it worth it?

I began my Netflix subscription in the fall of 2005 for one DVD set and one alone: the first season of Veronica Mars. I'd heard good things about the show from various critics and figured I ought to catch up and see if I was missing a genuinely good TV show, even if it was on UPN. (Remember UPN? It was a real TV network with shows and everything!) So, I went to Blockbuster and found, typically, no DVDs for the show. I say "typically" because even back when Netflix wasn't the dominant force in rentals, it became obvious that Blockbuster was giving up vital ground in TV show rentals. Blockbuster had some TV shows, but only the most popular. 24, Lost, and a few others would show up, but even though Veronica Mars is far from the most obscure TV show on DVD, it wasn't there. And it wasn't at Hollywood Video, either. I'd heard a bit about Netflix and figured I ought to do some research. I don't even remember what the plan I signed up for cost back then, because I've not only jumped from plan to plan, but the costs have jumped as well. Even still, the price is appropriate based on the alternative.

I thought about it with regards to HBO in the same way. Obviously, the counterargument against subscribing to HBO is simple: I have Netflix, so why not just wait for the DVDs on Netflix? My response to that is equally simple: I've been subscribing to Netflix since October of 2005, and there are still movies on my Netflix Queue--movies that have and haven't transferred to Instant--that I haven't watched. Six years, and I haven't watched Roger Dodger or Russian Ark or even the latter seasons of The Wire. Who's to say I'll get to watch seasons of newer shows on Netflix any quicker? Even more, HBO has introduced something called HBO Go, which is basically Netflix Instant for HBO. Since the actual Netflix Instant is probably never going to get HBO shows (unless the two merge, or something along those lines), the incentive is strong.

The incentive grew stronger last fall, as I became more and more entranced and hooked by Boardwalk Empire, a show with lots of hype, a show that some people were let down by. Lucky for me (well, probably not lucky, but you get my meaning), I've only seen the pilot episode of The Sopranos, so I didn't go into the series assuming that it would be that show, but set in the 1920s. Though the show isn't as great as programs like Mad Men or Breaking Bad, I'm confident that it will remain one of the most entertaining, epic dramas of its time.

But subscribing to HBO last September wasn't just for Boardwalk Empire. I know that I wouldn't have been able to avoid the hype surrounding HBO's newest drama, based on the series of novels by George R.R. Martin, Game of Thrones. I've read the first novel in the series and am a quarter of the way through the second, so while I know where the show's going (or, rather, I assume I know) during this season, the hype and positive reviews are too much to ignore. I'm also working my way through some other HBO shows, like Curb Your Enthusiasm (I've seen, now, the first five seasons and want to be fully caught up by the season eight premiere in July), thanks to HBO Go. It's funny to me that most--OK, all of the pull for me to subscribe to HBO is less about the movies that initially gave the channel its definition ("Look, folks, watch all of the movies we have with no editing or commercials!") than its original programming. But with shows like Boardwalk Empire, True Blood, The Ricky Gervais Show, Bored to Death, Curb, and more, there's no question to me that, yeah, it's worth it.

Hanna

2011-04-12T16:23:00.002-07:00

These days, there's nothing so thrilling in popular culture when something unique squeaks through. Most movies, TV shows, music, and books are relatively in line with our expectations. Even the best of movies and TV are usually in line with what we expect. Last year's Best Picture winner was, to many people, inspirational and entertaining, but it was also nothing surprising. Not every movie that dares to take a chance works out; one such failure is 2007's Across the Universe, which dares to tell a story with songs by the Beatles, but was an unmitigated disaster. When a daring idea works, though, it's awesome to watch. Such is the case with Hanna.

Though the concept of this fairy tale-cum-action film is simple enough--a 16-year old girl who can kick serious ass is raised in the Finnish wilderness is hunted down by government agents because of her value to the CIA--the execution is something else. A movie this deliriously unhinged would seem to be the product of David Lynch and Tony Scott; what's so surprising about Hanna is its director's pedigree. Joe Wright was previously known as an Oscar-bait director, having directed such well-made but somewhat infuriating movies like Atonement and The Soloist. Wright makes Hanna into an ambitious, enthralling, and engaging action picture with a modicum of intelligence.

It helps that the title character is played by the 21st-century version of a young Kate Winslet: Saoirse Ronan. Her name may be nearly unpronounceable, but Ronan proves here that she is nothing less than diverse in her performances. Though The Lovely Bones was also something of a disaster, Ronan delivered a fine lead performance. Here, she's a breath of fresh air, tough without feeling forced, and believably being an animal growing into a human being. Hanna is similar to other characters who want to know what it's like to be a human; she knows the notes, but not the music. She may know the names of cities, countries, and invented friends, but she doesn't know what music sounds like, or what friends can do, or what it's like to share your first kiss. That such a coming-of-age tale is woven into a kickass action movie proves how difficult it was to thread the needle that is this movie. Wright and company pull it off.

While Ronan's work is exemplary here, she's not the only one whose performance deserves accolades. Cate Blanchett, Eric Bana, Tom Hollander, Olivia Williams, and Jason Flemyng play the other major adult characters here, and all do great jobs. Blanchett and Bana have the flashiest roles (though Hollander's got a colorful enough role to play), as the agent hunting the girl down and Hanna's father, respectively. Bana doesn't get to play more than a tough guy who let his emotions get the best of him a long time ago, but he plays the character well. What's more, Bana's the centerpiece of the film's most notable action scene, a single-take through a bus terminal and a subway station while taking down a cadre of bad guys. Blanchett sinks her teeth into Marisa Viegler, a frighteningly dedicated federal agent who refuses to let go of Hanna, whose value grows as the story proceeds. While her Southern accent comes and goes, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, there's no question that Blanchett is having a lot of fun in this movie, and her infectious villainy is hard to resist.

Hollander is one of those actors I wish was in every movie. Though I know dream casting can't always work, I still wish he was cast as Littlefinger in the new HBO series Game of Thrones. He'd be perfect for the scheming, dryly sarcastic character, as he's perfect here as the hitman Viegler brings out of retirement to kill Hanna. Flemyng and Williams have smaller roles, as hippie parents Hanna encounters after her escape from government custody. She jumps from one extreme to the other, from no human interaction to the brightest and wildest kind. Though they have less to do in the film, both Flemyng and Williams do a great job inhabiting their characters. Williams, in particular, has turned into one of the great character actresses of her generation, able to imbue humanity into even the smallest roles.

About halfway through Hanna, somewhere just after we're introduced to Hollander's hitman character at the burlesque club where he's criticizing his new hermaphrodite dancer (yes, really), I marveled that such a movie even exists. What's great is that Hanna was the highest-grossing new movie last weekend. The number may not have been massive, but people are flocking to this movie in bigger numbers than I would have expected. Some people are not going to like this movie; some will flat-out hate it. But for those of us who can embrace this movie's warped sensibility, it's the first genuine pleasure of 2011.

The Podcaster Met The Listener

2011-02-26T14:31:00.002-07:00

Sometimes, getting what you want, getting exactly what you want, is dangerous. We all know the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for," but sometimes, getting what you've wished for is exactly what it should be. Last night, as mentioned in the post under this one, Mike Schmidt, the former third baseman, the 40-Year Old Boy, came to Phoenix to do a workshop of his new one-man show, Success Is Not An Option, and it was great. It was exactly what I had hoped it would be, and from the reactions of the crowd, it was exactly what they hoped it would be.

Bringing Mike to Phoenix--and I say that figuratively, since the amount of work I put into the show existing really only amounted to being pointed in the direction of an appropriate theater and putting down the money for Mike to perform--came from my general frustration with the lack of a good culture scene in Phoenix. Now, I'm no fool: Phoenix, and Arizona as a state, could be seen as a cosmic joke to people from other places in the country or the world. Our immigration fights, our lax gun laws, and more do not paint the city in the best light. But here's the thing: Phoenix is the fifth-biggest city in this country. Fifth-biggest. I don't know why, since it's so damn big and diverse (and it is, believe me, in more ways than just people of different races), we don't get better culture. Want to see a restored print of a classic film such as The Red Shoes? Save up on gas to drive to L.A. or Austin, friend. Are you a fan of stand-up comedians who might not always show up on Leno or Letterman? Don't look in the direction of the Tempe Improv.

When I heard, via Mike's stellar podcast, The 40-Year Old Boy, of Mike performing a workshop of his one-man show in San Francisco, I wondered what it would take to bring him to Phoenix. He wanted to keep doing workshops in the next 12 months, preparing for performing at the New York Fringe Festival this summer. Mike made it clear: create a Facebook group, find a space and be willing to put the money down, and get enough people interested. That's what it would take to make this a reality, and that's what happened.

I mentioned yesterday that I wasn't sure how awkward my interactions with Mike would be. Meeting someone who you listen to each week, someone who tells you personal stories from his past and present, could be filled with long, painful pauses. I shouldn't have been worried; within about five seconds of meeting Mike in person, I came to a realization that seems a bit too obvious to any of his fans: "Mike is EXACTLY the same in person as he is on the show." This put me at ease; if anything, within a few minutes, I felt like I was watching a live version of the show--mind you, before the actual show happened; this was during the sound check--and I was just along for the ride. Mike, as he mentioned almost immediately after the show began, was nervous about performing, and about whether the crowd would enjoy what he was serving up. As I told him beforehand, he had nothing to worry about. Everyone--including the generous folks at Space 55, the theater where Mike performed--loved what Mike had to say. For those who listen to the show, there were some new stories and some old favorites (though, because we had some time constraints, we didn't get to revisit Mike's time as a 7-11 clerk, one of the very best stories from the show). The final story, a brand new one, was a perfect example of what makes Mike so funny and such a great raconteur: he made us laugh, he moved us, and he could turn on a dime from being witty to being realistically intense and scary. I won't spoil the story--you're going to have to hope the one-man show gets recorded for posterity, because if you know Mike, you know that his stories are best told by him, not his fans.

When it was over, I realized that I'd spent my money well reserving the space; I want Mike to come back to bigger crowds, and I cannot wait to help make it happen again. If you don't know much about Mike, you should be listening to his podcast. You may balk for one of many reasons: it's too long; it's one guy talking; I don't have time for podcasts. You do have the time, folks. We all have the time for this kind of storytelling, the type of which isn't equaled anywhere else these days. The 1990s had David Sedaris. We, thank God, have Mike Schmidt. He visited Phoenix last night, he blew the roof off the place, and I can't wait to see him live again.

The Podcaster Meets The Listener

2011-02-25T16:32:00.003-07:00

I'm about 90 minutes away from forever destroying a barrier that seems a little surreal to consider. OK, we're not talking about anything major here, but meeting someone whose work you enjoy and are entertained by on a weekly basis doesn't always happen. Most times, it's only going to happen by chance; a random encounter with a celebrity, for example. In this case, I'm talking about someone who I'm essentially bringing here. Now, I haven't done it all by myself, but the circumstances are still unique. I'm talking about comedian and podcaster Mike Schmidt, of "The 40-Year Old Boy" show, which you should be listening to if you're not. And, if you're not and you haven't read my praise-filled piece from December, why haven't you?

Anyway, he's coming to Phoenix tonight to perform a one-man show, in hopes that he can perform it again later this year at the New York Fringe Festival. And I spearheaded the Facebook group that is bringing him here. He's going to be at the Space 55 theater tonight at 8--tickets are still available. But I'm not sure how awkward the night is going to be. Will we move past the halting phase akin to a first, blind date? This post is short, because I'm sure to have a lot more to write once the show is over. Suffice to say, I am nervous. Am I in for 2 hours of long pauses before the show begins? Deep breath...here we go. Check with me on the flip side to find out how it went down.

Oscar Dust-Up

2011-02-09T19:02:00.002-07:00

First of all, wow, time flies by. I didn't realize the last post I had up here was about my computer's issues with its USB port. As a note to that post, while I haven't had those ports fixed, I am stupid enough to have not realized that I have four USB ports on my laptop; the two on the right side are screwed, but there are two bright, shiny, new ones on the left side, and I'm using those to my delight. Moving on.

You may or may not know who Melissa Leo is. In the last few years, she's moved up the ranks of the film, TV, and stage actor from being a "Hey, I just saw her in something last month, didn't I?" performer to a "Ah, she's in this, too, huh?" performer, if that makes any sense. Her first big splash in Hollywood was as a regular on Homicide: Life on the Streets, but these days, she's in the middle of an Oscar campaign, hoping to take home the prize for Best Supporting Actress for her performance in The Fighter. I'm not a huge fan of the film--and the more I hear people say, "But those people are EVEN crazier in real life," the more I want to shout at them that the movies aren't real life--but Leo's performance is at least energetic enough to gain merit. I also think that her co-star and fellow nominee Amy Adams was better, but Leo's been the frontrunner in a packed category.

In the last few days, though, she might have shifted the category because of an odd choice she made: to create "For Your Consideration" ads...for herself. Yes, Melissa Leo bought ad space in the industry magazines advertising herself. What's odd about the ads isn't just that she bought them (which is not common), it's that the ads aren't really for her work in The Fighter. The typical ad features her, dressed fashionably, posing for the photographer, with the word "Consider" emblazoned on the top of the photo. No mention of the movie, the nomination, nothing. Leo's said that she's doing this because she wants to keep her presence in the race, something she feels isn't being done well enough by the studio's promotional materials. Being fair, the posters for the film do not list her name above the title; what's more, she claims that her being a 50-year old woman does her no favors in an industry obsessed with good-looking young women.

There's no question that it can be hard for actresses of a certain age, and that Leo's time in high-profile roles may not be for more than a few years (with or without this snafu), but I don't think it explains why she'd waste her resources on this strange campaign. Now, mind you, I'm not one of the traditionalists who thinks that she doesn't deserve to win because of this; some Academy voters have sticks wedged way up their asses, and have said they won't vote for her. If I had a ballot, I wouldn't either, but not because of this. I'd pick Adams or Hailee Steinfeld, for her work in True Grit, over Leo. I'd vote for the work, not the campaign. Obviously, being one of the millions of people in this country who, you know, doesn't vote for the Oscars, I'm looking at things differently. But please, voters, vote for the work. We don't care--and many don't know--about this so-called controversy. I think it's a baffling thing to do--and somewhat self-absorbed--but it's not a reason to make me dislike her performance. This is one of those times when people in Hollywood need to remember that they may make movies, but they're people. Some people need a big reality check.

Technical Difficulties

2011-01-23T17:45:00.003-07:00

In general, I prefer PC to Mac, if only because I don't have enough money where I can easily prefer Mac. My wife has a MacBook, and it's clearly a nice machine that works well, but I've always been a PC guy. I'm also not enough of a tech nerd to really let it define me too much. As you'll soon see, the issue I'm bitching about regards my iPod and my PC laptop. But today has been one of those days where I wonder why exactly I own a PC. And why exactly I can go from loving to hating technology.

In recent weeks, my iPod classic has sporadically not initially worked when syncing to my computer. I'll get an error window telling me that there is a USB device hooked up to the computer (important information, actually), but Windows does not recognize it. That's a problem. In the past, I'd been able to do some mix of locking or not locking my iPod, and turning it on or off before syncing it. This ended up working. Eventually--as in, within about two or three tries after the initial one--the computer would acknowledge the iPod, and all was well in the world. Until today.

Today, I went to charge my iPod to load up some new podcasts I was listening to (not including the one I co-host with Grant Holzhauer, called Entertained, which you should totally listen to and subscribe and review, and everything else, on iTunes; our site is http://entertained.podbean.com, so check us out!). Again, I got the window telling me the computer didn't recognize the device. I tried the usual fixes, and nothing happened, except that error window. I'd had some issues with only one of the USB ports working, so I took a look at the ports themselves, to find something truly distressing: the USB ports were--and still are, as of this writing--out of alignment. Meaning, the external place for the USB ports are there, but the USB ports themselves are, internally, not lining up. I have no idea why this is; my guess is that there's something inside the computer that should keep them aligned, and it's moved or broken or something.

After trying to do a little DIY, I realized that I ought to let a professional look at it. So I went to Geek Squad. (Feel free to insert a joke about how I still haven't had a professional look at it.) The employee was one of the rare folks working on a presumed commission who was, thankfully, more honest about helping me out. See, it takes 85 bucks for Geek Squad to ship the device to their main center (wherever the hell THAT is), and then we can get to the work of actually, you know, figuring out what's wrong. It would've been a few days before the folks at the main center got hold of it, but the problem was when the Geek Squad employee told me that the issue may be so bad that I need to get a new computer. I highly doubted this, and I still do, but I suppose that was just the woman covering her ass. She said I'd want to back up my information first. I would love to do this, you know, but I have an external hard drive that only works...WITH A USB PORT. Unfortunately, no amount of rejiggering there has worked for me.

So, home I went with a still-in-need-of-repair computer. I figured that, as long as I could hook up my iPod and my headset microphone for recording Entertained (seriously, listen to it), I'd be set for the time being. I'd forgotten about a friend of my dad's who's very good at PC repair, and I've contacted him in hopes that he'll get to fix it, or at least look at it in some detail. Even more, after I got home, I was able to work with the headset microphone to confirm that, yes, it would work with the sole USB port that's still functioning. Which leaves the iPod. Of course, the iPod cord still caused the error message. Before and after the Geek Squad trip, I went to Google and tried to find some guidance. Most of the sites, including the official Microsoft sites, offered the same fixes, all of which I tried to no avail. One of the Microsoft forum pages--in a post written by an official employee--pointed me to a very helpful tutorial on Apple's website, where I could learn about how to sync my iPod to iTunes and get music!

About 30 minutes ago, I found another Microsoft page, where someone--not an employee of the company, mind you--had a solution that had worked for them, and it was different than the others. Here's what I was supposed to do: uninstall the USB driver that the iPod connected to, and shut down my computer. Now, I'd done this much before, but the rest was where it got odd. Next, I was supposed to take out the power cord, and let the computer run on battery. I'd wait a minute, and then hit the power button. And then, voila, the iPod was supposed to work. I was at the point where I was willing to try anything, so I went for it. Guess what? THIS WORKED. My iPod, as I am writing, is connected to my computer. The cord hasn't moved. Nothing else has changed, and I've already put the power cord back in. Now, I'm not complaining that the iPod is working. It is, and I'm glad. But that's a really stupid fix. Right? I'm not nuts to think this is an absolutely idiotic way to solve the problem, am I? Oy.

In Praise of Parks and Recreation

2011-01-19T17:04:00.002-07:00

It's weird that, over the past few years, I have gotten used to not watching some series over a long period of time. As a fan of such serialized dramas as Lost and 24, it became old hat for me to watch new episodes between the months of January and May, and then wait for the rest of the calendar year to pass before another season began. For some reason, though, I don't accept it as a given when it comes to comedies. Comedies air between September and May. That's just a fact, if they air on broadcast television. I'm fine with cable comedies, like Archer or Bored to Death only showing up for one-fourth of a year, but broadcast comedies don't leave the air for 9 months at a time.

That Parks and Recreation became a weird casualty of the 2010 fall TV season is par for the course at the cosmic joke of a network known as NBC. The esteemed and insightful critic Alan Sepinwall pointed out last week on his blog, What's Alan Watching, at HitFix, that while NBC may be such a laughingstock, some of the shows it's airing wouldn't be able to survive on any other network with the ratings they get. I love Community, but its ratings are awful on any other network (though we could certainly debate the idea that most of the shows NBC airs would do better on any other network, simply by no longer being on NBC). The same goes for shows like Chuck, 30 Rock, and even The Office, which may be NBC's highest-rated scripted show, but even at its ratings peak, it wasn't as highly rated as comedies on CBS or ABC.

But it really stings that Parks and Recreation was held until midseason. It's not even that the cast and crew worked overtime back in the spring to make six of its eventual 16 episodes in the third season, because the show's ostensible lead, Amy Poehler, was pregnant. What annoys me most is that the show had been so consistently brilliant, so giddy in its inventive spirit, and someone at NBC must have known it. Right? I have to assume that somebody working for the network is aware enough of the quality they have on their hands. This is not an issue of the show getting bad ratings (and since the new season, which begins tomorrow night, is airing directly after The Office, the executives are giving it a great chance). It's an issue of looking at the newly developed comedies you have, like Outsourced, and then looking at what you've already got. Why did NBC have to mess with what they had?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Why should I complain? Leslie Knope and the rest of the crew at the Pawnee Parks and Recreation Department are coming back! Let's throw a parade! My fear is that the experiment NBC is concocting also begins tomorrow night, and it could fall flat. A three-hour comedy block hasn't been done in years, and NBC renewed 30 Rock, the show now airing at 10:00, pretty much to make sure its fans knew they weren't sending it to die. I can only hope the other shows on Thursday night aren't facing the same fate. But let's move onto a quick appreciation of this brilliant show, the absolute best comedy of 2010 if it aired more episodes. I ended up thinking higher of Community, but only because they aired classic episodes in the fall as well as in the spring. In watching a handful of episodes this evening, pumping myself up for the show's return, I was curious to see if I'd think as highly of them as I did when they originally aired.

If you've read anything about the show, you know that it was easily the most improved network television program in the 2009-2010 season. Its first six episodes were OK, but they didn't gel as much as they should have, especially with the hype NBC built up that they were making another Office. But almost as soon as the new season began, the writers of the show wasted no time in creating such a believable world of characters who you always wanted to spend time with. But as I watched the episodes, I wondered if my initial appreciation was just at being so happy for the show for no longer sucking, or if it was genuinely great. The answer is clear: it's genuinely great. Poehler and the writers had tightened Leslie Knope into a person, not a caricature. She was even more well-balanced than Michael Scott could ever dream of being. But the other characters made things work: Ron F'ing Swanson, April, Tom, Jerry, Ann, Andy. Especially the last few episodes, where the Pawnee government is effectively shut down for major monetary renovations thanks to visiting auditors played by incoming regulars Rob Lowe and Adam Scott, became as much fun to watch as they must have been to make.

Lowe and Scott, in particular, are an exciting addition to the show. With their appearances at the end of the second season and the departure of Paul Schneider (who's a fine actor, but just never truly fit in), it seems like Parks and Recreation is not only poised for its best season yet, even if it's a shortened one (thanks again, NBC), but for its breakout year. The show hit a wall in its six-episode first season with many viewers who wanted to embrace another Office and were disappointed to find a show that was still finding itself, not something that was already off and running creatively. If you think that Parks and Recreation is still not worth watching, I almost don't know what to tell you. The first two seasons are available on Netflix Instant, and there is no stronger endorsement for the service than rediscovering this sitcom. The cast (who I've neglected to talk too much about, but suffice to say, introducing the world to Nick Offerman, Aubrey Plaza, Chris Pratt, and Aziz Ansari is nothing short of a miraculously good deed) has awesome comedic and romantic chemistry, the writing is tight, unpredictable, and hilarious, and the stories are surprisingly compelling. Perhaps the best part of Parks and Recreation is that the characters show genuine interest and excitement in dull governmental work. Writing about local government sounds boring; making it interesting is a mountainous challenge. The effort put into making Parks and Recreation seem so effortless is awe-inspiring. This is such a great show, and I'm so happy it's coming back tomorrow.

Who Watches Two And A Half Men?

2011-01-15T14:41:00.002-07:00

One of the great joys of something you love exploding into the mainstream of culture is that you can share your love with your friends, family, co-workers, and so on. The three years when I watched Arrested Development were simultaneously triumphant and solitary. The show is, of course, the greatest television comedy ever (and I will cage-fight anyone who disagrees with me! Or not.), but it is also one of the quintessential little-watched broadcast programs in television history. So few people watched it even on my college campus that when I walked around with a T-shirt reading "Annyong, Hermano!", I'd often get 99 quizzical looks for the 1 appreciative chuckle.

On the flip side, once I began working at my full-time job, just over two and a half years ago, I found that plenty of my co-workers loved the show and mourned its demise. I'm glad to be able to drop references to Jessica Walter's creepy wink to these folks, but I wish I'd known them when the show was on. So when a movie like Black Swan inexplicably becomes popular enough to merit a sketch on Saturday Night Live, it's comforting to know that I and my wife aren't alone in loving the movie, or at least knowing it well enough to snicker at the parody of Vincent Cassel's character (the only funny aspect of the sketch, but still funny). It's comforting to know that everyone who considers themselves a human watched and loved Toy Story 3. But then there are the songs, movies, books, and TV shows that hit big that I just don't get.

I am an avid TV watcher, but as I age and my tastes mature, I find that there are a lot of networks that I just don't watch. Obviously, this is the same for anyone with a TV; there are so many channels with so much programming that it's impossible to watch everything and have a life. However, there are networks I don't watch just because my apathy only extends so far. So, as the prime example, I don't watch CBS shows. Most of them are, you know, fine. But that's it. CBS has mostly steered away from making serialized TV, and the formula continues to work. I don't blame them for staying consistent; I'm just not interested in watching a procedural every week where I know exactly what will happen every second of every episode. Still, CBS has huge hits; just this past week, the long-running procedural NCIS garnered 22 million viewers, a series-high number. There is one hit, though, that I'm baffled by as time goes on. Only the truly crafty among you will have figured out which it is.

Oh, wait, it's in the title. Yes, I don't get the allure of Two and a Half Men. I watched the pilot episode of the series, having done a quickie review for it when I was a sophomore in college for the student newspaper's website. I remember thinking that it was kind of funny, and Charlie Sheen was somewhat charming as a slightly fictionalized version of his tabloid self. I had the same feelings about it that I do for most CBS pilots: I will totally watch another episode! I will watch another episode. I may watch another episode. I--oh, I missed the episode. Oh well. Back then, I got why people would watch it, but as 2010, in particular, went forward and Sheen continued to either spiral out of control or do his very best at trying to quit his job via self-immolation, I had to wonder: who is watching this show? The ratings have always been right around the same level of solidity; CBS thought highly enough of the show to renew it through the end of the 2011-12 season, and if the ratings are the same, who knows? Maybe they'll renew it for even longer.

But as I was reading the comments from CBS honcho Nina Tassler at the January edition of the Television Critics Association (TCA) tour where she basically said that on a personal level, Sheen's a problem, but professionally, there are no complaints, I thought about the people I knew and wondered if any of them avidly watched the show. It's one thing to, on a slow Monday night, tune in and have a laugh. The show's numbers are too consistent, though. Someone--rather, someone times 15 million or so--is watching this show every week, glued to their sets as much as I would be to Lost. So I ask this to anyone reading. Do you watch Two and a Half Men? Do you know someone who does? Why? What's more, after what hideous embarrassments he's been through, why enable Charlie Sheen's personal troubles (which is genuinely what I think anyone watching the show, and the CBS execs do)? I want to know why someone would watch this show--actually watch it, not just leave it on because of the show before. I await your responses.

Speechless Frustration

2011-01-10T16:37:00.003-07:00

Nine times out of ten, I don't write about politics. This is not a political blog, for many reasons (some of which will be clear by the time you're done reading this, I'm sure). The podcast I'm co-hosting with Grant Holzhauer is not about politics, which is the best thing possible seeing as we're at different ends of the political spectrum. Of course, like pretty much everyone, I am compelled to say my piece after the tragedy in Tucson this past Saturday that left six people dead (so far), and more wounded, among them the target of the whole, unimaginably frightening ordeal, Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords of Arizona. Being a resident of the state doesn't afford me any further insight into the massacre, not just because I don't live in the Tucson area. What frustrates me today isn't what's happening in this state in the aftermath. What frustrates me is how obvious the reaction has been.

The idea that the right-wing personalities in the media, and conservative politicians, are already trying to remind us that plenty of left-wing folk talk some pretty crazy talk about the opposition, and how dare we even think of saying anything bad about Sarah Palin and her not-really-but-kinda-sorta target image that's mysteriously vanished from her website is to be expected. Were any notable conservatives going to applaud the near-murder of a Democratic politician? Not if they had any serious desire to be part of the mainstream, no. Of course, some of these same people had been advocating for violence, either not in so many words or in exactly those words. So why shouldn't they be applauding the aftermath of what they'd been asking for? Well, see, it turns out that people like Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck and their ilk don't actually think that anyone takes them seriously when they talk about reloading. Why would they? It's not like these people have any sense of how their followers will react, right? Right?

False equivalencies don't work here. If there has been any talk about violence against politicians, or against anybody, it has been coming from the right, targeted at the left. Are there people on the left as nuts as those on the right? Sure. The primary difference is that the left-wing crazies don't have television shows. They don't have radio shows. They don't write books that cause people in North Phoenix (not too far from where I live) to line up outside a bookstore for hours just to get an autograph. Whether the clearly mentally disturbed man who went on the shooting rampage this past Saturday followed the heated rhetoric of Glenn Beck or Keith Olbermann is of absolutely no consequence. What matters is what Olbermann pointed out in his special Special Comment on Saturday night: the violent rhetoric, on all sides, must stop. When you encourage your supporters to come to target practice in opposition of your opponent, tone it down. When you encourage your supporters to use their Second Amendment remedies should you not be elected legally, it might be time to tone it down. When you showcase a map featuring 20 targets--sorry, surveyor's symbols (and isn't that one of the stupidest fucking lies you've ever heard? These people aren't even trying to be sneaky anymore. It's offensive on so many levels.)--representing your opponents and, in capital letters, exhort your followers to reload, tone it the fuck down.

One hopes that if there is a positive effect in the aftermath of this horrendous event, it will be...well, hopefully there's more than one positive effect. First, we need to tone down the violent rhetoric. I would hope that President Obama would say as much, but I fear he's become as cautious as ever, and doesn't want to offend anyone by saying something that the invisible moderate voter will not agree with. This is what the media needs to do. Here--easy tip. Watch the Rally To Restore Sanity and/or Fear from October. It doesn't seem so silly anymore. Learn from Jon Stewart's climactic speech. Sanity is the opposite of what happened in Tucson. While we're fixing the rhetoric, let's consider that some people need mental health care and are not getting it. And let's consider that a state that allows a man who is as deranged as the shooter to get a concealed weapon without a permit needs to repeal that damn law. Gun control doesn't mean gun ban. Some people--including me--might need some training before they pick up a pistol. Some people, because of health issues, should not be allowed to carry guns. And, to reiterate a point brought up today by Chris Matthews, you do not need to carry a gun to a political rally. You should not have have to. We're a screwed-up state in a screwed-up country, but Arizona could make a big step forward by repealing that law, or at least changing its wording. In the meantime, spread the word. These kinds of horrendous massacres--whether they involve politicians, celebrities, or just regular people--should not happen. One man held the gun, but he was influenced. Eliminate the influences, so we're not mourning again soon.

My Top Ten Films of 2010

2011-01-05T18:51:00.002-07:00

As I read more and more top ten lists from critics across the globe, I wonder if 2010 was really a bad year in film. My list of the ten best is not going to be as diverse as some--as much as I'd like to claim the film buff status, living in the Phoenix metropolitan area does not lend itself to lots of foreign film watching, and I'm bad about my Netflix queue--but there are plenty of solid mainstream films along with independent pictures that were released in some fashion this past year. And, as it usually goes, looking at the 2011 slate is pretty scary, if you're looking for quality. If you want quantity, or blockbusters, your cup overfloweth. For the rest of us, the only comfort is that Netflix may add more low-budget pictures to its site in the days, weeks, and months to come.

A few notes, before we get into the list. First, and it should really go without saying, this list is compiled of films I thought were the best of the year. I've been reading some people whose agendas for creating these lists aren't to represent their opinions as to nudge people to watch films they may not have heard of or be familiar with. While that is a somewhat noble idea, let's get one thing straight: if you make a top-ten list, it should be representative of what you think, not what you want me to think. With that said, a few honorable mentions are in order. Some films I saw this year were good, but not great, and some of them are here just because the year was so weak--to me, of course--that I've only got a few films below the top ten to begin with. The King's Speech is a very nice, very pleasant, mostly well-made, and very well-acted movie. It did not wow me, it did not blow me away, but it was good, if you like that sort of thing. Luck to Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush at the Oscars; they may both win. 127 Hours is another flashy Danny Boyle movie that's boosted into any sort of greatness by the performance of the film's lead, James Franco, Oscar host (and soon-to-be director, I guess). I wish Franco's total commitment was shared by Boyle, who gets too impatient and feels free to flit around the world as opposed to make a more intimate film, stuck with one poor guy trapped by a boulder. Exit Through The Gift Shop is a fascinating documentary--and yeah, I bought into it--about how street art is made, and how street artists can manipulate their way into being famous. Banksy, the mysterious man who's at the top of the street art world, presents a compelling and intriguing portrait of delusion in the form of Thierry Guetta, now known as Mr. Brainwash. There's no question that this is worth watching, but I wasn't as blown away as some were. Nothing really wrong here; just not my favorite. So, let's get to the list.

10. How To Train Your Dragon

It is a sign of how weak the movies I saw this year were that this film is on my list. Don't get me wrong; Dragon is a good movie, filled with some of the most thrilling non-Pixar animation and 3D effects I've ever seen. What frustrated me about the movie is that while DreamWorks, at least some of the time, has the ability to create animated worlds that rival those of the folks up in Emeryville, their story department continues to be woeful. In 2008, some people raved about Kung Fu Panda, a movie whose animation is groundbreaking, if you're DreamWorks and it's 2000, and whose story is groundbreaking, if you're DreamWorks, and it's 1990. The animation in Dragon is as good as DreamWorks has ever been, and as good as most animation has ever been. The story is the opposite. I'd seen variations on the "My dad doesn't get me" trope in better animated movies like Ratatouille and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. That said, any movie that makes a calculated attempt to give Craig Ferguson plenty of time to crack jokes is fine by me.

9. Winter's Bone

Some movies live or die on their performances. For the most part, 127 Hours lives or dies on James Franco's performance. If you don't like Franco, or the character he's playing, you're stuck with him in a very small place for 90 minutes. With regards to Winter's Bone, the latest film from Debra Granik, it's a little different. While Jennifer Lawrence, as the film's lead, Ree, is on screen for pretty much every scene, the world she inhabits is a vast expanse of desolation. Ree lives in the Ozarks and embarks on a frightening journey into a hell close to home when she has to figure out the whereabouts of her criminal father before the house where she raises her siblings is taken over by the bank. Ree's still a teenager, but she's whip-smart and willing to put her life on the line to save her family. Lawrence, who I'd never seen before, is a wonder, a true star in the making. The other notable performance comes from character actor John Hawkes, as Teardrop, Ree's uncle. Teardrop knows more than he's letting on, but he's also the kind of guy who believes that he can terrorize his family because he's family; if you're not family, then watch out. Hawkes has never inspired terror in his other roles, but here, he's as intimidating as the gruffest of action heroes. Lawrence, Hawkes, Granik's spare direction, and the realism of the world make this one a standout.

8. Mother

2010 was a great year for female performances. Just like another film on this list, Mother is about the lengths a person will work towards to achieve a sense of balance in the world. The lead of the film, played by South Korean actress Kim Hye-Ja, is an older woman who works as an acupuncturist and herbalist. She lives with her son, who's in his late twenties and is developmentally disabled. Their relationship is beyond close; in more than one scene, we see them sleeping in the same, very small bed (and, yes, just sleeping). When he's accused of killing a schoolgirl one night and arrested by the incompetent local police, she sets out to prove his innocence. Just as Ree descends into hell in Winter's Bone, so it goes for the title character in Mother, who can be strong enough to get the information she wants, but is never strong enough to accept the truth. Directed by Bong Joon-Ho, Mother is both an unnerving character study and a crackling crime drama. What holds the film together is Ja, whose fully realized performance is as wondrous and scary to behold as you could dare dream.

7. Shutter Island

There are some critics who'll tell you that liking this movie is wrong, because you're really just too weak to pan a Martin Scorsese film. Those people are woefully mistaken; while some people may not want to pan Scorsese, great filmmaking is great filmmaking. While no one--yes, not even me--would put Shutter Island next to such all-time classics as Taxi Driver or Raging Bull, what this movie has to offer is Scorsese's sheer love of the craft of filmmaking. Ostensibly a mystery story about two federal marshals investigating the mysterious disappearance of an inmate at the titular insane asylum, Shutter Island is a vibrant character study and a haunted-house throwback. Invoking Val Lewton and other horrormeisters of the 1940s and 1950s, Scorsese presents us with a chilling world where half of the doctors advocate lobotomies just like they'd advocate a cup of coffee, where up is down, and so on. It sounds cliche, but what makes the film work so well is that the ruse is evident. Watching this film on repeat viewings makes it more tragic, more poetic, and more fiendish. The film hinges on Leonardo DiCaprio, as the intense, somewhat screwed-up lead investigator. DiCaprio delivers his best performance in years as a man dying to get back to his wife and kids, someone who's incredibly dedicated to getting revenge and justice in one fell swoop. Delirious, wild, and exhilarating...welcome to Shutter Island.

6. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World

I said this when Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World came out in August, and I'll say it again. Watching this film was watching a director fully discover his talents. When I watched There Will Be Blood or Inception for the first time, it was like watching the great artist figure out exactly what he's best at. Paul Thomas Anderson had been making films for a decade, just so he could work himself up to the story of Daniel Plainview. Christopher Nolan had been making films for a decade, just so he could create a world where a man can be in multiple dream worlds (and it all makes sense). Edgar Wright had been making films for years just so he could work up to the world of Scott Pilgrim, a twentysomething slacker whose world is turned upside down when he falls in love. Explaining this movie is pointless; you're either in or you're out. You either buy the world of a guy who can fight people and, in killing them, turn them into gold coins, or you don't. I did, and loved this film. For the right person, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, held together by Wright's fluid and kinetic style along with great performances from Michael Cera, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, and Kieran Culkin, is the most entertaining film of the year. Even though I'm no video game nut (and being one does help), this was a truly rewarding experience.

5. True Grit

Joel and Ethan Coen go their own way. With any luck, now that True Grit has become their highest-grossing film by a long way, they'll be able to do so with extra funding. What True Grit may lack in quirk, it makes up for in sheer thrills. I said so before, but though I may not consider this to be one of their all-time best films (for that, we look to Fargo and No Country For Old Men), True Grit is just plain fun. Though there are twists along the way, it's also a simple story told with plenty of flair. The film is, like some of the other films on my list, anchored by great performances. Josh Brolin, Matt Damon, Jeff Bridges; all of these actors are their typical excellent selves. What makes the film truly unique is the performance of newcomer Hailee Steinfeld, who embodies the young Mattie Ross so completely without ever being precocious, a quality that's rarer and rarer these days among young actors. There are numerous great sequences in this film (the opening and closing 20 minutes are each amazing in their own ways), and I'm glad it's reaching a wide audience. You may come expecting an old-fashioned Western, but you will leave surprisingly touched and moved.

4. The Social Network

Yes, friends, someone doesn't think The Social Network is the best film of the year. All kidding aside, I get the love for this film. It features arguably Aaron Sorkin's best work (every time I listen to the "Do I have your full attention" scene, I find it hard not to love the film even more), the score is one of the year's best, David Fincher's direction is as superb as ever, and the performances, even from Justin freaking Timberlake, are amazing. What you must note here is that I'm not going to pick apart any flaws. My top four films are all, in some strange way, interchangeable. We've now entered the upper echelon of American cinema in the year 2010. I remain blown away that any movie about the creation of a website--any website--could be as fantastically entertaining as this. The marketing belied a smart sensibility, but it also tipped a movie that was going to be tense. Shocker of shockers: The Social Network IS a tense film. While I wouldn't go so far as some have to compare it to the political thrillers of the 1970s, there's a strange, unwavering suspense that seeps throughout every scene, every shot, and every line. Issues of truth or sexism aside, The Social Network is one of the best and most compelling "Rise to fame" films ever.

3. Toy Story 3

I do not cry at the movies. When I was younger, to maintain what I thought were appropriate appearances, I would try to make myself cry at movies where it seemed to be a correct response. But I just don't do it. So I don't know what to tell you about the final 20 minutes of Toy Story 3, where I was almost uncontrollably sobbing. Whatever sensible part of my brain I have was turned off as I watched Woody, Buzz, and friends face down certain doom in an incinerator straight out of hell, genuinely thinking that director Lee Unkrich and writer Michael Arndt were going to do it. They were going to kill off one of the beloved characters from this trilogy of films. Of course, the toys who we've followed from Andy's room to Pizza Planet to a day care all survive, but there was a moment or two where I thought they'd go the way of Bambi's mom. The final scene, where Andy hands off his toys for good, was equally as touching for other reasons. I don't want to sell the rest of the film short, from the adventurous opening to the Dali-esque touches in the toys breaking out of the day care center, but what truly solidifies Toy Story 3 as one of the best films of the year is that it sticks the landing. There are other trilogies, though very few, that have ended well, but the Toy Story trilogy is the best of them all. Lee Unkrich, a Pixar employee for years, can rest well knowing he gave Woody and Buzz the right send-off.

2. Inception

One of the best single moments in any film this past year comes right at the end of Inception. We see shots of Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Tom Hardy, and Ellen Page, all as they're waking up in their various dreamworlds. Page is stuck in a limbo world, but then she gives herself the appropriate kick to get out of that world, and into the next dream level, and into the next, and into the next. Gordon-Levitt and Hardy are able to join her in the same level, also giving themselves kicks. The almost blissful looks on their faces are echoed in the audience, as they wake up just when they're supposed to, and the impossible becomes real. Writer-director Christopher Nolan gave himself an amazing challenge with Inception: make an elaborate and detailed action film about dreams, and keep it grounded with a solid emotional core. Some people don't think he met every aspect of the challenge, but I was hooked from top to bottom. Leonardo DiCaprio, as the leader of a group of criminals of the mind, once again inhabits a damaged man mourning the loss of a wife whose hold on him is so profound, it weighs on everything he does. What Nolan does visually is matched by what he creates in the characters: a very real sense of loss and regret. Add that to some of the most jaw-dropping action (I'm still jealous of Gordon-Levitt for being in the zero-gravity sequence), and you have Inception, an impossible achievement.

1. Black Swan

There's something to be said for total and utter commitment to an idea. Each of the top four films on this list are committed to the very end to their stories, their characters, their ideas. For this and many other reasons, I offer up Black Swan, the best film from wunderkind director Darren Aronofsky, featuring the best female performance of the year (and also the best from its performer). What Black Swan is nothing short of redefining a movie star. Natalie Portman has been a star up until now; now, she is an actress. As Nina Sayers, a fragile ballerina given the role of a lifetime when she's cast as the lead in a new version of Swan Lake, Portman grabs us from the first second she's onscreen, dancing in a dream. Aronofsky is so adept at creating a world where we're not so much voyeurs into Nina's life as we are Nina herself that the final act doesn't feel unnatural or strange, it feels frighteningly appropriate. The other performances, from such actresses as Mila Kunis, Barbara Hershey, and Winona Ryder, are perfectly modulated. At no point do the performances feel false; each performance manages to be realistic even though we're viewing it through the prism of Nina's fractured state of mind. Some are going to tell you that Black Swan is a tough sit, but I haven't felt as enthralled by a film this year. Nothing about the movie feels false or implausible, because no fever dream is ever false. Black Swan is a glorious treasure to behold.

The Fighter

2010-12-30T15:11:00.002-07:00

I hate the phrase "selling out," but when I see what directors like Darren Aronofsky and David O. Russell are doing (or, in Aronofsky's case, are going to do), I get concerned. Russell has been a prickly helmer in the past, getting into shouting matches with George Clooney and Lily Tomlin. Whatever his work ethic, films like I Heart Huckabee's and Three Kings are singular experiences. I can't tell you that I fully understood I Heart Huckabee's, but I'm glad I saw it. Russell's next film will apparently be an adaption of a video game called Uncharted, starring Mark Wahlberg, Robert De Niro, and Joe Pesci. The latter two in a scene together should be interesting, but then the word about those scenes between De Niro and Harvey Keitel in Little Fockers wasn't too hot. The main problem is this: David O. Russell's directing a video-game adaptation? Of course, he's following up on The Fighter, a conventional film made a little less so simply by how energetic Russell's direction is.

Wahlberg stars as real-life boxer Micky Ward, a guy who'd love to be the champion but is being dragged down by his insane, deluded family. The film opens with Ward walking around Lowell, Massachusetts, his hometown, with his older brother, Dickie (Christian Bale, in an outsized enough yet exciting performance that's sure to get him Oscar heat). Dickie is being followed by an HBO documentary crew doing a piece about how crack addiction ruins people. Dickie thinks it's a documentation of his comeback to boxing (his high point was fighting Sugar Ray Leonard in the 1970s), and no one in his family wants to tell him the truth, or even wants to realize the truth. While the story--of how Micky is encouraged by his new girlfriend and his father to move away from his brother's and mother's influence if he wants to be a champ--is compelling, it also demands that I sit for two hours and watch some truly obnoxious people ruin a nice, if passive, guy.

The performances and direction are fine, if frequently calling attention to themselves. The issue is that the script is either so ridiculously contrived to make me furious, or the writers felt too beholden to what happened in real life to change anything for the movie. Not knowing anything about Ward's life and career, I can't tell you whether it's the former or latter here, but based on the clip of the real Micky and Dickie that appears during the end credits (proving how accurate Bale is in the film), I'm concerned that the writers were too worried about staying true to what happened. It's not a bad idea, but sometimes, the truth is so frustrating and convoluted that it's better to just make something up for what's already going to be intended as a heartwarming crowd-pleaser.

I'm at a bit of a loss to discuss The Fighter further, not because it's bad, but because I'm left a bit cold by it. I try not to go into movies with exorbitant expectations, so even though I know going into watching this movie (or The King's Speech, which I'll finally see tomorrow) that it has Oscar buzz and lots of critical raves, I try to watch the movie on its own merits. So I'm left with a well-made, if somewhat forgettable, boxing movie here. I can see why The Fighter is winning over Academy voters, and there are movies this year that I found more overrated by some critics (The Kids Are All Right is at the top of that list). But I know when a movie works for me, and when a movie just feels distant. The Fighter kept me at a distance from beginning to end. Some elements worked (Bale, Amy Adams in her best performance yet, and Melissa Leo playing a monstrous mother very well), some were just OK (Wahlberg does himself no favors by playing such a weak character, but is fine), and some are pointless (anyone need to tell me why the seven sisters exist in the film? Waste of space). I was hoping to be won over by The Fighter, and was left with nothing. So here's hoping for Uncharted...I guess.

Tron: Legacy

2010-12-30T14:34:00.002-07:00

Anything I say about Tron: Legacy needs to be preceded by a lengthy and loud round of applause for the marketing team at Walt Disney Pictures. To a very small group of people, making a sequel to Tron sounds like a great idea. What with the proliferation of the Internet in so many various ways, especially the concept that people reinvent themselves so completely online, following up on the Steven Lisberger film from 1982 that touched on these thoughts seems obvious. And, hey, Jeff Bridges just won an Oscar. He's back in a big way. However, the idea of making a sequel to a barely remembered Disney live-action film from the early 1980s is, on its face, insane. While Bridges is certainly doing well in this stage of his career, he's not a guaranteed box-office draw, and the most memorable thing about Tron to some people is that it's the reason for a great Treehouse of Horror gag ("Has anyone here seen Tron?" "No." "No." "No." "No." "Yes. Oh, I mean, no.").

Making a sequel to a movie from so long ago, a movie that so few people in the target demographic have even heard of, is borderline idiotic. That I wanted to see this movie--and I did--without having seen a single second of footage of the film in my lifetime is cause for celebration for Disney marketing, I'm sure. Mind you, if you watch Tron: Legacy with no prior knowledge of its predecessor, you won't be baffled. The plot is about as convoluted as most science-fiction or action-adventure stories, but the basics of the story are easy enough to pick up. In some ways, that is the biggest problem with Tron: Legacy. At best, it is a mishmash of every popular genre film of the past 40 years. Flashes of Star Wars (though with some fight scenes where the people involved look like they're holding actual lightsabers, it can be more than flashes), Batman Begins, throw in some Joseph Campbell, and you have something close to what Tron: Legacy looks like at its finest, which isn't that great. At its worst, Tron: Legacy is something truly dangerous for any tentpole blockbuster: dull.

So much about the movie could have worked, even if it dredged up familiar ideas. We open in 1989, with Sam Flynn, a tween, being told about the Grid, a virtual world created by Sam's father, Kevin (Bridges). Sam wants to go to the Grid, just like his dad, but before he can, Kevin disappears. Sam grows up into a loner who lives in a studio apartment that looks like a mini-warehouse and plays pranks on the company Kevin was the head of before he vanished, ENCOM. He's able to do so because he's also very rich; ENCOM is wildly successful and Sam is the chief shareholder, despite not wanting to have anything to do with the company. One night, Kevin's friend and ENCOM board member Alan (Bruce Boxleitner, reprising his role from the original film) informs Sam that he was paged at Kevin's old arcade, which has been out of commission for decades. Sam investigates, and by tapping out a few keystrokes, he's sucked into the world of the Grid. Once there, he's riding on lightcycles, fighting for his life with his identity disc, and discovering that the Grid is run by a physical version of Kevin's younger self, called Clu, while the real Kevin lives on the outskirts of the Grid with a pretty young woman who falls for Sam.

I haven't even gotten to the crux of the film, and I'm already nodding off a bit. Nothing about Tron: Legacy works as well as it should. There's a stunning lack of humor in the film, not just because the film takes itself very seriously, but also because what accounts for humor is just a lot of weak one-liners. How do we fix this? Well, Michael Sheen shows up for about 10 minutes and acts like a mix of Ziggy Stardust and Jack Sparrow, and there you are. Sheen is, at least, having plenty of fun, which is more than I could say for the lead of the film, Garrett Hedlund. I'd heard that Hedlund, who plays the adult Sam, was a complete charisma vacuum here, and I didn't end up seeing him as that bad of a performer. However, he just felt very disengaged. Of course, that's as much his fault as it is the director's and the writers' (Joseph Kosinski and Edward Kitsis & Adam Horowitz, respectively). While the majority of the visual effects are, if not unparalleled, really cool to look at, the story is uninteresting at its best moments.

Buckets of money were thrown at this film's look, and for the most part, it pays off. Kosinski makes his debut here, and knows how to provide interesting imagery. His work doesn't have enough of a distinctive mark to keep me excited for his next project, but there are far worse directors in the business. Kitsis and Horowitz, straight off of writing on Lost, create a similar combination of familiar tropes and idioms, but forgot to include compelling characters. The reason why Lost worked wasn't always the story, it was the characters stuck in that story. Sam Flynn, Kevin Flynn, Clu, Quorra (the love interest, essentially, not the "warrior" Olivia Wilde wants to dub her), and others should have been drawn better, given more heft and dimension. There's more excitement to be had in listening to the Daft Punk score for the film; not being too familiar with the band, I can't say where it stands with their other work, but it's the most flawless element of the movie.

The most glaring element of Tron: Legacy that does not work is Jeff Bridges. Now, in his current, elder state, Bridges is OK. For one reason or another, he's given to randomly talking like he's an old hippie, which is meant to be character-building. It doesn't work, and Bridges almost seems to struggle with the "radical" dialogue. The real misstep comes with Clu, also played by Bridges. While I give him credit for attempting such versatility, the fault lays with the people behind the supposedly groundbreaking effect of having a young and old Bridges in the same film, even interacting in one scene. Clu looks creepy. He looks creepier than anything Robert Zemeckis ever concocted for his motion-capture films, not just because of the so-called "uncanny valley" effect, but because Clu's lips look like dead slugs, not like human lips. Every other "program" in the Grid is played by an actual person. Clu is not a person. He's a creepy projection of what Bridges might have looked like in the 1980s.

There are other problems in the film (why hire Cillian Murphy to play the villain of the sequel for the original, and just have him say a few lines at the beginning?), but Tron: Legacy fails because it wants to be a 21st-century franchise for all the kids who didn't grow up with the original Star Wars films, but isn't able to provide enough action, intrigue, or lovable characters to make me demand a repeat journey. Also, even though it seems obvious that Disney wanted Tron to be a new franchise, I genuinely have no idea what they'd have done. Spoiler alert: the bad guys die at the end of this one. The Grid is safe again. The guy gets the girl. Where else do you go from here? Final note: the 3-D in the film should have been great. But the film takes place in such physically dark places that the technology is almost useless. I don't want to say I literally could not see some scenes in the film, but...it came real close. Considering that this movie was shot in 3-D, I was surprised and disappointed that the technology was a waste of time and money. I have no idea if Walt Disney Pictures was thrilled with the box-office performance of the film (my guess: they were just OK with it), but they should give their marketing team a big, fat bonus for pulling the wool over everyone's eyes.

The Best of 2010: True Grit

2010-12-27T16:36:00.002-07:00

It's rare for a director to be able to do what he or she wants all the time and get a sizable enough audience to watch their work. Most directors have to lower their standards, for at least one film, to get what they want done. A great example is Steven Soderbergh, one of the most independent directors in the country. He's made some unique movies, including a two-part epic about Che Guevara, a slowly paced remake of a Russian science-fiction film, and a 90-minute slice-of-life drama featuring no trained actors. He's also the capable helmer of the Ocean's trilogy of heist movies. Soderbergh can, almost like flipping a switch, change from being a studio director to being a personal director very quickly.

By now, most of the singular directors from the 1990s are becoming more ensconced in the studio system. David Fincher, two years ago, directed what was--to me, mind you--essentially a new version of Forrest Gump and was clearly most interested in the visual aspects of the story, as opposed to the story itself. This year, he directed the superlative The Social Network. It's a great movie, but with the notable exception of the greatest digital effect to ever appear in a movie (that would be making one actor--Armie Hammer--into twin brothers), Fincher's directorial stamp isn't as evident as in past works. David O. Russell, a notoriously unfriendly director, helmed The Fighter (still not seen by me), a movie which, by all counts, looks pretty conventional. While Darren Aronofsky just directed the amazing Black Swan, his next project is the next movie about Wolverine from X-Men.

Some directors have merged sensibilities--Christopher Nolan makes mainstream successes out of very complex projects--but only a few directors have escaped the studio system up until now. So it's pretty weird to watch True Grit, the latest film from Joel and Ethan Coen, the writing and directing duo who brought us Fargo, No Country For Old Men, Raising Arizona, and other quirky, inventive, film-buff-ready movies. True Grit, despite a few very weird touches (one such instance made more than a few other audience members actually say, "What the fuck?"), is the most mainstream, conventional film the Coens have ever made. I wouldn't say this is a serious concern for anyone worrying that these two have finally sold out. But by and large, partly because of the source material they've chosen, True Grit is a movie that mass audiences can get behind, and...it's also for the whole family.

Yeah, a Coen movie for the whole family sounds weird, but there it is. Not only is the movie, appropriately, rated PG-13, but it's a movie that kids would probably get a kick out of. I haven't read the Charles Portis novel that the film is based on, but either the Coens completely changed it to fit their sensibilities--though to a very minimal extent--or they're a perfect fit. I'm guessing it's the latter. The plot is not just simple for the Coens, it's just simple. Again, no complaining here, but there aren't nearly as many complications here as there have been in previous films. Mattie Ross is a 14-year old girl who's traveled to Fort Smith, Arkansas to collect the remains of her recently murdered father and exact revenge on the man who killed him. For the latter, she enlists a drunken, mean, grumpy U.S. Marshal to bring the murderer to justice, and is accompanied by a Texas Ranger who's also on the hunt for the killer, though for a different crime.

In some ways, working with source material that isn't as complex as their previous films gives the Coens full measure to have a lot of fun in creating a great Western in the 21st century that hearkens back to the Westerns from Howard Hawks and John Ford. Though their touch isn't as clear as in their previous works, the Coens work magic once again with their cinematographer, Roger Deakins (who has never won an Oscar, which is insane), to create yet another beautiful, spare, yet expansive vision of the Midwest just after the Civil War ended. Most notably, the film reunites the Coens with Jeff Bridges, who played the title role in 1998's The Big Lebowski, a very funny shaggy-dog take on the film noir. Bridges is light-years away from The Dude here, bringing to life Rooster Cogburn, the grouchy lawman who Mattie sees as the man for the job, because people tell her he has "true grit," the kind of no-nonsense quality that will make him unsympathetic to any criminal. Bridges can add Cogburn to the list of his memorable characters; Cogburn manages to seem singular in being drunk, but also being very clever.

The adults in this movie, though, all kind of play second fiddle to Hailee Steinfeld, the newcomer who portrays Mattie, the ostensible lead character of the film. Mattie is a humorless, unemotional, determined, and dogged character and Steinfeld possesses those qualities in earnest. In a key moment early on, proving how much she refuses to be left behind on the journey, Mattie has to ride her horse across a river; there's never a moment there or anywhere else in the film that rings false for Steinfeld. The story of how the Coens found her--the old "thousands of kids auditioned for the role, and here's who we cast" tale--isn't surprising, but it's genuinely charming to watch Steinfeld face off with Bridges, Matt Damon, Josh Brolin, and character actor Dakin Matthews (her confrontation with the latter in the first 20 minutes is a high point) and get the better of all of them.

It should come as no surprise that Damon and Brolin are great here, though the latter isn't in that much of the movie. Damon plays La Boeuf (pronounced "La Beef"), the arrogant young Texas Ranger who assumes that his way is the best, even if he hasn't thought things through. His constant bickering with Cogburn provides plenty of humor throughout the middle portion of the film. What's best about the film--aside from the many excellent sequences, including a climax that is just what you want from a good, old-fashioned Western--is that there's never any spelling out. We know by the end of the film that La Boeuf and Cogburn see Mattie as an adult, just like either of them. We never need to be told this, but we just know it. We know that the movie is about Mattie growing up into the mature middle-aged woman who narrates the film's opening and ending scenes. But we don't need to be told so.

Again, that may be partly thanks to the source material, but the Coens are smart enough to assume the audience is intelligent. One easy pitfall the movie avoids is making Cogburn a very obvious father figure for Mattie, who may want one after losing her real dad. Cogburn performs heroic acts in the film, but there's never anything melodramatic about these deeds. They are as plain and clear as he is. True Grit may not be the best film the Coens have ever made--and some people may have hoped that, with Bridges and Brolin returning to work with the directors, it would be--but it is the most entertaining and cinematic, following in a long line of truly filmic works. If anything, the best thing I can say about True Grit is that the Coen brothers have finally made a genre film without mocking its conventions. Instead of openly skewering Westerns, the Coens have made a rollicking and exciting addition to the canon.

Missing The Forest For The Trees

2010-12-22T20:39:00.002-07:00

It's almost Christmas time, which means it's time to go to the movies. I'm very excited to check out a few movies over the break, including The King's Speech, True Grit, The Fighter, Tron, and maybe a second look at Black Swan. We'll see about the last one, but the first four are guaranteed. I can only hope they live up to or past the hype. But as the holiday approaches, I wanted to share my bafflement at the mere existence of a few pieces of entertainment, including one notable exception that is making huge news while being on the stage.

How does a movie like Yogi Bear exist? I was listening to the awesome Comedy Death-Ray Radio podcast earlier this week, and one of the many guests for the show's Christmas episode was Andy Daly, a sly and funny improviser who may be best known for his role on Eastbound and Down. Daly was playing the character of a grizzled old stage veteran known for directing the Rockette show every year in New York, and squeezed a lot of blood from the "I'm a horny old man" stone. At the end of the show, as it always goes, the guests plugged whatever shows, movies, and so on they would appear in the near future. Daly's character ceded his time to Daly, and he said "Go see Yogi Bear," but for one reason or another, was unable to say it without laughing. That moment was, I'm guessing, going to be the funniest thing about the movie. (Also worth noting is that he said on Twitter that he's fine if people see it ironically.)

No one is going to see Yogi Bear expecting a classic of film, or even a classic of the genre. But why is it being made? "To make money, Josh. Did you just become aware of this?" Yes, I know, movies need to make money. That's the point. Who thought this movie would ever make money? "Let's see, how do we get the kids into the movies this Christmas?" "Well, how about turning Yogi Bear into a movie?" "Yogi Bear? The cartoon from the 1960s?" "Yeah, and let's get Dan Aykroyd to do the voice! Worked out so well for Bill Murray and Garfield!" What kid knows who Yogi Bear is? What adult is going to want to see a movie filled with artless pratfalls, scatalogical humor, and shitty computer animation? That this movie has made over 20 million dollars speaks to how bored people are that they can't just see something else, or not see a movie.

One can only hope for the same low grosses for Gulliver's Travels. Here again is a movie based on a product most kids aren't aware of. Some kids might know the image of a regular-sized man being tied to the ground by very tiny people, but that's about it. I give Fox a tiny bit of credit here, though. The executives must have been aware of this, so they got Jack Black as the lead and updated the story to modern times. Black may not be as daring and sneaky as he was a decade ago, but he's made lots of money in family-friendly films. But does anyone need to see this movie? The studio is clearly aware of how bad the movie is going to do, by moving the release date from December 22 (you know, today) to Christmas Day, giving them only a two-day weekend. Whatever else happens, the movie's not going to break out huge this weekend, because it'll have two days. There's a chance--small, mind you--that the crazy rush known as Black Swan will do better.

Whoever thought Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark was a good idea? Bringing Julie Taymor back to Broadway to direct a musical is a good idea. Bringing Bono and the Edge to write music and lyrics for a Broadway show is a good idea. Hell, I'd be willing to say that making a musical out of Spider-Man is...a unique idea. I still don't think it'd be any more interesting had the show not been plagued by myriad issues, injuries, etc., but the idea is somewhat different than everything else. But it's time to stop. When you have to implement a safety plan that consists of more than one person making sure that a harness holding a grown man over a 30-foot precipice more than 2 weeks into the show being performed for paying audiences, you have some serious problems. The problem isn't that the safety plan isn't actually a safety plan, it's that no one realized that, yes, having lots of people confirm that a guy won't break his ribs and do so in front of people with camera phones is a really smart and obvious idea.

Even if this was the first incident, how could this "plan" not have been put into effect already? And since this WASN'T the first incident, how did no one decide to go down the route of extra caution? On the one hand, reading people freak out that someone is going to die while performing the show is a bit silly. But then again, when you read about broken wrists, concussions, broken ribs, and internal bleeding, maybe there's something to the freak-out. Someone, obviously, could die. Reading Taymor's official statement about the injury from Monday night just makes me scratch my head; is she not aware of how serious an issue this is? The show's already ridiculously expensive, and you gotta think that a lot of people buying tickets now are almost doing so just so they can say they saw the eighth stuntman break his neck.

Isn't that a great way to wish you a happy holiday? Of course not, but seriously, have a happy holiday, whichever one you celebrate. I hope you get lots of cool presents.

The Best of 2010: Parks and Recreation

2010-12-21T18:44:00.002-07:00

People have short memories. It's hard to believe, for example, that 2010 is still the year of Conan O'Brien's career ending on NBC. It's been 11 months since the final episode of his version of The Tonight Show, but it feels a lot longer. In further nostalgia, Lost ended in 2010. In some reductive way, doesn't it feel like it's been years since we last saw Jack Shephard, John Locke, Ben Linus, and everyone else? My point here is that some of the best TV in 2010 came way before the summer. Party Down, Better Off Ted, Dollhouse, and even some shows that aren't actually canceled made the rounds in the late winter and early spring, and one truly notable program is coming back very soon, thankfully.

If Parks and Recreation had aired more episodes in the calendar year, I'd be hard-pressed to know whether this show or Community was the better NBC show, or the better comedy, period. As it stands, there were only 12 episodes of Parks and Recreation aired in 2010, while Community had far more, and has grown as exponentially in its first season and a half almost as much as Parks and Rec (for short, to its fans) did in its second season. This Office-style sitcom had its work cut out for it; the ads pretty much promised The Office starring Amy Poehler as the Michael Scott character. What's more, the show featured Rashida Jones, previously of The Office, and there was even the potential for a Jim/Pam relationship between Jones' nurse Ann and Paul Schneider's Mark Brendanowicz. What went wrong in the first season is that the show had no consistent tone. There were flashes of potential, but very few strong episodes or even storylines. I have no idea what happened in between seasons one and two, aside from the writers being more focused, but it paid off.

As a season, Parks and Recreation's second goes alongside the first season of Arrested Development and the second season of its spiritual predecessor, The Office, as one of the best seasons of a comedy series in the past decade, at least on network television. Leslie Knope, the deputy director of the Pawnee, Indiana Parks and Recreation department, was no longer a one-dimensional, blinded obsessive focused on unattainable goals. Her superior, Ron Swanson, was less of a Dwight Schrute mimic and a more fully formed and fully realized breakout character. If there was a flaw with the season (and a minute one, to be fair), it was the Mark/Ann relationship. In the six episodes that comprised the first season, Ann was part of the main group of characters because of a literal pit that Leslie wanted to transform into a local park. Ann lived next to the pit and wanted the project to move forward, especially since it would give her something to do aside from avoiding her current layabout boyfriend, Andy. Once she and Andy broke up, and the pit got filled, what purpose did she serve?

Now, being a fan of Rashida Jones, I didn't want to see her go, but the writers didn't give her a lot of material, aside from a hilarious setpiece where she and Poehler pretended to be on a date to soothe Leslie's jangled nerves. The third season, which begins on January 20 (and since the show's on Netflix Instant, you have zero excuses for not watching), has jettisoned Brendanowicz as a character; while Schneider was a nice counterpoint to the insanity going on in the show, he served even less of a purpose, since Jones was more charismatic and had better chemistry with the other performers. In Schneider's place are Adam Scott and Rob Lowe, who entered the series at the end of last season as state-government fixers in town to perform a complete upheaval of the Pawnee government, including the Parks and Recreation department. Whatever ends up happening to the main cast--also including Aziz Ansari, Aubrey Plaza, Nick Offerman, and the wild Chris Pratt--know that Parks and Recreation has become as strong a comedy as The Office ever was.

Why has this show not done as well as other NBC programs? Part of this is thanks to NBC deciding to give the series a break so Outsourced could air after The Office this fall. When the show returns, it will air after The Office (featuring Steve Carell in his final episodes) for the first time, and now is the best time to check it out. If you watched the first season, you may be feeling trepidation. "Wasn't this the show that tried and failed to be another Office?" Yes, it did try and fail. What Parks and Recreation has become is a whole new beast, a show that keeps some of the familiar awkwardness with moments of great, gut-busting humor while keeping fresh all the time. It's an exciting time for comedy, because there are mere days until the return of NBC's most assured entry in the genre in quite some time. Get ready. Parks and Recreation is back, and hopefully better than ever.

The Best of 2010: Mad Men

2010-12-15T19:33:00.002-07:00

Nowadays, saying that Mad Men is a great television series, arguably the best in the medium, is a cliche. In the same way that people bestowed praise on The Sopranos (a show for which this program's creator, Matthew Weiner, wrote), they're doing the same for this 1960s'-set drama taking place in the world of advertising in New York City. By not having HBO for so long, and almost wanting to avoid the hype, I always got a little annoyed at the fact that every year at the Emmys, The Sopranos would walk away with some gold. With Mad Men, I get kind of crushed if it doesn't win. Now I know what it's like to watch one of the hip shows, one of the zeitgeist-y shows.

But none of that matters. There are some shows that tap the zeitgeist that I just don't get. I loathe Glee, and I've been in and out of intrigue with True Blood, a show whose first season was probably the best it's ever going to be at attempting to visualize the trashy novel you read at the beach on vacation. But Mad Men, despite getting numbers that would be anemic on any broadcast network (The Walking Dead, AMC's new series, got more than twice the viewers on a given night), is a seriously brilliant TV series. The stories are usually compelling, though some are more intriguing than others (but isn't that how it always is?). What works so well with this show is twofold: the performances (and, in connection, the multilayered characters) and the unexpected bouts of humor.

That the show is a visual feast should go without saying by this point. A show about the 1960s, set in the era, featuring very specific references, doesn't work if it doesn't look the part. OK, it might survive for a while if the ratings are high enough, but critics wouldn't go crazy for a show that fails at being an accurate portrait of the decade. So, yeah, this show is visually sumptuous. But that's almost the norm now; I can't praise the show for doing what it always does so well, because...it does it so, so well without ever trying to show off. In each season, including the fourth (possibly the best of the series so far, but I don't know for sure), the acting has been top-notch. The first season introduced pretty much everyone to Jon Hamm, the square-jawed prototypical male known as Don Draper. Draper is, through his actions, a spectacularly unlikable person. He's not Walt from Breaking Bad, but his charm belies his mostly horrendous deeds. Adultery is like second nature to Don; it's not that, at least originally, he doesn't love his wife. He does love her. But she only has one part of his heart, and he needs some satisfaction. Hamm manages, by being so charming and intelligent in his choices, to make Don a compelling antihero we still want to root for.

Hamm is one part of the excellent ensemble, though. There's Elisabeth Moss, as Peggy Olson; Moss and Olson have grown so much over the first four seasons that it's kind of shocking to see how much she's grown since the first episode, when she was a bright-eyed new secretary. The times have changed, and in "The Suitcase," a mid-season duet between Don and Peggy, Moss has moments of high and low emotion (and Hamm gets to shout the immortal comeback, "THAT'S WHAT THE MONEY IS FOR!"). Only after three-plus seasons, as other critics have pointed out, could this episode even exist, let alone work as well as it does. John Slattery, Rich Sommer, Jared Harris, and more have all been excellent, trying to keep Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce together as an agency while trying to contain or maintain Don as an employee, not just a force of nature. It's hard not to see the ensemble of Mad Men as the best television has had to offer in many years, if only because there are so many actors on the show, and they never fail. Even January Jones, whose character is almost thankless to play, does an excellent job of playing a child in an adult's clothing, as Don's frustrated ex-wife. Finally, Kiernan Shipka, as Don's oldest child, Sally, was amazing this season. Shipka had to play so many different notes; child actors can be so awkward, but at no point does Shipka's performance ring false.

Last, the humor. It's hard for a person's death and the aftermath to induce gales of laughter, but I dare you to not laugh your head off at the dark, dark humor surrounding the shocking death of Miss Blankenship, the secretary installed at Don's office after dire circumstances cause him to need someone at his desk who won't tempt him sexually. Blankenship is, in fitting the description, decrepit. Her death is sudden, and the frantic attempts by the office folk to hide her from a prospective client is great silent comedy punctuated by the following line: "That's my mother's!" This is the kind of dry wit that permeates Mad Men, a show that manages to balance the blackest drama with even the tiniest bit of a laugh, just to alleviate things, to give us a moment to breathe. The fifth season of Mad Men should be coming sometime next year, and I eagerly await its return. When it's on, and when it's off, it maintains its hold on being the best show on television.

The Best of 2010: Black Swan

2010-12-14T19:39:00.002-07:00

It's odd that an ostensible ballet movie should be exhilarating, but there you go. Of course, Black Swan is many things, but it's not always just a ballet movie. If The Wrestler, the previous film from this film's director, Darren Aronofsky, is a film set in the world of wrestling while not being an in-depth portrayal of its ins and outs, so it goes for Black Swan and ballet. What beauties and wonders there are to behold in this film, a propulsive descent into madness that ranks as Aronofsky's finest film, thanks in no small part to an excellent and dazzling lead performance from Natalie Portman.

Portman's real-life career could easily mirror that of the lead character in Black Swan, Nina Sayers. Sayers is a young ingenue at a nameless but highly prestigious ballet company in New York City, and it's implied at the beginning of the film that she's been toiling in the background for a long time while being exceptional in her technical proficiency. Lucky for her that the director of the ballet, Thomas, is opening the new season with a production of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, the dark fairy tale where a beautiful, virginal princess is turned into a swan and watches as her beloved prince is seduced by a black swan. Nina can perform the White Swan in her sleep, but can she pull off the role of the Black Swan? Can she push aside her innocence while maintaining her perfectionist streak? What's with the new girl in the company, who not only kind of looks like her but appears to be flirting with her or trying to sabotage her? And what are those scratches on her shoulder that keep getting worse and worse?

The theme of questioning reality has been predominant in film for many years, but there's almost been an explosion of it in 2010, what with such notable films as Shutter Island and Inception (though this one, of course, has no role for Leonardo DiCaprio). There's something much different about Black Swan, a movie that manages to be consistently daring and shocking, while never straying from the little details and clues that are very clear to see, if you're looking for them. Of course, the whole point of the film is misdirection and Aronofsky, through his fluid direction and subtly fast pace, is able to obfuscate what's going on. This is not meant as a criticism, but more proof that the marriage of director and story are better here than anything else Aronofsky's done.

Unlike The Wrestler, Black Swan never stops moving, just like Nina in her climactic spin around the stage before her Black Swan falls to her death. In the moment, nothing really falls apart, because you're so caught up in Nina's struggle. She's fighting most against herself and her mind, but she fights with her mother (Barbara Hershey), a stage mother to end stage mothers. Nina's mother gave up her career to be the mother of a great ballet dancer, and her desperation has frayed her very face and her patience to their edges. All around Nina infuse her with fear and paranoia. What's her mother really want? What does Thomas want, a great performance on the stage or a great performance in bed? Who is Lily (Mila Kunis) and why is she trying to destroy her chances at fame? At all turns, Nina is beset upon by her own weaknesses, but in attempting to overcome them, she destroys herself.

You have seen Natalie Portman before, but you have never seen her like this. I don't know what I was expecting from this film, but for some reason, I was truly blown away by her galvanic, go-for-broke acting here. Letting every minute feeling wash over her face and register in every pore, Portman is honest, open, and frightening as someone who just wants to be perfect. Hershey, Kunis, and Vincent Cassel (as the ballet company director) are all fine here, but it's Portman's show and Aronofsky does her every possible favor by having her appear on screen for just about every single second. We're never away from Nina; even if she's not literally on screen, chances are that what we're seeing is through her point of view.

Black Swan has its roots in the arthouse, but it also has roots in pulp fiction, in horror, in B-movie trash. The word lurid is an appropriate one to describe this film, but it's a compliment. Black Swan is a boiling brew of every horror-movie trope, every portrait-of-an-artist cliche, and Aronofsky revels in every possible outcome. For some people, Black Swan is not going to work. I can see that. Some people are going to come to geek out at watching two beautiful young women have sex (and those people, in that specific scene, will probably not be disappointed), and some people are going to expect an austere ballet movie. Black Swan, like all great movies, asks you to submit to its pleasures almost instantaneously. There's not a point halfway through where you'll realize you're hooked; you'll probably know from the beginning, even if you're not as in love with the film as I was. Black Swan is a fascinating, absorbing, and thrilling ride, and one of the very best films of 2010.

The Best of 2010: The Red Shoes and Black Narcissus

2010-12-11T14:52:00.003-07:00

There will come a day when Blu-ray discs are thought of as old hat in the same way that we now consider videotapes and will soon consider DVDs. Of course, when that day comes, it won't be a day for mourning, but there is part of me that wonders how much better the quality of an image can get. I'm not foolish enough to think that there are even further lengths to which we can improve colors, lighting, and so on. That said, Blu-rays seem to have opened our eyes up in such a way that future technology can seemingly only dream of. Two examples of the format at its best were released this summer from the Criterion Collection, now reissuing some of its older releases in the exponentially worthy Blu-ray: The Red Shoes and Black Narcissus.

I rarely buy DVDs and Blu-ray discs (I do still consider buying the former, it's true) without first having seen the movie or TV show, but the few times that it's happened, I've mostly found myself on the winning side of things. Most of you probably haven't seen either The Red Shoes or Black Narcissus, two of the great British films of all time--well, scratch that, two of the best films of all time, period. More people have over the years, partly thanks to Martin Scorsese publicly embracing the works of the filmmakers behind these films, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. Back when they made films in Great Britian, they were known as the Archers, having made other classics like A Matter of Life and Death and The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp. All four of these films are excellent, but the Blu-ray transfers of both The Red Shoes (which is getting lots of name-checks with the recent release of Black Swan, a film which at least has been somewhat influenced by the older film) and Black Narcissus are remarkable.

What makes the transfer so notable and so welcome is that here are two older films that may not be as well-known in their use of color by the masses as, say, The Wizard of Oz or Gone with the Wind, but deserve the upgrade anyway. Chronologically, Black Narcissus comes first, having been released in 1947. The Red Shoes came the year afterwards, and their shared, dynamic, and breathtaking use of color remain as vital today as they did in the 1940s. I've waxed rhapsodic about the two films previously on this blog, but make no mistake: you may not find the prospect of a movie about nuns or a movie about ballet exciting, but you should ignore the little voice casting such doubts. The films are not just marked by compelling, twisted, unique stories, but also by notable performances from Deborah Kerr, Moira Shearer, and Anton Walbrook.

But first and foremost, the color. Oh, the colors in these films. Nuns in India and a ballerina in Europe offer Powell and Pressburger very different, expansive palettes with which to paint. The cinematography in both films, from Jack Cardiff, is frequently jaw-dropping. Consider, when you look at either or both, in their stunning new upgrades, that these movies are from the 1940s. Consider that the bare minimum of effects were used, and they were seamless when utilized. The Criterion Collection is almost always going to live up to your expectations. They do exactly that with The Red Shoes and Black Narcissus. Over 60 years have passed since their releases, and they still hold a shocking power today. Kudos to Criterion for updating both films' discs. Now go check them out.

The Best of 2010: The Social Network

2010-12-09T17:52:00.002-07:00

For the most part, the Internet is not exciting. The Internet can be fun, but mostly only if you're playing a game. The Internet can be illuminating, educating, stimulating in various ways, but I rarely consider it exciting. Creating a Web site is tough work, as is maintaining such a site. Creating a social networking site is even tougher and more tech-heavy; even if that site turns out to be Facebook, how much intrigue can there be in its beginnings? The book on which The Social Network, one of the best films of the year, is based is called The Accidental Billionaires. Written by Ben Mezrich, the book details one side of Facebook's creation when there are, of course, many sides to the story. The site's founder and most famous name, Mark Zuckerberg, refused to participate in the book, and who can blame him? Though it's not a very well-done hit piece, the book is still pretty much a hit piece. Who wants to help themselves get taken down?

Billionaires focuses instead on Eduardo Saverin, the young man who was there from the beginning with money to help Zuckerberg make Facebook a reality, but ended up being pushed out as the site expanded to unthinkable heights. Saverin makes an interesting case, but even in the book, which I found alternately compelling and wildly boring, I kept thinking that he didn't have much to complain about. To quote a line from the already-classic screenplay from Aaron Sorkin, "If you were the inventors of Facebook, you'd have invented Facebook." Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but Saverin--pushed out for being too reticent, essentially--comes off as weak-willed even though he was acting this way...ABOUT FACEBOOK. What kind of loony doesn't jump on that opportunity?

The movie kind of has this problem as well, but director David Fincher and Sorkin embrace this, as opposed to just let it slide. No one is a hero in The Social Network; Saverin, Sean Parker, Zuckerberg; all are human, flawed, and all are capable of minor triumphs that give us reason to cheer. Of course, that's mostly thanks to the beauty of the dialogue in the film, which manages to remind us of Sorkin's past work in films and TV while sounding fresh and new. Jesse Eisenberg, in particular, is a gift to dialogue-driven writers. Even more so than in his previous roles, Eisenberg is breathless, hyperactive, nerdy, and perfect as the fictionalized Mark Zuckerberg. While the script jumps fluidly around in time, from before Facebook was even a gleam in his eye to dual depositions after the site went big, Eisenberg is a constant, effortless in his geekily arrogant outlook: he's the smartest man in any room, and doesn't even want to assume he has to deal with anyone who works slower than he does.

Eisenberg's is the performance that stands out even now, though Justin Timberlake and Andrew Garfield, as Parker and Saverin, respectively, are both excellent in divergent roles. Parker is presented here as nothing short of a personification of temptation. Wouldn't it be nice to live in California? All the girls. All the booze. All the connections. Just come with Sean Parker, and look the other way as he gets even more lost in a drug-fueled fantasy built of paranoia. Saverin is the soul of the film, even if that soul gets lost because it shouldn't keep trying to jump off the Facebook train. Garfield gets righteous, he gets indignant, he gets angry, and he still manages to be somewhat unlikable, partly just because he's a dumb college kid who doesn't know how quickly he's grown up.

The Social Network is likely going to get a lot of Oscar nominations, and I'll be honest, if it takes Best Picture, I'll be happy. The film may or may not be a generational milestone, as some critics have claimed. What the movie is is exciting. It's entertaining. It's intense--thanks partly to the score by Trent Reznor, which is awesome in its immense foreboding tones--and it's hilarious. The Social Network manages to be a movie about everything that shouldn't work on film, and is not only an important film but a fun one. Even with the Great Gatsby-esque touches thrown in by Sorkin and Fincher at the end, The Social Network is a truly great piece of cinematic style and entertainment.

The Best of 2010: The 40-Year Old Boy

2010-12-08T18:05:00.002-07:00

Everyone loves an underdog. In some ways, nothing is more American than an underdog. Isn't that what this country was built on? The little guy triumphing over seemingly insurmountable odds? One such underdog is Mike Schmidt. No, not the former third baseman of the Philadelphia Phillies (though that is his nickname, for the obvious reasons). No, the Mike Schmidt I'm talking about is the voice behind the best comedy podcast available on iTunes right now, The 40-Year Old Boy. First, let's get something out of the way: there are an insane amount of great comedy podcasts right now. Comedy Death-Ray Radio, Jordan Jesse Go, Never Not Funny, Superego, Stop Podcasting Yourself, The Smartest Man in the World, WTF. The list goes on and on. All of these are hilarious shows you should be listening to. But the premier comic podcast is The 40-Year Old Boy.

The concept is deceptively simple: Schmidt, a stand-up comedian, does a weekly podcast in the kitchen of his producer, burlesque dancer/producer Lili Von Shtupp ("Lili Von Who?" "Von Shtupp." Sorry, can't help myself.). She will laugh boisterously at his self-described "pinwheeling around", he will riff on anything that comes to his mind, and that's the show each week. Simple, but The 40-Year Old Boy is always surprising. Each week, there are a few guarantees. We will hear Mike swear (yes, like most of the great comedy podcasts, this one's explicit, so suck it up, folks). We will hear Lili laugh. We will hear Mike and his friend/podcast artist Mex do fake commercials as bridges in between stories. But, oh, those stories.

The 40-Year Old Boy has been going on for two-plus years. The first two years' worth of shows are available on Mike's website, mikeschmidtcomedy.com, and I would highly urge you to consider buying one or both seasons, after giving a new episode a sample. The money may seem daunting, but the amount of entertainment, funny and caustic, outrageous and realistic, raw and surprisingly emotional, is worth it. What happens to Mike is simply an exaggerated version of your life or mine. I can say with all confidence that I've never wound up just hanging out in a neighbor's house due to some low-grade sneakiness, only to nearly be caught by the neighbor's mother during lunchtime. But Mike has, and his intricately detailed remembrance is not only vivid enough to put you right there with Schmidt's younger self, but it's these little things that end up causing the stories to pack a shocking punch.

Like all of us, Mike Schmidt has highs and lows. His lows, however, can sometimes include goading a douchebag to get into a fist fight....on the freeway. And his highs have included doing a stand-up routine specifically for Quentin Tarantino (who thought he was awesome, by the way). One of the best stories of the show is also one of the most powerful, the most heartbreaking. For those who don't know, Mike used to be one of the co-hosts on Never Not Funny, the fast-paced comic podcast hosted by Jimmy Pardo and Matt Belknap. Mike appeared on the first 60 episodes of the long-running show, but he and Pardo, previously road comics and great friends, had enough of a falling-out that they parted ways as amicably as possible. Fans of Never Not Funny know of the Pard-Cast-A-Thon, a 12-hour event on Black Friday where the comedian does a charity version of the show to raise money and awareness for children suffering from a cleft palate. Last year, Mike relayed in a layered, painful fashion his misbegotten attempt to essentially crash the Pard-Cast-A-Thon. He had good intentions, only wanting to be part of the crowd, and part of him how potentially bad the idea was.

It was hard to listen to, but it was also refreshing. I listen to a lot of podcasts (and, shameless plug, now am part of one, Entertained, which you can find at entertained.podbean.com) and very few feature hosts or guests as willing to cut themselves open and show you everything that can be shown...through audio. Mike Schmidt does this every week, and does so in the most entertaining way possible. He's never shy about his faults, nor is he shy about throwing critiques around to every topic imaginable. His Pard-Cast-A-Thon story was immensely sad, mostly because it was yet another time when all I wanted was for the underdog to triumph. At the end of this story, Mike didn't end up crashing the actual event, but got as close as he could before being warned off by a fellow comedian. What made the story so relatable, so real, is that we've all been there. We've all made decisions we know are bad, dumb, whatever; we make these decisions, and even in the moment, we know they're bad decisions. We've all wanted to be included, and we've all harbored resentment for no good reason (and acknowledged it as such). Schmidt is able to elucidate his feelings so eloquently, so rapidly, and so intelligently on a week-to-week basis that listening to The 40-Year Old Boy is tantamount to the podcast having a good reason to exist.

All of this said, I don't want to lose the main point. What's the main point? A) The 40-Year Old Boy is one of the best podcasts available. B) The 40-Year Old Boy is a wildly hilarious show. One week, he could tell the Pard-Cast-A-Thon story, and the next, he'll tell us all about his experience being a bouncer at an Insane Clown Posse concert (hint: it didn't go well). One week, we'll hear about his experience with Tarantino, and the next, he'll talk about getting his wife's former boss angry at him. Each week, there is but one promise: the 40-Year Old Boy will return with another bracing, brash, and brilliant tale full of insight, incisive wit, and intelligence. Give the show a listen; as I always say with great pieces of entertainment, you do yourself a disservice by not giving it a try.

The Best of 2010: Terriers

2010-12-07T19:16:00.002-07:00

Every year, there's at least one show. I assume that TV Guide didn't come up with the phrasing "The Best Show You're Not Watching," but the term applies even more with the proliferation of hundreds of cable channels, various legal and illegal outlets on the Internet, DVRs, and Netflix. Back in the 1990s, a show dubbed the best that no one was watching could often get as many as 8 million viewers. The idea that a show that has 8 million people watching live is something that the proverbial "You" are not watching is quaint; frankly, it was even kind of quaint in the mid-1990s. These days, one of the biggest shows on network TV, one of the most frequently talked-about shows on TV, is The Office. On a good day, it gets 8 million viewers.

With each passing year, though, the term is being bandied about more accurately. Last year, in terms of the actual calendar and the TV season, two notable shows that no one seemed to be watching were Dollhouse and Better Off Ted. These shows, by the end, were struggling to get 3 million people watching live. 2010, however, has a new low in viewership for shows people weren't watching. If you haven't gotten tired of me mentioning Terriers, the FX detective drama that just ended its first season last Wednesday, you may take heart that the show was just canceled. Before I get into why the show was so great, and honor it as one of the best shows on TV in 2010, let's get a couple of things clear.

First, while I wish I could be angry at FX in the same way that I was angry at Fox and ABC for letting Dollhouse and Better Off Ted die (why renew shows you have no interest in marketing?), I can't. The ratings for Terriers were embarrassingly low for pretty much any network. The finale got a grand total of 784,000 viewers, in total, and that made it the show's second-highest-rated episode of 13. There is no question that the network had zero justification to bring back the show if the ratings would stay the same. What's more, FX is fast becoming a network that could dominate the cable world. The quality of its shows are pretty much unparalleled. Terriers, Louie, Justified, The Shield, and others are truly great TV shows. If I knew FX was replacing Terriers with crap, I'd get angry. I can't.

But Terriers was a great show; the only solace I can take is that, yeah, the series got 13 episodes to tell a complete story; for those who think it's even more pointless to watch the show now that it's gone, know that the writing staff (including Ted Griffin, Shawn Ryan, and Tim Minear, all fine writers) got the beginning, middle, and ending into the season. While a few threads were left vaguely open, none were frustrating in their conclusions. You can dive into the series when it is released on DVD and Blu-ray. I'd go so far as to say that it's worth buying without having seen a single second, but then, I'm biased. For the uninitiated, Terriers was--and boy, do I hate using the past tense--a show about Hank Dolworth (Donal Logue) and Britt Pollack (Michael Raymond-James), an ex-cop and ex-thief, respectively. Hank and Britt had a tiny private-detective outfit in Ocean Beach, California, a city near San Diego. Mostly, they work small jobs, the smallest you can think of. When one of Hank's old buddies dies, however, the two friends stumble into a huge case, filled with powerful men who protect even more powerful people and a threat to destroy the little city.

Terriers works best because it's both procedural and serial. The show is never as serialized as an episode of Lost, nor is it as much a procedural as an episode of Law and Order. What the show could potentially lack in an overarching story, it makes up for with sometimes disturbing and always compelling weekly stories, and a dynamic duo (yes, I just wrote "dynamic duo") in Logue and Raymond-James. The two men were friends in real life, and the chemistry shows on screen. The banter they have is not only witty, but it's real. More often than not, movies and TV shows that feature excessive banter don't work because the people talking don't actually seem like friends. Not so here. The best part of the show--and pretty much everything works, mind you--is that we're rooting for these two guys, because they're guys we'd want to hang around with, guys we'd want on our side when things are down.

Other elements of the show work better here than they normally would. Hank's got an ex-wife and ex-partner, both of whom try to hate him but just can't, because as self-destructive as he can be, he's charming and honest and bracing in ways that most people just aren't. Britt has a committed girlfriend who knows about his past (whereas in other shows, she'd find out during the season and fall out with him), and kind of gets off on it initially. There are parts of the show that could have been stronger. Hank and Britt have a lawyer on their side, but she's only in a handful of episodes, and serves only slight purposes as a character. That said, Logue and Raymond-James are working alongside a fine cast, all as effortlessly entertaining as the next.

Terriers was a great show, one with nasty villains (an important SoCal lawyer played by character actor Michael Gaston is the oily baddie) we want to see ruined and destroyed, one with weekly cases that manage to duck and weave thanks to the sharp writing, and one with great leads. We can argue until the cows come home if the marketing and title are to blame (though the president of FX would disagree, I'm sorry to tell him that the answer there is probably a big, fat "Yes"), but what matters isn't even that Terriers is gone. I can be sad, as can the other sub-million viewers, but what makes me happy is that another great TV series existed and will live forever, passed on to friends, neighbors, coworkers, so every one of us can cherish another show people caught just when it was too late.

Tangled

2010-12-05T10:40:00.002-07:00

Goals are more important than we give them credit for, when it comes to popular entertainment. Books, television shows, movies, graphic novels; all of these will sink if the main characters of these stories do not have clear goals that drive action. Obviously, not every protagonist is going to have clear goals, even half-formed ones; sometimes, it's the antagonist's goals that drive a story. But think of how many stories' action can be summed up in one sentence, describing a goal. "I want to go home to my kids." "I want to rule the kingdom." "I want to go back to my aunt and uncle." "I want as much power as I can have."

Now, not every story has unique goals; how many of the ones I just quoted could apply to multiple movies, books, and so on? Something that frustrated me about the new Disney animated feature (their 50th) Tangled is that the main character's goals do not drive the story, leaving her essentially passive. Granted, Rapunzel (which really should have been the film's title) is far less passive than, say, Snow White. (Quick, what's Snow White's goal? The answer is, in the short term, to remain alive, and that's only because the Queen's goal--to be the most beautiful woman in the world--comes with the price of killing the fair maiden.) Rapunzel's goal is not only clear, it's stated in full: she wants to leave the tower where she's been kept for pretty much every day of her life to see floating lanterns that happen to be set into the sky on her birthday for a very specific reason.

So what's wrong with this goal? As I said, it's clear and Rapunzel will do just about anything to achieve it once she realizes that she can be helped to her ends. The problem is that Tangled is a movie driven by the antagonist, Mother Gothiel. This old crone, at the beginning of the film, stumbles upon a magical flower that heals wounds and gives new life to anything as long as you sing a specific lullaby, meaning that the old lady can remain healthy and beautiful. Once the flower is used to save the queen of a nearby kingdom as she gives birth, the power transfers to the baby Rapunzel, who Mother Gothiel kidnaps for her own. So there's no story if Mother Gothiel's goal--to be beautiful forever--isn't achieved. Rapunzel only has the goal of leaving because someone wanted her to stay.

I know, I know. I'm thinking too much about a cartoon, right? Here's the thing. Recently, the head of Disney said, in an interview, that the company is going to put a full marketing push behind Toy Story 3 so it could potentially win the Best Picture Oscar. He asked why a Disney movie hadn't ever won the big prize. And he's right. Why not a Disney movie? Why not, more specifically, a Pixar movie? Oscar bloggers may throw up their hands in disdain and disgust, but there is always the possibility that, yeah, a movie that isn't in live-action isn't as good as a....ergh....cartoon. I loved Toy Story 3 and will be glad to see it presumably get nominated for Best Picture. I doubt it will win--mostly because of the anti-animation bias in the Academy--but why shouldn't Disney try for it? If they want to have their movies taken seriously, I say go for it. But that means I take their movies seriously, too.

We all should, really. I can, of course, just say that Tangled is a well-done animated movie and a fine successor to most other "princess" movies, but what kind of critical analysis does that amount to? There are plenty of things to like about Tangled, but it left me a little cold, and part of that is because of a relatively passive lead character. Speaking of which, you can watch all of the trailers you like, and you'll still be woefully underprepared for what Tangled actually is. Why should it be called Rapunzel, for example? Well, she's the main character. Flynn Rider--a name so silly I was glad to find out it was fake--is a fine, dashing romantic lead for Rapunzel to play off of, but he's not the main character. Flynn is also a much better male lead for the "princess" movies than most of the old-school Disney men, but he's still just playing opposite a girl with a lot of hair.

The voice cast, while feeling a bit more sparse than in recent Disney animated features (of the five main characters, two do not talk), is well-used, especially Broadway veteran Donna Murphy as the villain. Unlike most of the classic Disney villains, Mother Gothiel is more realistic and creepy, specifically because she's the most passive-aggressive villain in a cartoon I've seen. Her song in the film (yes, there are songs, from Alan Menken and Glen Slater, most of which are nice but unmemorable) comes early and is one of two highlights. Part of what makes "Mother Knows Best" so entertaining is Murphy's going-for-it-all performance, but part of it is the snappy wit in the lyrics, calling back memories of Menken's collaborations with the late Howard Ashman.

Mandy Moore, as Rapunzel, is a fine addition to the Disney princesses, but her character's most interesting scene to play is the one she has immediately after leaving her tower, as she vacillates between being exhilarated by the outside world and excoriating herself for being a bad daughter. Zachary Levi, as Flynn, is charming and humorous while also being kind of bland. This is a fault of the character--who starts out as a cunning rogue thief, and guess where he's going to end up by the end of the story--but Levi is as likable as he is on NBC's "Chuck." The other cast members include Ron Perlman (as one of Flynn's fellow thieves), Jeffrey Tambor and Brad Garrett (as a couple of thugs who are randomly given a song to sing midway through the film), and comedian Paul F. Tompkins. All are appropriately cast and entertaining, though as a comedy fan, I'd have loved to hear more from Tompkins, as a lush of a thug.

Disney has said that Tangled is their last princess movie, and with it approaching 100 million dollars after only a week and a half, I'm sure they're trying to figure out how to erase that statement from the public record. Having said that, I'll end this review with a bit of an impassioned defense of their most recent animated feature, The Princess and the Frog. For some reason, The Princess and the Frog has been forgotten or simply ignored by most Disney fans. The movie didn't do as well as Disney had hoped, but it remains one of the most exciting, charming pieces of animation in the past decade, outside of Pixar's work. The voice cast is eminently entertaining (Bruno Campos, in particular, delivers a great performance), the music and songs are as toe-tapping as anything from the Menken-Ashman era, and the hand-drawn animation is eye-popping and colorful. Finally, Tiana, the princess of the film, has a very clear goal: she wants to own a restaurant. Her being turned into a frog is a big accident, but from the beginning of the movie, we know who Tiana is, as she is defined by her goal. Most of the Disney princesses do not have such clear goals (Belle, Jasmine, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty are among them), and for a movie as entertaining and as clear-headed as The Princess and the Frog to get ignored by audiences and the Disney top brass is disappointing. Tangled, meanwhile, is a good movie, a cute movie, and one that kids will like. But Disney has done, and can still do, better.

Fascinating

2010-12-02T21:05:00.002-07:00

Presuming that it's still doing well, I genuinely don't know what would compel people to shop at a furniture store called The Dump. Sorry, wait, let me try that again...The Dump! For those of you who do not live in Phoenix--again, I presume this is a local store--there's a new-ish furniture store in the Phoenix area called The Dump. Every ad, radio or TV, uses the same middle-aged male announcer, always gleefully emphasizing the word "Dump". I get (kind of) the name; the point of the store is to sell furniture at supposedly very low prices, as almost a last resort for previously high-end stuff. I imagine that's what may keep the store in business, but...I mean, do I even need to explain what is wrong with this store?

Why would I want to shop at a store that makes me think of trash or literal shit? Why would anyone want to buy furniture from such a store? "Hey, kids, let's go look for a new couch." "Where, Dad?" "We're going to The Dump!" "Uh....when's Mommy coming home?" "Oh, who cares, let's go look at The Dump!" I cannot imagine a scenario where I separate myself from my money to buy furniture from this place. I don't care if it's the best in the world, I don't care if the prices are hilariously low; call me crazy, but this is one minor stand I'm making.

N.B. As a follow-up, the Christmas-music radio station played more consecutive music today, but I also got to hear about someone joking about his chest hair. Because that's what I want to hear about on the morning commute.

Grumble

2010-12-01T18:28:00.002-07:00

Isn't the point of an all-Christmas radio station to play Christmas music? Maybe it's me, but when I'm doing my normal morning drive, at this time of year, hearing any holiday music is enough to make the drive bearable. I can criticize the station playing the same song once an hour (so far, there have been no offenders, but in years past, I've had about enough of hearing Mariah Carey sing her "All I Want For Christmas Is You" song), and I can criticize the quality of the music, but for that to happen, the station needs to PLAY CHRISTMAS SONGS.

The Phoenix-area radio station in question is 99.9, and all I heard this morning was a lot of ads and, if I was very lucky, a streak of two whole songs played back-to-back. On the way home, I got seven songs in a row. Why can I not get that many songs in a row in the morning? I know that the morning crew, Beth and Friends, is very popular, or at least I assume that they are. I also appreciate that I'm not a normal listener, but seriously, I hate radio banter. I hate it in so many ways. Banter on local TV news is just as dumb, but it's even worse when all you're hearing are voices that, honestly, end up sounding a lot alike after a while.

Example: to potentially avoid some accident-related traffic on the freeway this morning, I took a few surface streets. On the one hand, 99.9 was very good about constantly updating its traffic reports (though part of that is because the station only plays two songs at a time). On the other hand, it was like pulling teeth to actually get the traffic guy to, you know, REPORT ON THE TRAFFIC. "Well, I was just on the phone with the Mesa Police Department." "Oh my goodness!" "And none of you are wanted, but they did have some questions about Dooley." "Oh, well, that's just Dooley for you." "Something about a statute of limitations..." "Oh my God, JUST TELL ME ABOUT THE TRAFFIC." Take your guess: which one of those is me?

I'm going to try listening to the station tomorrow morning, because hope springs eternal. I wish that they'll have at least three songs in a row, even if it means cutting into the frequent "Let's hear from the listeners requesting the music!" gibberish. One can only imagine what wonders are in store for me; how many other versions of "Winter Wonderland" are there?

Saying Goodbye to the Year in Television

2010-11-30T17:38:00.002-07:00

It's the holiday season, a time of cheer, good tidings, eggnog, and gift-giving and gift-getting. We should be finding solace and joy in our fellow men and women, but let me tell you, I'm dreading December 10th. This day represents, in some ways, the end of television in 2010. Of course, I don't mean this literally, but on December 10th, pretty much all of the good shows on TV will be on a winter break or will have ended their seasons. Only a few weeks ago, my TiVo was positively overloaded with shows to watch: Real Time with Bill Maher, Boardwalk Empire, Mad Men, Rubicon, The Walking Dead, Bored to Death, In Treatment, Sons of Anarchy, Terriers, Community, Fringe, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Chuck, Parenthood, and more. By next Friday, all of these shows will be gone from the air for a while, with the exception of Jon Stewart's satirical news show, and that's only because the show's on all year long.

As of right now, one of these shows is permanently finished. Rubicon was a good show, a slow-boil of a conspiracy drama that wasn't able to hook in audiences who wanted to watch something akin to a two-hour thriller every week, as opposed to watching a two-hour thriller expand into 13 hours. I'm not thrilled that it's gone, but I'm also not surprised or sad. The show's ratings weren't great, and as soon as The Walking Dead came onto the airwaves and got huge ratings, it was clear that AMC wants to be seen as more dominant with its newer, less established programs. What's more, the finale was mildly disappointing; I don't demand all of the serialized shows I watch to end with cliffhangers, but some of the most exciting and compelling characters were left off to the sidelines in the finale for no good reason. What's more, one of the two conspiracy threads throughout the season just petered out. While the demise of Miranda Richardson's character was creepy and evocative, it was also a wasted opportunity. All of the build-up over 13 episodes for that? No thanks.

AMC has had stronger stuff this fall from Mad Men and The Walking Dead, two very different shows that have managed to both feel right for the same network. As is the case these days, when Mad Men is on the air, there's nothing stopping it from the being the best TV has to offer. The season's driving force was exactly what it always is: pushing Don Draper forward even as he pushes back, hoping to regress to childhood. Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, John Slattery, and the rest of the sterling ensemble cast continued to impress this year, especially Hamm and Moss in the episode titled "The Suitcase," wherein they spend nearly the entire episode hashing out the past three-plus seasons' worth of drama between Don Draper and Peggy Olson. What else can you say about a show that now joins such dramas as The Wire and Deadwood, where a bad episode of the show is still equal to one of the best episodes of any drama of the year?

There are a few shows that I'll be most sad about as they head off into a break or their finales. First on the list is NBC's comedy Community, which has become easily the funniest show of the new season, what with Parks and Recreation being held on the bench until January 20. Sidebar: Why did Parks and Recreation not just air after The Office to begin with? Why wasn't it on at the beginning of the season, at that? I'm glad that the show will eventually find its way there, but the road's been unnecessarily long. Back to Community. The first season of this show took about 10 episodes or so--a relatively natural amount of time for most freshman programs--to find its solid footing; if you watch the DVD of the first season, you'd be surprised at how the writers assumed that Chevy Chase's character, Pierce, would best be paired with Troy, played by Donald Glover. Within only a few episodes--with the "Biblioteca" rap--it became clear that Troy and Abed, portrayed by Danny Pudi, were a dynamite duo.

Nowadays, Community continues to be another show on NBC that manages to stay alive simply because NBC is so damned screwed. Take, for example, Chuck, a show that's ended each of its first three seasons with ardent fans mounting "Save Our Show" campaigns of various types. Such campaigns may be pointless this year. Is the show being canceled? No. Has it been renewed? No. Have its ratings gone up or down? No. The answer is simple: Chuck has stayed constantly mediocre in the ratings, but for NBC, mediocre is amazing. When NBC announced its massively overhauled winter schedule, only a handful of shows remained in the same timeslot and day; among those shows are The Office, Community (the best sign for the show as of now), and Chuck. Ratings aside, Community has grown in its second season into the sharpest, fastest, and wittiest show on television. I've already waxed on and on about how great the show is; if you need further reasons to watch, its Christmas episode comes up on December 9th (though it has a new episode this Thursday), done in stop-motion animation a la the Rankin-Bass specials of the 1960s. High hopes abound.

The other show I want to highlight here is FX's freshman detective show Terriers. Title and marketing aside (no, it's not about dogs), this is genuinely the most successful detective series since Veronica Mars (which ended too early, but at least got 3 years out of the deal) and it's dying in the ratings. I've always wondered why the show just didn't air directly after Sons of Anarchy, and for a number of reasons. Both shows are run by former writers of The Shield, both shows are probably well-targeted at men ages 18-34 (a demographic which, as a note to the many advertisers reading this, I am part of), and both shows have somewhat similar sensibilities. The former is the highest-rated show on FX, so it would seem logical to pair the two, yes? Whatever the case, the season finale--and I do hope it's just that--of Terriers airs tomorrow on FX at 10 p.m. Eastern. What do you need to know? This show is about Hank and Britt, a private-detective duo who usually work small cases but have recently been roped into cases way bigger than they are. In particular, they've stumbled upon a massive crime perpetrated to destroy the town of Ocean Beach so a new airport can be built. Shades of Chinatown, to be sure. Hank and Britt's personal lives have been slowly fraying at the edges, and both men have been pushed away and towards each other throughout. I can't get into the details without it sounding boring (which the show is not; it's often raw and painfully emotional, in the best ways possible), but you need to watch. Fingers crossed that FX keeps it around.

I'll have a best of the year list in the coming month, but it's going to be hard this year, especially since I'm not counting shows like Lost (yes, I liked the finale), and I've not gone on and on about some of my new favorite shows like Bored to Death yet. Point being: I love TV, and the creative minds behind the best shows on TV have justified my love for the medium this year. I can't wait for 2011 to come, so we can get even more greatness on the boob tube.

Young People Do Not Care About The Oscars

2010-11-29T19:09:00.002-07:00

Running with the lead is the best idea, no? If not, I'll repeat it. Young people do not care about the Oscars, and they certainly do not care about who hosts the Oscars. Anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot. The Oscars, in this respect, are like the Harry Potter film series. If you're going into the seventh film of the now eight-film saga and you've never seen a single movie or read a chapter in any of the books, you are a rare bird indeed. You're either in or you're out. By and large, the people who watch the Oscars are the people who always watch the Oscars, or awards shows in general.

All of this is to say that, yeah, announcing that James Franco and Anne Hathaway will be the next ceremony's hosts is nothing more or less than curious. We can all, I'm sure, give the Academy points for thinking outside of the box. My problem is that me congratulating them for this is also the biggest flaw, Congratulations, Academy, for choosing two people who no one would have considered to be Oscar hosts. Two people who no one thought should be or would be the hosts. Good job. Outside-the-box thinking, I guess. Now, sure, not every Oscar ceremony is presided over by someone who's either a real comedian or is trying to be one (as much as I like Alec Baldwin, he's a funny actor, not a comedian, no matter how many jokes he cracked last year). Last time that happened, though, Rob Lowe and Snow White sang "Proud Mary." And the last time a nominee hosted (as we all assume that Franco, at least, will get a Best Actor nod) was when Paul Hogan hosted. Because, as you know, Crocodile Dundee got nominated, for Best Original Screenplay.

I'm not saying that either Franco or Hathaway will be bad. I expect them to be...well, fine, at most. Hathaway, in particular, strikes me as the type of person who's going to be in complete control on stage. So, good for them. As it goes with many truly baffling choices these days in entertainment, I would do exactly what Franco and Hathaway have done. "Wait, you want me to host the Oscars? Really? You're sure? OK." Why not? More than likely, whatever happens on Oscar night this time around won't be as embarrassing as the Rob Lowe number. But the idea that's being posited by the Academy producers--that these two young actors will attract young viewers--is idiotic. James Franco, of course, has starred in three wildly popular films. Those films are the original Spider-Man trilogy, in which he's a supporting player. Anne Hathaway is a bigger star; it could be argued that she has legitimately opened movies, or come close to it. Neither are sure things. You want young viewers to watch? Hire Justin Bieber. Anyone else is nothing close to definite.

The Newest Member of the Family

2010-11-28T10:55:00.002-07:00

"Daddy/Mommy, can we keep him?" I don't have kids yet, but I'm currently the person being asked that question, and since I'm a sucker for a cute face, I've said yes. For about three months, Elyse and I had three cats, once Hermione passed on at the end of August. On Tuesday, after work, I got a call from Elyse, informing me that we had a new cat. The short story is that a tabby kitten of--as we found out on Friday at the vet--just under five weeks was being hounded by a group of dumb-ass teenagers who thought that kicking the kitten would calm it down. To quote Steve Martin in All of Me, "Ah. Good plan!"

There was the short, nebulous period where we didn't know if the kitten was healthy enough to keep--we do not know how long the kitten was outdoors, considering that it's not feral, it knows to use the litter box, and seemed immediately appreciative of being indoors--but all seems well. We'll have more pictures in the days to come, but I wanted to share at least one of our little baby Britta (named after the character from Community), as you see at the top of the post. Enjoy.

Grab Bag

2010-11-24T18:27:00.002-07:00

First of all, let's get the cheap pleasantries out of the way: happy Thanksgiving, safe times, family, friends, blah blah blah. I don't have a problem with hearing people give thanks, but I feel like it's disingenuous for a person to wax rhapsodic about the various things and people they are thankful this one day of the year. In the same way that some people use Valentine's Day as an excuse to be really, extra-special sweet to his or her significant other, this just seems like an excuse to congratulate yourself on being awful nice for this one day. Having said that, Thanksgiving equals turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. For that, I am forever thankful.

Over the last few days, I read Bill Carter's latest entry in the seemingly endless late-night talk-show saga, The War For Late Night. As you may have guessed--if only by the fact that, yes, I am under the age of 50--I'm always going to be on Team Coco, but for the most part, I'd say Carter does a fair and evenhanded job of portraying all the main players, and even a few supporting members of the book's cast. Not much about Jay Leno, Conan O'Brien, David Letterman, and others will shock you; Leno is a joke machine, Conan has bouts of depression, Letterman is self-loathing, etc. What frustrated me--aside from Carter's decision to get into the more public information in the final 100 pages, as opposed to spreading it out--is Dick Ebersol. Based on what I've read about him in other books, Carter's either one of a cadre of journalists who have created this weird image of him, or he's just an arrogant jerk.

Ebersol credits himself, more than others, if memory serves, as one of the guiding lights of Saturday Night Live. Certainly, Ebersol was involved, but I think he decided, after also being the show's executive producers for 4 years while Lorne Michaels was off the show, that he was as much a comedy guru as Michaels is or was. Ebersol, in the book and in public, thinks ill of Conan O'Brien for his conduct during the whole debacle in 2009 and 2010. Why, where does he get off thinking that Conan has the 11:35 show? It's not like he was promised it in writing, and Jay Leno said he would quit. Yeah, there's logical justification (at least none provided by Ebersol) for this kind of narrowminded behavior, which is what rankles me. Ebersol knew nothing of comedy; while the decisions are strictly business, I'm still baffled by how surprised the NBC executives were when Conan wasn't just going to go along with their plan. Final point: Conan was kicked out of the 11:35 timeslot because his ratings were not great. Just about 9 months since Leno took over the position, his ratings are as bad or worse than Conan's. And yet he stays. Sigh.

We are apparently the owners of a new cat. A kitten, really. Elyse was alerted to the kitten's presence yesterday at her school, where it was being chased around by teenagers trying to kick it. Ah, to be young, stupid, and have no future at all, as the line goes. We're bringing the kitten to the vet on Black Friday, just to make sure it's healthy (it is frighteningly thin, not just light), but it looks as though, yeah, we're back to four cats. I kind of liked having just the three for a few months, but I'll take the four. The kitten--still not officially sure of the sex, surprisingly--is very cute and scared, so I'm going to come around. But I'm not there yet.

Have movie studios decided that opening movies on Wednesdays is like moving TV shows to Fridays? This month, five movies will have had their opening days on a Wednesday. Can you name them without looking anywhere else online? The movies are, in chronological order, Morning Glory, Tangled, Love and Other Drugs, Burlesque, and Faster. Only Tangled seems like a sure thing, and that's partly because it's a Disney movie, but none of these movies have hit the radar big time. Had Tron: Legacy opened on a Wednesday, maybe it'd be big. But this year, studios have just dumped movies on Wednesdays, and act shocked. I do not know why. No one is aware of these films existing.

Finally, even though it's the night before Thanksgiving, watch Terriers. It's on FX, it's at 10 p.m., it's a dark yet funny buddy-detective show, and it needs to be watched by everyone. Do it.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1

2010-11-20T22:01:00.003-07:00

Like pretty much everybody else in the world (relatively speaking), I saw the latest chapter in the ever-expanding Harry Potter saga this evening. I've been a huge fan of the book series since about 1999, so have always taken in the movies when they come out. This time, though, things were a little different, as my wife and I decided to check out a new theater that opened in Scottsdale, the UltraStar Scottsdale 11. We live about 45 minutes away, so what drew us to this particular theater was its Star Class Cinemas. Five of the screens at the multiplex were for people age 21 or over. No kids. Bliss, right? And, hey, you can also food and beverages--including beer and wine--at your seat in the theater, and a waiter will bring it to you. For those of us who've been unlucky to not go to the Arclight in Hollywood or the Alamo Drafthouse in Austin, it's heaven, yes?

Well, it should be. I still want to go to the Arclight and the Alamo Drafthouse, because they're purportedly awesome. But I'm very wary about going to the Star Class again; while I understand that the opening weekend of any movie theater, especially one with such a unique selling point, is going to have its fair share of kinks, there's something fundamentally wrong about the layout of the theater as it stands. Whatever issues I had, mind you, had nothing to do with the quality of the food. Though we didn't order any of the paninis that were offered, my wife and I shared a plate of loaded nachos that were very good. But a lot of the aesthetic and physical design choices just don't make sense.

Apparently, a couple of the Star Class screens are called VIP lounges, as they only have about 40 seats. We were not in one of those screens. At first blush, the theater we saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1 in was no different than any stadium-seating theater in just about every cinema in the country: about six or seven rows closest to the screen that aren't stadium-seating, and about 12 rows of stadium-seating behind them. Each of the rows were marked by letter and the amount of seats; as an example, we sat in row F,though I didn't get our seat numbers. Our show was at 5, and we were ready to go into the theater at around 4:40. We figured that the movie was just finishing up, seeing as the movie is 150 minutes long and had started previously at 2. With what I figured were a load of previews, the credits were probably still rolling. However, a few minutes later, a couple went in with a supervisor to check and see if they could sit down. We found out that, well, no one had cleaned the theater after the previous show. By the time we sat down, it was getting close to 4:55, and the sole waitress was just beginning to take orders from the first few rows. What's more, when she addressed us, she addressed us in her big-girl voice, and never lowered it.

I wanted to make sure I ordered something, because that was the point, right? Sure, on the one hand, I can be glad that I'm seeing a movie without any kids in the audience, but if you're serving food during a movie--something that seems potentially very convenient--I want to know how disruptive you're going to be. While she could have been worse, I don't know how much worse the waitress could have been. She was, on the one hand, exceedingly friendly and polite. I would imagine that the theater is, at the present time, understaffed; as one of our friends who joined us pointed out, had the theater been full (there were only about 40 people in the audience), ordering and getting food without leaving would have been impossible. However, the waitress was out a flashlight, as it had died on her; she spilled, loudly, a plate of food; she would often mix orders up; and, as I said already, she was loud.

I've heard enough stories about the Alamo Drafthouse to know, or assume, that the people serving know exactly how to do it without being distracting. I hope that, with proper training, the staff at UltraStar are going to do the same. For now, I felt like a guinea pig. It's for that reason that, I'll be honest, I want to see this new Harry Potter film again and not just because I liked it a lot. I did like it a lot, and I'm tempted to call it the best in the series, at least since 2004's Prisoner of Azkaban. But the first 30 minutes of this movie were in and out for me. Every time I'd begin to get sucked in, or want to get sucked in, I'd have to take that plate of nachos, or give my order, or pay (though, being fair, the waitress was jumping around so much that I probably didn't pay for nearly an hour after the film began).

What was immediate in this first viewing is that David Yates, with a whole lot of help from superlative cinematography from Eduardo Serra, has provided the most strikingly beautiful film of the series. For reasons that are clear simply because of the books by J.K. Rowling, but for some directorial choices, this is the first Harry Potter film where...hey, it looks like it was shot in England! Much of the second half of this part takes place completely outside of the world of magic as we know it, and all it does is give Yates reasons to layer in shot after shot after shot of the rolling hills, valleys, and countrysides of England. As always, of course, the technical aspects of the film are beyond reproach (though an early car chase does look a bit too fake). A few critics have pointed out the true change between this film and the preceding six: not only is Hogwarts never seen--though that will change in the final part--but this is the first time the movie's about acting. Whether it's good or not, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1 depends very much on Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione have to find the remaining pieces of Voldemort's soul--called Horcruxes--and destroy them so they can kill him for once and for all. Voldemort has grown more and more powerful after Dumbledore was killed at the end of the sixth book/film, and has taken over the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts, but still wants more to top off his insane quest for dominance. As you may have noted by the Part 1 in the title, Voldemort's doing just fine at the end of this movie, and the Horcrux destruction is not complete. But the characters grow a lot closer, and there are truly compelling setpieces and scenes here, from the book and otherwise. Of the three young performers, while none are slouches (and all have grown immensely from the first film, which is really embarrassing to watch these days), Grint is most impressive here.

In the first few films, Ron Weasley was around to pull stupid faces and look silly. In Deathly Hallows, he's jealous and for good reason; the movie does an even better job than the book of making him actively and sensibly get paranoid about how close Harry and Hermione are. Conversely, Radcliffe and Watson have an easy, believable chemistry as friends who could easily be much closer; Ron abandons the group as they're stranded in various forests throughout the country in hiding from Voldemort, and when he does, it gives Harry and Hermione time to bond. The book tells this part of the story slightly differently, but I think the movie makes enough right moves to draw the two together without hammering the point home. Some of the dialogue, again by Steve Kloves, is a bit ham-fisted or overly explanatory, but in general, I think that this film continues the streak of improving on the predecessor. But I want to see it again. I want to get sucked back into this world again.

The Snobbery Of Animation and Navel-Gazing

2010-11-18T16:31:00.003-07:00

You may or may not have heard the story, but thanks to a nice old puff piece on Deadline.com by Pete Hammond, an obvious bit of awards-season news has been confirmed: Walt Disney Studios is dedicated to blanketing Los Angeles with For Your Consideration ads for Toy Story 3. The logic behind the idea makes sense--here we have what is likely going to be the highest-grossing film of 2010, one of the best-reviewed films of the year (and depending on what you read, it's the highest-reviewed film of the year), and the final chapter in what is arguably one of the best film trilogies ever. So far, so good, yes? Because of this story, some awards pundits have taken to analyzing whether or not this plan is actually going to bear fruit.

Before I go further, I'll make this clear: I love Toy Story 3. I love Pixar movies. I will be so thrilled if Toy Story 3 wins the Best Picture award (the first that would go to Walt Disney Pictures, actually). Since we're not actually talking on Oscar night, I can't say it definitively, but to say Toy Story 3 winning Best Picture is doubtful is something of an understatement. The most important reason isn't that there are equally strong contenders; there are, including The Social Network, The King's Speech, and Inception. No, the reason is bias. Even before they had a category to use as evidence, a vocal group of pundits and voters don't want to side with animation at the Academy Awards.

Remember, only one animated film got nominated for Best Picture prior to the inception of the Best Animated Feature category--Beauty and the Beast--and Disney animation hadn't been slouching beforehand. So what pisses me off about the bias? It's the idea that animation could be--GASP!--as good as, if not better than, live-action movies. See, to some folks, live-action movies are always going to be the best, no matter what. I was set off today by a post on Awards Daily that basically scoffs at the notion of Toy Story 3 being victorious for a number of ridiculous reasons, and a bare minimum of discussion about those reasons that spell doom for the film's chances. Instead of discussing the bias against animation, specifically among the actors' branch (short explanation: actors don't appear in animated movies, so they wouldn't be predisposed to vote for such films), the post itself is biased.

Among the arguments against Toy Story 3 winning are that it's not as good as Ratatouille or WALL-E. Whether or not this is true is superfluous, first because a film's quality is opinion, not fact. It's an idiotic reason because, as you may have noted, Toy Story 3 was released in 2010, while Rataouille came out in 2007 and WALL-E came out in 2008. Thus, these films are not competing. If anything, Toy Story 3 is potentially squaring off with How To Train Your Dragon, an equally lauded animated film from 2010. But no, what matters is that other Pixar movies were great, so Toy Story 3 flops. The article then states that if Toy Story 3 won, it would degrade the film (which is interesting, because usually a Best Picture Oscar does, you know, the opposite, what with it being the BEST PICTURE OSCAR), and that it would be an embarrassing Oscar decision.

The main issue I have here is that people who have no voice or vote seem to think that their opinions are right, because...well, look, it just is, OK? They've been around the block, they know these things, and you should just shut up. Clearly, these people know what they're talking about. What really frustrates me is that the discussion should be about the bias. Let's not discuss whether Toy Story 3 has a chance or not. Let's discuss why it may be doomed even though it may have enough quality to merit the top honor. The people who vote for the Oscars are allowed to be biased, even if those biases speak against them, such as when some notable older voters didn't vote for Brokeback Mountain because it was about gay people. But there's room for a discussion, as opposed to what amounts to a condescending tsking.

See, at times like these, I wonder what the point is of caring about something so trivial. Now, I love TV and movies, and discussions about them, and all of these things are inherently trivial. But the awards-season chatter has become navel-gazing, and it's annoying because I'm tired of looking at these people's navels, especially when it turns out that all of their concern trolling and whining amounts to nothing. If there has become such a thing as hot, dead air on the Internet, look no further than the awards circuit.

WTF

2010-11-17T16:56:00.002-07:00

The scenario: I am at the grocery store picking up some food for dinner. As you do, my eyes drift over to the magazine rack next to the self-service cash register. On the cover of one of the mildly trashy tabloids (not that tabloids aren't trashy, mind you, but some are less so than others) is reality star Kim Kardashian, looking as vapid and bland as ever. The way she's posed, though, and the angle at which the camera faces her is meant to make me feel bad for her, or to make her look pitiful. The headline accompanying the photo reads "I Thought I'd Be Married By Now", mentioning that she is 30 years old. The question I have, genuinely, is this: who the hell is Kim Kardashian and why should I give a rat's ass whether or not she thought she'd be married?

Now, mind you, I don't care. But it was looking at this magazine cover for only a few seconds that I had to wonder: who is this woman? I know her now because she's in the spotlight, and I get a weekly dose of her whenever a clip of her is featured on The Soup. But why is she in the spotlight? This isn't meant to be a "if she's famous, why not me?" post; I seriously don't know who this woman is or why anyone cares about her. According to Wikipedia--I mean it, I kind of want to know who the hell this woman is--her show on E! started in 2007. And she had a sex tape. And her mom is the ex-wife...I think...of a former Olympian.

There are horrible atrocities being committed every day in this world. Aside from the obvious ones, I'm sure terrifying occurrences go by each passing hour without us realizing it. But I know, by sight, who Kim Kardashian is. Most of us do. Why are we so lazy--and believe me, I'm lumping myself in there--to care even a whit about the most vacuous, empty-headed people? Some of you might say, "Oh, well, it makes me feel better that there are idiots out there", or something to that effect. But, a) those idiots make money and b) why would it make you feel better? Each of us probably does something every day that's worth more attention than any Kardashian ever will do. Probably a more pointless post than usual, but I'm just blown away that anyone should care that Kim Kardashian thought she'd be married by now, or that a person could be so transparently selfish. To her, I say, simply, screw you.

The First Week For Conan

2010-11-14T15:49:00.002-07:00

Media responses are continually fascinating for being so normally wrongheaded. When the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear was announced by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, various media sites went into a frenzy wondering what the rally was about, what Stewart's role was in getting out the vote for the people who showed up, what he would say and who he'd talk about, and so on and so forth. Most of the columns written prior to the rally were pointless because Stewart nor Colbert had said explicitly that the rally would be one thing or another. Once the rally happened, those same critics tsked at Stewart not doing his duty, and essentially missing the point of what Stewart and Colbert do on a nightly basis and what the rally was about.

But that's not what I'm talking about today. No, today, I bring up the media because of the reaction to Conan O'Brien's new show, titled Conan. The first new show premiered on Monday on TBS (not like anyone who uses the Internet wouldn't know that by now, thanks to the predictably incessant advertising), and a shocking amount of critics were baffled, surprised, and disappointed at the fact that Conan O'Brien, the erstwhile underdog of 2010, the folk hero of a generation, and many other exaggerated titles, could do whatever he wanted at TBS and he chose to do a hybrid of his two late-night shows at NBC. What was he thinking, they asked. He had carte blanche, presumably, and he wanted to do a typical talk show that airs during the nighttime hours? What a disappointment, or so it was said.

When I hear or read this criticism, I genuinely wish I could look these people in the eyes and ask, "What were you expecting exactly?" Anyone who'd read the innumerable articles and profiles and interviews of Conan before and after the January debacle at NBC should have been able to glean at least one thing: Conan O'Brien, whether we like it or not, loves the late-night talk-show format. There was some disagreement among a few in the comedy world (notably Louis C.K.) about whether the Tonight Show was really the Holy Grail of television in 2010. We could debate that, I'm sure, for quite a while--and though I know what Louis C.K. means, I still think Conan getting a raw deal supersedes that issue--but there's no question that the television landscape has changed. That doesn't mean Conan O'Brien has.

So when Conan's new show began like anything he'd done at NBC, but a little closer to his work at 12:35, I was not only not shocked but happy. I'd been on Conan's side during the fracas at NBC partly because he had gotten such a shitty deal, and partly because he's talented, funny, and charming. The first-week ratings show that he's probably going to be just fine at TBS--and this time, you'd hope the contract he signed was much more helpful to his cause. The reactions from various critics was baffling also in terms of calling him out for joking about his jump from NBC to TBS. "Stop making these jokes! People won't find it funny if you, a multimillionaire, bitch about switching jobs!" This is the paraphrase of what some critics said, and it's yet another time where I can kind of see why some people don't understand the purpose of a critic. Why read the work of someone who shouldn't be telling anyone how to be funny?

This is not to say that the argument isn't valid. It is. In a month. How can Conan NOT talk about what happened? It's the elephant in the room. He has to make jokes about it, because otherwise, there's no acknowledgment of the fact that, yeah, things have changed pretty drastically for the guy. Is he still making money? Sure. Can the jokes get stale or unfunny? Sure. But...are they funny now? For now, yes, and as some people, specifically the reviewer at the A.V. Club, noted, he stopped making as many jokes about NBC as the week went forward. Conan can reference TBS and the fact that the channel is not really the place people thought he'd land in. But for right now, as long as he's doing what he's supposed to do--BE FUNNY--then the media should just zip it.

And Conan, the man and the show, was funny. Depending on the guests, the interviews were either funny and fresh or boring. Tom Hanks and Jon Hamm were the best of the week, game for any kind of joke. The best and most obvious improvement was putting Andy Richter back where he belonged once the monologue ended, sitting right next to Conan. This is the smartest thing the show's staff could have come up with, because the chemistry Andy and Conan have is so obvious and infectious. I've got a Season Pass for the show right now, but even if I cancel it, all the shows are going to be Coco's website, and it's hard to see TBS not keeping the show on for as long as is humanly possible. Conan's finally in the right place, critics be damned.

Adventures in Netflix Browsing

2010-11-13T17:21:00.002-07:00

In what may become a series of posts, partly because Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time is just that boring, I present a few titles of movies that are real, and are available on Netflix. Watch at your own risk.

Tommy and the Cool Mule

A Martian Christmas

I Downloaded a Ghost (starring Oscar nominee Ellen Page)

We All Scream for Ice Cream

Romeo and Juliet: Sealed with a Kiss (a family-friendly cartoon of the famous play, with seals instead of humans)

The Adventures of Food Boy

Gooby

All the Days Before Tomorrow (Just think about that one for a minute.)

How to Make Love to a Woman (No, this is not an instructional video. I think.)

The Joy of Community

2010-11-12T13:17:00.003-07:00

Making a television show is work. The job of a TV writer or director or actor may seem pretty simple to anyone with a job outside of the entertainment industry; if not simple, it may seem like a hell of a lot of fun. I mean, you get to work on TV! Who wouldn't love to work in Hollywood, making a television show week after week? Even if it's not a show you're a big fan of, it has to be cool, right? I'm sure that, in many ways, it is, but a majority of the output of television and movies doesn't capture even a smidgen of fun on the part of those in front of the screen, or even that the people working on the show or movie are enjoying themselves. Obviously, not every TV show or movie is going to be a barrel of laughs; that some actors on the darkest and most dramatic shows, such as a majority of the ensemble of AMC's Mad Men, have proven to be such adept comic performers elsewhere is truly remarkable.

But it's rare that a show is just full of unbridled joy, from top to bottom. Most of the best shows on television are compelling, filled with complex, three-dimensional characters, and keep audiences tuned in with sometimes dense plots and mythologies. Mad Men, Lost, Breaking Bad are all great shows, and they have had moments of humor, and there are rare happy moments, but most TV shows don't have what the best comedy on television, Community, has: infectious enthusiasm. It's impossible to fake, but from pretty much the first moment of the pilot episode, this NBC single-camera comedy has been filled with confident, assured storytelling, strong and well-defined characters, and tons of high and low humor of all types.

As an example, I remember the moment where I completely, fully realized that I was going to stick with Arrested Development until its dying breath. Though I'd been watching it since the beginning, and I liked it a lot, it didn't become a classic sitcom for me until the moment Carl Weathers walked onscreen, playing a skinflint version of himself. Something of the concept and execution of this gag just made me laugh and laugh and laugh, so much so that I was probably missing half of the jokes that followed his appearance. Now, mind you, as I've rewatched the first season of the series, I realize that I was a moron for not appreciating fully how brilliant Arrested Development from its pilot (arguably the best comedy pilot of the past decade, if not longer).

For Community, the moment is just as memorable (and in rewatching the early episodes, I realize that I was wrong for not fully loving the show from the beginning). In the 12th episode of the show's first season, "Comparative Religion," the show's ostensible lead character, Jeff Winger, is goaded by a jerk who bullies Jeff's friend Abed around to get into a fight. Jeff, a charming yet vain disbarred lawyer, has never even gotten punched in the face, let alone gotten in a fight, so a a few of his friends from his Spanish study group (Abed, a pop-culture encyclopedia of a man; Troy, Abed's best friend and an ex-high-school football player; and Pierce, who was once the magnate of a moist-towelette company) teach him how to fight.

Of course, this being a comedy, the advice Jeff gets isn't going to be, you know, helpful. The moment that solidified my love for Community comes when Troy approaches Jeff and, after telling him to start out his fight by asking the rhetorical question " 'Sup?'" multiple times in a high-pitched yet threatening voice, tells him to bust out the "Forest Whitaker eyes". This consists of Troy scrunching his face up a bit and letting one of his eyes go a bit lazy, a la Forest Whitaker, and, like many great moments in comedy, it isn't going to be as funny when you read it as when you see it. Donald Glover, the comedian and former writer on 30 Rock who plays Troy, doesn't do the face as cheap mugging, but it's easily one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time. I don't reach for the TiVo remote often to pause something as I laugh, but it was more than helpful this time.

What separates Community--a comedy about the seven misfits who make up a study group at a community college--from a show like Arrested Development, however, is that it manages to ground each of its ridiculous stories and its more conventional stories in reality. What's so intriguing about the show is that it often acknowledges its place as a TV show, no more so than in last night's episode, "Cooperative Calligraphy," which falls under the category of the TV staple known as bottle episodes. Bottle episodes are a simple and common practice in TV land. For the uninitiated, it goes like this: a show is given a certain budget for each season of episodes. Sometimes, an episode will cost more than normal, which is fine, as long as another episode costs a lot less. When this happens, writers create bottle episodes, which are when the regular characters on a show, or just a few of those characters, are confined to one place for an episode. The difference with last night's Community is that the characters--starting with Abed--acknowledge and seemingly encourage the fact that they are in a bottle episode. The premise is self-consciously silly: Annie, the study group's most determined and driven member, has lost her pen. It's happened before many times, and this is the last straw. What's more, this time, there's no way that anyone outside of the group could have stolen it. As the situation escalates, the group locks themselves in the study room to find out who stole the pen, because if one of them did and refuses to own up to it, how can they trust each other as close friends?

What makes the episode work so well within this very rigid format is how it pays off so often on the relationships the characters have with each other, how the script builds growth for each of them, and how much fun they all are and have in the group. Community is--if it isn't obvious from the episode description--deliriously silly sometimes, but it can also have sentimentality, or genuine drama. The show is extremely well-cast, of course. Joel McHale is the snarky, Bill Murray-esque lead, Jeff. Jeff has become more human, and more of a misfit since the show began; he was originally an outsider to the group, having accidentally formed it just so he could hook up with Britta (Gillian Jacobs), the would-be ultra-hipster who easily saw through his fake Spanish skills. There's Shirley (Yvette Nicole Brown), the single mother who's a devout Christian without having been turned into a stereotype or one-note gag. Annie (Alison Brie) started as more of a Tracey Flick type, but has become more confident and human, less rigid as a person. Abed and Troy (Danny Pudi and Glover) were originally diametric opposites: the nerd and the jock. They've become best friends, uniting over their love of pop culture in all forms, whether it's cheesy action movies like Kickpuncher or puppy parades. Pierce (Chevy Chase) manages to be the most cartoonish of characters while also having an overdose of humanity: on the one hand, he can be off-puttingly racist and sexist, but he's a fallen entrepreneur who's desperate to fit in.

I won't go much further on telling you how Community can be funny. To me, the evidence is in the countless scenes and episodes set in the study room, where it's just the seven main characters (who have now all become pretty much equals in terms of screen time) bouncing off one another. There are many other noteworthy elements--the performances from Ken Jeong and Jim Rash as an ex-professor and the college dean, in particular--but what makes Community so solid, so consistent, and so enjoyable to watch is that we believe these people are friends. There are lots of shows that intend to create unity and friendship among the cast of characters; few achieve them as well as Community, which has now become the most must-see show each week. I sincerely hope it lasts for years and years to come; this is something to treasure, and you really need to watch if you aren't already.

Just Quickly...

2010-11-10T18:49:00.002-07:00

It's become a monthly expense, of course, but I'm seriously so thrilled to have HBO on my cable TV package now. Yes, I appreciate that this kind of sentiment probably would have been prescient somewhere around, oh, 1999, but I added the channel and its relatives (HBO2, HBO Signature, etc.) onto the package in the hopes that Boardwalk Empire would be as amazing as I'd hoped it would be. In the seven weeks since I got the addition, as I mentioned earlier this week, I've become a fan of Boardwalk Empire, Eastbound & Down, In Treatment, and Bored to Death, among other things. With shows like Luck and Game of Thrones on the way, I'm really happy to no longer have to wait a full year to get in the loop on these kinds of TV shows.

Apparently, based on the poll done recently by, it seems, every we'd-like-to-be-in-the-news-for-a-minute organization that shows what liberals and conservatives watch, I'm a liberal. I knew that, of course, but I'm surprised at how, in these universally useless polls, I kind of match up. I watch Mad Men, The Office, Parks and Recreation, and 30 Rock, hence I am liberal. I avoid shows like Dancing with the Stars, and so I am not a conservative. I realize that the polls are ridiculous, but, by and large, liberals apparently watch shows that are...you know, good. (I kid, mostly, but Dancing with the Stars? NCIS? No thanks.) No HBO shows got too popular among the righties, I guess. Though I still think the old-fashioned HBO tagline--It's not TV, yada yada--is idiotic, I can kind of get behind the thought process. Whatever it is, I'm glad I have it.

An All-Time Low

2010-11-08T18:36:00.002-07:00

Tonight marks the first televised interview George W. Bush has given since he left the White House in January. I'd like to--if it's even close to possible--leave politics aside for one moment, at least my own. Last week, an excerpt of the interview, with Matt Lauer, was released, and Bush revealed what he called his all-time lowest moment while in office: his being called, in all essence, a racist by Kanye West when the rapper said on live television that Bush didn't care about black people due to his weak and slow response to Hurricane Katrina.

Now, I appreciate that being called a racist isn't a high point for anyone, whether that person is or isn't actually a racist. But I'm never going to be able to grasp how that could logically be Bush's low point. How about the attacks of September 11th, the day that not only defined Bush's presidency but has defined the entire country? How about never being able to catch Osama Bin Laden, hoisting a proverbial head for all the townspeople to see? How about, you know, Hurricane Katrina itself? Maybe Bush could have offered some self-deprecation and taken, as his all-time low, the decisions or lack thereof that he made in the aftermath of the hurricane?

Kanye West's response was as baffling as Bush's; he used the occasion to respond to Bush's mention by saying that, you know, this was kind of like him being called out by fans and those in the media when he interrupted Taylor Swift at an awards show. Again, politics aside, let's just agree that Kanye West randomly cutting in front of Taylor Swift is nothing like Kanye West calling George W. Bush racist for his response to Hurricane Katrina. Whether you agree or not, one is a little more trivial than the other. But both statements point to West and Bush sharing at least one thing in common: everything has to be about them. Bush is asked for his lowest moment in office, and instead of choosing something that affected hundreds, thousands, millions of people, he chooses something that affected him and, pretty much, only him. West's response turns away from what Bush says into how people ragged on him for being a douchebag. I realize that all public figures, are not so egotistical, but apparently, it really helps.