The Best of 2010: The Red Shoes and Black Narcissus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?