—Originally published 5.14.04
"Van Helsing" is a mildly entertaining yet instantly forgettable summer action flick.
Hugh Jackman, who became a star as fan-favorite mutant Wolverine in the "X-Men" series, covers similar territory here as a monster-hunting mix of Indiana Jones, James Bond and Batman (where does he get those wonderful toys?).
Jackman had to be convinced to take the role but gives a solid turn as a troubled hitman who works for The Order, a clandestine group of Vatican priests secretly working to keep the world's bad guys at bay. Helsing is their No. 1 gun, and in this film he tracks Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde, Wolf Man, Frankenstein's monster and the leader of the pack -- Dracula.
Richard Roxburgh is simply awful as the Count -- as are the actresses who portray his three brides -- while Kate Beckinsale (who plays fellow Order hunter Anna Valerious) is wasted on painful lines of dialogue. I understand writer/director Stephen Sommers was hearkening back to the melodrama of classic monster movies, but he doesn't maintain that tone throughout the entire movie, so most of the secondary characters stand out terribly against Jackman's low-key, sardonic performance.
Sommers is definitely the one to blame for all of "Helsing's" transgressions. The man behind both "Mummy" flicks essentially made the same movie again, only at least this time had the good sense to cast a lead actor who could carry the water. Describing the plot would be a waste of time, because it's somewhat incomprehensible. Suffice it to say Dracula (circa 1888) is trying to take over the world -- or at least Transylvania -- by hatching thousands of offspring and letting them loose to drink their fill of blood. It's Helsing's job to stop them, of course.
The soundtrack is cranked up to 11 and the film is set at breakneck pace essentially from the start. Almost every shot features some sort of special effect from George Lucas' Industrial Light & Magic, but ILM still hasn't caught up with Peter Jackson's Weta wizardry featured in "The Lord of the Rings." Special effects in "Helsing" are painfully obvious because its computer-generated characters have no gravity (Mr. Hyde is basically a demented version of Shrek). This becomes especially troublesome during the film's climactic battle, fought between two giant creatures cooked up on a hard drive at Skywalker Ranch.
Still, with all that said, "Van Helsing" is not as horrible a movie as most critics lead you to believe. Jackman is cool as always and he does get to play with some fun weapons, including a wicked rapid-fire crossbow and two gauntlets sporting spinning blades. As long as you don't sweat the details, the story is engaging enough to hold interest throughout, accompanied by some nice action sequences and several jump-in-your-seat scares (although they get repetitive less than an hour into the movie).
What I saw from most "Van Helsing" reviews were critics taking pot-shots at a movie obviously geared for the summer -- not Oscar -- season. "Helsing" is nowhere near as bad as last year's "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" (a true "F" if there ever was one) or "The Mummy," for that matter. Keep expectations low, and you'll have a good time.
Grade: C-
Friday, May 14, 2004
Friday, April 30, 2004
'Jones' isn't genius, but it's worth a shot
—Originally published 4.30.04
While filming "The Passion of the Christ," Jim Caviezel was accidentally whipped, suffered a separated shoulder and was struck by lightning.
No wonder he didn't feel like doing another movie right away.
But after reading about legendary golfer Bobby Jones, he decided it was time to come down from the cross and hit the links.
It was the right choice.
Caviezel's humble charm shines through in the title role of "Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius," a biopic of the only golfer to win all four major tournaments in the same year for a Grand Slam -- as an amateur, no less.
Although lacking in overall star power, "Bobby Jones" is reminiscent of last year's Oscar-nominated "Seabiscuit" in both subject matter and style. Like the famous Depression-era horse, Jones was a sickly youth who, growing up in the early 20th century, no one expected would be strong enough for any kind of athletic competition.
The film unfolds in essentially chronological order, starting with Jones as a boy who, too weak to play baseball, falls in love with golf and goes on to shock the world with his skill.
There is, of course, a lot of golf in this movie, and it's done convincingly. Before a screening earlier this month in Augusta, Caviezel (who played college basketball at Washington State) noted how much he hates sports movies where the actors' athletic flaws are painfully obvious. There is no such problem with Caviezel's performance.
But the gentleman's game almost takes a backseat to the real heart of the movie -- Jones himself. It's easy to portray a legend as the all-conquering, lovable, infallible hero (and usually the mark of a bad movie). However, director/writer Rowdy Herrington wisely does not shy away from Jones' hot temper and propensity to follow bad shots with strings of profanity. Herrington also gives glimpses into the legend's inner turmoil, namely a fear and downright panic of failure and disappointing others, or his use of alcohol to numb the pain of a brittle body suffering from syringomyelia, a spinal disorder.
"Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius" doesn't do anything new or revolutionary -- it probably won't make your jaw drop. But much like "Seabiscuit," "Jones" is a refreshingly solid film suited for families but lacking Hollywood's typical pandering to that demographic. The dialogue rings true for the most part, the characters are well-developed and the cast makes their roles come alive and transcend a typical sports flick (especially Claire Forlani as Jones' wife, Mary, and Jeremy Northam's turn as flamboyant professional player Walter Hagen).
Maybe it was the magic of watching this film only a few miles away from the course Bobby Jones built, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Grade: B+
While filming "The Passion of the Christ," Jim Caviezel was accidentally whipped, suffered a separated shoulder and was struck by lightning.
No wonder he didn't feel like doing another movie right away.
But after reading about legendary golfer Bobby Jones, he decided it was time to come down from the cross and hit the links.
It was the right choice.
Caviezel's humble charm shines through in the title role of "Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius," a biopic of the only golfer to win all four major tournaments in the same year for a Grand Slam -- as an amateur, no less.
Although lacking in overall star power, "Bobby Jones" is reminiscent of last year's Oscar-nominated "Seabiscuit" in both subject matter and style. Like the famous Depression-era horse, Jones was a sickly youth who, growing up in the early 20th century, no one expected would be strong enough for any kind of athletic competition.
The film unfolds in essentially chronological order, starting with Jones as a boy who, too weak to play baseball, falls in love with golf and goes on to shock the world with his skill.
There is, of course, a lot of golf in this movie, and it's done convincingly. Before a screening earlier this month in Augusta, Caviezel (who played college basketball at Washington State) noted how much he hates sports movies where the actors' athletic flaws are painfully obvious. There is no such problem with Caviezel's performance.
But the gentleman's game almost takes a backseat to the real heart of the movie -- Jones himself. It's easy to portray a legend as the all-conquering, lovable, infallible hero (and usually the mark of a bad movie). However, director/writer Rowdy Herrington wisely does not shy away from Jones' hot temper and propensity to follow bad shots with strings of profanity. Herrington also gives glimpses into the legend's inner turmoil, namely a fear and downright panic of failure and disappointing others, or his use of alcohol to numb the pain of a brittle body suffering from syringomyelia, a spinal disorder.
"Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius" doesn't do anything new or revolutionary -- it probably won't make your jaw drop. But much like "Seabiscuit," "Jones" is a refreshingly solid film suited for families but lacking Hollywood's typical pandering to that demographic. The dialogue rings true for the most part, the characters are well-developed and the cast makes their roles come alive and transcend a typical sports flick (especially Claire Forlani as Jones' wife, Mary, and Jeremy Northam's turn as flamboyant professional player Walter Hagen).
Maybe it was the magic of watching this film only a few miles away from the course Bobby Jones built, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Grade: B+
Entertainers don't (usually) rock my vote
—Originally published 4.30.04
"Don't hate the player, hate the game," the annoying phrase goes.
When it comes to mixing politics and art, it's hard to figure out exactly where to draw that line.
The first decade of the 21st century is going down as one of the most politically polarizing times in our nation's history, and that divisiveness spills over into the entertainment industry.
Granted, this is nothing new; politics and popular art have a long history together, touching on everything from the Vietnam War to apartheid to abortion to the AIDS epidemic.
Some people are willing to gulp down whatever political stance their favorite actor or musician or writer throws out there and, worse yet, adopt positions based solely on what those megastars put forth.
Others, upon hearing, say, the Dixie Chicks criticize President Bush, boycott all material relating to said artist.
This conundrum crops up all the time. Just 10 days ago, several punk bands got together to release "Rock Against Bush, Vol. 1," a highly-critical compilation of new and unreleased songs from several highly-regarded groups such as Alkaline Trio, Social Distortion and The Ataris. I'm sure there were those who, sporting their "Anybody But Bush Again" T-shirts, ran out to buy the album ASAP, while some Bush supporters probably broke their Sum 41 CDs in half (not missing much there, though).
I've struggled with this issue since I was old enough to understand both artistic content and politics. There is no easy answer, but I find both ends of this spectrum (the slurpers vs. the stoics) unjustified.
It basically comes down to how important a given issue is to you and/or how serious you take your entertainment. I obviously take music, film, etc., very seriously, so I hold the artists I like to very high standards.
As long as those people are producing meaningful work, rarely does an artist's personal life factor into my appreciation (except for your occasional child molester or devil worshipper). It's impossible to know everything about everyone, so I try to balance what comes through the work with what appears on screen or on an album. It's impossible to completely vet every artist -- I'd never watch a movie or listen to a song.
Politics, for me, is not a deal-breaker. No matter who I vote for in November, that person is still a politician and they're all compromised if not downright crooked. My faith in statesmanship at the highest levels is about nil. Instead I'm left looking for the candidate who isn't quite as bad as the other, and that's a sad state of affairs.
In the end, I reconcile my love for musicians on the absolute opposite political rainbow from me with this mentality: Better they're passionate about something than nothing at all. Matter of fact, they better be passionate about something other than just lining their pockets, or I probably won't pay attention in the first place.
Looking at it another way, would I stop being friends with someone just because we differ politically? No. I should want to learn more about their views and try to understand where those friends are coming from. We can agree to disagree but still enjoy each other's company.
Thus, I typically don't go in for these "boycotts" that crop up every once in a while. I skip past "Bushleaguer" -- an inane anti-Bush rant on Pearl Jam's latest album, "Riot Act" -- but count "You Are" a few tracks back as one of the group's most powerful songs. One does not disqualify the other.
I have a problem, though, when artists present their opinions in ways that are beneath their talent. If you have a strong point of view, that's good -- present it with some class and I'll respect you in the morning.
But I get annoyed when Pearl Jam lead singer Eddie Vedder assaults a rubber Bush mask onstage or Michael Moore shouts like a fool from the Oscar podium or Toby Keith writes a chest-beating post-9/11 "anthem" or Susan Sarandon screams like a banshee at a pro-choice rally.
That's just moronic, pandering behavior and serves little purpose other than placating sycophants. These are, supposedly, intelligent people, and they should act like it.
To his credit, though, Vedder proved quite prophetic during a show in Seattle on Nov. 6, 2000, just hours before polls opened for the presidential election pitting Bush against then-Vice President Al Gore (with some Ralph Nader thrown in on the side).
"We'll see you at the voting booth tomorrow," he told the rabid crowd that night. "If you don't vote, let that be your epitaph."
Twenty-four hours later, I'm sure there were a lot of people wishing they'd followed that advice.
"Don't hate the player, hate the game," the annoying phrase goes.
When it comes to mixing politics and art, it's hard to figure out exactly where to draw that line.
The first decade of the 21st century is going down as one of the most politically polarizing times in our nation's history, and that divisiveness spills over into the entertainment industry.
Granted, this is nothing new; politics and popular art have a long history together, touching on everything from the Vietnam War to apartheid to abortion to the AIDS epidemic.
Some people are willing to gulp down whatever political stance their favorite actor or musician or writer throws out there and, worse yet, adopt positions based solely on what those megastars put forth.
Others, upon hearing, say, the Dixie Chicks criticize President Bush, boycott all material relating to said artist.
This conundrum crops up all the time. Just 10 days ago, several punk bands got together to release "Rock Against Bush, Vol. 1," a highly-critical compilation of new and unreleased songs from several highly-regarded groups such as Alkaline Trio, Social Distortion and The Ataris. I'm sure there were those who, sporting their "Anybody But Bush Again" T-shirts, ran out to buy the album ASAP, while some Bush supporters probably broke their Sum 41 CDs in half (not missing much there, though).
I've struggled with this issue since I was old enough to understand both artistic content and politics. There is no easy answer, but I find both ends of this spectrum (the slurpers vs. the stoics) unjustified.
It basically comes down to how important a given issue is to you and/or how serious you take your entertainment. I obviously take music, film, etc., very seriously, so I hold the artists I like to very high standards.
As long as those people are producing meaningful work, rarely does an artist's personal life factor into my appreciation (except for your occasional child molester or devil worshipper). It's impossible to know everything about everyone, so I try to balance what comes through the work with what appears on screen or on an album. It's impossible to completely vet every artist -- I'd never watch a movie or listen to a song.
Politics, for me, is not a deal-breaker. No matter who I vote for in November, that person is still a politician and they're all compromised if not downright crooked. My faith in statesmanship at the highest levels is about nil. Instead I'm left looking for the candidate who isn't quite as bad as the other, and that's a sad state of affairs.
In the end, I reconcile my love for musicians on the absolute opposite political rainbow from me with this mentality: Better they're passionate about something than nothing at all. Matter of fact, they better be passionate about something other than just lining their pockets, or I probably won't pay attention in the first place.
Looking at it another way, would I stop being friends with someone just because we differ politically? No. I should want to learn more about their views and try to understand where those friends are coming from. We can agree to disagree but still enjoy each other's company.
Thus, I typically don't go in for these "boycotts" that crop up every once in a while. I skip past "Bushleaguer" -- an inane anti-Bush rant on Pearl Jam's latest album, "Riot Act" -- but count "You Are" a few tracks back as one of the group's most powerful songs. One does not disqualify the other.
I have a problem, though, when artists present their opinions in ways that are beneath their talent. If you have a strong point of view, that's good -- present it with some class and I'll respect you in the morning.
But I get annoyed when Pearl Jam lead singer Eddie Vedder assaults a rubber Bush mask onstage or Michael Moore shouts like a fool from the Oscar podium or Toby Keith writes a chest-beating post-9/11 "anthem" or Susan Sarandon screams like a banshee at a pro-choice rally.
That's just moronic, pandering behavior and serves little purpose other than placating sycophants. These are, supposedly, intelligent people, and they should act like it.
To his credit, though, Vedder proved quite prophetic during a show in Seattle on Nov. 6, 2000, just hours before polls opened for the presidential election pitting Bush against then-Vice President Al Gore (with some Ralph Nader thrown in on the side).
"We'll see you at the voting booth tomorrow," he told the rabid crowd that night. "If you don't vote, let that be your epitaph."
Twenty-four hours later, I'm sure there were a lot of people wishing they'd followed that advice.
Friday, April 23, 2004
ClearPlay: Censorhip for the brainless
—Originally published 4.23.04
As a general rule, I don't watch movies aired on television unless it's 4 a.m. and I can't sleep. I can't stand to see a film "edited for content" or chopped up to squeeze in a few more commercials.
Case in point, a few weeks ago some cable station (it may have been USA, but I can't remember now), showed Kevin Smith's "Mallrats." Not his best work, no doubt, but still amusing -- and, of course, full of profanity. Like it or not, cursing is one of Smith's trademarks.
I watched about a half hour, just to see the first scene with lovable foul-mouthed loafs Jay and Silent Bob. After two lines of Jason Mewes' (Jay) dialogue, I promptly turned off the set in utter frustration.
You see, Jay utters so many curse words throughout "Mallrats" (as well as "Clerks," "Dogma," etc.) bleeping him would have left a gaping hole in the soundtrack. So they got some dope to do a horrible Jay impression and overdubbed the dialogue. It was painful.
For this reason, I won't be watching "Sex and the City" in June when reruns of HBO's landmark comedy series start playing on TBS.
I don't know how much of the original "Sex" will make it on to the "superstation," but it certainly won't be everything, even though cable networks like Comedy Central and FX have been stretching the profanity limit for years with series like "South Park," "The Shield" and, more recently, "Chappelle's Show" and "Nip/Tuck." They get away with it because cable is technically a pay-per-view service, but the "decency" lines will be snapped taut quite soon if the FCC has its way.
By no means does this mean profanity = humor. It can get really tiring, especially when writers think cursing is funny in its own right. When used correctly, though, profanity can be powerful -- be it powerfully funny ("The Big Lebowski," "Sex and the City") or powerfully dramatic (if the characters in "Boyz N the Hood" said "shoot" and "fudge" for two hours, that movie would have lost all its authenticity and, thus, meaning).
That's why I was so troubled earlier this month by an Associated Press story about ClearPlay, a company selling DVD players with built-in censor chips that block out "objectionable" material. Viewers can pick from four different categories: violence; sex and nudity; language and "other," which includes explicit drug use. So parents can theoretically pick their particular problem areas and they just -- poof! -- disappear. The DVDs have already been screened by ClearPlay employees who, in their obviously infinite wisdom, mark "objectionable" content and then the players are programmed to match. (Updates are available on a subscription basis from the company's Web site as new DVDs hit the market.)
You can probably guess where these DVD players debuted: Yep, Wal-Mart, morality watchdog of the world. The Wonderful World of Wally maintains one of the most hypocritical policies I've ever encountered with its "edited" CD department: How can a company claim the "moral" highground when it comes to music, then sell R-rated movies one aisle over and posters of scantily-clad supermodels an aisle next to that?
Wal-Mart's appeal to "families" is nauseating. If you don't want subject yourself to the profanity, sex, nudity, violence and generally disreputable human beings in "The Sopranos," THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. If you don't want to listen to 50 Cent because he raps about killing people and abusing women, that's fine, too.
But when Wal-Mart cracks down on music under the banner of "good old American values," but leaves Hollywood essentially alone, that's disingenuous -- the entire thing is better off left to police itself and let buyer beware. If you're going to make Nirvana change a song title on the back cover before stocking what turned out to be a landmark album ("In Utero"), then you should demand David Chase change scenes in his landmark television show before you sell it on DVD.
Well, mission: accomplished, I guess, because now the store offers a DVD player that can do that, too.
Wal-Mart's censorship is really just a tangential subject, however; this whole issue comes back to personal choices -- by both the artists and the consumers. I won't watch edited versions of "The Big Lebowski" or "Sex and the City" or "Boyz N the Hood" because the deletions ruin the overall intentions, impressions and impact of the works. Filmmakers worth a salt don't spend years of their lives painstakingly editing each and every second of a two-hour piece just so people can throw pieces away arbitrarily.
I don't understand people who think it's OK to watch these hacked versions but not the originals. If you don't like the work or the people behind it, fine -- but the message doesn't change with omissions.
If parents want to protect their kids from what they perceive to be harmful material, then they should watch the movies for themselves and decide for themselves if they want to fast-forward through a sex scene or a stabbing or whatever when watching the DVDs with their kids (what a concept).
There is definitely a difference between the content of a 50 Cent album and an episode of "The Sopranos," and it has nothing to do with curse words. Cleaning them out is just pandering to people who are too lazy to engage our culture with their own brains and find the message for themselves.
As a general rule, I don't watch movies aired on television unless it's 4 a.m. and I can't sleep. I can't stand to see a film "edited for content" or chopped up to squeeze in a few more commercials.
Case in point, a few weeks ago some cable station (it may have been USA, but I can't remember now), showed Kevin Smith's "Mallrats." Not his best work, no doubt, but still amusing -- and, of course, full of profanity. Like it or not, cursing is one of Smith's trademarks.
I watched about a half hour, just to see the first scene with lovable foul-mouthed loafs Jay and Silent Bob. After two lines of Jason Mewes' (Jay) dialogue, I promptly turned off the set in utter frustration.
You see, Jay utters so many curse words throughout "Mallrats" (as well as "Clerks," "Dogma," etc.) bleeping him would have left a gaping hole in the soundtrack. So they got some dope to do a horrible Jay impression and overdubbed the dialogue. It was painful.
For this reason, I won't be watching "Sex and the City" in June when reruns of HBO's landmark comedy series start playing on TBS.
I don't know how much of the original "Sex" will make it on to the "superstation," but it certainly won't be everything, even though cable networks like Comedy Central and FX have been stretching the profanity limit for years with series like "South Park," "The Shield" and, more recently, "Chappelle's Show" and "Nip/Tuck." They get away with it because cable is technically a pay-per-view service, but the "decency" lines will be snapped taut quite soon if the FCC has its way.
By no means does this mean profanity = humor. It can get really tiring, especially when writers think cursing is funny in its own right. When used correctly, though, profanity can be powerful -- be it powerfully funny ("The Big Lebowski," "Sex and the City") or powerfully dramatic (if the characters in "Boyz N the Hood" said "shoot" and "fudge" for two hours, that movie would have lost all its authenticity and, thus, meaning).
That's why I was so troubled earlier this month by an Associated Press story about ClearPlay, a company selling DVD players with built-in censor chips that block out "objectionable" material. Viewers can pick from four different categories: violence; sex and nudity; language and "other," which includes explicit drug use. So parents can theoretically pick their particular problem areas and they just -- poof! -- disappear. The DVDs have already been screened by ClearPlay employees who, in their obviously infinite wisdom, mark "objectionable" content and then the players are programmed to match. (Updates are available on a subscription basis from the company's Web site as new DVDs hit the market.)
You can probably guess where these DVD players debuted: Yep, Wal-Mart, morality watchdog of the world. The Wonderful World of Wally maintains one of the most hypocritical policies I've ever encountered with its "edited" CD department: How can a company claim the "moral" highground when it comes to music, then sell R-rated movies one aisle over and posters of scantily-clad supermodels an aisle next to that?
Wal-Mart's appeal to "families" is nauseating. If you don't want subject yourself to the profanity, sex, nudity, violence and generally disreputable human beings in "The Sopranos," THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. If you don't want to listen to 50 Cent because he raps about killing people and abusing women, that's fine, too.
But when Wal-Mart cracks down on music under the banner of "good old American values," but leaves Hollywood essentially alone, that's disingenuous -- the entire thing is better off left to police itself and let buyer beware. If you're going to make Nirvana change a song title on the back cover before stocking what turned out to be a landmark album ("In Utero"), then you should demand David Chase change scenes in his landmark television show before you sell it on DVD.
Well, mission: accomplished, I guess, because now the store offers a DVD player that can do that, too.
Wal-Mart's censorship is really just a tangential subject, however; this whole issue comes back to personal choices -- by both the artists and the consumers. I won't watch edited versions of "The Big Lebowski" or "Sex and the City" or "Boyz N the Hood" because the deletions ruin the overall intentions, impressions and impact of the works. Filmmakers worth a salt don't spend years of their lives painstakingly editing each and every second of a two-hour piece just so people can throw pieces away arbitrarily.
I don't understand people who think it's OK to watch these hacked versions but not the originals. If you don't like the work or the people behind it, fine -- but the message doesn't change with omissions.
If parents want to protect their kids from what they perceive to be harmful material, then they should watch the movies for themselves and decide for themselves if they want to fast-forward through a sex scene or a stabbing or whatever when watching the DVDs with their kids (what a concept).
There is definitely a difference between the content of a 50 Cent album and an episode of "The Sopranos," and it has nothing to do with curse words. Cleaning them out is just pandering to people who are too lazy to engage our culture with their own brains and find the message for themselves.
Friday, April 16, 2004
Nick & Jessica's variety hour: 60 minutes of pain
—Originally published 4.16.04
Thank goodness for VCRs -- especially the fast-forward button.
I knew last Sunday's "The Nick & Jessica Variety Hour" was probably going to be a cringe-fest, but I wanted to give it a fair shot. Hence the tape, so I could skip the more excruciating parts I was sure were coming.
I ended up watching as much as I could stand the next night with a buddy of mine (much to his chagrin). What follows is essentially my running mental commentary while enduring this ... experience.
------
-- All right, here we go: "The Nick & Jessica Variety Hour," starring Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson's cleavage.
-- Nick has about as much improv skill as I do. He is seriously riding his wife's coattails.
-- Thirty seconds in, and I want desperately to turn this off. Maybe it's because I grew up in the '80s and '90s instead of the '60s and '70s, but I just don't get this whole "variety show" premise.
-- First punch of the fast-forward button to get through this interminable P.I. sketch.
-- WHOA! Push Play! It's Mr. T!
-- Apparently, these days Mr. T will do anything for money. I pity this poor fool.
-- Now we have Jessica and Jewel on-stage together. Is the host mocking her guest? Surely this can't be Ms. Simpson's idea of "serious" delivery?
-- There are way too many audience members voicing their approval. Who are these people?
-- There's K.I.T.T., another of my childhood heroes, cool.
-- Wait, that is not K.I.T.T.'s real voice! This is so pathetic.
-- As Nick and Jessica sing along with K.I.T.T., my buddy repeatedly beats his head with a pillow. "It's less painful," he tells me.
-- Ugh. "The Mickey Mouse Club" bit is even worse. I will never have the last three minutes of my life back.
-- OK, hitting Nick in the head with a bottle over and over is pretty funny.
-- AAAAGGGHHHHHH! Somebody put his shirt back on!!!!
-- Mr. T is back for "10 seconds of awkwardness." I think the total's more like 1,800 at this point.
-- Jessica Simpson is the LAST person who should be taking shots at President Bush for being dumb.
-- Jessica as Dolly Parton: Cleavage-to-the-max outfit No. ... Never mind, I've lost count.
-- It occurs to me Jessica may actually think Kenny Rogers is Nick in disguise. This is now officially the "Revive My Career Variety Show."
-- It takes a special talent, I guess, to be outclassed, outwitted and upstaged by Muppets.
-- Nick in a bunny suit: He, too, will apparently do anything for money. (And what is this "Works Hard for the Money" bit, anyway?)
-- My buddy, a Cincinnati Reds fan, is contemplating a shift in allegiance after Johnny Bench makes an appearance.
-- Jessica's singing "Take My Breath Away," and we have the first appearance of my "corny goosebumps" (you know, when something happens that's so incredibly stupid/cheesy/awful that it causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end). Reaching for the fast-forward button ...
-- "I Got You Babe" duet brings the corny goosebumps right back as the show, mercifully, clunks to a close. I'll take the "Beavis & Butt-head" version any day.
-- I never saw "The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour," but I can't believe it was as bad as this. Bono's probably rolling in his grave.
------
I know these tidbits are resoundingly negative, but they came right off the pad I had next to me while watching this show. I tried to find something good, but it just wasn't there.
And it's not like I don't know who these people are -- I've seen most of the couple's "Newlyweds" episodes and find them at least amusing, if not genuinely funny.
But let's be honest -- Nick and Jessica are dumb (or at least pretend to be), and it's easy for dumb people to be humorous on TV just by being their own dumb selves. Take Spike TV's "Most Extreme Elimination Challenge," for example (new season starts April 22, woohoo!).
In scripted sketches, however, which require real acting chops to pull off, Nick and Jessica are unwatchable. And yet 11.5 million people tuned in Sunday night, anyway.
Much more disturbing, though, are the 15 million people who last week watched Fox's disgusting new reality show "The Swan," which provides "ugly ducklings" with plastic surgery and then has them compete in a beauty contest. I refused to watch this inhumane garbage just from seeing the commercials. I wish more people had done the same.
Television -- and, evidently, its audience -- are in really, really bad shape.
Thank goodness for VCRs -- especially the fast-forward button.
I knew last Sunday's "The Nick & Jessica Variety Hour" was probably going to be a cringe-fest, but I wanted to give it a fair shot. Hence the tape, so I could skip the more excruciating parts I was sure were coming.
I ended up watching as much as I could stand the next night with a buddy of mine (much to his chagrin). What follows is essentially my running mental commentary while enduring this ... experience.
------
-- All right, here we go: "The Nick & Jessica Variety Hour," starring Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson's cleavage.
-- Nick has about as much improv skill as I do. He is seriously riding his wife's coattails.
-- Thirty seconds in, and I want desperately to turn this off. Maybe it's because I grew up in the '80s and '90s instead of the '60s and '70s, but I just don't get this whole "variety show" premise.
-- First punch of the fast-forward button to get through this interminable P.I. sketch.
-- WHOA! Push Play! It's Mr. T!
-- Apparently, these days Mr. T will do anything for money. I pity this poor fool.
-- Now we have Jessica and Jewel on-stage together. Is the host mocking her guest? Surely this can't be Ms. Simpson's idea of "serious" delivery?
-- There are way too many audience members voicing their approval. Who are these people?
-- There's K.I.T.T., another of my childhood heroes, cool.
-- Wait, that is not K.I.T.T.'s real voice! This is so pathetic.
-- As Nick and Jessica sing along with K.I.T.T., my buddy repeatedly beats his head with a pillow. "It's less painful," he tells me.
-- Ugh. "The Mickey Mouse Club" bit is even worse. I will never have the last three minutes of my life back.
-- OK, hitting Nick in the head with a bottle over and over is pretty funny.
-- AAAAGGGHHHHHH! Somebody put his shirt back on!!!!
-- Mr. T is back for "10 seconds of awkwardness." I think the total's more like 1,800 at this point.
-- Jessica Simpson is the LAST person who should be taking shots at President Bush for being dumb.
-- Jessica as Dolly Parton: Cleavage-to-the-max outfit No. ... Never mind, I've lost count.
-- It occurs to me Jessica may actually think Kenny Rogers is Nick in disguise. This is now officially the "Revive My Career Variety Show."
-- It takes a special talent, I guess, to be outclassed, outwitted and upstaged by Muppets.
-- Nick in a bunny suit: He, too, will apparently do anything for money. (And what is this "Works Hard for the Money" bit, anyway?)
-- My buddy, a Cincinnati Reds fan, is contemplating a shift in allegiance after Johnny Bench makes an appearance.
-- Jessica's singing "Take My Breath Away," and we have the first appearance of my "corny goosebumps" (you know, when something happens that's so incredibly stupid/cheesy/awful that it causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end). Reaching for the fast-forward button ...
-- "I Got You Babe" duet brings the corny goosebumps right back as the show, mercifully, clunks to a close. I'll take the "Beavis & Butt-head" version any day.
-- I never saw "The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour," but I can't believe it was as bad as this. Bono's probably rolling in his grave.
------
I know these tidbits are resoundingly negative, but they came right off the pad I had next to me while watching this show. I tried to find something good, but it just wasn't there.
And it's not like I don't know who these people are -- I've seen most of the couple's "Newlyweds" episodes and find them at least amusing, if not genuinely funny.
But let's be honest -- Nick and Jessica are dumb (or at least pretend to be), and it's easy for dumb people to be humorous on TV just by being their own dumb selves. Take Spike TV's "Most Extreme Elimination Challenge," for example (new season starts April 22, woohoo!).
In scripted sketches, however, which require real acting chops to pull off, Nick and Jessica are unwatchable. And yet 11.5 million people tuned in Sunday night, anyway.
Much more disturbing, though, are the 15 million people who last week watched Fox's disgusting new reality show "The Swan," which provides "ugly ducklings" with plastic surgery and then has them compete in a beauty contest. I refused to watch this inhumane garbage just from seeing the commercials. I wish more people had done the same.
Television -- and, evidently, its audience -- are in really, really bad shape.
Friday, April 09, 2004
'The Matrix': How the mighty series has fallen
—Originally published 4.9.04
Five years ago, I swallowed the red pill. Now I almost wish I'd taken the blue one, instead.
What in this artificial world happened to "The Matrix" franchise? (Hint: That last word may be the answer.)
"The Matrix" was released to mild fanfare in the spring of 1999, but became a worldwide phenomenon based on tremendous word-of-mouth. The first must-have DVD, it is a revolutionary piece of filmmaking (sci-fi or otherwise), that includes the fabulous "bullet time" technology, now one of the most copied techniques in Hollywood.
When I saw "The Matrix" for the first time, I didn't know Nos. 2 and 3 were even in the works -- nor did I think such things were necessary. When Neo (Keanu Reeves) takes off at the end and Rage Against the Machine's "Wake Up" explodes through the speakers, what could be a better conclusion? Neo says he will free the world's people from the machines, and who am I not to believe him? He's flying, after all.
If the "Matrix" movies prove anything, it's this: Some stories are better left to the imagination.
Brothers Andy and Larry Wachowski, who wrote and directed the entire trilogy, bit off more than they could chew -- or more than the public was willing to swallow, anyway -- with the sequels.
"The Matrix Reloaded" (May 2003) and "The Matrix Revolutions" (November 2003 and out this week on DVD) have more of the cool clothes, bullets and bullet time, but none of the qualities that made the original such a charmer -- wit, humor and fun. Unfortunately, there is much, much more of what seemed a little excessive in the first one -- corny dialogue, bad acting and too much philosophizing.
Some of the latter was necessary in "The Matrix" to set up the story. But there's so much talking in "Reloaded" and "Revolutions" -- it goes on, and on, and on with no other purpose than pure exposition to explain the Wachowskis' "deep" (or convoluted) mythology. At some points, I wondered how the actors could say their lines with a straight face as they introduced yet another character from seemingly out of nowhere. When they talked like actual humans, it was almost shocking.
The visuals in the two sequels are excellent, of course. But it's the story and script that are lacking. If I wanted to watch Neo fight Agent Smith over and over, I would just pop the original into my DVD player. The sequels do resolve the story, sort of, but by the time I got to the end of No. 3, I didn't care anymore.
My loudest complaint with the re-loads, however, is they have screwed with my love for "The Matrix." I'm reminded of "High Fidelity," where Jack Black wonders, "Is it, in fact, unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter-day sins?"
In this case, absolutely.
Unfortunately, this happens too often in all forms of entertainment, be it an athlete who hangs around too long (Michael Jordan, some would argue), a TV show that outlives its creativity ("The X-Files" without Fox Mulder? Hello!), or musicians that should have packed it in a long time ago (Aerosmith onstage with Britney Spears at the Super Bowl comes to mind).
The "Matrix" sequels, though, don't just tarnish their predecessor -- they make it COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. The first -- and best -- movie, as explained in the following chapters, was nothing more than a predetermined programming glitch. Whoopee.
I know we live in the real world (at least I hope I do, after watching these three flicks), and in the real world people do things to make money. The Wachowskis certainly made the right financial move with "Reloaded" and "Revolutions," which grossed more than $420 million in the U.S. alone. ("Revolutions" was the least successful of the trilogy, however, at $139.2 million.)
But the Wachowskis cloak themselves in their "art." These boys claim to be above self-serving, moneymaking notions like press interviews, audio commentaries on the DVDs, and, I would assume, sequels for the box office's sake.
By those same standards, then, "Matrix" Nos. 2 and 3 are two of the most disappointing movies I've ever seen.
Artistically, I wish they'd left well enough alone.
Five years ago, I swallowed the red pill. Now I almost wish I'd taken the blue one, instead.
What in this artificial world happened to "The Matrix" franchise? (Hint: That last word may be the answer.)
"The Matrix" was released to mild fanfare in the spring of 1999, but became a worldwide phenomenon based on tremendous word-of-mouth. The first must-have DVD, it is a revolutionary piece of filmmaking (sci-fi or otherwise), that includes the fabulous "bullet time" technology, now one of the most copied techniques in Hollywood.
When I saw "The Matrix" for the first time, I didn't know Nos. 2 and 3 were even in the works -- nor did I think such things were necessary. When Neo (Keanu Reeves) takes off at the end and Rage Against the Machine's "Wake Up" explodes through the speakers, what could be a better conclusion? Neo says he will free the world's people from the machines, and who am I not to believe him? He's flying, after all.
If the "Matrix" movies prove anything, it's this: Some stories are better left to the imagination.
Brothers Andy and Larry Wachowski, who wrote and directed the entire trilogy, bit off more than they could chew -- or more than the public was willing to swallow, anyway -- with the sequels.
"The Matrix Reloaded" (May 2003) and "The Matrix Revolutions" (November 2003 and out this week on DVD) have more of the cool clothes, bullets and bullet time, but none of the qualities that made the original such a charmer -- wit, humor and fun. Unfortunately, there is much, much more of what seemed a little excessive in the first one -- corny dialogue, bad acting and too much philosophizing.
Some of the latter was necessary in "The Matrix" to set up the story. But there's so much talking in "Reloaded" and "Revolutions" -- it goes on, and on, and on with no other purpose than pure exposition to explain the Wachowskis' "deep" (or convoluted) mythology. At some points, I wondered how the actors could say their lines with a straight face as they introduced yet another character from seemingly out of nowhere. When they talked like actual humans, it was almost shocking.
The visuals in the two sequels are excellent, of course. But it's the story and script that are lacking. If I wanted to watch Neo fight Agent Smith over and over, I would just pop the original into my DVD player. The sequels do resolve the story, sort of, but by the time I got to the end of No. 3, I didn't care anymore.
My loudest complaint with the re-loads, however, is they have screwed with my love for "The Matrix." I'm reminded of "High Fidelity," where Jack Black wonders, "Is it, in fact, unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter-day sins?"
In this case, absolutely.
Unfortunately, this happens too often in all forms of entertainment, be it an athlete who hangs around too long (Michael Jordan, some would argue), a TV show that outlives its creativity ("The X-Files" without Fox Mulder? Hello!), or musicians that should have packed it in a long time ago (Aerosmith onstage with Britney Spears at the Super Bowl comes to mind).
The "Matrix" sequels, though, don't just tarnish their predecessor -- they make it COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. The first -- and best -- movie, as explained in the following chapters, was nothing more than a predetermined programming glitch. Whoopee.
I know we live in the real world (at least I hope I do, after watching these three flicks), and in the real world people do things to make money. The Wachowskis certainly made the right financial move with "Reloaded" and "Revolutions," which grossed more than $420 million in the U.S. alone. ("Revolutions" was the least successful of the trilogy, however, at $139.2 million.)
But the Wachowskis cloak themselves in their "art." These boys claim to be above self-serving, moneymaking notions like press interviews, audio commentaries on the DVDs, and, I would assume, sequels for the box office's sake.
By those same standards, then, "Matrix" Nos. 2 and 3 are two of the most disappointing movies I've ever seen.
Artistically, I wish they'd left well enough alone.
Friday, April 02, 2004
Ten years gone: The legacy of Kurt Cobain
—Originally published 4.2.04
On April 5, 1994, Nirvana lead singer/guitarist Kurt Cobain, at just 27 years old, shot a bullet through his head. His body was found three days later in his Seattle home.
It didn't matter much to me at the time, but a decade after his death, I'm wondering what might have been.
------
When Cobain committed suicide, all objectivity regarding his band's place in history went out the window. Right or wrong, he immediately assumed rock god status, right next to Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, John Bonham, Keith Moon, and any number of others who let their addictions get the best of them. "It's better to burn out than to fade away," Neil Young wrote in "Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)" -- in the judgment of history, that definitely applies to a rock-and-roll resume.
Nirvana is another of my "most overrated bands of all time." They were so posthumously praised, starting with the wall-to-wall coverage following the discovery of Cobain's body, it's nearly impossible for anyone to honestly assess the band's career.
Here's my criteria for being overrated: When asked, "What are the five best albums in rock history," whichever five albums pop into your head without thinking about it, those five artists are overrated.
Two of those albums were probably recorded by The Beatles, who are (of course) No. 1 on Rolling Stone Magazine's new list of "Immortals: The Fifty Greatest Artists of All Time," joined by the likes of other overrated acts likes The Rolling Stones, Elvis, Hendrix and, yes, Nirvana at No. 27. (Cobain's picture is on the issue's cover, on newsstands now.) This is just the latest in a long, long, long list of rock and roll "best of" lists. I hate them all, because all the same people are always in all the same slots.
This is not -- let me repeat, NOT -- to say those bands aren't among the greatest ever. In no way am I demeaning the accomplishments of The Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan, etc. It simply means their greatness has been so drilled into our heads by five decades of music critics, we can't possibly -- heaven forbid -- pick anyone else for these stupid lists without feeling a twinge of guilt.
I'm just like you: Included in my all-time top five are Led Zeppelin, Bruce Springsteen and U2, all of whom made the "Immortals" list and are also considered overrated by many.
But, sick as it may be, those that die dramatically are at another level. Most weren't around long enough to have what would be considered a full career. They burned so intensely for such a short time, though, they wash away criticism. (Go back and read Rolling Stone's review for Nirvana's landmark 1991 album "Nevermind," which received a meager three stars.)
I've rewritten my own history with Nirvana, too. I shied away from the band in its heyday, due to the overwhelming press of media hype combined with my friends' devotion. I don't remember when I first listened all the way through "Nevermind," but it was only a few years ago. Returning again to the Nirvana catalog the past few weeks, I realize we're in dire need of another Kurt Cobain -- someone with that perfect (and hard to find) mix of talent, indie sensibilities and mainstream appeal.
When Cobain died, the Seattle invasion was soon to follow. Pearl Jam remains one of the few survivors from a group that also included Soundgarden and Alice in Chains, among others. Now Billboard's Top 10 Modern/Alternative Rock tracks include bands like Nickelback, 3 Doors Down and Puddle of Mudd -- all Seattle-sound hacks. Nirvana and Pearl Jam may have shunned the popularity they experienced in the early '90s, but at least people were listening to good music on the rock airwaves again.
In the late '70s, punks like The Sex Pistols, Ramones and The Clash put the hurt on bloated bands like Kansas and Boston, and a revolution was born. In the same way, the Seattle sound from the early '90s put '80s rockers like Motley Crue, Poison and their copycats out to pasture.
Ten years after Cobain's death, we seem to be back at the cycle's low end. As a result, several stations nationwide are changing their formats to "classic alternative," meaning essentially mixing in cuts from the Seattle bands with some of today's better songs that don't get played on mainstream radio.
I take it as a bad sign the music I listened to as a 13 year old is already being called upon to salvage the airwaves. I thought the so-called "garage rock" of the past few years may be the answer, but I don't know if that movement will leave any lasting impressions. Much as I love The White Stripes, the bands who really make a difference seem to take elements from the past and move forward into something new; the Stripes, Hives, Vines, Strokes, etc., may have revived a great genre -- and done so splendidly -- but we should be looking ahead, not back.
Hopefully there's some kid out there right now, sitting in his room, banging out lyrics and hooks that will turn the music world on its ear once again.
And hopefully he'll live to see his 28th birthday.
On April 5, 1994, Nirvana lead singer/guitarist Kurt Cobain, at just 27 years old, shot a bullet through his head. His body was found three days later in his Seattle home.
It didn't matter much to me at the time, but a decade after his death, I'm wondering what might have been.
------
When Cobain committed suicide, all objectivity regarding his band's place in history went out the window. Right or wrong, he immediately assumed rock god status, right next to Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, John Bonham, Keith Moon, and any number of others who let their addictions get the best of them. "It's better to burn out than to fade away," Neil Young wrote in "Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)" -- in the judgment of history, that definitely applies to a rock-and-roll resume.
Nirvana is another of my "most overrated bands of all time." They were so posthumously praised, starting with the wall-to-wall coverage following the discovery of Cobain's body, it's nearly impossible for anyone to honestly assess the band's career.
Here's my criteria for being overrated: When asked, "What are the five best albums in rock history," whichever five albums pop into your head without thinking about it, those five artists are overrated.
Two of those albums were probably recorded by The Beatles, who are (of course) No. 1 on Rolling Stone Magazine's new list of "Immortals: The Fifty Greatest Artists of All Time," joined by the likes of other overrated acts likes The Rolling Stones, Elvis, Hendrix and, yes, Nirvana at No. 27. (Cobain's picture is on the issue's cover, on newsstands now.) This is just the latest in a long, long, long list of rock and roll "best of" lists. I hate them all, because all the same people are always in all the same slots.
This is not -- let me repeat, NOT -- to say those bands aren't among the greatest ever. In no way am I demeaning the accomplishments of The Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan, etc. It simply means their greatness has been so drilled into our heads by five decades of music critics, we can't possibly -- heaven forbid -- pick anyone else for these stupid lists without feeling a twinge of guilt.
I'm just like you: Included in my all-time top five are Led Zeppelin, Bruce Springsteen and U2, all of whom made the "Immortals" list and are also considered overrated by many.
But, sick as it may be, those that die dramatically are at another level. Most weren't around long enough to have what would be considered a full career. They burned so intensely for such a short time, though, they wash away criticism. (Go back and read Rolling Stone's review for Nirvana's landmark 1991 album "Nevermind," which received a meager three stars.)
I've rewritten my own history with Nirvana, too. I shied away from the band in its heyday, due to the overwhelming press of media hype combined with my friends' devotion. I don't remember when I first listened all the way through "Nevermind," but it was only a few years ago. Returning again to the Nirvana catalog the past few weeks, I realize we're in dire need of another Kurt Cobain -- someone with that perfect (and hard to find) mix of talent, indie sensibilities and mainstream appeal.
When Cobain died, the Seattle invasion was soon to follow. Pearl Jam remains one of the few survivors from a group that also included Soundgarden and Alice in Chains, among others. Now Billboard's Top 10 Modern/Alternative Rock tracks include bands like Nickelback, 3 Doors Down and Puddle of Mudd -- all Seattle-sound hacks. Nirvana and Pearl Jam may have shunned the popularity they experienced in the early '90s, but at least people were listening to good music on the rock airwaves again.
In the late '70s, punks like The Sex Pistols, Ramones and The Clash put the hurt on bloated bands like Kansas and Boston, and a revolution was born. In the same way, the Seattle sound from the early '90s put '80s rockers like Motley Crue, Poison and their copycats out to pasture.
Ten years after Cobain's death, we seem to be back at the cycle's low end. As a result, several stations nationwide are changing their formats to "classic alternative," meaning essentially mixing in cuts from the Seattle bands with some of today's better songs that don't get played on mainstream radio.
I take it as a bad sign the music I listened to as a 13 year old is already being called upon to salvage the airwaves. I thought the so-called "garage rock" of the past few years may be the answer, but I don't know if that movement will leave any lasting impressions. Much as I love The White Stripes, the bands who really make a difference seem to take elements from the past and move forward into something new; the Stripes, Hives, Vines, Strokes, etc., may have revived a great genre -- and done so splendidly -- but we should be looking ahead, not back.
Hopefully there's some kid out there right now, sitting in his room, banging out lyrics and hooks that will turn the music world on its ear once again.
And hopefully he'll live to see his 28th birthday.
Friday, March 26, 2004
DVD: The choice of a 'Seinfeld' generation
—Originally published 3.26.04
I'm in love, and its initials are D-V-D.
Seriously, what's not to like about these little discs? This is the best invention since frozen pizza.
Although they debuted in 1997, I didn't buy my DVD player until 2001 -- and it's already out of date. Nevertheless, when wandering the movie aisles at Best Buy, I can't help myself. In less than three years, I own more DVDs than I could hope to watch in any reasonable amount of time. Several on the shelf aren't even unwrapped; even more were opened simply to check out the packaging but have yet to actually make it into the player.
Still, it's nice knowing they're there.
For those of you (like one of my unfortunate colleagues) who haven't yet seen the light, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? You can buy a player now for $30. Thirty bucks! For the cost of a nice meal, you can open the door to a realm of unparalleled home theater delight. Plus, the price of individual discs is dropping all the time, as stores use them as loss-leaders to sucker you into buying other things like surround-sound systems (a must) and widescreen televisions. It's to the point where I'd rather buy a DVD than rent one (hence the unwatched movies).
Besides the obvious high quality picture and sound DVDs provide, several other bonus features are essential for any film fan. Most important are the audio commentaries, which typically allow any mix of directors, producers, writers and actors to discuss their film while watching it, then lay that track over top of the film's dialogue.
I can't remember ever watching a movie all the way through with the commentary on. However, I constantly flip over to the track when I come to a point in a film I don't understand; usually, there's an explanation.
For instance, while watching "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" a couple months ago, I backed the movie up after it ended to catch the screenwriters' thoughts on the final few scenes. I was pleasantly surprised to listen as they continued to talk well on into the credits about all the back story they came up with in their heads that obviously didn't make it into the movie. It provided yet another reason why "Pirates" was a rare Hollywood creature -- an action/adventure movie with character depth.
Thus I am drooling over the insights to be gained from the eventual DVD release of television's greatest sitcom -- "Seinfeld," of course. Can you imagine what those tracks would sound like, provided the finicky cast actually records a few?
Now that the original "Star Wars" trilogy is slated to hit DVD this fall, I would argue "Seinfeld" is the most-anticipated release in the entire industry without an official in-store date. (There is an online DVD petition -- if you'd like to add your name to the 34,000 already on the list, go to www.petitiononline.com/seindvd/petition.html.)
The last I heard, talk about "Seinfeld" on DVD was still nebulous, sometime before Christmas this year. There's no official word, though, which doesn't surprise me considering how anal Jerry probably is about the entire procedure. Plus, Jason Alexander (who played George Costanza) and Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine Benes) said they may not participate because they're unhappy with their slice of the merchandising pie. I just hope it doesn't take 10 years to get nine seasons out on DVD.
When/if they do hit the shelves, here's a few features I'm hoping to see:
• Audio commentaries, obviously, for at least a few of the best episodes. I don't see them discussing every show, like the cast and crew of "The Simpsons" did for the first three seasons of that glorious series.
• A gag reel. If you've seen the highlight shows, at the end there are just a few bloopers and they are hysterical. I could watch an entire disc of outtakes, but that's probably outside the realm of possibilities.
• Deleted/alternate scenes. By now, I know the shows so well, it would be nice to see what wasn't included.
Speaking of, that's another great example of why I'm dying for "Seinfeld" on DVD: I cannot stand watching the episodes in syndication. Have you ever noticed the shows are trimmed? In order to jam in a few more commercials, several lines/jokes are edited out of each and every episode. My tapes from the initial NBC airings are wearing out, so I need the originals preserved for posterity.
(Another plus for DVD owners, by the way -- durability. As long as you don't treat them like drink coasters, these discs will last a long, long, long time.)
For those (like me) with an impatient hankering for "Seinfeld" on DVD, I offer up the next best thing: The first season of Larry David's "Curb your Enthusiasm," available in a Best Buy near you. David is the co-creator of "Seinfeld" who left after Season 8 (much to the show's detriment). He now has a show on HBO.
The series follows David, playing himself, as he loafs from one bad situation into another -- usually caused by his big mouth. The show is mostly improvisation, and it really does feel like a really, really funny documentary of the oddball's life.
While not as good as "Seinfeld" (some of the setups are a tad too predictable), "Enthusiasm" has several spots of absolute hilarity. David just can't help being funny -- to look at him is to laugh. Plus, there are "Seinfeld" references all over the place, including a guest spot by Louis-Dreyfus.
Just remember, however, this is HBO, not NBC. There are no euphemisms like "master of his domain" -- "Enthusiasm" is definitely TV-MA. The first season is relatively tame on the whole, but one episode ("Porno Gil") relishes a little too much in the pay-cable network's "artistic freedom."
Consider yourself warned.
I'm in love, and its initials are D-V-D.
Seriously, what's not to like about these little discs? This is the best invention since frozen pizza.
Although they debuted in 1997, I didn't buy my DVD player until 2001 -- and it's already out of date. Nevertheless, when wandering the movie aisles at Best Buy, I can't help myself. In less than three years, I own more DVDs than I could hope to watch in any reasonable amount of time. Several on the shelf aren't even unwrapped; even more were opened simply to check out the packaging but have yet to actually make it into the player.
Still, it's nice knowing they're there.
For those of you (like one of my unfortunate colleagues) who haven't yet seen the light, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? You can buy a player now for $30. Thirty bucks! For the cost of a nice meal, you can open the door to a realm of unparalleled home theater delight. Plus, the price of individual discs is dropping all the time, as stores use them as loss-leaders to sucker you into buying other things like surround-sound systems (a must) and widescreen televisions. It's to the point where I'd rather buy a DVD than rent one (hence the unwatched movies).
Besides the obvious high quality picture and sound DVDs provide, several other bonus features are essential for any film fan. Most important are the audio commentaries, which typically allow any mix of directors, producers, writers and actors to discuss their film while watching it, then lay that track over top of the film's dialogue.
I can't remember ever watching a movie all the way through with the commentary on. However, I constantly flip over to the track when I come to a point in a film I don't understand; usually, there's an explanation.
For instance, while watching "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" a couple months ago, I backed the movie up after it ended to catch the screenwriters' thoughts on the final few scenes. I was pleasantly surprised to listen as they continued to talk well on into the credits about all the back story they came up with in their heads that obviously didn't make it into the movie. It provided yet another reason why "Pirates" was a rare Hollywood creature -- an action/adventure movie with character depth.
Thus I am drooling over the insights to be gained from the eventual DVD release of television's greatest sitcom -- "Seinfeld," of course. Can you imagine what those tracks would sound like, provided the finicky cast actually records a few?
Now that the original "Star Wars" trilogy is slated to hit DVD this fall, I would argue "Seinfeld" is the most-anticipated release in the entire industry without an official in-store date. (There is an online DVD petition -- if you'd like to add your name to the 34,000 already on the list, go to www.petitiononline.com/seindvd/petition.html.)
The last I heard, talk about "Seinfeld" on DVD was still nebulous, sometime before Christmas this year. There's no official word, though, which doesn't surprise me considering how anal Jerry probably is about the entire procedure. Plus, Jason Alexander (who played George Costanza) and Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine Benes) said they may not participate because they're unhappy with their slice of the merchandising pie. I just hope it doesn't take 10 years to get nine seasons out on DVD.
When/if they do hit the shelves, here's a few features I'm hoping to see:
• Audio commentaries, obviously, for at least a few of the best episodes. I don't see them discussing every show, like the cast and crew of "The Simpsons" did for the first three seasons of that glorious series.
• A gag reel. If you've seen the highlight shows, at the end there are just a few bloopers and they are hysterical. I could watch an entire disc of outtakes, but that's probably outside the realm of possibilities.
• Deleted/alternate scenes. By now, I know the shows so well, it would be nice to see what wasn't included.
Speaking of, that's another great example of why I'm dying for "Seinfeld" on DVD: I cannot stand watching the episodes in syndication. Have you ever noticed the shows are trimmed? In order to jam in a few more commercials, several lines/jokes are edited out of each and every episode. My tapes from the initial NBC airings are wearing out, so I need the originals preserved for posterity.
(Another plus for DVD owners, by the way -- durability. As long as you don't treat them like drink coasters, these discs will last a long, long, long time.)
For those (like me) with an impatient hankering for "Seinfeld" on DVD, I offer up the next best thing: The first season of Larry David's "Curb your Enthusiasm," available in a Best Buy near you. David is the co-creator of "Seinfeld" who left after Season 8 (much to the show's detriment). He now has a show on HBO.
The series follows David, playing himself, as he loafs from one bad situation into another -- usually caused by his big mouth. The show is mostly improvisation, and it really does feel like a really, really funny documentary of the oddball's life.
While not as good as "Seinfeld" (some of the setups are a tad too predictable), "Enthusiasm" has several spots of absolute hilarity. David just can't help being funny -- to look at him is to laugh. Plus, there are "Seinfeld" references all over the place, including a guest spot by Louis-Dreyfus.
Just remember, however, this is HBO, not NBC. There are no euphemisms like "master of his domain" -- "Enthusiasm" is definitely TV-MA. The first season is relatively tame on the whole, but one episode ("Porno Gil") relishes a little too much in the pay-cable network's "artistic freedom."
Consider yourself warned.
Friday, March 19, 2004
Britney is hazardous to your (musical) health
—Originally published 3.19.04
Please don't tell anyone, but I kinda, sorta think that Britney Spears song "Toxic" is, well ... catchy.
Then again, why shouldn't I? It's essentially a commercial jingle, only instead of shilling Pepsi, Spears is trying to resuscitate a flagging career. Ms. (or is it Mrs.?) I'm a Woman grabs headlines these days just for being Britney Spears (kissing Madonna, getting married, having sex, etc.) -- which have nothing to do with anything she's actually produced.
Thus it's disturbing "Toxic" hit No. 9 this week on Billboard's Hot 100. If this is what passes for tops of the pops, who in the world are we going to induct into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25 years from now?
It's probably inaccurate to even label "Toxic" a Spears song, though, because she had very little -- if anything -- to do with its creation. The list of "collaborators" on her latest album, "In the Zone," is a mile long. And while Spears talks all the time about her "writing," I wonder how much of her actual input ends up in the final product. (In a Rolling Stone interview last year, she couldn't remember the working title for a song Moby contributed to her album.)
And beyond that, Spears just flat-out cannot sing. Think back to all her hits you've heard: Can you remember what her real voice sounds like? No. The aforementioned army of producers (intelligently) buries her mediocre vocals behind layers of backup singers and techno wizardry. Elvis Presley and The Beatles are the two most overrated pop acts of all time, but at least they could sing.
I'm going to stop the Spears rant here, because far be it from me to keep a young woman from selling her body -- I mean, soul -- no, wait, I mean voice -- to make a buck. More power to her, but I'm not buying.
Just to show I'm not a total curmudgeon, however, I scanned through my CDs and picked out some of my favorite female artists for your listening pleasure:
• PJ Harvey -- Unquestionably my all-time favorite, Ms. Polly Jean rocks out like no other woman I've ever heard. Her voice shifts from beautiful to powerful to ear-splitting at a moment's notice, and her minimalist guitar riffs are a perfect complement. She is without question the best rock artist you've never heard of. Recommended listening: 2000's "Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea."
• Janis Joplin -- Speaking of hall of famers, everyone knows this tragic story. Drug abuse led to her untimely death, but while she lasted, Joplin was fabulous. Recommended listening: Any of her "essential" or "greatest hits" collections are a good starting point.
• Meg White -- She's not a great singer and definitely not a great drummer, but without her, there would be no White Stripes. Her beats, though simple, really aren't bad and they balance out bandmate Jack White's frantic guitar to form one of my favorite bands. Recommended listening: 2003's "Elephant" is her best work yet behind the set. Plus, she takes the mic for "In the Cold, Cold, Night."
-- Sleater-Kinney -- I was late to this party, just coming across the female punk trio last summer when they opened for Pearl Jam. I now have all but one of their albums. S-K's piercing vocals usually makes this a love-'em-or-hate-'em situation. Recommended listening: Although it's the critics' least favorite, 2000's "All Hands on the Bad One" is the most "mainstream" of the group's albums and a good place to start.
-- Lucinda Williams -- This phenomenal talent provides a mix of rock, blues and country that coalesces into simply stellar work. Get rid of your Sheryl Crow CDs and start listening to a far superior artist of the same ilk. Recommended listening: The 1998 classic "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road."
• Macy Gray -- History may judge her a one-hit wonder, but there's a lot more to this soul singer with the sandpaper voice than "I Try." She refreshingly blends hip-hop with Motown to create a sound unlike anything else you'll hear in the genre. Recommended listening: Her 1997 debut "On How Life Is."
• Beyonce -- A pop star with actual talent. You may be sick of hearing her on the radio and seeing her on TV (that I can't imagine), but she's everything Spears pretends to be and more. It's still too poppy for my taste, but Beyonce's the best of the bunch, hands down. Recommended listening: Last year's "Dangerously in Love," for the five people that don't own it already.
• And for some local flavor, go see Lives of Reily tonight at 6:30 in The Alley. Brooke Lundy Reily and her husband, Gavin, have real rock and roll chops. Recommended listening: Their 2003 self-titled debut album, recorded in the living room of their Aiken home.
Please don't tell anyone, but I kinda, sorta think that Britney Spears song "Toxic" is, well ... catchy.
Then again, why shouldn't I? It's essentially a commercial jingle, only instead of shilling Pepsi, Spears is trying to resuscitate a flagging career. Ms. (or is it Mrs.?) I'm a Woman grabs headlines these days just for being Britney Spears (kissing Madonna, getting married, having sex, etc.) -- which have nothing to do with anything she's actually produced.
Thus it's disturbing "Toxic" hit No. 9 this week on Billboard's Hot 100. If this is what passes for tops of the pops, who in the world are we going to induct into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25 years from now?
It's probably inaccurate to even label "Toxic" a Spears song, though, because she had very little -- if anything -- to do with its creation. The list of "collaborators" on her latest album, "In the Zone," is a mile long. And while Spears talks all the time about her "writing," I wonder how much of her actual input ends up in the final product. (In a Rolling Stone interview last year, she couldn't remember the working title for a song Moby contributed to her album.)
And beyond that, Spears just flat-out cannot sing. Think back to all her hits you've heard: Can you remember what her real voice sounds like? No. The aforementioned army of producers (intelligently) buries her mediocre vocals behind layers of backup singers and techno wizardry. Elvis Presley and The Beatles are the two most overrated pop acts of all time, but at least they could sing.
I'm going to stop the Spears rant here, because far be it from me to keep a young woman from selling her body -- I mean, soul -- no, wait, I mean voice -- to make a buck. More power to her, but I'm not buying.
Just to show I'm not a total curmudgeon, however, I scanned through my CDs and picked out some of my favorite female artists for your listening pleasure:
• PJ Harvey -- Unquestionably my all-time favorite, Ms. Polly Jean rocks out like no other woman I've ever heard. Her voice shifts from beautiful to powerful to ear-splitting at a moment's notice, and her minimalist guitar riffs are a perfect complement. She is without question the best rock artist you've never heard of. Recommended listening: 2000's "Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea."
• Janis Joplin -- Speaking of hall of famers, everyone knows this tragic story. Drug abuse led to her untimely death, but while she lasted, Joplin was fabulous. Recommended listening: Any of her "essential" or "greatest hits" collections are a good starting point.
• Meg White -- She's not a great singer and definitely not a great drummer, but without her, there would be no White Stripes. Her beats, though simple, really aren't bad and they balance out bandmate Jack White's frantic guitar to form one of my favorite bands. Recommended listening: 2003's "Elephant" is her best work yet behind the set. Plus, she takes the mic for "In the Cold, Cold, Night."
-- Sleater-Kinney -- I was late to this party, just coming across the female punk trio last summer when they opened for Pearl Jam. I now have all but one of their albums. S-K's piercing vocals usually makes this a love-'em-or-hate-'em situation. Recommended listening: Although it's the critics' least favorite, 2000's "All Hands on the Bad One" is the most "mainstream" of the group's albums and a good place to start.
-- Lucinda Williams -- This phenomenal talent provides a mix of rock, blues and country that coalesces into simply stellar work. Get rid of your Sheryl Crow CDs and start listening to a far superior artist of the same ilk. Recommended listening: The 1998 classic "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road."
• Macy Gray -- History may judge her a one-hit wonder, but there's a lot more to this soul singer with the sandpaper voice than "I Try." She refreshingly blends hip-hop with Motown to create a sound unlike anything else you'll hear in the genre. Recommended listening: Her 1997 debut "On How Life Is."
• Beyonce -- A pop star with actual talent. You may be sick of hearing her on the radio and seeing her on TV (that I can't imagine), but she's everything Spears pretends to be and more. It's still too poppy for my taste, but Beyonce's the best of the bunch, hands down. Recommended listening: Last year's "Dangerously in Love," for the five people that don't own it already.
• And for some local flavor, go see Lives of Reily tonight at 6:30 in The Alley. Brooke Lundy Reily and her husband, Gavin, have real rock and roll chops. Recommended listening: Their 2003 self-titled debut album, recorded in the living room of their Aiken home.
Friday, March 12, 2004
Don't let 'Alias' slip by unnoticed
—Originally published 3.12.04
Give yourself a treat and watch ABC's "Alias" for the rest of this season.
The network is running new episodes every Sunday at 9 p.m. through May, so for the unfortunate uninitiated, there won't be a better time to catch up with one of television's best series.
A lot of you probably don't even know what "Alias" is, though, since ABC has done such a horrendous job of marketing what it fails to see as its best product. Compared to promos for ridiculous shows like "The Bachelor" or "Threat Matrix," "Alias" gets little or no publicity, despite effervescent reviews from TV critics nationwide.
ABC has botched its handling of the show, starting with last year's post-Super Bowl episode. This turning point in the series was one of the best hours of television I've ever seen -- unfortunately, no one else did because it didn't start until 11 p.m., 45 minutes after an unbearably boring game.
And don't get me started on the DVDs -- releasing seasons 1 and 2 within a few months of each other last fall was not the most brilliant of moves. Instead of releasing both during the third season, ABC should have followed Fox's game plan with "24." By releasing the first season of that groundbreaking show on disc only a few months after it wrapped in May 2002, newbies had a chance to catch up before Season 2.
As a result, "24" saw a huge ratings bump that fall.
At this rate, ABC seems to care little about its best program, and I'll be surprised if "Alias" lasts beyond next season.
Why, then, should you bother? Oh, let me count the ways.
First off, "Alias" stars the resplendent Jennifer Garner, who's turned into an Emmy- and Golden Globe-nominated superstar because of her ability to showcase action and emotional depth, making both look convincing. She plays Special Agent Sydney Bristow, who began her career with the CIA working as a double-agent inside a terrorist organization called The Alliance -- and all the while going to grad school.
Working with her despondent father, Jack Bristow (Victor Garber, the class of a fine cast), also a CIA double-agent, her handler/lover, CIA agent Michael Vaughn (Michael Vartan), and her mother Irina Derevko (played with exquisite intensity by Lena Olin), a former Russian terrorist who turned herself into the CIA, Sydney finally brought down the Alliance during the aforementioned Super Bowl episode.
Unfortunately for Sydney, all her efforts only helped the one man she hates the most -- Arvin Sloane (a perfectly smarmy Ron Rivkin), who murdered Sydney's fiancé -- accomplish his nefarious plans. He allowed Syd to destroy the Alliance just so he could pick up the pieces and become the world's most powerful terrorist. Ms. Bristow spent the remainder of Season 2 battling him, only to be shot and nearly killed in a spectacular two-hour finale.
When she woke up, at the beginning of Season 3, it was two years later. Sloane, apparently, turned over a new leaf and became a humanitarian, her mother went back into hiding, and Vaughn married NSC agent Lauren Reed (Melissa George). Reed, we recently discovered, is a double-agent for The Covenant, the new terrorist power in the world that held Syd captive for those missing two years.
So, you got all that? Don't worry, it's not required to enjoy this show.
As you can glean from this synopsis, "Alias" is as complicated as anything you'll ever see on TV. (I haven't even mentioned the Rimbaldi mythology, which serves as the series' overarching thematic glue.) But series creator/writer J.J. Abrams probably learned from other conspiracy-theory shows -- namely "The X-Files" -- and doesn't allow a ton of plotlines to dangle around for long, choosing instead to deliver payoff after payoff. Sure, the story is far-fetched, but the actors take the material seriously, making "Alias" way better than the typical James Bond movie. Every answer leads to another (usually bigger) question, but at least you feel like you're getting somewhere.
Which brings us back to the next two months. "Alias" provides high-quality entertainment week in and week out -- an anomaly these days -- and over the past two and a half years, the show has offered up some of the best individual episodes I've ever seen anywhere on the dial. There's no reason to believe the next several weeks won't knock my socks off again.
So tape "The Sopranos" and watch "Alias" a few weeks -- you won't be disappointed.
For an "Alias" episode guide, visit www.abc.com/alias.
Give yourself a treat and watch ABC's "Alias" for the rest of this season.
The network is running new episodes every Sunday at 9 p.m. through May, so for the unfortunate uninitiated, there won't be a better time to catch up with one of television's best series.
A lot of you probably don't even know what "Alias" is, though, since ABC has done such a horrendous job of marketing what it fails to see as its best product. Compared to promos for ridiculous shows like "The Bachelor" or "Threat Matrix," "Alias" gets little or no publicity, despite effervescent reviews from TV critics nationwide.
ABC has botched its handling of the show, starting with last year's post-Super Bowl episode. This turning point in the series was one of the best hours of television I've ever seen -- unfortunately, no one else did because it didn't start until 11 p.m., 45 minutes after an unbearably boring game.
And don't get me started on the DVDs -- releasing seasons 1 and 2 within a few months of each other last fall was not the most brilliant of moves. Instead of releasing both during the third season, ABC should have followed Fox's game plan with "24." By releasing the first season of that groundbreaking show on disc only a few months after it wrapped in May 2002, newbies had a chance to catch up before Season 2.
As a result, "24" saw a huge ratings bump that fall.
At this rate, ABC seems to care little about its best program, and I'll be surprised if "Alias" lasts beyond next season.
Why, then, should you bother? Oh, let me count the ways.
First off, "Alias" stars the resplendent Jennifer Garner, who's turned into an Emmy- and Golden Globe-nominated superstar because of her ability to showcase action and emotional depth, making both look convincing. She plays Special Agent Sydney Bristow, who began her career with the CIA working as a double-agent inside a terrorist organization called The Alliance -- and all the while going to grad school.
Working with her despondent father, Jack Bristow (Victor Garber, the class of a fine cast), also a CIA double-agent, her handler/lover, CIA agent Michael Vaughn (Michael Vartan), and her mother Irina Derevko (played with exquisite intensity by Lena Olin), a former Russian terrorist who turned herself into the CIA, Sydney finally brought down the Alliance during the aforementioned Super Bowl episode.
Unfortunately for Sydney, all her efforts only helped the one man she hates the most -- Arvin Sloane (a perfectly smarmy Ron Rivkin), who murdered Sydney's fiancé -- accomplish his nefarious plans. He allowed Syd to destroy the Alliance just so he could pick up the pieces and become the world's most powerful terrorist. Ms. Bristow spent the remainder of Season 2 battling him, only to be shot and nearly killed in a spectacular two-hour finale.
When she woke up, at the beginning of Season 3, it was two years later. Sloane, apparently, turned over a new leaf and became a humanitarian, her mother went back into hiding, and Vaughn married NSC agent Lauren Reed (Melissa George). Reed, we recently discovered, is a double-agent for The Covenant, the new terrorist power in the world that held Syd captive for those missing two years.
So, you got all that? Don't worry, it's not required to enjoy this show.
As you can glean from this synopsis, "Alias" is as complicated as anything you'll ever see on TV. (I haven't even mentioned the Rimbaldi mythology, which serves as the series' overarching thematic glue.) But series creator/writer J.J. Abrams probably learned from other conspiracy-theory shows -- namely "The X-Files" -- and doesn't allow a ton of plotlines to dangle around for long, choosing instead to deliver payoff after payoff. Sure, the story is far-fetched, but the actors take the material seriously, making "Alias" way better than the typical James Bond movie. Every answer leads to another (usually bigger) question, but at least you feel like you're getting somewhere.
Which brings us back to the next two months. "Alias" provides high-quality entertainment week in and week out -- an anomaly these days -- and over the past two and a half years, the show has offered up some of the best individual episodes I've ever seen anywhere on the dial. There's no reason to believe the next several weeks won't knock my socks off again.
So tape "The Sopranos" and watch "Alias" a few weeks -- you won't be disappointed.
For an "Alias" episode guide, visit www.abc.com/alias.
Friday, March 05, 2004
'Passion' sheds light on Hollywood, media bias
—Originally published 3.5.04
My father's been telling me about this for years, but over the last week, just a month shy of my 25th birthday, I finally experienced the rampant anti-Christian bias in Hollywood and much of the mainstream media.
For its opening-day coverage of Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ," The Associated Press used this quotation from some genius in Charlotte: "It sort of felt like you were coming to watch an execution."
No, really?
The article went on to quote leaders from both the Anti-Defamation League and the Black Panthers, but included no strong comments from the Christian community, which championed the film.
Here is the story's sole "positive" statement regarding "The Passion," if you define "positive" as "not completely and utterly negative":
"It's a little bit more brutal than you would think," said a sobbing Kim Galbreath, 29, in the Dallas suburb of Plano. "I mean, there were times when you felt like it was too much. But I dare anybody not to believe after watching it."
And that was just one story. Go check out www.rottentomatoes.com, which tracks critics' reactions to films, and look up "The Passion." It received a middling 54 percent rating to qualify as "rotten;" apparently, only Roger Ebert and I gave the film its deserved four stars.
By comparison, Quentin Tarantino's "Kill Bill: Vol. 1," also a blood-fest, received an 83 percent "fresh" rating when it was released last year. Why the difference? Simple: Most national critics refuse to meet Gibson, a devout Catholic, at the same artistic plateau they meet Tarantino, a video store clerk-turned-auteur.
In his review of "The Passion," Ebert said he judges movies based on what he believes the filmmakers are attempting to do, and thus gave Gibson a top rating for making "graphic and inescapable the price that Jesus paid (as Christians believe) when he died for our sins." Ebert also gave Tarantino four stars for accomplishing his own goal with "Kill Bill": Elevating pulp titillation to an artistic level.
By and large, critics agreed with the latter. Go read the quotations on rottentomatoes.com -- most of the positive reviews go something like, "Yes, 'Kill Bill' is extremely violent, but it's done so well, who cares?"
Looking deeper into Tarantino's resume, I would put the basement rape in 1994's "Pulp Fiction" on the list of all-time top five disturbing scenes; that film was nevertheless nominated for an Academy Award despite a healthy dose of violence and gore. I doubt "Passion" will receive the same treatment.
And speaking of the Academy, Charlize Theron just won an Oscar for playing a serial killer in "Monster," a performance praised on high by critics across the board. You hear few complaints about her accurate portrayal of brutal violence. Again, look no further than the glowing remarks on rottentomatoes.com.
As to "The Passion's" -- and Gibson's -- supposed anti-Semitism: Jews don't come off looking bad in this movie, politicians do. The anti-Semitic "caricatures" trotted out by most pundits were members of the Sanhedrin, the high priests of the Jewish people at the time of Jesus' crucifixion.
What the critics don't mention is the one member of the council who is ousted for calling the proceedings the sham they were. Nor do they talk about Simon, a Jew, who carries Jesus' cross to Golgotha. Nor do they talk about Mary, a Jew, who stands by her son throughout, or the many other Jewish people pictured weeping at Jesus' torture and death. The criticisms were already piled high well before anyone ever saw "The Passion," and these people simply looked for instances to fill in their blanks, rather than evaluating the entire picture.
Case in point, the critics rail against the filmmaker's treatment of Pontius Pilate, claiming Gibson gave the Roman governor more depth and sympathy than the Jewish leaders.
On the contrary, Pilate comes off looking worse than the Sanhedrin.
The Jewish priests were responding to what they believed to be Jesus' blasphemy. Everything they held dear was being shaken to its foundation by this son of a carpenter claiming to be God and man at the same time.
Pilate, on the other hand, condemned a man to death purely for political reasons. When it meant standing up for what he knew to be right, he first tried appeasement (the flogging), then cowardice. As Gibson said in a recent interview, Pilate chose evil in the face of good. There is no sympathy in the filmmaker's treatment.
And in a final example of hypocrisy, "Passion" is the type of independent film celebrated in Hollywood as the end-all-be-all. Gibson had to fight, scratch and claw for its existence and his film may end up as the greatest indie hit of all time, bypassing movies like "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and "The Blair Witch Project." If "The Passion" had someone other than a devout Catholic at the helm -- say, Michael Moore, for example -- the Sundance/Cannes film festival crowd would be all over this movie.
Instead, Gibson, a celebrated member of Hollywood for two decades, was turned on in a New York minute -- and all he did was finally stand up for his Christian beliefs.
But at the end of the day, Christians stuck it to Hollywood right where Tinseltown felt it the most -- at the box office, to the tune of $125.2 million in just five days.
And counting.
My father's been telling me about this for years, but over the last week, just a month shy of my 25th birthday, I finally experienced the rampant anti-Christian bias in Hollywood and much of the mainstream media.
For its opening-day coverage of Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ," The Associated Press used this quotation from some genius in Charlotte: "It sort of felt like you were coming to watch an execution."
No, really?
The article went on to quote leaders from both the Anti-Defamation League and the Black Panthers, but included no strong comments from the Christian community, which championed the film.
Here is the story's sole "positive" statement regarding "The Passion," if you define "positive" as "not completely and utterly negative":
"It's a little bit more brutal than you would think," said a sobbing Kim Galbreath, 29, in the Dallas suburb of Plano. "I mean, there were times when you felt like it was too much. But I dare anybody not to believe after watching it."
And that was just one story. Go check out www.rottentomatoes.com, which tracks critics' reactions to films, and look up "The Passion." It received a middling 54 percent rating to qualify as "rotten;" apparently, only Roger Ebert and I gave the film its deserved four stars.
By comparison, Quentin Tarantino's "Kill Bill: Vol. 1," also a blood-fest, received an 83 percent "fresh" rating when it was released last year. Why the difference? Simple: Most national critics refuse to meet Gibson, a devout Catholic, at the same artistic plateau they meet Tarantino, a video store clerk-turned-auteur.
In his review of "The Passion," Ebert said he judges movies based on what he believes the filmmakers are attempting to do, and thus gave Gibson a top rating for making "graphic and inescapable the price that Jesus paid (as Christians believe) when he died for our sins." Ebert also gave Tarantino four stars for accomplishing his own goal with "Kill Bill": Elevating pulp titillation to an artistic level.
By and large, critics agreed with the latter. Go read the quotations on rottentomatoes.com -- most of the positive reviews go something like, "Yes, 'Kill Bill' is extremely violent, but it's done so well, who cares?"
Looking deeper into Tarantino's resume, I would put the basement rape in 1994's "Pulp Fiction" on the list of all-time top five disturbing scenes; that film was nevertheless nominated for an Academy Award despite a healthy dose of violence and gore. I doubt "Passion" will receive the same treatment.
And speaking of the Academy, Charlize Theron just won an Oscar for playing a serial killer in "Monster," a performance praised on high by critics across the board. You hear few complaints about her accurate portrayal of brutal violence. Again, look no further than the glowing remarks on rottentomatoes.com.
As to "The Passion's" -- and Gibson's -- supposed anti-Semitism: Jews don't come off looking bad in this movie, politicians do. The anti-Semitic "caricatures" trotted out by most pundits were members of the Sanhedrin, the high priests of the Jewish people at the time of Jesus' crucifixion.
What the critics don't mention is the one member of the council who is ousted for calling the proceedings the sham they were. Nor do they talk about Simon, a Jew, who carries Jesus' cross to Golgotha. Nor do they talk about Mary, a Jew, who stands by her son throughout, or the many other Jewish people pictured weeping at Jesus' torture and death. The criticisms were already piled high well before anyone ever saw "The Passion," and these people simply looked for instances to fill in their blanks, rather than evaluating the entire picture.
Case in point, the critics rail against the filmmaker's treatment of Pontius Pilate, claiming Gibson gave the Roman governor more depth and sympathy than the Jewish leaders.
On the contrary, Pilate comes off looking worse than the Sanhedrin.
The Jewish priests were responding to what they believed to be Jesus' blasphemy. Everything they held dear was being shaken to its foundation by this son of a carpenter claiming to be God and man at the same time.
Pilate, on the other hand, condemned a man to death purely for political reasons. When it meant standing up for what he knew to be right, he first tried appeasement (the flogging), then cowardice. As Gibson said in a recent interview, Pilate chose evil in the face of good. There is no sympathy in the filmmaker's treatment.
And in a final example of hypocrisy, "Passion" is the type of independent film celebrated in Hollywood as the end-all-be-all. Gibson had to fight, scratch and claw for its existence and his film may end up as the greatest indie hit of all time, bypassing movies like "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and "The Blair Witch Project." If "The Passion" had someone other than a devout Catholic at the helm -- say, Michael Moore, for example -- the Sundance/Cannes film festival crowd would be all over this movie.
Instead, Gibson, a celebrated member of Hollywood for two decades, was turned on in a New York minute -- and all he did was finally stand up for his Christian beliefs.
But at the end of the day, Christians stuck it to Hollywood right where Tinseltown felt it the most -- at the box office, to the tune of $125.2 million in just five days.
And counting.
Friday, February 27, 2004
Gibson's 'Passion' transcends violence
—Originally published 2.27.04
Never before have I so openly wept while watching a movie.
Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" absolutely accomplishes the filmmaker's goal -- in search of transcendence, it accurately portrays the brutal details of Jesus' death. The film is not moving for its violence, but rather its characters' responses to such horror.
Toward the end of the movie, the camera looks over Jesus' thorn-crowned head as gleeful Roman soldiers drive a spike through the Messiah's feet. Now in the final stages of his ordeal, Jesus begs God not for personal mercy, but forgiveness for his persecutors.
Thus is the life and mission of the Savior demonstrated in a few frames of film.
This is just one of countless moving scenes in "The Passion," certainly Gibson's best work since his Oscar-winning 1995 epic "Braveheart," and probably the crowning achievement of his career. He delves deep into the biblical characters and handles the story in almost a documentary style of non-embellishment. (Yes, characters such as Simon, who carries Jesus' cross, are fleshed out from the texts, but not in such a way they feel awkward or outside the overall context of the film's subject matter.)
Gibson receives fantastic performances from every major actor, including James Caviezel, who brings a humble nobility to the lead role, and Maia Morgenstern's wonderfully muted turn as Christ's grieving mother, Mary.
Gibson knows most people who will see his film are at least generally familiar with its story, so he wastes no time with introduction or much rising action. (For a refresher, read Matthew Chapter 26 through the end of the book, and John 18-20.) "The Passion" opens in Gethsemane as Jesus, praying to God, asks for the removal of his burden. Ravaged with despair, Jesus is confronted by a satanic figure; right away we get a look at Christ's iron will as he steels himself for the grueling task ahead.
He is then arrested by Jewish soldiers only a few minutes into the movie, and the pain begins as the prisoner is beaten on his way to face the high priests. He is charged with blasphemy for claiming to be the Son of God and assaulted by an angry mob.
The violence continues to escalate for the remainder of the film. By the time Jesus is brought before Roman governor Pontius Pilate (whose conflictions are depicted perfectly by Hristo Naumov Shopov), the Messiah's right eye is swollen shut and his face is bruised. From there, he is flogged by Roman soldiers, a horrifying torture sequence that, although it lasts only 10 minutes, seems to take hours. It is here Jesus is beaten nearly to death with the "cat-o'-nine-tails," a vicious hooked whip that tears his flesh on every stroke -- many of which appear on screen.
Finally, Jesus drags his cross to Golgotha where he is crucified with two other criminals. The entire procedure is displayed in zoomed-in detail, including spikes hammered through both of Christ's hands and feet, the dislocation of his right arm, and the final piercing of his side.
I include these graphic details because many of the film's critics believe the violence is too heavy, outweighing the message. Those with such a complaint miss the filmmaker's point entirely. Gibson wanted to turn the matter-of-fact language found in the Scriptures -- so easy to idealize or ignore in the mind's eye -- into an unabashed look at Jesus' death. By leaving out portions of the torture sequences, or toning the attacks down to historically inaccurate levels, Gibson would have robbed the film of its authority and power. Jesus' beatings left him nearly unrecognizable to friends and family. This is how Rome treated its prisoners 2,000 years ago -- deal with it.
At first, however, I was put off by Gibson's choice to open almost immediately with bloodshed. For the first half of the film, I found myself not caring much more for Jesus than I would any other person tortured in such a way.
That all changed in the final hour, as Gibson effectively uses flashbacks to depict earlier events in Jesus' life, including two touching exchanges with his mother, his meeting at the well with prostitute Mary Magdalen, the Sermon on the Mount, and the Last Supper with his disciples.
Except for one short scene, Gibson avoids the miraculous side of Christ's story; you don't see Jesus walking on water or calming storms. Instead, the director remains entirely focused on the Messiah's humanity -- a quality easy to gloss over after reading the Gospels for the hundredth time.
People keep asking me, "Did you like it?" or "How was it?" I really don't know how to answer that question, because I've never seen anything like this. The best I can come up with is "powerful" and tell them to read this review. That Jesus could endure such torment from his fellow man and still maintain his desire to save humanity from eternal damnation is the heart of the movie's message. As Gibson said during a recent interview, "The Passion of the Christ" is a film that should not be remembered solely for its graphic violence, but for "faith, hope, love and forgiveness."
I could not agree more.
Grade: A+
Never before have I so openly wept while watching a movie.
Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" absolutely accomplishes the filmmaker's goal -- in search of transcendence, it accurately portrays the brutal details of Jesus' death. The film is not moving for its violence, but rather its characters' responses to such horror.
Toward the end of the movie, the camera looks over Jesus' thorn-crowned head as gleeful Roman soldiers drive a spike through the Messiah's feet. Now in the final stages of his ordeal, Jesus begs God not for personal mercy, but forgiveness for his persecutors.
Thus is the life and mission of the Savior demonstrated in a few frames of film.
This is just one of countless moving scenes in "The Passion," certainly Gibson's best work since his Oscar-winning 1995 epic "Braveheart," and probably the crowning achievement of his career. He delves deep into the biblical characters and handles the story in almost a documentary style of non-embellishment. (Yes, characters such as Simon, who carries Jesus' cross, are fleshed out from the texts, but not in such a way they feel awkward or outside the overall context of the film's subject matter.)
Gibson receives fantastic performances from every major actor, including James Caviezel, who brings a humble nobility to the lead role, and Maia Morgenstern's wonderfully muted turn as Christ's grieving mother, Mary.
Gibson knows most people who will see his film are at least generally familiar with its story, so he wastes no time with introduction or much rising action. (For a refresher, read Matthew Chapter 26 through the end of the book, and John 18-20.) "The Passion" opens in Gethsemane as Jesus, praying to God, asks for the removal of his burden. Ravaged with despair, Jesus is confronted by a satanic figure; right away we get a look at Christ's iron will as he steels himself for the grueling task ahead.
He is then arrested by Jewish soldiers only a few minutes into the movie, and the pain begins as the prisoner is beaten on his way to face the high priests. He is charged with blasphemy for claiming to be the Son of God and assaulted by an angry mob.
The violence continues to escalate for the remainder of the film. By the time Jesus is brought before Roman governor Pontius Pilate (whose conflictions are depicted perfectly by Hristo Naumov Shopov), the Messiah's right eye is swollen shut and his face is bruised. From there, he is flogged by Roman soldiers, a horrifying torture sequence that, although it lasts only 10 minutes, seems to take hours. It is here Jesus is beaten nearly to death with the "cat-o'-nine-tails," a vicious hooked whip that tears his flesh on every stroke -- many of which appear on screen.
Finally, Jesus drags his cross to Golgotha where he is crucified with two other criminals. The entire procedure is displayed in zoomed-in detail, including spikes hammered through both of Christ's hands and feet, the dislocation of his right arm, and the final piercing of his side.
I include these graphic details because many of the film's critics believe the violence is too heavy, outweighing the message. Those with such a complaint miss the filmmaker's point entirely. Gibson wanted to turn the matter-of-fact language found in the Scriptures -- so easy to idealize or ignore in the mind's eye -- into an unabashed look at Jesus' death. By leaving out portions of the torture sequences, or toning the attacks down to historically inaccurate levels, Gibson would have robbed the film of its authority and power. Jesus' beatings left him nearly unrecognizable to friends and family. This is how Rome treated its prisoners 2,000 years ago -- deal with it.
At first, however, I was put off by Gibson's choice to open almost immediately with bloodshed. For the first half of the film, I found myself not caring much more for Jesus than I would any other person tortured in such a way.
That all changed in the final hour, as Gibson effectively uses flashbacks to depict earlier events in Jesus' life, including two touching exchanges with his mother, his meeting at the well with prostitute Mary Magdalen, the Sermon on the Mount, and the Last Supper with his disciples.
Except for one short scene, Gibson avoids the miraculous side of Christ's story; you don't see Jesus walking on water or calming storms. Instead, the director remains entirely focused on the Messiah's humanity -- a quality easy to gloss over after reading the Gospels for the hundredth time.
People keep asking me, "Did you like it?" or "How was it?" I really don't know how to answer that question, because I've never seen anything like this. The best I can come up with is "powerful" and tell them to read this review. That Jesus could endure such torment from his fellow man and still maintain his desire to save humanity from eternal damnation is the heart of the movie's message. As Gibson said during a recent interview, "The Passion of the Christ" is a film that should not be remembered solely for its graphic violence, but for "faith, hope, love and forgiveness."
I could not agree more.
Grade: A+
'Return of the King' searching for Oscar gold
—Originally published 2.27.04
Peter Jackson deserves to hoist the Best Picture Oscar statue Sunday night for his "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King," a thrilling finale to the greatest movie trilogy ever made.
After winning yet another best-picture award last weekend, this time from the Screen Actors Guild, the Oscar conquest seems a mortal lock. But if there's one film that could pull off the big -- and I mean BIG -- upset at this year's Academy Awards ceremony, it's "Mystic River."
No disrespect to "Lost in Translation," "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World," and "Seabiscuit" -- all fine movies also up for the evening's top award -- but "River" has all the Academy pedigrees:
-- It's tragic on a Shakespearean level, like any number of past winners (think "Terms of Endearment" or "Ordinary People").
-- It has multiple top-notch performances and leads the night in acting nominations (think "Shakespeare in Love").
-- And it boasts a cast and crew who have been nominated before (think Sean Penn and Clint Eastwood).
The latter may be its undoing, however, because the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has a recent trend of making "right" with history.
For example, there's no way Russell Crowe should have won in 2001 for his "Gladiator" role -- he should have taken home the Golden Guy the year before for "The Insider." In the same way, Denzel Washington should not have won in 2002 for his against-type performance in "Training Day." Washington is a fabulous actor and deserved a win SOMETIME in his career, so the Academy decided to correct its mistake.
(Yes, this isn't always the case: Martin Scorsese didn't win his first directing Oscar last year for "Gangs of New York," but that's the exception to prove the rule.)
Eastwood already won for a similar -- and better -- film 11 years ago with "Unforgiven." Sure, the introverted tough guys in "River" wear leather jackets or neckties instead of wide-brimmed hats and bolos, but the two movies cover similar territory.
In this case, Jackson and his mates should be honored for past achievements and a work genuinely deserving of the award, a rare feat these days, it seems. "The Lord of the Rings" is one of Hollywood's greatest all-time feats and if "King" wins, it will mean more than your typical best-picture champ.
You see, "King" is a fantasy flick, and fantasy flicks simply do not win Best Picture; they're supposed to be content with the nomination. If "King" comes up gold Sunday night, it will do what "Star Wars," "E.T." and "The Wizard of Oz" could not -- prove it belongs with the big (usually dramatic) boys.
There are plenty of those to go around this year.
"Master and Commander" is a triumph in technical filmmaking by director Peter Weir. For me, the attention to detail was so enthralling it totally washed out a somewhat slow plot. Crowe gives yet another fine turn, this time as Captain Jack Aubrey, and there are other notable performances, including Paul Bettany as Dr. Stephen Maturin.
The major problem? This seafaring epic never seems to hit the top gear "King" sustains for about two straight hours. There are great scenes of drama and battle in "The Far Side of the World," but they pale in comparison to the Pelennor Fields of Middle-earth.
(Some would argue the action sequences in "Master and Commander" are superior because real people are on-screen, as opposed to the thousands of digital "extras" in "Return of the King." There is a major anti-tech movement right now amongst movie critics -- and with good reason, considering the wretched "Star Wars" prequels and "Matrix" sequels. The difference with "King" is Jackson made scenes impossible to film under traditional circumstances still look real.)
"Seabiscuit," like its equine namesake, is the underdog who refuses to lose. Six months ago, no one expected this movie would be contending in the final lap while "Cold Mountain" sits in the barn. "Seabiscuit" exceeded all my albeit limited expectations. On the whole, the filmmakers shied away from pandering for sappy emotional payoffs, instead letting solid performances from Tobey Maguire, Jeff Bridges and Chris Cooper shine through.
But as good as "Seabiscuit" is, it would have to be really good in my book to beat "Return of the King," because the latter, for all its slicing and dicing, packs an emotional wallop, too. Red Pollard's love for his maltreated horse strikes a chord, but is that any stronger than the feeling you get when Sam picks up Frodo and hauls the beleaguered hobbit to the top of Mount Doom?
Um, no.
And then there's the wild card of the bunch, "Lost in Translation." Comedies don't typically fare much better than fantasies, but then there was that little flick "Chicago" that made some noise last year. While "Translation" could be more accurately described as a "dramedy," it remains one of the most overrated films of 2003. As most critics raved, Bill Murray does in fact deliver a career performance, but the rest of the film is just sort of ... dull. If you think "Master and Commander" didn't have much plot, don't bother getting "Lost."
Bottom line, "Return of the King" -- and the "Rings" trilogy as a whole -- has it all:
-- Eye-popping, unprecedented visual effects -- including Gollum, the first realistic computer-generated character in movie history, and the best battle scenes ever filmed.
-- Quality actors with the dramatic chops to ground a fantasy film in realistic emotion.
-- And the crowning achievement of accomplishing what seemed impossible seven years ago -- adapting 1,500 pages of J.R.R. Tolkien's timeless classic into 10 hours of film.
Many Academy members probably had trouble checking the box next to "Return of the King" on their ballots, but, fantasy flick or not, the movie's unparalleled and undeniable excellence should be enough to win over this typically stodgy group of voters.
Hail to the hobbits.
Peter Jackson deserves to hoist the Best Picture Oscar statue Sunday night for his "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King," a thrilling finale to the greatest movie trilogy ever made.
After winning yet another best-picture award last weekend, this time from the Screen Actors Guild, the Oscar conquest seems a mortal lock. But if there's one film that could pull off the big -- and I mean BIG -- upset at this year's Academy Awards ceremony, it's "Mystic River."
No disrespect to "Lost in Translation," "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World," and "Seabiscuit" -- all fine movies also up for the evening's top award -- but "River" has all the Academy pedigrees:
-- It's tragic on a Shakespearean level, like any number of past winners (think "Terms of Endearment" or "Ordinary People").
-- It has multiple top-notch performances and leads the night in acting nominations (think "Shakespeare in Love").
-- And it boasts a cast and crew who have been nominated before (think Sean Penn and Clint Eastwood).
The latter may be its undoing, however, because the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has a recent trend of making "right" with history.
For example, there's no way Russell Crowe should have won in 2001 for his "Gladiator" role -- he should have taken home the Golden Guy the year before for "The Insider." In the same way, Denzel Washington should not have won in 2002 for his against-type performance in "Training Day." Washington is a fabulous actor and deserved a win SOMETIME in his career, so the Academy decided to correct its mistake.
(Yes, this isn't always the case: Martin Scorsese didn't win his first directing Oscar last year for "Gangs of New York," but that's the exception to prove the rule.)
Eastwood already won for a similar -- and better -- film 11 years ago with "Unforgiven." Sure, the introverted tough guys in "River" wear leather jackets or neckties instead of wide-brimmed hats and bolos, but the two movies cover similar territory.
In this case, Jackson and his mates should be honored for past achievements and a work genuinely deserving of the award, a rare feat these days, it seems. "The Lord of the Rings" is one of Hollywood's greatest all-time feats and if "King" wins, it will mean more than your typical best-picture champ.
You see, "King" is a fantasy flick, and fantasy flicks simply do not win Best Picture; they're supposed to be content with the nomination. If "King" comes up gold Sunday night, it will do what "Star Wars," "E.T." and "The Wizard of Oz" could not -- prove it belongs with the big (usually dramatic) boys.
There are plenty of those to go around this year.
"Master and Commander" is a triumph in technical filmmaking by director Peter Weir. For me, the attention to detail was so enthralling it totally washed out a somewhat slow plot. Crowe gives yet another fine turn, this time as Captain Jack Aubrey, and there are other notable performances, including Paul Bettany as Dr. Stephen Maturin.
The major problem? This seafaring epic never seems to hit the top gear "King" sustains for about two straight hours. There are great scenes of drama and battle in "The Far Side of the World," but they pale in comparison to the Pelennor Fields of Middle-earth.
(Some would argue the action sequences in "Master and Commander" are superior because real people are on-screen, as opposed to the thousands of digital "extras" in "Return of the King." There is a major anti-tech movement right now amongst movie critics -- and with good reason, considering the wretched "Star Wars" prequels and "Matrix" sequels. The difference with "King" is Jackson made scenes impossible to film under traditional circumstances still look real.)
"Seabiscuit," like its equine namesake, is the underdog who refuses to lose. Six months ago, no one expected this movie would be contending in the final lap while "Cold Mountain" sits in the barn. "Seabiscuit" exceeded all my albeit limited expectations. On the whole, the filmmakers shied away from pandering for sappy emotional payoffs, instead letting solid performances from Tobey Maguire, Jeff Bridges and Chris Cooper shine through.
But as good as "Seabiscuit" is, it would have to be really good in my book to beat "Return of the King," because the latter, for all its slicing and dicing, packs an emotional wallop, too. Red Pollard's love for his maltreated horse strikes a chord, but is that any stronger than the feeling you get when Sam picks up Frodo and hauls the beleaguered hobbit to the top of Mount Doom?
Um, no.
And then there's the wild card of the bunch, "Lost in Translation." Comedies don't typically fare much better than fantasies, but then there was that little flick "Chicago" that made some noise last year. While "Translation" could be more accurately described as a "dramedy," it remains one of the most overrated films of 2003. As most critics raved, Bill Murray does in fact deliver a career performance, but the rest of the film is just sort of ... dull. If you think "Master and Commander" didn't have much plot, don't bother getting "Lost."
Bottom line, "Return of the King" -- and the "Rings" trilogy as a whole -- has it all:
-- Eye-popping, unprecedented visual effects -- including Gollum, the first realistic computer-generated character in movie history, and the best battle scenes ever filmed.
-- Quality actors with the dramatic chops to ground a fantasy film in realistic emotion.
-- And the crowning achievement of accomplishing what seemed impossible seven years ago -- adapting 1,500 pages of J.R.R. Tolkien's timeless classic into 10 hours of film.
Many Academy members probably had trouble checking the box next to "Return of the King" on their ballots, but, fantasy flick or not, the movie's unparalleled and undeniable excellence should be enough to win over this typically stodgy group of voters.
Hail to the hobbits.
Friday, December 19, 2003
'King' makes 'Rings' trilogy a classic
—Originally published 12.19.03
Back in the late-1990s, when details of director/writer Peter Jackson's plan to adapt J.R.R. Tolkien's beloved fantasy tale "The Lord of the Rings" for the big screen began surfacing, I was extremely skeptical; there was no way, I thought, anyone could make Tolkien's indelible images look better on screen than they already looked in my head, especially from some guy whose claim to fame was "The Frighteners."
Oh, me of little faith.
As he promised, Jackson saved the best for last. His final installment, "The Return of the King," is fabulous, a movie that should satisfy hardcore and casual fans alike. "King" cements the "Rings" trilogy as one of cinema's all-time greatest achievements, taking the heart-pounding action of last year's "The Two Towers" up another, oh, hundred notches without losing any of the emotional impact these characters began building in 2001's "The Fellowship of the Ring."
Jackson masterfully weaves Tolkien's complicated plotlines into a coherent whole, keeping us wanting more from each thread as he moves to another. He builds the tension for more than an hour before finally letting loose with possibly the greatest battle scene ever put to film. When evil Lord Sauron's hordes storm across the Pelennor Fields of Gondor to attack beautiful Minas Tirith, the camera drinks in mankind's final stronghold against the mounting doom of Middle-earth.
"Return of the King" also features the best CGI work I've ever seen, as Jackson's Weta special effects crew wrenches the crown from George Lucas' Industrial Light and Magic as the ruler of all studio wizardry. The highlight, of course, is the conflicted creature Gollum, voiced to perfection by an Oscar-worthy Andy Serkis. When "Towers" was released, Gollum was hailed as the best CGI character ever; he looks even better now, moving with a mass and gravity similar characters in other movies don't convey (remember Jar Jar Binks?). And does anyone even remember that the pint-sized hobbits are actually fully-grown men "shrunk" via computer manipulation?
"King" picks up right where "Towers" left off, with Gollum leading the young hobbits Frodo (Elijah Wood) and Sam (Sean Astin) into Mordor to destroy Sauron's One Ring that would seal the death of all Middle-earth.
While Frodo and his fellow hobbits, which also include Merry (Dominic Monaghan) and Pippin (Billy Boyd), were so much window dressing in the first two films, they step boldly to the forefront of the third chapter, showing grit and mettle that outsizes their tiny frames.
Sam is the most vibrant, a regular Joe who becomes a pivotal character in the fate of the world and the film's resolution. As the Ring's weight becomes too much for a haggard Frodo -- looking more and more like Gollum all the time -- Sam rises to the occasion and Astin shines in many moving scenes of love, friendship and brotherhood as Wood matches with his best performance of the three films.
Viggo Mortensen should have received an Oscar nod somewhere along the way for his brillance in portraying the troubled yet noble Aragorn, a reluctant heir to the throne of Gondor. Even though the film is named for his character, Mortensen likely won't be recognized for this year's turn, either, as he and most of the other main characters (such as Orlando Bloom's elf warrior Legolas and John Rhys-Davies' dwarf Gimli) take a backseat to the hobbits.
Only two get a significant boost: Ian McKellen's Gandalf and Miranda Otto's Eowyn. McKellen is (once again) magnificent in a role seemingly destined for him, as the white wizard rallies the men of Gondor to defend their homeland. Eowyn, the most prominent female character of the three movies, provides one of the trilogy's best moments, as well, on the field of battle.
Does Jackson have a few problems along the way? Sure. No movie is perfect. But the director's overall achievement is so spectacular, quibbling over minor details is pointless.
One of the most common criticisms of "King," however, is its multiple "endings," as the film winds to a close with several successive fadeout scenes. For those who disagree with Jackson's choices, go back to Tolkien's text -- the filmmaker had to condense more than 100 pages of denouement into about 15 minutes.
Tomorrow, after the stiffness of sitting for three and a half hours has worn off, you're going to wake up and wish Jackson had allowed you to roam even a few more minutes in Middle-earth.
Thankfully, we can still look forward to next fall's extended DVD.
Grade: A
Back in the late-1990s, when details of director/writer Peter Jackson's plan to adapt J.R.R. Tolkien's beloved fantasy tale "The Lord of the Rings" for the big screen began surfacing, I was extremely skeptical; there was no way, I thought, anyone could make Tolkien's indelible images look better on screen than they already looked in my head, especially from some guy whose claim to fame was "The Frighteners."
Oh, me of little faith.
As he promised, Jackson saved the best for last. His final installment, "The Return of the King," is fabulous, a movie that should satisfy hardcore and casual fans alike. "King" cements the "Rings" trilogy as one of cinema's all-time greatest achievements, taking the heart-pounding action of last year's "The Two Towers" up another, oh, hundred notches without losing any of the emotional impact these characters began building in 2001's "The Fellowship of the Ring."
Jackson masterfully weaves Tolkien's complicated plotlines into a coherent whole, keeping us wanting more from each thread as he moves to another. He builds the tension for more than an hour before finally letting loose with possibly the greatest battle scene ever put to film. When evil Lord Sauron's hordes storm across the Pelennor Fields of Gondor to attack beautiful Minas Tirith, the camera drinks in mankind's final stronghold against the mounting doom of Middle-earth.
"Return of the King" also features the best CGI work I've ever seen, as Jackson's Weta special effects crew wrenches the crown from George Lucas' Industrial Light and Magic as the ruler of all studio wizardry. The highlight, of course, is the conflicted creature Gollum, voiced to perfection by an Oscar-worthy Andy Serkis. When "Towers" was released, Gollum was hailed as the best CGI character ever; he looks even better now, moving with a mass and gravity similar characters in other movies don't convey (remember Jar Jar Binks?). And does anyone even remember that the pint-sized hobbits are actually fully-grown men "shrunk" via computer manipulation?
"King" picks up right where "Towers" left off, with Gollum leading the young hobbits Frodo (Elijah Wood) and Sam (Sean Astin) into Mordor to destroy Sauron's One Ring that would seal the death of all Middle-earth.
While Frodo and his fellow hobbits, which also include Merry (Dominic Monaghan) and Pippin (Billy Boyd), were so much window dressing in the first two films, they step boldly to the forefront of the third chapter, showing grit and mettle that outsizes their tiny frames.
Sam is the most vibrant, a regular Joe who becomes a pivotal character in the fate of the world and the film's resolution. As the Ring's weight becomes too much for a haggard Frodo -- looking more and more like Gollum all the time -- Sam rises to the occasion and Astin shines in many moving scenes of love, friendship and brotherhood as Wood matches with his best performance of the three films.
Viggo Mortensen should have received an Oscar nod somewhere along the way for his brillance in portraying the troubled yet noble Aragorn, a reluctant heir to the throne of Gondor. Even though the film is named for his character, Mortensen likely won't be recognized for this year's turn, either, as he and most of the other main characters (such as Orlando Bloom's elf warrior Legolas and John Rhys-Davies' dwarf Gimli) take a backseat to the hobbits.
Only two get a significant boost: Ian McKellen's Gandalf and Miranda Otto's Eowyn. McKellen is (once again) magnificent in a role seemingly destined for him, as the white wizard rallies the men of Gondor to defend their homeland. Eowyn, the most prominent female character of the three movies, provides one of the trilogy's best moments, as well, on the field of battle.
Does Jackson have a few problems along the way? Sure. No movie is perfect. But the director's overall achievement is so spectacular, quibbling over minor details is pointless.
One of the most common criticisms of "King," however, is its multiple "endings," as the film winds to a close with several successive fadeout scenes. For those who disagree with Jackson's choices, go back to Tolkien's text -- the filmmaker had to condense more than 100 pages of denouement into about 15 minutes.
Tomorrow, after the stiffness of sitting for three and a half hours has worn off, you're going to wake up and wish Jackson had allowed you to roam even a few more minutes in Middle-earth.
Thankfully, we can still look forward to next fall's extended DVD.
Grade: A
Monday, December 01, 2003
If You're Reading This ...
You're really ambitious, and I thank you. But the sole purpose of this entry is to post this pic online so I can then link to it from my profile on the main page.
So, thanx, and keep reading.
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