Bite Me Fanblog

The Dharma Station that DOES NOTHING

2010-05-28T13:15:00.010-05:00

Get 'em while they're hot! I finally figured out the Cafe Press beta issues, so the world can finally avail itself of my Lost-frustration-induced t-shirt design, the Dharma Red Herring Station. Choose your poison.

The Third Dimension is Ennui: A Treatise on Cinematic Revisionism

2010-04-15T10:24:00.123-05:00

Was this inevitable? According to the LA Times, storied producer Richard D. Zanuck has confirmed the fears of internet fanboys. From the article:

Zanuck and Spielberg spoke a few years ago about going back to [Jaws] with the digital paintbrush of CG effects to create a more horrific predator. They decided, for the time being, to leave the film alone, although Zanuck says he is intrigued by the notion of adding 3D effects to the 1976 classic for a theatrical re-release.

I don't feel the need to gripe about Hollywood adulterating, soiling, and repackaging our favorite celluloid memories just to turn a profit. In this age of remakes, we expect that, and any objection I could offer here would just be redundant cyberspace chatter. George Lucas has recut, amended, "enhanced," and digitally micturated upon -- then subsequently resold -- the Star Wars films so many times that even hard-core fans have trouble counting the number of versions in existence. Business is business. What I'd rather do is talk about the formal consequences to the work itself when films are manipulated.

The example of Star Wars is from one end of the spectrum, in which a film's primary author has been able to revise a previous work ad nauseam thanks to new technology or to the creative freedom that comes with financial success. On the other end of the spectrum, a film can pass through the lacquering hands of just about anyone before reaching an audience. In the bygone days of VHS, we watched films that had been pan & scanned (read: "butchered and mangled"). Most of us who watch silent films do so with musical accompaniment courtesy of Joe Schmoe's synthesizer, set to "organ." Then, of course, there's the abhorrent practice of colorizing monochromatic movies. But even the maestro, Ray Harryhausen, has spoken out in favor of colorization, with the caveat that he be involved, and James Cameron himself was famously a proponent of director-supervised pan & scan for standard TV displays. So cinematic revision practices run the gamut, and should never surprise us. And, as the old saying reminds us: "Only the projectionist has final cut."

Therefore, let's not waste time expressing our dismay that Zanuck & Spielberg would even consider a CG and/or 3D facelift for what is considered, with little exception, one of the greatest horror films of all time. Of course they would. If there's a market for rerelease, Hollywood will brainstorm how best to saturate it (I make no judgement call here; I'm in favor of good films being seen by new audiences). Let us instead engage the film, not as commercial property, but as film, and convince Mssrs. Zanuck and Spielberg that an altered Jaws would be an inferior Jaws, not simply because we fear change in principle, but because these particular changes would do the film disservice.

And, before proceeding, let's come clean and admit it: the movie isn't without its flaws, if for only one reason. The shark always looked fake. But that's by no means an Achilles heel. Obviously, it never hurt the box office, and more advanced shark FX films (Deep Blue Sea, e.g.) haven't come close to eclipsing Jaws in the public's consciousness, so a fake shark is no more necessarily a liability than a convincing shark is necessarily an asset. In fact, the shortcomings of the titular character in Jaws may be indirectly responsible for some of the film's strengths (more on this later).

Now, in the case of converting Jaws to 3D, there are two operating principles which govern our skepticism. First of all, there is the question of contextual anomaly -- that is to say, imbuing a work with technical devices not available at the time of the work's original completion (colorization is the simplest example of this). 3D technology has advanced to a form far-removed from the blue-and-red anaglyphics that would have been available to Spielberg at the time of production. Therefore, the process of converting mid-70's film stock to contemporary digital stereoptics would necessarily give the film a look of incongruence. As when we watch Casablanca in color, or we see Buster Keaton run at the wrong speed (because the frame rate of silent era cinema is rarely compensated for in projection), the most fundamental elements of the moving picture (what makes film film) are being sullied. Even if you're not a student of film, your eyes perceive that something is off; the textures are mismatched. Some people don't mind this. Some people just want color. Some people can't stand to see black bars at the top and bottom of their standard TV's. Some people would watch every movie in 3D if they could, because they think it's neat. Yes, and some people unironically believe that a velvet Elvis is a tasteful, expressive work of art that ties any living room together.

Lucas's Special Edition Star Wars films offer a striking example of this contextual anomaly phenomenon. Our eyes know how objects appear in 70's films. Subconsciously, we recognize a palette of light, color, grain, and a vocabulary of movement that is unique to any given feature we watch, or even to any given reel of film. In short, we know that a digital Jabba the Hut does not, in a purely mechanical sense, belong in the original Star Wars:

Even if we concede that the computer-generated elements in this sequence are of notably poor quality (especially by Industrial Light & Magic standards) the fact remains that the same FX seem less out-of-place -- at least, as concerns the visual mechanics -- in the more recent Star Wars Episode I, a film made in the digital age (check out Jabba at around 1:40):

As concerns these two films, I deliberately am not accounting for perplexing intangibilities like overall quality (cough, hack). I merely suggest that the effect of running analog film through a digital workflow -- for anything more than restorative or delivery purposes -- has the potential to create anomalous results, like running a piece of papyrus through a laser printer. It's a cinematic paper jam waiting to happen.

This anomalous effect can be put to use to create uniquely expressive effects, but then we're veering off into derivative art, not revision. By silkscreening different colored Mona Lisas onto canvas, Andy Warhol creates something which is -- love it or hate it -- a new work, one that could not be achieved with precision through the use of oils alone.

Now, if Zanuck were suggesting a mere reediting of Jaws, we could still gnash our teeth, but he would not be suggesting the use of a device that would contextually make the film seem the anachronistic product of another era. Take, for example, the example of James Cameron's Aliens: Special Edition, a mostly improved version of the original film that offers no more than a few new scenes and recut sequences here and there (Coppola gave Apocalypse Now the same treatment with Redux, to much poorer reviews). There are no "enhanced visual FX;" it's just editing. That may beg the question, "Well why couldn't Cameron and Fox get it released right the first time?" A fair point, to be sure, but we can't claim that anything feels treated, or subtly off. The medium of the film -- its celluloid footprint -- has not been altered. Our eyes remain content, even if our hearts might yearn for the more familiar versions.

3D conversion, on the other hand, will not fool even the least trained of eyes. We know that we are watching a corruption, however exhilarating it may be. If recent 3D film conversions like Alice in Wonderland and Clash of the Titans have seen outcry at having been put through the stereoscopic ringer, then what hope does a 35-year-old film like Jaws have? Even Hollywood brass is wising up. Dreamworks CEO Jeffrey Katzenberg told Variety, "If we as an industry choose this 2D to 3D post-production conversion, it's the end. As quickly as it got here, that's how fast it will go away." So even the most perfectly executed 3D conversion, it seems, will be contested at best. The only people who enjoy it will be those who go home from the theater to admire their velvet Elvises.

But let us forgive filmmakers their toys. Let us suppose that Spielberg always wanted to make Jaws in 3D. So what? The fact is, he made a 2D film; and this leads us to the more fundamental governing principle of why any major revision of a film is dangerous. That is: it is the inherent limitations of film itself which inform the director's process, and, therefore, the end result of any cinematic undertaking. In other words: any given film is the product of all that which is and is not possible in filmmaking. To revisit the process with a new set of rules is to destroy and recreate the original work, for better or worse.

It is beside the point to assert that had he the option, Orson Welles would have shot Citizen Kane in color; the fact is, it's gorgeously shot in black and white contrasts. Chaney's Phantom of the Opera never glowered at Christine with a scream; he was always eerily silent. The original King Kong isn't a motion-captured digital construct; he was a pioneering example of stop-motion visual FX work. All Quiet on the Western Front was not given a 5.1 surround THX-certified soundtrack full of explosions; it was expertly mixed to contain an entire war in one sound channel. One might say that changing such facts would be inoffensive technical enhancement. To that, I ask, "Well, if it's just minor adjustment, then why do you need it to enjoy the film?" More importantly, that stance diminishes the work of some great filmmakers and craftsmen to mere trifling. It implies that cinematographers who shot black and white were doing something less valid, expressive, or interesting than what can be done in color. Tell that to Karl Freund or John Alton. There is no need to digress here into a seminar on color theory, in which one could easily make the case that monochromatic imagery is far more interesting and explicative than color. Suffice it to say, the consideration of outdated filmmaking techniques as lacking, in any way, is as absurd as saying that all paintings became obsolete at the invention of the photograph. Tell that to Da Vinci... or Andy Warhol, for that matter.

Every tool in the evolving bag of tricks of filmmakers -- from actors' performances and lighting setups to pancake makeup and dolly tracks -- has seen evolution over the course of cinema's history. Whether it's a lens choice or a line of dialogue, every frame of film contains within it a thousand decisions on the part of a production team. But what director, in the history of film, has ever made one of those decisions, saying, "One day I will be allowed to revisit this scene with a computer, so for now, it's ok if it's not so good?" Even an early director who saw the horizons of sound or color would not allow that hypothetical prospect to affect their decision making on a current setup. For years, Hollywood studios made some major motion pictures in color, and others in black and white; even the Oscars had separate categories for cinematography. Were the directors of photography who shot black and white during those years lighting for future color conversion? I doubt it. They lit for what they were working with.

This all comes back to limitations. Limitations, in every form, are omnipresent in filmmaking, as they are in any art. A particular film stock may only be so fast, requiring so much light that you don't have. The dame in that big musical number may be unable to hit high C. The budget doesn't allow you to recreate the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The catering blows and the crew is about to walk. The shark looks fake. The flat screen keeps the objects in the frame from bursting into the faces of the audience. You see where I'm going with this.

In fact, the most fundamental limitation of film -- the four sides of the frame itself -- is directly related to 3D and the audience's sense of self. If we were to take away the boundary of the frame, and have a film, photograph, or painting fill our horizontal and vertical field of vision entirely, then the composition of every shot would be ruined. In fact, we would have to redefine what composition means (and painters would have to use a lot more paint). By extension, a film originally intended to be exhibited in 3D is one thing, but when we convert a 2D film -- when we add an effectively limitless Z axis to what will still have a finite X and Y -- then what are we corrupting? In The New Yorker, Anthony Lane did a thorough and entertaining piece on the technical, sensory, and social history of stereoscopic imagery in the movies. He does well to discuss Edwin S. Porter's The Great Train Robbery (from 1903 mind you!), in which a gunman points his revolver at the camera and fires. The stories say that viewers fainted or ran screaming from the theaters. That's an image with 3D aspirations; in it, the filmmaker acknowledges the presence of the audience directly, incorporating the viewer and the film into one perceived spacial continuum. Jaws has its counterpart to Porter in the monster's "comin'-at-ya" leap to the lens. Whether it's a bullet or a shark, the Z axis between screen and us is invaded. One wonders, if filmmakers ever break the 2D bonds of a four-sided frame completely -- if they achieve true virtual reality -- how such a scene would play. Avatar on a 3D IMAX screen is certainly a step in that direction, but it's still a far cry from a completely immersive experience of being in a film. But does anyone really want to experience swimming with Jaws? Perhaps, but that's not the film Spielberg made.

Taken to its logical extreme, the 3D tech boom surely leads towards that fully immersive, 360˚ virtual reality. So where does upconverting classic films end? Ruined composition aside, what will the simple experience of a cut feel like when we're surrounded by image? How hi-fi can we stretch our relatively low-fi films? And why do we even need to? Dozens of action films from all throughout the 20th century have been remixed with 5.1 surround sound for home theaters (they even gave Disney's Snow White the treatment). But these sounds were never intended to fill such a space; are they big enough for their new britches? Does a technologically "upgraded" film enhance the original experience, or merely distract us from the filmmaker's intended vision? Check out the clip below, a commercial spec piece by Joseph Kosinski, director of the upcoming TRON: Legacy, in which we literally get to walk around inside a film (Kubrick's The Shining).

I think the technical term for that piece is "f#$%ing cool as balls," but can we, in our right minds, suggest that this is how Kubrick wanted us to watch The Shining? Lane, in his New Yorker article, cites Sergei Eisentein's clairvoyant prediction of 3D cinema and its advantages, and supposes what a number of classic moments in film history would look like if given the 3D treatment. But, he says, it doesn't matter:

There’s just one hitch. The scene works fine as it is... the posthumous application of 3D would not sharpen -- and might even vulgarize -- its moral thrust. Is that not, after all, how we have learned to read a painting since the time of Giotto? We know that perspective is a trick, and that a flat surface stands for a denser and more far-reaching world, but it is an illusion of which art... has availed itself with unstinting intelligence, relying on our instinct to decipher the code. What 3D movies say to us is: You have been fooled. You were duped, all this time, into thinking that a window was a world.

As long as films remain in that window, 3D will be just another bell or whistle -- not necessarily a gimmick, per se, but certainly just another tool in the kit. If Spielberg wants to add that tool to his Jaws kit retroactively, then he might as well go the full hog and recreate the shark digitally, because he will be asserting his freedom over the chains that bound him when he shot the film in 1974. But by doing this, he will be walking away from the fundamental battle he fought during production -- the lightning in the bottle that created such a memorable film -- namely, his difficult leading man:

Bruce, as he was affectionately named (after Spielberg's lawyer), never worked right. He went left when he was supposed to go down, up when he was supposed to go forward. He rusted. He malfunctioned. He was a diva. And even when he did work, he looked like what he was: a foam rubber shark. Frustrated, Spielberg shot around him. As Zanuck says:

In desperation, we came up with so many good ideas -- like the floating barrels, for instance, that were shown on the screen to suggest this shark beneath them, underwater -- and we did it because we didn't have the shark. In the script, the shark is on Page 1 when the girl gets eaten. It became more terrorizing than anything we could have hoped for. If we had CG then we would have had the shark in every frame.

So Zanuck admits that the limitations of the process drove them to a more effective result than they would have achieved if CG had been an option, and yet now he wants to bring digital technology into it? His own logic suggests that this would weaken the film. Jaws was made by embracing its limitations, rather than resisting them. Take the lesson from George Braque, who, along with Picasso, invented cubism: "Out of limitations, new forms emerge." On the one hand, this can be read as an excuse; Braque could no more paint like Rembrandt than Bruce the shark could accurately mimic a real great white shark. But that technical deficiency bred invention, and something new; cubism shows us something that Rembrandt can't, just as Jaws offers something that Shark Week footage does not. By the time Spielberg does allow the shark to play, we're so afraid of it that we can forgive his obvious shortcomings. Don't buy that? Then why are we still talking about Jaws 35 years later? Indeed, "don't show the shark," has become a staple tension-building device of monster films, so even if the shark had looked better, would seeing more of it have been a good thing?

The implication of revising any film with more advanced technology is that there is something to be gained in the process, i.e. that the original has room for improvement. But logic like that suggests that the 1983 sequel film, Jaws 3D, has something going for it that the original doesn't. If the film's marketing campaign is to be believed, then that something is "terror." But give me a person who finds Jaws 3D more terrifying than Jaws, and I'll give you a velvet Elvis.

This is, perhaps, unfair. Jaws 3D used technology put to shame by today's standards, and relied on chestnuts like severed arms and uncannily suspended jawbones for its thrills. Narrative stops in the name of cheap thrills. And, 3D aside, how can we even begin to compare this film to Jaws?
We can't, of course. There's more to a movie than bells, whistles, and severed arms. It usually starts with something called a script, but that's another blog entry. My point is that technological revision like this is just varnish; what's underneath is far more substantial. In short: if it ain't broke, don't fix it. That's not to say that technique isn't important, or that shoddy attention to detail is ok, but, as John Waters says, "Technique is just failed style." Asserting that any film would be improved by converting it to 3D is to distract us from and discredit the work of the original film. Hitchcock's Dial M for Murder, while not his best film by a longshot, is still an effective thriller in 2D, though it was also released in anaglyphic 3D. Burton's Alice in Wonderland was converted to 3D as an afterthought, and released in two versions. It may be more nifty in 3D than in 2D, but is it a better film? Avatar was composed for 3D specifically, by a filmmaker with a savant-like understanding of the minutiae of the medium. Yes, I'd argue that's a better movie in 3D than in 2D. So yes, as concerns films made and released during stereoscopic periods in the history of major motion picture film distribution, I believe that there's room to question which version is better, with the answer being different from film to film. But Jaws was made well after the 1950's anaglyphic 3D boom, and well before the new 3D wave, so how does it figure in? I put forth that it doesn't. So leave well enough alone.

When we make these sweeping revisions to films, we seem to say that our best work at the time wasn't good enough. We discredit our own film history, and the films themselves. And so I say that converting Jaws would damage it, if only by implication. Even if done well, even if it's an exhilarating experience, the very fact of the new film would be a spit in the face of the original. Of course, I have to admit that I'm no Spielberg. Who are we, the proles, to tell a filmmaker what to do with his or her baby? After all, could he not surprise us and make something better?

I've spent a lot of time suggesting that any given digital change to a work would likely be damaging. But in doing so, must I not acknowledge, at least in theory, the contrary possibility? How can we define damage, after all, if not in contrast to improvement? Few would argue that George Lucas ever improved a film of his in one of his subsequent passes, but is it possible to enhance (using more than mere editing) a film at all, years after it's been released? Even Spielberg tried it, with a new cut of E.T., including CG effects where none had been before. I guarantee you, that's not the version of E.T. my children will watch.

Indeed, I can think of only one exception that proves the rule. Ridley Scott's Blade Runner: The Final Cut is more masterpiece than I thought a masterpiece could ever be. It's a cut of the film very close to the mislabeled Director's Cut, but it includes digitally cleaned up and enhanced shots, removal of continuity errors, and, briefly, some newly generated CG shots. Why does it work? Why does the new material feel so unobtrusive (so unLucas)? I can only credit Scott's restraint. Each and every decision he makes in the Final Cut seems so in tune with the original film's vision, so a-part-of that film's vocabulary, that we can only assume these truly were the shots he would have achieved with a little more time and money. He has only added in that which he felt the film needed in the first place. Case in point: the infamous Zhora snake dance scene. Chronicled in the making-of book, Future Noir, and on Blade Runner's DVD extras, this was to have been an elaborate stop-motion animated sequence in Taffy's club. Drawings survive, but the scene was deemed too ambitious to film, and unessential regardless. Given the opportunity to create and insert a CG version of the scene for the Final Cut, Scott passed. That was the decision he made in 1982, and he stood by it nearly three decades later. While the spectre of CG Jabba may bemoan the lost opportunity to realize the snake dance, I thank the heavens that Ridley Scott is not George Lucas. I can only hope that Spielberg follows Scott's lead on the subject of digital revision, 3D conversion, and dancing serpents. Really, what's next, techno remixes of the King? Aw, nuts.

In the Shadow of the Giant

2010-03-09T01:28:00.003-05:00

Your humble blogger's short film, Alice Jacobs is Dead, will screen this month at the Saturday Nightmares Horror Expo in Jersey City. In attendance will be our leading lady, Adrienne Barbeau. And the master of zombie cinema, the Godfather himself, George A. Romero, appears shortly after us. That's right... we're opening for George A. Romero! Come all. It's minutes from Manhattan on the PATH train. Tickets and other info here.

The Last Temptation of Lost

2010-02-07T11:57:00.004-05:00

If this whole thing turns out to be a six season-long remake of Donnie Darko, ending with John Locke laughing maniacally as the plane crashes all around him, I shall be very annoyed.

Snook-a-like?

2010-01-21T22:23:00.002-05:00

Jersey Shore's Snooki and the baby mask from Brazil. Am I nuts for seeing this?

Synthesis

2009-12-29T09:07:00.003-05:00

Well, here's my two cents (click for a larger view):

"They're Norwegians, Mac"

2009-12-09T22:29:00.005-05:00

Have you heard about the Norway Spiral yet? Aliens or an AWOL Russian missle? You be the judge, but I can't get excited about it. I just will be too heartbroken when it's revealed to be a boy in his father's weather balloon, sticking spinning fireworks in his a$%hole and mooning Scandinavia. When the little green men appear on camera, then I will believe.

AMENDMENT 12/9:
See... I told you it was nothing to get excited about... READ THE EXPLANATION.

Yea, Verily, He is Risen (From the Dead)!

2009-11-10T12:37:00.043-05:00

I'm truly bad at updating regularly. So, in an effort to revive my flatlined blog, let's talk about the resurrected dead. Nice segue, huh?

What do Jesus Christ, zombies, and Frankenstein's Monster all have in common? Well, apart from their devilish good looks, they're all undead. This brilliant, if blasphemous, diagram was sent to me by RL, an old family friend:

I could teach a semester at Geek U on this diagram, and I salute its author, whoever (s)he may be. The zombie-Christ joke is an old one, and, between Mary Shelley and James Whale, Frankenstein's Monster has been linked to Biblical lore since his inception, so this is nothing new, but it's still fun to talk about. I'll eschew the pitfalls of an outright affirmation of JC's followers being called "mindless," or the notion of JC himself being "feared." By a similar token, I'm not so sure we can call zombies "followers" (wouldn't that require will?). Nevertheless, the gist of this diagram is undeniably sound, and would make Mr. Venn proud.

The central premise of the image is perhaps the most interesting/controversial: it presupposes that Christ is a monster, or, at the very least, an entity which logically can be mentioned in the same breath as three commonly accepted monster tropes (walking dead, reanimated cadaver, vampire). The devout Christian will, no doubt, initially reject such a notion. But let's not be so hasty. What, after all, is a monster? Dictionaries offer pretty concrete, if a bit pedestrian, definitions, the mean average of which seems to be something like Random House's no. 2:

any creature so ugly or monstrous as to frighten people.

Basic, sure. But does this include a sexy, genteel vampire? How about an invisible man? What about a pod person from Body Snatchers? And is "creature" only animal? Isn't the Terminator or a golem a monster? How about a triffid? We could debate all of these, but isn't "an ugly living thing" a bit narrow? Broadening the definition has its problems too. Film theorist Noël Carroll wrote a whole book, The Philosophy of Horror, in an attempt to tackle the question, and calls a "monster":

a being in violation of the natural order, where the perimeter of the natural order is determined by contemporary science.

I like this, but it means that Superman is a monster, and a great white shark isn't. So we have problems again, at least as concerns horror fiction. I'll side-track here, and mention that Yours Truly's father, a frequent commentator on NPR, just discussed movie monsters on-air, and spent much of his time wrestling with definitions. It's worth a listen:

Guess who his personal researcher was. Anyway, let's, for the sake of argument, take the Carrollian view and just agree that a Monster (with a capital M), is just the other. It could be animal, vegetable, or mineral, and it may even look human, but it is somehow not human. By that notion, The Christ surely is a Monster, even if he is a good one (Monsters, Inc, anyone? Don't forget Superman). Endowed with supernatural powers by an omnipotent force, he is humanoid (if not actually part human), but unnatural. A zombie, once human, has been transmuted by infection into something no longer human (at least, as long as zombism remains a fictional medical condition). Dracula, once human, has been transmuted by supernatural forces into something no longer human. Frank (as I'll call him, after his father), once human (or parts from various humans), has been transmuted by science fiction into something no longer human. So yes, to all you who've got religion: JC is a Monster, logically consistent with zombies, vampires, and science fair projects gone wrong.

Now, I'll ask all you vampire fiends to forgive me, because I'm most interested in the blue circle. Sorry, but "resurrected from the dead" is just the most fun unifying trait on the diagram. So I'm sorry, Count Dracula, if I don't discuss you much. The undead is just more fun for me to talk about, and Frank has been grossly ignored by today's Vampire and zombie-crazed media. Indeed, Victor Frankenstein's creation is more social castaway than are zombies (who have no will to integrate into society... only the will to eat it) or Dracula (who ostracizes himself from society, and is generally agoraphobic). Frank longs for humanity's company. He loves man. Shelley's original Monster has an aesthete's soul, an articulate tongue, and a deep sense of morality (though his rage may get the better of him). Rage aside, does that sound like anyone you know?
An outcast and scapegoat during his own time, JC turned his cheek to his adversaries, tormentors, and those who just didn't like him. Frank, on the other hand, was more prone to opening his can of whoop-ass (as Berni Wrightson so beautifully illustrates):Apart from Frank's violent tendencies, he has a poignancy and a loveability that is somehow Christ-like. Created by a force greater and wiser than himself, he is set forth into a world that does not fully understand him, by which he will be shunned. James Whale took the Christ metaphor to very obvious extremes, especially in Bride of Frankenstein (see first picture, above). Whale's Monster is even less prone to violence than is Shelley's, and only causes people harm by accident or in self-defense. Shelley likens the Monster to Adam rather than JC, but either way, Frank does seem to have a lot in common with the Judeo-Christian notion of one of God's special projects. As Colin Clive's scenery-chewing Dr. Frankenstein cries, "In the name of God, now I know what it feels like to be God!"

And what does JC have in common with the flesh-chewing living dead? Come on... he's just asking to be bitten by the masses: "Eat of this, for it is my body." We could take that further, if you like. We could consider infected zombie flesh the Eucharist. "Eat of this, and through it find redemption." In this state of [mindless] redemption, you feel no more pain, no want, no worldly woes, and you are compelled to spread your newfound freedom to as many as possible (there's your pink circle on the chart). I have no idea who generated the image below, but it seems relevant here:

How good is that? Of course, eating-JC-to-become-a-zombie isn't the main association made by the diagram. The more basic premise is that JC, like a zombie, rises from the dead. If that's all a zombie is (which, granted, is a contemporary, Romero-inspired definition), then JC certainly counts. And if that's the case, then 2004 was a great year for zombie films, between Shaun of the Dead, Snyder's Dawn of the Dead, and The Passion of the Christ. The last shot of Gibson's Passion sees the dead Christ stand up in his tomb and walk out of frame. Whether by undead infection or divine intervention, the dead comes back to life. I buy it.

So what's my point? Hasn't all this been rehashed on the web for years? Sure. I guess I just needed something to blog about. I wish I could spin some deeper connection between Frankenstein's Monster and zombies. But, apart from the general "resurrected from the dead" label, I don't really see it. If nothing else, JC and Frank are sentient beings. Zombies, on the other hand, despite Maestro Romero's recent forays into "self-aware" zombie territory in his last few Dead films, are most frightening and effective when the attack is a wave of mindless, hungry walking dead. JC, too, comes with his apostles, and seeks to create a movement. But Frank, poor Frank, is definitely a loner. He can't convert the masses as can a zombie, and no one loves him as they love JC. No respect... he's the Rodney Dangerfield of the resurrected dead.

Coming Soon to Extraordinarily Few Theaters

2009-07-29T08:25:00.003-05:00

The trailer for my film, Alice Jacobs is Dead, is now online (embedded below). In the interest of shameless self promotion, I'll point out that we just won Best Horror/Suspense Film at the San Diego Comic Con International Independent Film Festival. Hope you all enjoy. Check the main website for updates.

Dracula: The Student Film

2009-05-26T09:04:00.013-05:00

I recently rewatched Tod Browning's Dracula, and was displeased to find that it really isn't all that. It's slow. It's silly. It's not really scary, even, I'm guessing, by 1930's standards. I know there are stories of women fainting in the aisles, but I have to assume that such stories are apocryphal. Compare this 1931 adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel to F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu (1922). The latter holds up infinitely better, is far more vibrant a film, and is as scary as ever. Bela Lugosi's Dracula is elegant, iconic, and sexy in a Eurotrashy way, but Max Schreck's Count Orlok (Dracula) is purely horrifying.
I digress. Back to Bela...
I shall forever love Tod Browning for the film he made after this one: Freaks. And I will give credit where it's due; Browning creates some wonderful images -- classic, even. Much of this certainly must be due to the work of cinematographer Karl Freund, a German who shot Leni Reifenstahl's Tiefland, Murnau's The Last Laugh, and a little Fritz Lang flick called Metropolis -- ever heard of it? Perplexingly, he ended his career shooting episodes of I Love Lucy. That's right: the man who captured Metropolis also shot I Love Lucy. That's one of my favorite tidbits of film history.
Freund later directed the original version of The Mummy (also a disappointment), and is widely known to have co-directed Dracula. So why, in the hands of this master, did I see the following frame when I watched Dracula?What the hell is that slab of paper? Obviously, it's serving to shape the light, right? But it serves no narrative function, I assure you, and I didn't see it in subsequent shots. I've never seen such an obvious blunder in a studio film. Freund let me down. Tod Browing let me down. Bela Lugosi... is dead.

Does This Mean That Richard is Atrus?

2009-05-15T18:08:00.002-05:00

All You'll Ever Need to Know

2009-04-08T10:30:00.013-05:00

Did the people on the Mall, at Dr. King's feet in 1963 know that they were witnessing one of the most important moments in modern oratory? Ineffectual as it was in swaying the election, can we call Obama's 2004 Democratic National Convention address a truly great speech? Were the troops at Tilbury as moved by Elizabth I's words as history has them? Maybe. Or maybe history sweetens the memory of speeches. Perhaps hindsight can sweeten the words of speeches themselves. Accounts of reactions to the Gettysburg Address are conflicted, but many say that Lincoln's words met dispassionate, indifferent, and bored ears (remember that the crowd at Gettysburg had, before Lincoln's brief address, just suffered through a two hour oration by former Congressman Edward Everett). But eventually, if not immediately, the Gettysburg Address became the standard -- a compassionate and lofty tract of idealistic political philosophy, expressed through unpretentious, direct language.

On March 30th, 2009, Wynton Marsalis gave a speech at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. Far from the brevity of Lincoln's meditation, but not quite the dirge of Everett's two hours, it is easily the most moving and profound piece of oration I have heard since July of 2004. The occasion was Arts Advocacy Day, and Marsalis gave the prestigious Annual Nancy Hanks Lecture. This is not a predictable battle cry in support of arts funding. Nor is it a sermon in promotion of one cultural agenda over another (although, granted, his personal tastes and biases inevitably shine through). There is something grander, yet simpler, at work here. This is a philosophical rumination (a "ballad," as Marsalis labels it) on the interconnected nature and indivisible oneness of all artistic expression, and, more to the point, on that phenomenon as the defining basis for what makes us "who we are." The "who" in this case is all of us, but most specifically, Americans.

We do not yet have the benefit of hindsight to tell us if this speech will be remembered or replayed in perpetuity. Nor is there likely to be any quantifiable effect of this speech on American cultural policy and arts patronage. But I suspect that this speech will have a lasting, formative effect on me, and if it reaches a few more, then it's certainly doing some good. This blogger's parents were in the audience, and my mother described it as "one of the great events of [her] life."

Now that I've built it up, and heightened your expectations, how could it possibly live up? Well, relax. Is it a perfect speech? I doubt such a thing exists. You may or may not care about the issues Marsalis covers. His tour through American history and arts may do nothing for you. You may disagree with some of his implications about contemporary art. I certainly did now and then. Then again, he's the lauded, world-renowned musician, educator, and impressario, whereas I'm a fanboy blogger. So I defer to Wynton in the end. The full -- and rather long -- speech is below. Double-click for fullscreen with playback controls.

Time For Awesome Randomness

2009-04-02T12:10:00.004-05:00

Came across this photo in the interwebnets. George Cukor, John Wayne, Myrna Loy, and Steven Spielberg. WTF? What a strange and wonderful assemblage. Any guesses on the pageboy doo on the extreme right? Almost looks like Louise Lasser, or Ursula K. Le Guin (but what the hell would she be doing there?).

Separated at Birth?

2009-03-02T11:01:00.003-05:00

Real estate investor/frequent CNBC commentator Tom Barrack and actor/one-third-of-Spinal Tap Harry Shearer. You be the judge. I just calls 'em like I sees 'em.

Utah Jones

2009-02-12T10:21:00.006-05:00

I'm not sure what surprised me more... the fact that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints advertises on The Huffington Post:
... or the revelation that Jesus revisited earth as Harrison Ford.
Or am I the only person who sees that? Incidentally, in my image search for a shot of a bearded Ford (which predictably led me to settle on The Fugitive), I found this gem: a cameo by Ford as Indiana Jones in The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles. Keep watching past the preview.

Indiana Jones - mystery of the blues
by angelseyth

ATAGM #2: Alien 3 is My Longest Blog

2009-01-21T09:53:00.150-05:00

This edition of Awful Things About Great Movies has been in the stars for a while. This shall be my finest hour. No slip-ups here. This is important. This means something. For in this blog, I shall -- for all time and beyond a shadow of a doubt -- belie the myth that Alien 3 sucks. I will go further. I say that Alien 3 is a great film. The awful thing about it is that it's been forgotten and brushed aside for 16 years. Alien 3 was not a hit, and almost immediately after its release dealt with brutal, unforgiving reviews. As the web came to light and grew, online fanboys and so-called Alien devotees have not been any kinder. There are few entries into major film franchises that have endured as much ridicule, dismissal, and unsupported mockery as has this film. Even Jaws: The Revenge and Rocky V don't take as much crap. As much as I think Alien 3 holds up and needs no defense, I feel compelled to do this, once and for all. Years ago, I had a brief defense of the film posted on the long-since-defunct davidfincher.net. This one will be anything but brief. I'm suddenly inspired to get this written because next week I will see it on the big screen for the first time. So let's do this. Spoiler alert.
After the success of Alien and Aliens, expectations for the third chapter's critical and commercial success were high. 20th Century Fox, to their credit, realized that much of the first two films' awesomeness was owed to the studio's having taken chances with big budgets on relatively untested directors. At the time of Alien, commercials director Ridley Scott had made some television, some shorts, and one feature (the gorgeous and too-seldom seen The Duellists). At the time of Aliens, James Cameron had made some shorts, a craptastic feature (Piranha II: The Spawning), and one successful feature (a little indie that found studio distribution, called The Terminator). For Alien 3, Fox initially went to Renny Harlin (mercifully, that never came to fruition), then went to a Kiwi filmmaker named Vincent Ward. Now, I'm no big What Dreams May Come fan. That's the film for which Ward will best be known to Americans (it was made well after Alien 3). But at the time, he was known for several films from New Zealand, not least of which was a film called The Navigator, which -- full disclosure -- this blogger has not seen. Ward developed an Alien 3 script, but left over some creative and/or budgetary disputes with Fox. Vestiges of Ward's impressive concept -- chronicled on the DVD -- remain in the finished film, but this blog is not about Vincent Ward's Alien 3. Fox ended up going with a commercials and music video director: a one-time Lucasfilm special effects technician named David Fincher. Fox couldn't know that this man would later bring us Seven, The Game, Fight Club, and Benji Button any more than they could have predicted Scott making Blade Runner, or Cameron making The Abyss or T2 (Did Cameron make anything after that? I certainly don't remember anything.). My point: before the film was even made, Fox had struck lightning thrice in the same phallic, xenomorphic spot. It's quite the triple play of great directors with beards.
I'll spare you a blow-by-blow summary of Alien 3's plot, assuming that if you're reading, you've seen it. As a refresher, the gist is this: immediately after Aliens, an electrical fire onboard the Sulaco (caused by an alien) causes heroine Ripley, Marine Corporal Hicks, cherub Newt, and the remains of android Bishop to crash-land on Fury 161, a prison planet inhabited by a lot of Cockney double-Y chromosome inmates. Ripley is the only one who survives the crash, and she spends the film navigating the awkward and dangerous waters of an all-male population of violent criminals. In the midst of this, she can't shake the feeling that she hasn't outrun the monster. That's because there's one on the loose.

Right off the bat, Alien 3 takes an unexpected turn, and this, I believe, is how it first lost so many fans. The deaths, before the film even kicks off, of all but one of storyline's remaining characters, is a bold move for a major Hollywood franchise. By Aliens' end, James Cameron has created a surrogate nuclear family: bad-ass mama Ripley has coupled with the handsome, square-jawed Hicks (albeit without any outward romance), adopted the orphaned Newt, and made peace with the family pet, who, I guess, is the crippled Bishop. They fly off into the stars, ready "to dream" in peace. BAM! They're dead. Sure, this rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. But people, please... what part of the Alien series led you to believe that this was a story meant to fill your heart with sunbeams and fairy dust? From the first masterpiece of the franchise, in which a group of laymen are deliberately sent into harm's way by a megalomanical corporate system which considers them expendable, this is a universe in which bad things happen mercilessly.
Alien, a product of the post-Vietnam era (but maybe I'm over-reaching here), paints a very grim picture of a universe in which the innocent will suffer at the hands of a monster, let loose by an even greater, faceless evil. No amount of ingenuity or decency can save Dallas (the prototypical, heroic good guy) or his crew from certain death. Only one, Ripley, survives. But by the second film, Ripley is too psychologically damaged by the experience to be a functioning member of society. Not only that, she's also decried as a Cassandra by those responsible for her experience, stripped of her flight license (and hence, her career), and -- as we learn in the far-superior and widely available Aliens Director's Cut -- she has lost her daughter due to an abnormally long hypersleep in space. When given the opportunity to reface the demon that destroyed her life, Ripley seizes it. She goes so that she can sleep at night, and she goes because this time she's supposed to be protected by a squad of Marines. Of course, almost everyone dies, unprepared for the enemy, and undone by more corruption and treachery on the part of their human superiors. Those who survive do so because they are spurred on by Ripley's strength.
So, by the time of Alien 3, the series is about many things, but it's not about happy endings. It's about paranoia, claustrophobia, weakness versus strength, force, reason, science, trust, greed, pure evil, and primal horror. Swiss artist H.R. Giger's iconic and utterly sexual alien anatomy and physiology designs led to some serious Freudian analysis of science fiction. And, of course, Sigourney Weaver's Ripley ushered in a renaissance for feminist Hollywood (a slimy sci-fi action flick received a best actress Oscar nomination in 1986, lest we forget). So yes, for her suffering, Ripley gets her "family" together. But I submit that it would be a betrayal of the series' tone and purpose to continue without snatching back Ripley's fleeting happiness. The superfluously thorough 9-DVD Alien Quadrilogy box set is, much to my chagrin, chock-full of interviews with Alien 3 apologists (some of them cast and crew from the series itself), all of whom bemoan the film's opening twists. It's been a while since I watched the interviews, but I remember Cameron saying something like, "I wanted to see that family go off and continue to fight the alien together." Yeah Jim, I bet you did. Wouldn't that be lovely? Newt could just strangle facehuggers while Mama Rip would melt warriors and Papa Hicks would blow up the queen. Yeah, I'd buy that movie.

Bull. I get that a lot of people wanted to see such a movie. I know that people were swept away by how ass-kicking Aliens is. I agree. But James Cameron's Alien 3 would have been too much of one good thing. Perhaps the most astounding thing about this series is its ability to reinvent and not to repeat itself. Who knew there were so many ways to present the same slimy phallus-beast? Alien is a straight-up, balls-out horror film -- it's about what's lurking in the dark, and even through its ending it maintains a pretty cynical, pessimistic tone about our inability to fight such horror. Aliens, while still scary, is more of a combat film. It's about overcoming the horror and terror with teamwork and courage (kind of a Howard Hawksian approach to story: "people getting s#!% done"). Sure, people die along the way, but this time, it's sacrifice in the name of defeating an enemy, whereas, in Alien, it's just tragic, "expendable" loss. Had the saga continued on that "kick ass and take names" note, it would have become just another redundant sequel. Fun, perhaps, and maybe even a good movie, but a waste of an opportunity for a climactic third act.
That, to me, is exactly what the original Alien Trilogy is: a perfect three-act space opera. It is the story of Lt. Ellen Ripley, an intelligent, virtuous woman who is thrust into the most sinister and extreme of scenarios. She survives the horrific first act, battered and weaker. She emerges from the test of the second act stronger and none the worse for wear. The third act, then, must throw new challenges at her, lest the narrative become stagnant. So at the top of Alien 3, Ripley loses everything she holds dear. It's pretty classic dramaturgy: Act I, establish a problem; Act II, begin to combat that problem; Act III, make problem seem insurmountable, leading to dramatic climax and resolution. That's what we get here. Ripley's recent victory evaporates, and so, too, must her gung-ho attitude as she prepares for the greatest test of all.
The opening of Alien 3 is, for a die-hard fan, emotionally devastating, as it is for our heroine. I remember well the "holy crap" sinking I felt in my stomach, the first time I watched the film. Incidentally, the first time I saw both Aliens and Alien 3, as a wee fanboy, I watched them back-to-back. As such, I was riding high from my virgin viewing of Aliens. "Yeah! She got sweet revenge on the alien," I thought. Then, suddenly, "No! How could they kill everyone?" But that sentiment is misplaced when it is held against the film itself, or against the filmmakers. While watching It's a Wonderful Life, when Mr. Potter shows himself to be a dishonest crook who won't give George Bailey the money that's rightfully his, do you think, "Potter, you villain! I hate you," or do you think, "Damn you Frank Capra! I hate this movie!?" Too many Alien 3 haters displace their emotional involvement in Ripley's fiction, converting it into real-world hate of the fiction writers. There is another person who once reacted thus, and her name is Annie Wilkes. In Stephen King's Misery, Annie, devastated by the death of her favorite character in her favorite fiction series, holds hostage the series' author, torturing and mutilating him until he agrees to change the fiction, after which she will kill him so that the fiction ends as she wishes. But Annie Wilkes is a solipsistic, psychotic murderess, as may be -- for all I know -- these Alien 3 haters who disregard the film merely because it doesn't unfold as happily as they'd like.

If you hate Alien 3 because you don't like how it opens, I have little patience for your crtiticism. You have decided to be an Annie Wilkes before the film has even begun. If you are an Annie Wilkes as concerns the film's ending, then we have more to talk about, but I will still disagree with you. Here come the biggest spoiler alerts of the blog. By film's end, we learn that Ripley is "impregnated" with an alien queen. Distracted by the paranoia she felt regarding Newt's death, and by the danger of a new breed of alien warrior running around the prison, Ripley can not have known that she herself holds the potential key to limitless death and alien terror. She knows that the omnipresent Company wants the specimen which is inside her, and she knows that human life is meaningless to such a supreme evil. She can not trust human-Bishop's promise to save her life by removing the parasite. Of course, the only alternative to giving that trust is to accept death. By the time Ripley is cornered in the final climax, the choice is clear: suicide is the only way to protect humanity from the monster, and to dash the sinister machinations of the Company. This death offers a moral victory and martyrdom -- the symbolism of which can hardly be denied.
Ripley's death is clearly the moral high ground in that fork in the road. But some still reject the fork itself. Why put Ripley in that situation to begin with? Why kill off the heroine? Why destroy the only constant, enduring force for good in this world? I say because this is Act III, gang. This is the story that needs to be told. Ripley has played the damsel in the slasher flick-cum-sci-fi thriller. She has opened up the can of whoop-ass in the action movie. Now it is time for her to face something from which she can not run and which she can not stop with force. That is the essence of Alien 3, and that may be alienating (forgive me) for many. The film doesn't have as many scares as Alien or as many thrills as Aliens, but rather dwells on very grim corners of the human psyche. Ripley is surrounded not by colleagues or by soldiers, but by the worst misfits of society: rapists and murderers, all supposedly reformed by religion but clearly dangerous. She is with the dregs of humanity, stranded "at the ass-end of space," with few options and fewer allies. And, despite the relative quiet of her surroundings (after the war zone of Aliens), the problem she now faces seems more insurmountable than anything she's faced before. Even on the Nostromo in the first film, she had weapons and a crew of allies who were just as afraid as she. Here, she has trouble convincing anyone of the looming danger, and once she does, she has to compete with the absence of any weapons more formidable than a fire axe. Eschewing the conventional Hollywood wisdom that "more is more," Alien 3 does not pile on the spectacle, gadgetry, and "strength in numbers" philosophy of a typical sequel. Aliens took that approach, and did it very well, but this is something different. Alien 3 gets back to basics, and rather deftly handles the subtle notion that the greatest adversary is within, not swarming about in the form of a slimy horde with teeth. I celebrate the film's twist of putting Ripley in this situation and then killing her off. It is gutsy, unconventional, and makes for an utterly unique film.

So let's assume that you're with me so far. What else is there to hate? You don't like the strange cast of mostly British inmates? You miss the smack-talking Marines? Deal with it. The Marines had their day, and got beat. Ripley is a stranger in a strange land here. The ensemble of enigmatic inmates only bolsters that notion. And this is a most excellent cast, full of faces you've seen, even if you don't know their names: Charles Dance, Brian Glover, Ralph Brown, and Pete Postlewaite are awesome. And who can forget Charles S. Dutton as Dillon, the gang's spiritual leader, who found God and can only see the alien as a sign? His con-turned-amateur preacher is a most unusual presence for a mainstream sci-fi film, but Dutton makes him believable; Dillon is right at home, exactly where he should be, bringing a little faith and discipline to a rag-tag clan of miscreants on a small, forgotten outpost in the the furthest reaches of space. I love this gaggle of characters.
What else do you dislike? You miss the queen and the hive of aliens? One rogue monster not enough for you? Come on, did you see the first film? There's no law that says you can't cut back. This is all part of Alien 3's "less is more" surprise. And it does offer something new: incubated in a quadraped rather than in a human, this beast is faster and more agile than anything Ripley has encountered. Fincher called it a "cross between a freight train and a jaguar." Oh, what... you think that motion-capture digital puppet looks fake? Come on. It's actually a pretty advanced effect for the time, and a well shot, dramatically motivated effect is always more important than a seamless technique. Have you ever seen the Wizard of Oz? Or a Ray Harryhausen movie? Or King Kong? Dated FX need not diminish a film's greatness. This is a fantastic movie monster, logically consistent with its predecessors, yet memorable in new ways. The face-to-face scene with Ripley is, to me, as scary and iconic as Alien's chestburster, or Aliens' majestic queen.

I simply have yet to hear a criticism of Alien 3 that holds any water. This is a rich, frightening, and surprisingly complex film. Remnants of Vincent Ward's original story -- in which the prisoners are actually monks on a man-made, wooden monastery planetoid -- can be seen. The film is steeped in religious imagery and metaphor. The notion of cleansing and rebirth, so inherent in the alien's lifecycle, is finally given some poetic treatment by the series. Resurrection and virginal birth find literal, gruesome context in the xenomorph's gestation process. Ripley, so abused and tested beyond reasonable limits, now facing internal demons (literally), has something new questioned: not her strength or her stamina, but her faith. Dillion asks, "Do you have any faith, sister?" Ripley's answer is "Not much," but by film's end she has shown what the courage and selflessness of one can do for the good of many.

In terms of technique, the film is a near masterpiece -- a triumph for a first-time feature director. Alex Thomson's lush, shadowy cinematography gives this film perhaps the most singular look of the series. I once read that Blade Runner's Jordan Cronenweth even shot some scenes. Norman Reynolds' production design is likewise impressive. Fury 161 looks like a castle keep or a cathedral as much as it does a futuristic prison complex. The sets are majestic, yet decayed and grim. The place looks lived in, utterly plausible, and thoroughly intimidating. Terry Rawlings, who edited the first film, returns to give this film a frighteningly taut rhythm. Elliot Goldenthal's score is one of the great overlooked masterpieces of 90's film music. He melds choral requiem with electronic ambience and full, booming horror orchestra. It's a gorgeous score, full of grandiose melancholy, but appropriately without iconic theme music. The series has done well to avoid a catch tune. It's hard to imagine the series with a Jaws-like "duh-dum." Ripley is not John Wayne. She iconoclastically avoids a theme song.

Ripley is, by this chapter, a hero of nearly mythic status -- at least to the audience. Fincher's camera rightfully idolizes her (low angle shots abound). He knows that this opera is not about space monsters or evil interplanetary corporations. This is the story of one woman. But she, humbly, doesn't think of herself heroically. That would be too Cameronesque. She might have had a chip on her shoulder had things worked out differently, but life (the alien, the Company) keeps smacking her down. And yet she fights on. We must marvel at this, because we have been pummeled with her. The Alien Trilogy is a draining set of films. They are depressing, harrowing, and violent cinematic experiences. Those of us who don't misplace our anger at the death of Newt and Hicks may then feel Ripley's loss with her. We endure and suffer with her, rather than act as casual observers to the horror. That voyeuristic relationship between audience and killing, exemplified in Psycho, finds home in many a slasher film, but that usually means that the killer, not the hero, is the more charismatic or memorable character (Norman Bates, Jason, Leatherface, etc.). People may come to Alien films for the monsters, but their constant anchor in the drama is Ripley. Without her, an Alien film is just a smorgasbord of gooey death with no gravitas (more on this later).

But Alien 3 has plenty of gravitas -- more, it seems, than a lot of "fans" cared for. My theory is that there are a lot of fans of the second film, Aliens, who mistake their enthusiasm for love of the Alien series as a whole. They say, "I'm an Aliens fan," when they mean, "I'm an Aliens fan." I know why Aliens has fans. It's a butt-kicking movie. It's a sci-fi nerd's heaven, full of geek tech and nifty monsters. It's an action buff's wet dream, full of big, noisy guns and badass Marines. It's well paced, well written, well acted, and a great piece of film craft in general -- Cameron at his best. I love the film. You don't need to convince me. But to consider the film the pinnacle of the series, rather than the middle third of one bigger movie is, in my opinion, narrow-minded. After Alien became Aliens, these people wanted to see "Alienses," but got Alien 3 instead. Most of these fans espouse some version of the same line: "The first one is the scariest, but the second one is totally the best. The third one blows." Unfortunately, these are often people who enjoyed the fourth entry, Alien: Resurrection.

That leads me to the elephant in the room. Why have I only spoken of the films as a trilogy, when it's actually a quartet plus two later prequels (Alien Versus Predator and Alien Versus Predator: Requiem)? I admit my bias: I dismiss Resurrection with about as much zeal as do many haters diss Alien 3. I will save a detailed tearing-down of the fourth film for another blog (don't get me started), but surely, by its own title, the film admits to being an afterthought. Ripley died, and is literally brought back through the most contrived and nonsensical of means. The three-act opera was finished, so in a sense, this is the first sequel to the perfect, previous, 1-2-3 punch of the trilogy. The two AVP flicks are spin-offs, existing outside the Ripley narrative, but cleverly placed in the Company's universe, albeit hundreds of years earlier. As mediocre as I find these two films, they actually have some of the most graphic, disgusting moments of the series to recommend them (but not much else). But for the purposes of defending Alien 3, I really don't need to discuss Alien 4, or AVP's 1 and 2. I merely mention them as evidence of what I think is questionable taste on the part of "fans."

The first film is my favorite, but I've made no secret of the fact that I think Alien 3 is superior even to Aliens. There, I said it, and here's where I lose many of you, I know. Of course, I doubt if anyone has made it this far into the blog anyway. I have seen both films many times, and I find that Aliens wears all its tricks on its sleeve. I love Aliens, as I've said, but Alien 3 gets richer and more impressive with each viewing. Aliens pretty much stays the same every time. There's nothing wrong with that. But this is not a blog about about pitting the films against each other. This is about Alien 3, and I'm telling you, if you only watched it that one time years ago and haven't since, go back to it.

When you do, get a hold of the Special Edition cut. It's nearly 30 minutes longer than the theatrical cut and is even better. A lengthy subplot is restored which greatly enhances the character of Golic and creates a more frightening "alien as God/Devil" layer to the film. By most accounts, this "assembly cut" was Fincher's original submitted version of the film, but lengthy, ugly fights with the studio resulted in the much abridged -- and slightly less elegant -- theatrical cut. Sadly, this longer version of the film can not be considered a "director's cut." Fincher famously divorced himself from anything having to do with Fox and the film after the fact. He is conspicuously absent from the special edition DVD features. After Alien 3, he was known to say that he'd had enough of Hollywood and would direct no more features. Thank heaven he changed his mind. So, perhaps the the real awful thing about this great film is the hell it created for its creator.

For her own part, it's hard to get a sense of where Ripley herself stands on the film. Weaver is gracious as hell, but who knows what she might be hiding. And remember, I may love this character, and adore her real-world persona, but this is the woman who starred in Alien: Resurrection. But I don't want to speak ill of old Sig.' She supposedly agreed to do Aliens 3 and 4 on the conditions that she would get to a) sleep with the alien and b) die. Understandably adverse to option a, Fox skipped ahead to killing her off in 3. But when money was to be made on a fourth installment, they found a way to have her "sleep with" the alien, to lure her back. Again, don't get me started.

Alien/Ripley love scenes aside, Weaver seems to have known what was good for the series, at least as concerns the third installment. She knew it had to end. Endings are bittersweet for fans sometimes, so I understand why Alien 3 is a hard pill to swallow, but it's worth taking. The amount of hatred and chiding aimed at the film online and off is perplexing and enraging to a fan such as myself. I remember well when, while coveting the big DVD box set before its release date, I found an advance review online. The reviewer made repeated references to Alien 3's "betrayal" of his love for the series. I'm sorry, Jason Bovberg, but I want to smack you in the mouth. You guessed it: he's a guy who "can enjoy" Resurrection. He'd be content to watch Ripley fly from planet to planet, vanquishing horde after horde of alien fiends with an assortment of cleverly nicknamed space Marines and an implausibly resilient blonde-haired cherub at her side. That would be a kick-ass triumph for Ripley, I'm sure he thinks. Alien 3 won't satisfy that bloodlust, but it is completely satisfying in its own right. Ripley does vanquish evil. But her triumph is more impressive, and more gut-wrenching, than the atomic explosion at the end of Aliens. Ripley's victory -- and, by extension, Alien 3's -- comes against the darkest and most dismal of odds. Act I: Fear. Act II: Revenge. Act III: Redemption. It may not be a happy ending, but it is the correct ending. Alien 3 haters... I say your opinion is incorrect. Those of you who made it this far... go outside and play right now.

AMENDMENT 2/17:
A friend of mine just posted a link to a "Trilogy Meter" on Facebook. In the bottom corner, one finds this snippet. Dan Meth, I've never met you, but suck it. You lost me at column 2 being higher than 1. We've gotta fight this epidemic, people. Go rent the Special Edition cut. Spread the love.

Hello, Tony!

2009-01-09T10:07:00.009-05:00

I am only moderately embarrassed to admit that I really like a commercial. My dayjob sees me watching a lot of CNBC, which plays the same ten ads every half hour, and the Powershares "this is your mind" ad is perhaps the only one I can stomach. FX by Peter Jackson's Weta Digital help. But at the center is the charming little professor above, who, I swear, is Aubrey Morris. You know him better as Mr. Deltoid in A Clockwork Orange and the creepy gardener in the original The Wicker Man ("It's the wee lassie's navel string!").
I've scoured the web, but can find no evidence to support my theory. But I know it's he. And he's adorable. Watch the ad, below, and you'll be greeting all your friends with a rousing "hello, Tony!" before you know it. And here's a page with some nice info on the spot.

The Big Two Hustle Uncle Sam

2009-01-08T09:47:00.005-05:00

The old man's still got it. Apparently, Larry Flynt and Joe "Girls Gone Wild" Francis are requesting bailout money from Congress. I'm not going to weigh in heavily on TARP and the socialization of private enterprise. Far more informed and intelligent people than I can't agree on the legality -- let alone the morality -- of recent US domestic economic policy, and it's hardly Fanblog material. So I'll let you decide if socialism is a dirty word or not, and whether these steps are necessary evils or acts of good financial karma or the undoing of everything good and holy about the red, white, and blue... and green. But it stands to reason: if major private industries which represent large chunks of our economy can get vast federal loans when business is bad, then why should such charity not be extended to one of the largest, and most pervasive, industries there is (especially when they only want a measly $5 million)?

The simple answer may be because porn doesn't need it. I seem to have misplaced my smut industry ledger books, so I'm just guessing here, but I can't imagine that the industry needs any loan. Porn weathered the death of theaters and video by being on the avant garde of internet and DVD technology. These people know how to adapt a business model, and they have a product that's always in demand. On that note, isn't porn thriving now? As my genius brother said, the industry must be "pretty recession-proof I would have thought. More unemployment means more people at home jerking off." Well said, Chazman. Well said. Unemployment is its own benefit.

But that's all beside the point made by Flynt. He's asking Congress to explain where the line should be drawn, and why. He's using media (I have eschewed the cliche of saying "art") to hold up a mirror (I have not eschewed the cliche of "holding up a mirror") to Uncle Sam, as if to say, "Sam, I know you jerk off. I know you watch porn. I know you thrive on this industry, even if you refuse to admit it publicly. So where's our piece of the pie? Are you really going to deny me?" Of course Sam will deny Larry. But then he'll go home and beat it to F--- my Brown S---hole (a real title, I kid you not).

AMENDMENT 1/9:
Apparently, porn is not recession-proof. CNBC just did a story on the industry and and how piracy has hurt it. Ok, fair enough, but the demand is surely recession-proof. People may cut back on trips to Disney World and fancy dinners, but as my bro said, a bad economy must result in more masturbation. Seeing CNBC anchors talk about porn was the highlight of my week. Melissa Lee definitely just used the phrase "direct injection" when referring to Flynt's request for TARP funds. I'm sure she had a lovely time covering the AVN convention. Why do I think that she was a hit at the Yellow Fever DVD booth?

Apparently, Klaatu Ne Barada Pas Nikto

2008-12-28T22:00:00.005-05:00

I know that they claim it's in there. And yes, I heard a loud but indistinct moan that sounded something like it, just when Keanu calls off GORT's swarm of killer cicadas. But by director Scott Derrickson's admission in the above-linked article, it's just there for the fans, and is no longer a plot point. I'm talking about the phrase, "Klaatu barada nikto," from the original version of The Day the Earth Stood Still.

Ok, spoiler alert on both the original and the remake from here on out. "Klaatu barada nikto" is the fail-safe code phrase which our alien hero, Klaatu, directs our earthly heroine to utter to his interplanetery bodyguard/destroyer-of-worlds, Gort (as opposed to the upgraded GORT). By receiving this message from the tragically-fallen Klaatu, Gort cancels his Earth-melting agenda and the human race lives another day, given another chance by Klaatu to better themselves for the sake of life, the universe, and everything.

The beauty is, we are never told what it means. Obviously, it's some sort of "abort" order, but the subtleties are wrapped in mystery, and the simple three words, one of which we understand, leaves us deliciously guessing at what we don't know. Great stuff. This is geek poetry.

So I say it's a waste to make so little of this classic line. The utterance in the remake is hardly audible, let alone relevant, as it is presented. Heck, if Army of Darkness can make a plot point out of the line in loving homage, then why can't the remake? Without it, Stood Still is just another "alien warning" story. "Klaatu barada nikto" is the abracadabra that makes this particular cautionary tale so memorable. Whatever "barada nikto" means, we know that we have to be worthy of its being said, otherwise we're not fit to inhabit this planet. It is mumbo jumbo of the most profound significance. I mourn the wasted opportunity, on what is a decent movie otherwise (no small feat, given the high expectations associated with remaking such a classic).

I think my friend E summed up the flick best: there's nothing particularly wrong with it, but it's not memorable. Perhaps if they had, I dunno, come up with a mysterious catch phrase. Yeah. The movie is handled with some subtlety, and there's some neat stuff in it, for sure. I think, however, that the fable's metaphor is a little muddled. Made in the thick of the Cold War, the original film is plainly an anti-war film. Earth can't stop its violent ways, and so peaceful aliens decide to nip us humans in the bud before we can threaten the solar system. The remake is plainly a green film. Humans are laying waste to Earth, one of the only planets capable of sustaining complex life, and so the tree-hugging aliens decide to kill us to save the planet. But that logically leads to the notion that these aliens have some designs on the planet for the future. They wouldn't need to save the planet if they had no intention of living there, or at least using its resources, would they? Do they really want to become exterminators just for the sake of saving an ecosystem? I don't buy the logic. Something is missing. Klaatu supposedly represents benign entities, but in this version, his plans for Earth hint at something unspoken, and perhaps sinister. He seems to lay claim to the planet on behalf of others. That sounds like white Europeans sticking a flag in the New World and driving natives into oblivion.

And yes, I know that Klaatu must learn the beauty of the human race, but does it have to be while solving complex equations, listening to Bach, and discussing sociological philosophy with a posh English-accented John Cleese? Isn't that a bit obvious? Couldn't Klaatu find the Ramones just as beautiful? Or ride the Cyclone at Coney Island and say, "Neat?" It's as though he's ready to kill us all, but once he sips tea, tours the Louvre, and takes a class on poetry at Oxford, he thinks twice. Talk about white people.

I digress. I miss "Klaatu barada nikto." At least GORT was gigantic and had a sweet laser visor-eye.

R.I.P. Bettie

2008-12-12T10:43:00.005-05:00

Bettie Page
April 22, 1923 – December 11, 2008

Dr. Potomac & Mr. Strange Case

2008-12-03T14:45:00.007-05:00

With deep love for its namesake and some remorse, this blogger is dropping the handle of Potomac. I had based that name on my time as a clerk at the greatest video store on the eastern seaboard. But as the number of my online accounts grows, I'm trying to consolidate the number of things I have to memorize, and I find that "Potomac" is taken by a lot of people. And I'm nothing if not a cyber-screenname iconoclast, right gang? Right? Anyway, Strange Case is the name of my recently formed production company, part of the working title of my upcoming film, and is utterly perplexing when read out of context. Perfect recipe. So yeah, I'm Strange Case. Nice to meet you.

No Bailouts For Hellenic Monsters

2008-11-26T22:22:00.004-05:00

Two non-substantive posts in one day. Am I the only one who thinks that CNBC's Charlie Gasparino, who recently went a little nuts on air, looks a lot like Calibos from Clash of the Titans? It would explain why he only gives editorials from behind a desk... he's hiding that tail. At least he threaded his eyebrows and filed down his horns.

The Suffering of Animals = Yum

2008-11-26T10:56:00.003-05:00

Gang, get your bibs. Sharpen your knives. Ready your drool cups. PETA's Thanksgiving cooking video game is here. And man, is it making me hungry. Plus you get a super sweet bloody video bonus after every level. I haven't had this much fun butchering fowl in ages. Digital giblets aren't as nice as the real thing, but they'll have to suffice until tomorrow. Have a great holiday, everyone.

Executive Excelsior! 'Nuff Said!

2008-11-17T15:06:00.005-05:00

Moments after basking in the promise of the first Geek President, I find out that Obama's comic-book-collectin,' MacBook-sportin,' Star-Trek-lovin' ass has been beaten to the punch by Dubya. The White House has announced the 2008 National Medal of Arts Recipients, and the Grand Doyen of all fanboys, Stan Lee, is among them. Sorry, Forrest Ackerman, take a number.

I think it fairly momentous that the creator of The Hulk, Spider-Man, X-Men, et al is going to receive the most prestigious arts award in the nation. But I have to guess that 'Bama is throwing kryptonite darts at a picture of W right about now. You just know the President-Elect was saving a spot for Stan right next to Stephen King, Spielberg, and J. K. Rowling. No? Ok, fine, that might be a bit much. Knock Steve off the list. No, the other Steve.

Anyway, it's a fine, validating day to be a geek.

Evasion ≠ Denial, Ashley

2008-11-12T22:04:00.009-05:00

Wow, I'm really not keeping up with my updates. I apologize. I've been busy editing. I can only promise that when I unleash the zombie Adrienne Barbeau upon the world, she's going to look fantastic.

In the meantime, maybe this tidbit will make amends. This past All Saint's Day (that's the day between Halloween and the Day of the Dead, you squares), I dragged my unwitting better half and another friend to see a midnight show of Bruce Campbell's My Name is Bruce. And the man himself, the champion of chainsaws, the enemy of severed posessed extremities everywhere, Ash, Brisco County, Jr, and the pornstar-'stached dude from Xena: Warrior Princess was there introducing it. In fact, he introduced at least six New York screenings in one weekend as part of his promotional tour.

Now, I love the man. I honor his canon. I grew up wanting to be him. So in the interest of prolonging the mythic status Bruce may hold in the hearts and minds of many reading, I am going to avoid any further discussion of this directed-by-and-starring-BC vehicle. What I will tell you is this: being in such a small crowd (roughly twenty dweebs showed up for the late show), and spurred on by Cambell asking, "Do any of you have a question about a movie you haven't seen?" I opened my big mouth and shouted, "Spider-Man 4!"

Immediately, BC began to riff. I think he's gotten this one before. Apart from rehashing his cameo roles in Spideys 1-3 (noting that, as a pesky usher, he was the only person who's defeated Spider-Man), he went on to ask, "I've done enough in those movies. What else do you want me to do?"

Now, I'll make the claim that what I'm about to suggest, I concocted in my brain years ago. That said, I can not claim that the idea is original. The fanboy fantasy pipe dream I herein propose has been out there on the internets for a while, concocted by the otherwise unengaged minds of a thousand geektards writing a thousand fanblogs. It's a rumor started by a million dudes who thought it up themselves or read it somewhere like this. Nor was this the first time it was proposed to BC in a Q&A, from what I gather online. But I rambled, out loud, in that curious fashion that comes so naturally to the comic nerd:

"How about this, Bruce: all of those characters were the same struggling actor and FX artist named Quentin Beck. You should be Mysterio."

Bruce played dumb. He asked what the hell I was talking about, pressing me to go on in an effort to deflect the question and out me as the incurable dork I am. Success on both counts, Campbell. But I shut my mouth quickly enough, once it became apparent that although he wasn't going to answer the question, he wasn't going to deny it either. He pretended to try to get Raimi on the phone. He asked, "Why would I want to act with a fishbowl on my head?" Good point. But he let slip something like, "Everywhere I go, I hear about this Mysterio." So much for playing dumb, Bruce. The hopeful geek in me could only take this as a sign that it's been Raimi's plan from the first film, and that Bruce knows exactly who Mysterio is.

Take it from a former employee of the franchise (I was a PA on the NY leg of Spidey 3): everyone's under a gag order. There were rumors of crew members being fired for taking photos on set. So while the man couldn't confirm anything, I'm going to keep hope alive. And I, for one, think Bruce would look great under a fishbowl.

Out of Sight

2008-10-01T16:39:00.002-05:00

IMDb reports that the U.S. National Federation of the Blind plans to protest the film Blindness because it "portrays blind people as monsters." But really, before being so judgmental, don't you think they should see the movie?

Ba-dum-bum.

Thanks, I'll be here all week.

Not Yet

2008-09-11T12:48:00.004-05:00

Yes, it's incredibly impressive what they can do with protons these days. But "recreating conditions a split second after the big bang" sounds mighty, um, ridiculous to this uneducated guy. So be alert and keep checking (props to The Geniuses for pointing this out):

Has the Large Hadron Collider Destroyed the World Yet?

Mea Culpa

2008-08-25T11:31:00.011-05:00

Been gone for over a month. For the extraordinarily few of you who actually may have noticed my absence (and fewer of you who cared), I apologize. To make amends I offer these stills from my short film, The Strange Case of Dr. & Mrs. Jacobs, starring John La Zar, Adrienne Barbeau, and Peter Cambor. Production has just wrapped in LA, and that's the reason for my being offline for so long. Now I just have to edit the sucker.

Geek Purgatory

2008-07-18T10:39:00.004-05:00

So much nerdy crap to blog about, so little time or will to do so. Where does one begin? Should we talk about The Dark Knight, easily the best comic book movie since the last comic book movie? Should we talk about the ennui-riffic Watchmen or Terminator: Salvation teasers? How about the mysteriously out-of-nowhere trailer for a "vaguely inspired by" the work of H.P. Lovecraft film called Cthulhu? That one looks like more of a kitchen-sink drama about homosexual New England love than a tale of tentacled deities from outer space (but who says those are mutually exclusive?).

I blogged enough about Dark Knight before ever seeing it, so I don't have much juice left in me (especially since I saw the 12:30 show last night and am exhausted). So I'll just throw these words out: satisfying, flawed, long, good (maybe even very good).

I got nothing else today, gang. Sorry.

Show Me the Spandex

2008-07-07T13:04:00.033-05:00

This past weekend, I finally went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy. Summarily, the exhibit serves to illustrate how superhero aesthetics have leaped from comic books into the work of fashion and sportswear designers. Um, ok, sure. I mean, anything to get comics more celebrated by the established art world, right? If it takes Jean-Paul Gaultier and the Met's $20 "suggested donation" (read: "required ticket price") to get the Soho elite to take the work of Jack Kirby and Alex Ross seriously, I guess I'm for it. I was excited to go, and the exhibit's introductory copy certainly boded well:

... superheroes have often been dismissed as frivolous and superficial, but their apparent triviality is the very thing that gives them the ability to address serious issues... Through the years, the superhero has been used to embody—through metaphor—our social and political realities. At the same time, it has been used to represent concepts reflective of sexuality and corporeality through idealized, objectified, and hyperbolic visualizations of the human body. Constantly redefined and reworked according to popular canons of beauty, superheroes embody the superlative.
One reads this alongside one of Warhol's Superman prints. And it struck me for the first time that Andy's and Roy Lichtenstein's work, as much as I've always loved it, may have done more disservice to the quest for "high art" acceptance of comics than it did good. Pop Art, if I have it right, is a celebration and validation of the beauty and design in everyday commodities. Warhol selling a can of tomato soup for hundreds of thousands of dollars is (or at least once was) a twist on the preconceived notions of art historians, dealers, and other self-proclaimed experts of all that is graphically hip. That device -- that afficionado appraisal of the trivial -- when applied to Campbell's Soup, Penzoil, and Life Savers, can (for those who dig Pop Art) elevate the mundane and the everyday to the level of "high art," thereby calling into question the value of art itself, and likewise the significance placed on commercial goods -- all in all giving people something to argue about at galleries, all the while making Andy, Roy, et al rich mutha'uckas. So thanks for indulging that pretentious and utterly unqualified ramble on art. If you're still with me, let's move on, keeping in mind work like Lichtenstein's:
The epiphany I had is this: applying that same Pop Art, can-of-soup device to Superman seems to me to say, "This is not art. It becomes art when I silkscreen it onto a canvas and put it in a gallery." In other words, it disses the original work, as it might diss tomato soup by way of seemingly aggrandizing it. Or is it indeed an unironic homage to the original product? Regardless, it seems to do just that: to label the original a "commodity." So the comic book geek and purist in me wants to be insulted by Warhol's (and by extension, the Met's) implication: that comics are just commercial goods, now subject to the interpretations and conversion into art by the alchemic properties of the higgest bidder. Then again, Warhol also messed around with the Mona Lisa, so this entire debate gets muddled. The point is that whether it's art or not, celebration or ironic inversion, Warhol's Superman isn't Siegel and Shuster's, Alex Ross's, or even Jim Lee's Superman. It's a derivative of Superman. And this was my over-arching beef with the exhibit (which, granted, I enjoyed in some small measure). After reading the opening blurb in the shadow of Warhol, one turns to find a pretty neat alternating-light-source display which exhibits the costumes worn by Christopher Reeve as Superman and Clark Kent.
Ok, cool. Then there are contemporary fashion designers' take on "the graphic body," and then we see the link between the Flash's costume and full-body Speedo sportswear. Ok, I get it. Then we see Lynda Carter's Wonder Woman costume (aged from red, white, and blue to pink, beige, and violet), then we get full-contact sports gear and Christian Bale's latest Batman costume. This goes on and on, all the while punctuated by the work of contemporary designers who borrow the superhero themes for their work. But I could not help but wonder (and here's where the beef finally returns): where the hell are the comic books?

Every one of these superhero examples is a costume from a movie. Granted, they're pretty swell. Few disappoint, and some really take one back. As silly as I found the flick, seeing Michelle Pfeiffer's Catwoman costume from Batman Returns reminded me of a formative element in my adolescent sexuality. And Jim Acheson's lead costumes for Spider-Man 3 are impressive pieces of work, considering what a simple and goofy design that is on the printed page. Just compare 70's TV Spidey to the movies':
But where are the Kirby and Romita pictures? Where's a good Bob Kane grey-and-black Batman when when you need him? Impressive though these movie costumes may be, doesn't the entire exhibit betray its mission statement by engaging only the derivative examples of the original superheros? If superficiality and "constant reworking" are the main trends in superhero design, as they say, then wouldn't they be best served by engaging the two-dimensional, 4-color masterpieces of the comic book page? The best we get are giant Alex Ross frames, blown-up into murals for the totally obscured backgrounds of the exhibit. And then, tucked away in the final leg of the installation, are plexiglass cases showcasing a very expensive collection of some very famous issues. Action Comics #1 and Amazing Fantasy #15 are in there, among others (by the way, that's the first appearances of Superman and Spider-Man for you non-geeks). But they're just sitting there, unassumingly. No commentary, no open pages, and I don't even remember artist credits (although I could be wrong about that).

The Met is happy just to give us the tangible movie memorabilia. I guess that sells more suggested donations. But even by comic movies' admission, these aren't true superhero costumes. Remember that line in the first X-Men, after Wolverine questions the black leather team uniforms: "What did you expect, yellow spandex?" It's a great line, which this blog has cited before, and it reminds the die-hard fans to relax and remember that a literal representation of their favorites would look ridiculous onscreen (remember 70's Spidey?). This brings up another issue, which is the fact that the comic pages have begun to imitate their film versions:
But I digress. The simple fact is that these costumes ain't the originals. What the fashion designs have to do with it all, I'll leave to another blogger to address. But I think that using movie costumes to discuss superhero influences in contemporary fashion is like using sci-fi film vehicles to say that space flight has influenced modern automobile design. It's one step removed, and it discredits the stated goal of the project... and it disappoints die-hard comic fans who blog.
Saving grace of the exhibit: the silver Iron Man suit, built by the great Stan Winston before he died, is a beautiful piece of work. It may also be the costume that is closest to its original comic page inspiration, and it looked like a functioning machine. Later at the musem, as I walked through the armory, I thought, "That suit belongs here." It's a work of art, and that I will fight Andy Warhol's ghost on.

Maybe He'll Come Back as Carlin the White

2008-06-23T06:58:00.004-05:00

I try to keep things relatively clean here, but...

SHIT PISS FUCK CUNT COCKSUCKER MOTHERFUCKER TITS

George Carlin
1937-2008
R.I.P.

You Can't Fight in Here, This is the War Room

2008-06-22T00:08:00.004-05:00

Today's random observation...

Is anyone else watching the Get Smart trailer reminded of the war room set in Dr. Strangelove? It's probably just me. What a waste of brain cells, bandwith, and time this blog is sometimes. Sorry gang.

GTAAM #2: Stan Winston Edition

2008-06-18T14:25:00.020-05:00

A.I., The Wiz, The Relic, Predator 2, Congo, End of Days, Leviathan

What do these movies have in common? Answer: they're not good. Granted, Congo has Tim Curry and Bruce Campbell at their cheesy best, but other than that, they have at least one unifying, redeeming quality: Stan Winston worked on them. Winston died earlier this week at the age of 62, and I'm a little slow to blog about it, but this is sad news for a fanboy movie buff.

Winston was a special FX guru who was as versatile with make-up and goo as he was with metal and microchips. He was as much a designer as he was an engineer, and pretty darn close to being another Ray Harryhausen. Let's just run down a list of some of Stan's creations:

. The T-800
. Predator (granted, the mandibles were supposedly James Cameron's idea)
. The Alien Queen
. Edward Scissorhands
. Jurassic Park's dinosaurs
. Iron Man
And, as less iconic work, but personal favorites of mine, I'll add:

. The Thing (made the dog monster, rest of film was handled by Rob Bottin)
. Galaxy Quest (gave animatronic control to the actor's own face, rather than remote control)
But this blog is supposed to be an installment in the Great Things About Awful Movies series. So let's get back to the first list of duds. I won't go through one by one and discredit the movies I mentioned (or the many other crap-fests on which Winston worked in his long career). If you like Spielberg's Asimovian wank-fest or that Crichton-in-the-jungle mis-fire, good for you. I don't feel the need to pick a fight.

"Awful" may be a strong word for some of those flicks, but the point is that Winston's work on them stands out. It is the best of what special effects have the potential to be: technically proficient (often seamless), dramatically motivated, imaginatively fantastical, and yet grounded in a realm of believable physics. Winston's creations are often the reason for coming to the theater, and yet always subservient to a larger purpose. They are great form, to be sure, but they always serve a great function as well. And in the cases (like the duds above) in which there really is no greater narrative worth paying attention to (for my money), one can just sit back and watch the eerie beauty of his robots in A.I., cringe at the effectively frightening Relic, or even gasp in terror at the sheer horror that is Michael Jackson's presence in The Wiz.
Winston's monsters move unlike anything we've seen, yet they move in a way that seems utterly real. They look, at times, like the most preposterous concoctions of fantasy, and yet they look like things that could actually exist. And, working through the onslaught of digital FX in Hollywood, he most often favored puppets and models over computers. He believed movie magic could be made with one's hands. He made good movies better, and made awful movies at least a little fun. He made wonderful, wondrous things on film, and he will be missed. R.I.P. Stan Winston.
P.S. My friend SW asked that I mention Death Becomes Her, but I'm sorry dude, I don't think he worked on it.

In the Middle of an Oreo, It's the Most Delicious Thing I Know

2008-06-18T12:56:00.004-05:00

... with props to Weird Al. The new Mars rover has uncovered a mysterious white substance in its tracks. Apparently, the NASA eggheads can't tell if it's salt or ice. Is that where their list of possibilities ends? How about Martian pigeon s%!#? Or maybe it's something more sinister...
Is anyone else reminded of The Stuff? This is the 1985 classic in which the discovery of a great-tasting white ooze leads to the marketing of a new food product that takes over the brains and melts the bodies of those who eat it. I'm just saying that the rover should be careful. And if NASA suddenly starts selling Martian Yoplait, stay away!

Heights and Lows

2008-06-18T11:41:00.005-05:00

I know, I'm slow to post these days. And there is plenty of geek news as well. I'm in pre-production on a movie, and that leaves little time for the important things, such as discussing the physiology of fictional masses of pink goo from space. I'll probably have a few posts in rapid succession now.

Musicals may not be the usual nerd-fodder we discuss here, but neither are gay pride parades, and those made it into the pages of this blog. So at the risk of raising questions about my sexuality, I'll talk about the great American song-and-dance industry. Two pieces of news hit us hard this week:
Firstly, and most happily, In the Heights has taken the Tonys for Best Musical, Best Score, Best Choreography, and Best Orchestrations. Trophies went to Lin-Manuel Miranda and Bill Sherman, both of them friends of the blog. All of our love and congratulations goes to them. But this good news is offset days later by the death of Cyd Charisse, who, as you can see below, is, um, hot.
One of the greatest partners of Kelly and Astaire, her work had a formative influence on the artistic taste -- if not the libido -- of this blogger, and she shall be missed. If her "Dancing in the Dark" with Astaire in The Bandwagon doesn't move you, you might be a Body Snatcher.

Viva Heights, and R.I.P. Cyd.

Too Close Encounters Make Me Want to Indy Phone Home

2008-05-23T08:15:00.029-05:00

My long absence is herewith redeemed (I hope) by some long-winded geek talk. Usually, I try to avoid the most blogged-about topics. Why be just another straw in the cyber haystack? But I can't help myself. I gotta moan about Indy IV. Where to start? Ok, first of all... big spoiler alert. This is for people who saw it or don't mind having it ruined. Then again, one of my main beefs is that the movie has no surprises. A spoiler alert is almost a moot point, since the movie telegraphs from its first big scene -- hell, from its poster -- all of the inner-workings of its would-be mystery.

The film opens at a remote desert military base ("where the government keeps all its secrets"). One need not be a fanboy geektard to have heard of Area 51, and just in case you didn't get it, there's a giant "51" stenciled prominently on the wall. To the best of my recollection, even Independence Day doesn't name its desert alien research facility, but one gleans that it's Area 51 by implication. And when Independence Day has a movie beat on subtlety, that should give you a hint as to what's in store for you.

Some evil Ruskies steal a mysterious crate from the facility. Will we wait with baited breath until later in the film to discover its secret contents and guess at why the villains want it? No, they'll open it right away and most conspicuously reveal what is, quite obviously, the carcass of a little green man. Ok, we saw the poster on the way into the theater. We saw the elongated skull with giant eye sockets and a South American pyramid behind it. One of the first shots of the film is of a "this means something, this is important" mound of dirt à la Close Encounters. And now, five minutes into the film, we see an alien at Area 51. Ok, so I guess Indy's going to discover that aliens built the pyramids... but there must be a twist, right? It can't be that simple, can it? It's been forty years since Chariots of the Gods? was published. Again, one need not be a complete nerdling savant to have heard about the theory that the Mayan and Aztec gods were extra-terrestrials. This is stuff that has made its way into pop culture apocrypha. So Misters Lucas and Spielberg must have a twist for us somewhere, surely.

Alas, no. And this is my biggest problem. The film has nothing up its sleeve -- no mystery, no magic. It trudges along, Indy slowly coming to realizations about the forces at work behind the plexiglass -- pardon me... "crystal" -- skull. Near film's end, when our heroes find ancient murals depicting the "gods" ruling over the ancient El Dorado, they hold the skull aloft, all aghast at the "exact match" of its silhouette against the cranium of the figure on the wall. John Williams's music swells, as if to build this into a moment of tremendous revelation. But didn't we figure this out from the movie's poster? And didn't Cate Blanchett's swashbuckling Soviet confirm it all explicitly in some exposition she delivered earlier in a tent? That sense of revelation -- of discovery -- so important in the first three Indy films (and in Indy's chosen field of archaeology), is disappointingly absent here.

What is present are more references and homage à old Hollywood serials and genre pictures than one might have thought possible. Seems like they loved Elvis movies, swashbucklers, flying saucer films, and even Tarzan flicks (as is evident in one of the most arbitrary and odd action sequences I've ever seen). Lucas, Spielberg, and screenwriter David "Let Me Explain This All For You So That Performance, Camera, and Cutting Don't Have To" Koepp have jammed so much stuff into this Indy adventure that when the dust all settles, one realizes that very little has come of it all. It's a pastiche of disparate adventure serials with no connecting tissue... a colorful ramen soup with no noodles or broth (I'm hungry... you'll have to endure a food metaphor).

Our auteurs also seem happy to reference themselves as often as they do Errol Flynn and Johnny Weissmuller. I suppose a certain amount of that is unavoidable, and perhaps necessary, in a series as beloved as Indy, especially when he's been absent from theaters for 19 years. But at the end of the day, this stuff does nothing for me. In the first action scene, a crate gets busted open in Area 51, giving us a fleeting glimpse of the Ark of the Covenant from Raiders of the Lost Ark. The opening night crowd I saw it with errupted in cheers, as if to say collectively, "Yes! We saw that movie!" So what? How's this movie going? Photos, paintings, and even a bronze statue of characters-not-returning-for-this-movie populate the film, far more often, I'd venture, than is necessary. I love Karen Allen, and my experience is that her Marion Ravenwood is everyone's favorite Indy girl, but after the applause garnered by her entrance dies down, she's just here to drive the car around while father and son do all the work. Allen's presence in the film does little more than remind us that Indy movies used to rock.

Ray Winstone, another actor I like a lot, also seems to be here as a mere phantom of the John Rhys-Davies buddy role. But Mac turns out to be nowhere near as endearing as Sallah, nor even remotely as important to the narrative. Seriously, what does this character offer to the film? Given a strangely poignant farewell at the end, this cypher of a character is supposedly a dear old friend and partner of Indy (we've been told so), but he doesn't have a likable moment in the film. If he and Indy did have good times together, then this film, again, only serves as evidence that I'd rather be watching the movie about those times.

Even the props fill me with this sentiment. The film's namesake is the most kitschy, unwieldy, plasticine movie tchotchke I've seen since Nicole Kidman's lips in The Golden Compass. It sits awkwardly in Harrison Ford's arms, looking most clumsy and un-enigmatic as he talks about how special it is. The crystal skull is completely devoid of the Ark's majesty (Raiders), the holy grail's gravity (Last Crusade), or even the Sankara stones' elegant simplicity (Temple of Doom). It's hokey. And it seems decidedly unexceptional, even by the film's own standards: Blanchett casually shows us her alien cadaver in her riverside tent, complete with extraneous crystal skull inside. I guess, through some convoluted logic, the hero skull is more important, but I couldn't help but wonder, "What's the big deal," when these skulls seem to be dropping out of the skies.

And these skulls, so over-explained to us (and therefore so devoid of mystery), do Indy a disservice. I like my Indy films pitting him against Judeo-Christian mythology and magic, or at least some Hindu cult voodoo. Indy is a rational academic who faces the greatest, most fantastical, supernatural incarnations of good and evil. Now, suddenly, he's in an atomic-age sci-fi story. Indy investigating aliens is as de-mystifying as saying that The Exorcist is about a girl with a weird psychosis, and as counter intuitive as would be Sigourney Weaver's Ripley fighting the Mummy. It's oil and water... unsettling and unsatisfying for a fan.

There is the pretense of some very grandiose forces at work here. Blanchett's fate mirrors the villains' demises at the end of both Raiders and Last Crusade. The agents of evil, in their tireless thirst for power, open a Pandora's box and are destroyed by a power greater than their own. But Blanchett's Irina Spalko isn't nearly so evil as the villains of Indy films past. We never see her murder innocents, enslave children, or even burn a book. The most sinister plan she has to offer is to "make you all think like us without you even noticing it." But if Americans are as boneheaded, jingoistic, and bomb-happy as they are made out to be early in the film (the film's brief attempt at some political commentary about the American psyche), then would that really be a bad thing? And frankly, I'm not so sure that what happens to Spalko is punishment. She dissolves and is pulled into another dimension, overpowered by the wealth of knowledge she is shown by looking into E.T.'s eyes. Isn't that what she wanted? She is given an ambiguous fate: disintegrated by physical, human standards, but given the ultimate "gift" of her alien superiors.

So the sweeping, bombastic climax of the film is hard for me to care much about, not least for the unabashedly digital overload in its execution. And this, perhaps, finally, is my last major beef with the film (nitpicky qualms could populate another blog this length). There's so much computer-generated scenery and action that it's hard to spot Indiana Jones in there. We expect this from Star Wars. But Indy is most fun when -- like the old serials it emulates -- it is cobbled together out of chickenwire, paper-mache, glue, models, and cobwebs, not rendered from wireframes, bits, pixels, ones, and zeros. The lush, hand-made matte paintings of old Hollywood have been replaced by flat digital plates, and computer composites have taken the place of photo-chemical prints on emulsion. All the original effects, even the optical ones, were physical; they were done by hand and relatively crude machine, just as Indy uses whips, revolvers, and fists rather than the rayguns and warp-drives of Han Solo.

Amendment 5/27: I thought of a much simpler way to illustrate the problem here, and perhaps the bigger picture as a whole: Indy and company running down a digital gauntlet of giant, computer-generated gears will never be as exciting and interesting -- let alone as iconic -- as Harrison Ford running from a very real, physical giant boulder, as he did in Raiders. That encapsulates why this movie fails for me. If you have no problem with that contrast, then good on ya... you might actually enjoy this.

That movie magic, sadly, may be gone forever, and that's no more apparent than it is when watching Indy 19 years after we last saw him. A lot has changed in that time, and of course, times change and technology develops. But then, is it too much to ask for some ingenuity in storytelling? Alas, Crystal Skull's biggest tricks aren't tricks at all. Even the first utterly mediocre Alien vs. Predator managed to come up with a pretty creative twist on the Von Daniken theory of pyramids-by-aliens. The best Lucas and Company have to offer us here is "No, they weren't from outer space, they were from another dimension." Really, does anyone care by that point? Oh, well then maybe we can take a moral from this? How about it, Indy? Yes, Indy tells us (and I paraphrase from memory), "The Mayan word for 'gold' also translates to 'treasure.' It wasn't gold they were after, it was knowledge. Knowledge was their treasure." Koepp is the king of that insulting "1+1=2, therefore 2=1+1" dialogue. It's crap like that which incensed this blogger to write one of his longest entries yet. And for that, I apologize. Those of you who have made it this far, I salute you, just as I salute those of you still planning on venturing into the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Godspeed.

Pauline Kael Resurrected as a Canine

2008-04-25T11:11:00.002-05:00

I guess the dog saw Episodes I-III.

This is My Blog and it Freaks Me Out

2008-04-23T08:56:00.004-05:00

And, since it is my blog, I am allowed to self-promote. I haven't done it here yet. Please check out the link below for my new project with John La Zar, famously of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (above).

The Strange Case of Dr. & Mrs. Jacobs

ATAGM #1: Naughty Naughton

2008-04-09T19:09:00.029-05:00

In honor of wife-beating actor, David Naughton, I am creating a new feature, based on my ongoing series, Great Things About Awful Movies (when I say ongoing, I mean I still only have one entry). And so now I inaugurate its sister series:

Awful Things About Great Movies

IMDb reports that Naughton, best known as the star of John Landis's An American Werewolf in London, "has served time in jail after pleading guilty to domestic battery." He hurt his wife, which is bad enough, but even worse when you consider what his hands look like:

Yikes.

Anyway, American Werewolf has always been one of my favorites. I've seen it more times that I care to admit, and each time is fun. But in recent viewings, I've realized just how annoying Naughton's performance is. I love how Landis conceives the character, David Kessler. He's the upper-middle class liberal-arts Jewish boy, beloved by his family, funny, occasionally charming, but a bit of a schlemiel (see why yours truly likes this flick?). What happens when that kid, on a back-packing trip with his high-school buddy in the UK, becomes a werewolf? Neurosis, kvetching, fears of being different (and too hairy!) all set in... but at the same time there's an exhilaration at being a sort of monster superbad motherf#&%er. You know, all the things we Juden deal with on a daily basis, right?

So fine, David Kessler should be a nudge (non-Yids, you pronounce this "noodge"). But this isn't a balanced portrayal of a nudgy character, it's just a nudgy performance. Forgetting the fact that both Naughton and pal Griffin Dunne seem too old to be students, Naughton is just downright whiny. He's emphatic, erratic, and sarcastic when he should be nervous, neurotic, and acerbic. There's no subtlety. He feels straight out of high school theater to me (yes, I mean that pejoratively). And don't tell me there's no room for subtlety in a gory werewolf comedy. Bull. This isn't a Troma movie. There's a line to walk. Dunne does it marvelously, and all the Brits play their roles with icy English deadpan. Jenny Agutter is the pretty, subdued shiksa that every Jewish boy wants to bring to orgasm. And look for a young Rik Mayall in the Slaughtered Lamb pub scenes.

Let's remember, too, that this is the film for which the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences created the Best Achievement in Makeup Oscar. Rick Baker (the closest thing there's ever been to a makeup auteur), created some of the most amazing effects you'll ever see. For my money, they hold up beautifully, and I say Baker's wolf could maul any of today's computer-generated lycans. Just compare this work to the wolves in the 16-years-later and totally unrelated An American Werewolf in Paris to see how far monster FX have fallen by venturing into the digital realm. But technical wizardry aside, London succeeds as a monster movie, as a parody of monster movies, as a sex farce, and as nostalgic homage to the days of Val Lewton and Bela Lugosi. But really, if for no other reason, this is a great movie because of the transformation sequence... still my favorite monster metamorphosis on film by far (with Bridget Jones' Diary a distant second).

Naughton may be ok in that one scene, by virtue of its violent content matching the lack of nuance in his performance. But I certainly care more about Kessler in dog form than in human. I mean, imagine a Graduate-era Dustin Hoffman in the role. Visualize that, and you'll see what's lackluster about this. Surely, there was a better choice out there than Naughton (seen here realizing that his foreskin has grown back):

I tried for years to get over Naughton because I like the movie so much, but in light of his recent assholery offscreen, I have no problem dissing him. Happily, he's not enough to ruin the movie for me. I'll end by embarrassing Naughton (such as I can) with two things. Firstly, he was a Pepper:

Secondly, here's his #5 Billboard chart hit of 1979, "Makin' It." No joke, that's Naughton singing. It was the theme song to a short-lived disco sitcom of the same name, in which he starred. Good riddance, wife-beater.

Condor, You Shall Fly Again!

2008-03-28T21:09:00.007-05:00

So now you can have your ashes launched to the moon. I don't feel the need to say much about this, but am instead using it as an excuse to plug one of my favortie (and one of the least talked-about) films of all time: Tony Richardson's The Loved One.
This is the picture Richardson decided to make after winning two of Tom Jones's four Oscars (Best Picture and Director both went to him). Haven't seen Jones? Go see it. The chicken scene is still as sexy and funny as ever. So Richardson comes off of a huge double whammy and has something close to carte blanche. He decides to adapt Evelyn Waugh's black comedy about the undertaking business in Hollywood. He does this with the help of screenwriter Terry Southern (who had just co-written Dr. Strangelove), and a cast that includes Robert Morse, Jonathan Winters (my favorite madman and Robin Williams's mentor), Milton Berle, James Coburn, Sir John Gielgud, Roddy McDowall, Rod Steiger, a young Paul Williams, and yes, Liberace. Some phrases I'll throw out to entice you: "Mama's little Joy-Boy want lobster," "last one in the box is a bad boy," "they told me you were hung with red protruding eyeballs and black protruding tongue." And Mr. Joyboy's mother... omg... one of the most amazing screen concoctions ever.
As if you need to know any more than that, the film bombed because it was a bit too grotesquely grim (even by today's standards, it makes Six Feet Under look like the bastion of good taste). It's hysterical, sad, twisted, and gorgeous (Haskell Wexler shot some amazing black and white). As much a meditation on the death of the golden age of Hollywood as it is about the commodification of mortality (and immortality), I think it still holds up, despite some moments that seem forever trapped in the 60's. Go see it, and you'll get the connection to the moon ashes article.

Boycott Bates

2008-03-22T23:26:00.008-05:00

It might be fun to devote an entire blog to Neil Marshall's latest, Doomsday. The man loves his John Carpenter and his George Miller. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and let him call his film "homage" rather than "theft." But it might as well have been called Neil Marshall's John's Carpenter's Escape From Thunderdome. Of course, as butt-kicking as his hotties may be, I'll go with Snake Plissken or Max Rockatansky any day. Of course, we might as well throw 28 Days Later into the cinematic mix here, and this brings me to the most pressing issue.

A while back, I blogged about composer Tyler Bates' blatant theft of Elliot Goldenthal's score to Titus (Bates ripped off several tracks and inserted them into his score for 300). Turns out I didn't make it up. There was a lawsuit and Elliot won. When caught, Bates (pictured above) said in an interview I read online somewhere that Elliot's music was used as a temp track, and everyone fell so in love with it that they just reorchestrated and rerecorded that music, rather than write something new, or -- hey geniuses -- pay to borrow a track. Now the man is at it again. Go to iTunes and listen to "In the House - In a Heartbeat" by John Murphy, from the 28 Days Later score (the sample section is a bit before the better example... the heavy guitar riffs toward the end of the track). Done? Good, now listen to Bates' "Sinclair Slips Free" from Doomsday. It is mind-boggling to me that a man once caught so red-handed with musical plagiarism (a very grey area, I might add) would do it again. Is this pathological? What pieces have I not even noticed? I've never been a big 28 Days fan (that's another blog), but Murphy doesn't deserve this theft.

Producers, executives, filmmakers -- lend me your ears. Stop giving this man work. Sound the alarm. Tyler, if people insist on using rearranged temp tracks that aren't yours, do the right thing and take your name off those tracks. I'm tired of your wanting artistic ethics soiling movies I might otherwise like. I'm sure you'll say, "No, the music is homage to 28 Days, just as the film pays visual homage to Road Warrior and Escape From New York." Bull. You've copied a track, not just borrowed a theme. And if such tribute is really necessary, producers, just pay for the damn original track. I know it's expensive. But it's not as expensive as a lost lawsuit.

And for the record, the image above, which I vandalized in the style of Perez Hilton (hey Tyler, that's called citing your sources), was taken from Tyler Bates' website. I dare you, Mr. Bates, to send me a cease and desist letter for electronically manipulating and disseminating an image for which I hold no copyright. Coming from you, that would be really rich.

Hate the Sin, Love the Mutant

2008-03-11T17:49:00.006-05:00

It was announced yesterday that the Vatican has released "new sins for the modern age." The Holy See's new list includes these chestnuts (my paraphrasing):

Thou shalt not pollute the earth.

Thou shalt not indulge in excessive wealth.

Thou shalt not manipulate genetics.

Power to Big Daddy Benedict for doing his part to get things green. As for #2, I'll stay away from the inherent pitfalls of trying to define what constitutes "excessive." But the genetics line has me as bummed as a Nexus 6, but for different reasons.

Let's forget for a moment that the father of genetics, Gregor Mendel -- a man who crossbred flowers to create new species (thereby manipulating their genetic structure, gang) -- was an Augustinian Catholic Priest. That inconvenient truth aside, what the heck does the Pope -- or God, for that matter -- have against the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Godzilla, and Rutger Hauer? I mean, two-out-of-three of those parties have been known to save the world at least once.

Oh, right, I forgot: sanctity of life only applies to humans. Apparently, chickens and carnations don't have God in 'em. That's why we're allowed to eat meat and 'taters. You know, I like a nice lamb chop now and then. But does this edict mean that cloned Dolly chops are out-of-bounds? Should young ladies beware boyfriends bearing bouquets of Mendel hybrids? More importantly, what happens to test tube babies and future human specimens? I do believe that stem stell development and human cloning are as inevitable as colonizing space... so what will be the church's attitude to someone born of science, rather than of woman? Will those who've been cured of terminal illness by genetic therapy be deemed sinners? How about children whose parents chose their sex in utero? This seems to me a dangerous, vague line that Monsieur Pape has drawn in the Catholic sand.

By the way, I seem to write about Godzilla a lot.

A Paradox

2008-02-29T16:44:00.006-05:00

In honor of Leap Day/Year, enjoy this most ingenious paradox. I grew up on Gilbert & Sullivan, and will fight anyone who calls me gay because of it. However, I do find Kevin Kline curiously attractive in the clip below, and will therefore defer to others' judgement as to my sexuality.

Come on, admit it, you're all taken by his chest hair too...

and his one-legged yoga squat...

and his 70's pornstar 'stache...

and his unnecessarily puffy sleeves.

"America Can, Should, Must, and Will Blow Up the Moon"

2008-02-27T17:28:00.014-05:00

SPACE.com via Yahoo! News reports that NASA is planning on "priming two spacecraft to slam into the moon's South Pole to see if the lunar double whammy reveals hidden water ice." Is anyone else reminded of the Mr. Show sketch in which NASA plans, for no apparant reason, to blow up the moon?

It may be my favorite Bob & Dave sketch, and -- if I may deign to analyze -- is about American machismo. In a broader sense, it could be an observation that the nature of science and technology -- the blind, ceaseless tendency to push further and always do whatever is "next" -- is inherently foolish. But -- perhaps just because I disagree with that sentiment -- I think the central notion of the joke is that America will flex its muscle just 'cause. Along the way, the sketch throws some nice jabs at knee-jerk activism ("We're Earthlings, let's blow up Earth things!") and jingoistic country-western music (see below).

But, as the geezer in the sketch -- and my friend E -- says, "Now, it's science fact!" So what are we to think? Have NASA lost their marbles? I doubt it. If anything, Bob & Dave's spot-on satire speaks to the disposition of the media coverage (or at least to this particular article). Apart from "double whammy," it's chock-full of language like "takes aim," "sledgehammer," "brute force," and my favorite, "Earth-on-moon violence." I guess that's ok with me as long as the moon is a consenting adult. And what happens on the dark side stays on the dark side.

So I'll take NASA's word that this is an "economical" plan. In the meantime, I'll just be amused by the coverage, which is very Mr. Show in nature. But I bet someone will complain soon, if they haven't already. Will some Green Party committee of the Planetary Society form to declare this a corruption of the moon's ecology? Or how about this: remember a few years back when some company sold off the real estate of the moon to anyone who wanted to buy? You could buy an acre, or the whole Sea of Tranquility if you could afford it. As I recall, no one could stop them because, well, let's face it: who has jurisdiction over the moon? Even if there were little green men on it, they'd probably have as much luck disputing these real estate purchases as the Iroquois had getting rid of their white devils. So you just watch as the Deutsch Bank Credit Union comes forward and says, "Nein! Das ist our slab of die moon!" Or better yet: Joe Bob McScratchyballs in backwoods Bumblecrack sues NASA $3 billion for destroying his descendants' place in the sun.

I digress. The point is, ready-or-not... moon, here we come. I leave you all with "C.S. Lewis, Jr."'s country hit from the Bob & Dave sketch:

Look out, moon,
America's gonna getcha.
Gonna go ka-boom,
Was nice to have metcha,
'Cause you don't mess around
With God's America!

I Think We're Gonna Need a Bigger "In Memorium" Montage

2008-02-25T00:24:00.005-05:00

WTF? Unless I blinked longer than I thought, Roy Scheider was conspicuously absent from this year's "Bye Bye My Life Goodbye" section of the Oscars. Boo-urns.

Roy, I haven't forgotten Jaws, All That Jazz, and Sea Quest. Here's lookin' at you, kid.

AMENDMENT 2/25 6:06 PM:
It seems (reading the fine print) that the montage was only through Jan 31, 2008. So Scheider will be on next year. Brad Renfro, on the other hand, got shafted, as MQA points out in the comments.

The Last Crusade of the Raiders of the Temple of Little Green Men

2008-02-14T15:31:00.003-05:00

The Indy 4 trailer is finally online, and nothing has me more excited -- other than the return of Karen Allen -- than the above still. Let the speculation begin.

Forget Bucky, You Can Still Write-In Steve Rogers

2008-02-10T03:40:00.000-05:00

This image is as political as this blog will get during the Presidential race (which, incidentally, should give you some idea of my opinion of the across-the-board mediocrity I see in the primaries).

When Do Sirrus and Achenar Get Flashbacks?

2008-02-01T15:23:00.000-05:00

I refuse to blog extensively about Lost. I do not want to be one of the hordes of theorists and speculators who devote countless hours to this, only to proven completely -- if not moderately -- wrong with each passing episode. All I will say, after watching the "ooh... ahh..." Oceanic Air viral commercial, is this: I'm just waiting for them to tell me that the name of this goddamn island is Myst.

GTAAM #1: Langella's Skeletor

2008-01-25T13:37:00.007-05:00

Just because I feel like it, I'm creating a new feature here at the oft-not-read Bite Me Fanblog. So, with little pomp and unimpressive circumstance, I offer the first installment of:

Great Things About Awful Movies

Today, we look at Frank Langella's performance as Skeletor in the 1987 Golan/Globus production of Masters of the Universe. As I was a 7-year-old kid, this was to have been the biggest moment of my life since He-Man: Live at Radio City Music Hall. That was, of course, until I saw the damn thing in theaters. I remember it well (sadly); and yes, I own the DVD, thinking, naively, that perhaps repeated viewings every year or two will alter the film itself.

Alas, no such revision occurs. Dolph Lundgren never gets interesting. Billy Barty's ill-conceived role as Gwildor never eclipses the disappointment of not seeing Orko (if ever there was a part for a little person from the He-Man and the Masters of the Universe cartoon, that was it). Courteney Cox never gets less annoying (her fault? or the fact that the whole "trip to earth" is such a bad idea?). There is one saving grace, however...

Langella's Skeletor -- while a far cry from the blue, muscly, nasal-toned baddie in the show -- is a joy to watch. Once a fan gets over the film's almost total lack of resemblance to the cartoon, Langella stands out as exceptional. He makes something out of nothing. The most pat, cliché lines come across as genuinely sinister and dangerous, rather than as the sort of one-dimensional villainy that the square-jawed hero will have no trouble flicking into defeat. Langella (who said he took the role only because of his children's wishes) knows that the only way to sell such absurdity is to play it absurdly (not insincerely, per se, but with just enough oomph to create a heightened reality).

It's a very broad performance. Langella's technique is utterly theatrical. He belts nearly every line. He treats the camera frame as a proscenium, using every angle and gesture to change perspective to his advantage (watch how he uses the edges of his hood). I'm giving performer, rather than camera, the credit here. A good actor knows what he/she is doing... knows how to manipulate image just as much as filmmaker. Actors can be filmmakers in their own right. Look at Dietrich, who was said to have known as much about cinematography as Von Sternberg did, and even had mirrors set up so she could watch her own lighting during takes. Stanley Kramer said that even though he saw Milton Berle leave frame in every frantic group shot on the set of It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, the dailies always came back with Berle running back on camera, squeezing in an extra moment of scene-stealing slapstick at every turn. Langella may or may not have had an inkling of the bigger picture's quality here, but he certainly is in control of his own, very nuanced performance.

And creating nuance with strokes that big is hard. He's the Van Gogh of 1980's bad guys (does that make Predator the Bosch?). The performance puts me in mind of Olivier's Richard III. Indeed, Skeletor's own dialogue paraphrases a line from the Bard: "I am not in a giving vein this day." Why do I have a feeling this was Langella's idea? Frank writhes upon, hops about, and fondles his throne with Olivier's almost comedic gusto. He manipulates the rhythm and meter of his dialogue erratically, and to great effect (Langella finds iambs and caesura in some of the least poetic dialogue imaginable). He is a time bomb. His outbursts come without warning, but always seem dramatically "earned." He speaks every thought as a decree, and everything he says sounds like it's the most important thing he's ever said. It is a commanding, maniacal, unpredictable screen presence.
Most impressive of all, perhaps, is what Langella can do from behind that rubbery, unforgiving makeup. It's a nearly-unmoving shell, a mask rather than a face. But what Langella does with eyes, voice, angle, and gesture overcomes the shortcomings of his ridiculous latex-and-facepaint husk. It's as sinister as anything David Prowse and James Earl Jones created as Darth Vader (granted, Langella has his eyes to use). On that note, it's amazing that Langella creates something unique, given how uncannily Vaderesque the design of his costume is (and the helmets of Skeletor's guards are downright visual plagiarism).
Indeed, Masters steals unrelentingly from Star Wars. The design of the Death Star and Williams' score are all over this turkey, and it may be this thievery that is accidentally responsible for one of the only things the film gets right from the show. This world exhibits a beautiful mix of technology and magic. He-Man has always seemed a bit Conan-like to me, but as much as these muscle men trust in steel and voodoo, they ride jet gliders and fire lasers. That's as true in the film as it is in the show. It's a difficult balance to achieve, and no one does it better than Langella. Skeletor may use guns and microchips to help him seize power, but it's the magic that really makes him powerful. He's a wizard who can use a computer. Come to think of it, Star Wars walks a similar line with the force. But Langella doesn't mystify Skeletor's mysticism. He wears it on his sleeve, whereas Vader and the Jedi keep it in their elite club.

Vader it's not. Nor is it the cartoon's Skeletor (amazingly voiced by Alan Oppenheimer, by the way). Langella's Skeletor is something that stands alone, frightening in its own right, in the midst of what is otherwise a cinematic catastrophe. Props to Frank. This performance lingers in my mind with the best of them, and I nominate it for one of the great overlooked villains in movie history. God only knows what we'll see if the new rumored live-action He-Man is a go.

The World's Biggest Metaphor (and the One That Failed)

2008-01-18T10:41:00.000-05:00

Ok, I can't resist. I have to talk about Cloverfield. I will resist a detailed diatribe about the film's inner workings and many flaws (as I see them, anyway), but I want to talk about broad, poetic strokes.

If you're making a kaiju eiga (Japanese-style giant monster flick), then why don't you embrace the form fully? Cloverfield, I know it's on your mind, what with the Japan references and the "Godzilla March" Variations during the end credits. So why hast thou forsaken the simple, elegant, poetic qualities of everyone's favorite atomic lizard?

Godzilla (especially in the original, 1954 Japanese cut) is such a sound horror film metaphor:

Godzilla = Atrocity of Atomic Warfare (Hiroshima)

The G-Man embraces his "high-brow" significance, but does not get bogged-down by pretension, delivering, always, what the audience came for: Godzilla smash Tokyo and absurd monster fighting. But along the way, the metaphor can reinvent itself to talk about many issues. Godzilla vs. The Smog Monster dealt with environmental issues in the 70's. Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla may very well be about our (Japan's) over-dependence on technology. Godzilla 1984 is about nuclear disarmament and Cold War tensions (instead of the "elephant in the room" we have the "big lizard in the harbor").

But in all his incarnations (1998 American remake aside), Big G never takes himself too seriously. The Toho G movies are chock-full of comedic moments (and attempts there-at). He never forgets that he is a big radioactive iguana, as if to say, "Ok, now that we have that symbolism out of the way, we can get to the blowing $#%& up." I mean, can you really talk seriously about a giant monster without a grain of ironic salt? Apparently, Cloverfield (if we're calling the monster that) thinks you can.

So, ok, I was a liberal arts student, I can bs this. Cloverfield... go:

New York... attacks... destruction... panic... martial law... trust/mistrust of government... conspiracy theory... mis- and disinformation... threat levels... forced evacuation... surveillance... reality TV... digital cameras... loss of privacy... erosion of liberty (ooh, look, they decapitated Liberty)... war... "mission accomplished"... no winners... no answers... fear... paranoia... detachment... moral ambiguity

Fine. Great. All things worth talking about. Godzilla is to Hiroshima as Cloverfield is to 9/11. I'll go there. But Cloverfield's conspicuous decision to give us no answers (no origin of the monster, an elliptical ending, etc) is a cop-out. And don't tell me that's the point. Don't tell me, "We don't get any answers, just like the world we live in." Crap. Bull. Not explaining how any of these ideas come together isn't a meditation on the ambiguous signs of the times... it's just not having anything to say about them. It's pretentious, self-congratulatory cleverness without any follow-through or substance. This is most evident in the film's title -- an arbitrary code word, signifying nothing, supposedly lifted from the street name of J.J. Abrams' production company.

Ultimately, it's a rejection of the beauty (such as there is) of both Godzilla's purity and his purism. Cloverfield says, "Godzilla, you don't have the balls to take your poetry seriously. You hammer your metaphor over the heads of your audience, and leave nothing to subtlety and somber contemplation." But in taking this position, Cloverfield forgets that a giant slimy monster -- especially one with airs of symbolism -- is inherently ludicrous. Nothing could be less subtle than a titanic lizard or fish beast devastating a cityscape, and I like my giant monster movies that way. Cloverfield rejects that simple, elegant form -- but more's the point -- takes itself so seriously as to tell us that we can't have fun this time (Godzilla, save us!). Godzilla entertains, Cloverfield alienates.

I suspect that I would have liked it much more if I'd actually dug the monster, but it bored the gamma-irradiated snot out of me. Let me just say this: Godzilla would mop the floor (or Central Park) with that oversized guppy.

Since There Are No Other Giant Sea Monster Movies Out Now

2008-01-18T10:11:00.000-05:00

... well, at least none worth your time, as I found out last night.

I'll be first in line for this one, with my Tylosaurus t-shirt on and Megalodon tooth tucked in my pocket (they make great paperweights, by the way). Finally, monsters I can get excited about.

I don't want to say too much about about Cloverfield. It has things to recommend it, granted, but ultimately, I left the theater with a feeling of "meh."

I wish I'd hated it. Then at least I'd be experiencing a palpable emotional response to the months of speculation and pent-up excitement for this "cinematic event." But I just feel let-down and duped into heightened anticipation by what is a well-made, but ultimately mediocre, ill-conceived, and non-substantive experience.

National Geographic, please wash away the bitter J.J. Abrams aftertaste in my mouth. 13 days until Lost season 4. I refuse to get excited.

Ok, I'm a little excited.

Eminem's Fault?

2008-01-17T07:34:00.001-05:00

Like the rest of you, I get my movie trailers at Dark Horizons. So imagine my delight when I clicked on the link to the Shrooms trailer. Just like the rest of you, my immediate thought was, "Yes! This is going to be the best killer fungus film since Japan's Matango (aka Attack of the Mushroom People, 1963)." Really, it's been decades since that lyrical, poetic musing on the horror of atomic genocide (shrooms... mushroom clouds... Hiroshima... anyone? No?). So imagine my disappointment when it turns out that the monster in Shrooms is just some geezer in a shroud.
I guess we can hope that he explodes into a mass of giant fungal spores by film's end. But sadly, the "shrooms" of the title refers to the hallucinogens eaten by the hapless young folks who get offed, not to a race of bloodthirtsy shiitakes. May I just say that I'm tired of slasher movies? A guy with a hatchet/knife can be scary, for sure, but it's getting harder and harder to discern your Screams from your Fridays, your Chainsaws from your Halloweens (let alone the countless one-shot imitations they churn out). How many times can they make the same movie? I count the original Psycho and Chainsaw among my favorites, so I love what the form has to offer. But I mourn the loss of genetic and atomic mutants in horror films. It's been so long since a good one, and Hollywood doesn't try them nearly as often as slashers.

It all puts me in mind of a line (why can't I remember what it's from -- Blackadder maybe?): "Let's get back to the kind of war worth fighting and the kind of enemy worth killing." Enough slashers. Gimme some killer mushrooms and giant lizards. Maybe Cloverfield will offer a nice return to the Japanese-style kaiju eiga ("monster movie"). But then again... "What is Cloverfield?"

I'll find out tonight.

AMENDMENT 9/15/08: I figured out what that line is from. I got it a bit wrong, but the "kind of enemy worth killing" bit was right. It's Harold's uncle from Harold & Maude.

You Know, For Kids

2008-01-17T07:25:00.000-05:00

Richard Knerr, repackager of the Hula Hoop and importer of the Frisbee, is dead. The story is here. May he rest.

Do Golden Cows Make Golden Bull$%!#?

2008-01-08T08:24:00.000-05:00

The Golden Globes have been canceled due to striker solidarity and star no-shows. The President of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association said:

We are all very disappointed that our traditional awards ceremony will not take place this year and that millions of viewers worldwide will be deprived of seeing many of their favorite stars celebrating 2007’s outstanding achievements in motion pictures and television.

Bull. The operative phrase there is "seeing... stars." The pretense that this or any other such Hollywood ceremony is a celebration of excellence in artistic achievement is nonsense. "But I want to see who wins!" No you don't. You want to see what they say and what they're wearing if they win. Does anyone truly care about who wins? Can anyone remember more than a few of the winners from last year? I doubt it.

Everyone just wants to watch the ritual, no one cares about the content (insert cynical anology about organized religion here). Don't get me wrong. Ritual is important. I love watching the Oscars, but I don't pretend to attach any significance or meaning to its "content."

What bugs me most is the obvious commercialism of it though. If the ceremony itself, the "tradition" as the HFPA calls it, were truly that sacred, then it would go on, with absent nominees, even if the network weren't interested in televising it. But no, it's not even happening in a private party. It's just being replaced with some paparazzi tabloid TV programming (so they'll announce winners... big deal). Hollywood can make money and bull$%!# walk and talk hand-in-hand.

HFPA, stop pretending you care about celebrating excellence more than putting on a pageant. As Judge Judy says, "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining." The Globes don't offer many technical awards, but the Oscars are threatening cancellation too. If the Academy is as devoted to "celebrating outstanding achievements" as the HFPA, then they'll go ahead with the show so that the exceptionally talented sound mixers, cinematographers, FX artists, designers, etc. not on strike can have their night in the sun. Any bets on what the chances of that ceremony taking place are? That's what I thought.

Jokeback Mountain

2007-12-17T16:05:00.002-05:00

"You know, Toots, I f%#!ed your brother and played with his Gyllenballs in a tent in Wyoming, and now it's your turn."

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Note: I may be a tasteless jackass, but I want everyone to know that the above was posted before Heath's passing. RIP.

Ender's Crayons

2007-12-14T14:51:00.000-05:00

This thing is creepy/scary/beautiful. Crayon Physics is a computer game in which you draw free-form objects that immediately are absorbed into a physics engine and react in front of you. Played on the tablet (as it is in the clip below), it reminds me a lot of Ender's video game tablet in Ender's Game. Apparently, Windows users can download a playable version here.

And I'll Say it Again

2007-12-13T09:11:00.000-05:00

I stand by my first blog ever.

Saturn's Soundtrack

2007-12-03T15:38:00.000-05:00

This is old news, but news to me. Saturn emanates radio waves, and NASA's Cassini-Huygens mission has recorded them. The video signature is above. Check out the story, and be sure to listen to the sound. It's gorgeous. And it sounds eerily like Louis and Bebe Barron's amazing and pioneering score to Forbidden Planet.

J'espere que Cloverfield ≠ Cthulhu

2007-11-17T11:28:00.000-05:00

I spent about fifteen minutes combing through the web, trying to find leaked images of the tightly-guarded monster from J.J. Abrams' upcoming film, Cloverfield. That's all I could stomach before realizing I'd rather just see it when everyone else does. The amount of time some people have put into analyzing the trailer (which reveals nothing) and analyzing cloud patterns in the teaser poster (which just looks like clouds to me) is staggering. Every time there is a highly guarded event movie in the geek world, there are tomes-worth of speculation spun from the web. Everyone insists, "No, THIS is exactly how the plot of Spider-Man 3 will unfold!" or "THIS is the new grille design for Optimus Prime!" And, invariably, everyone is wrong. This is TIME WASTED, people. Go solve that theorem you've been working on, or play a video game, or spend more time with your pet iguana. Anything else would be quality time in comparison.

I certainly hope many of the bloggers are wrong about one thing: even though the web suggests that it's been denied by Abrams, one of the most prevalent theories out there is that the monster is Cthulhu, the unpronounceable master of people's nightmares from the work of the grand-daddy of modern horror, H.P. Lovecraft. But, while Cthulhu is indeed a big slimy monster (above), the beauty and horror of his story is what happens when he's not on the page. The Cult of Cthulhu is perhaps more frightening than the monster itself. This god-like entity can haunt and control the subconsciousness of a population... can drive men who haven't seen or heard of him mad with fear... can make murderers and psychopaths of anyone through ancient, demonic magic. Cloverfield, on the other hand, seems to be a simple, good-old-fashined disaster/monster flick. Nothing wrong with that. It's been a long time since a truly good one. But I see nothing in the trailers that indicates any build-up in collective fear and subconscious paranoia. I somehow doubt there will be any bloody orgies of the damned in Cloverfield (Lovecraft really was a sick f%#*).

Cthulhu could make a really good movie (there's a straight-to-video one I haven't seen). But I sort of hope Cloverfield is just a big slimy monster movie (à la the original Kong or the kaiju big-boy himself, Gojira). When they do Lovecraft, I want them to do Lovecraft.

Victory!

2007-11-09T10:55:00.001-05:00

Many saw 300 and recognized on its soundtrack several cues from Elliot Goldenthal's amazing score to Titus. I'm very partial to Goldenthal's music, and (full disclosure) a biased fan because I've worked for the man (and to know him is to love him).

At long last, a settlement has been reached, and Tyler Yates ("composer") and the producers of 300 have finally had their comeuppance. I certainly wasn't the only one who noted the plagiarism and contacted EG's camp, but this blogger is proud to have been one small part of sounding the alarm bell.

Listen to "Returns a King" from 300 and then listen to "Victorious Titus." Compare Yates' "Remember Us" to the crescendo of Goldenthal's "Finale." You don't have to be a musician to hear how shameless it is.

It probably went down like this: they started using El's music as a temp track in editing (a standard practice). They fell so in love with it, and Yates couldn't best it, so rather than pay for the tracks or the rights to rerecord it, they just go with "no one will notice." It's hard to say to what extent this is Yates' fault. I'm sure he would rather have had some original music in there, but the honorable thing to do would have been to take his name off, or somehow get Elliot the credit he deserves. Is this a producer's blunder? An incompotent legal affairs division at Warner Brothers? Some executive's idea of cutting corners to save money? Well, a whole orchestra of musicians and a crew of engineers and mixers were hired and paid to record unoriginal music, and now WB has had to pay god-knows-how-much on top of it. Awesome.

Check out the 300 DVD website (image below). The fine print reads:

Warner Bros. Pictures acknowledges and regrets that a number of the music cues for the score of "300" were, without our knowledge or participation, derived from music composed by Academy Award winning composer Elliot Goldenthal for the motion picture "Titus." Warner Bros. Pictures has great respect for Elliot, our longtime collaborator, and is pleased to have amicably resolved this matter.

The same text ran in a full-page ad in the Hollywood Reporter (thanks, Matty G, for pointing that out to me). Congratulations, El.

Just Ask Anyone Who's Eaten Mexican With Al Sharpton

2007-11-06T09:09:00.001-05:00

Best headline ever.

From the Swift Completion of Their Appointed Rounds, Neither Snow Nor Rain Nor Heat Nor Gloom of Night Stays These Couriers

2007-10-25T15:40:00.000-05:00

So Good I Could Plotz... Or Purge

2007-10-06T21:05:00.000-05:00

The long-promised "Final Cut" of Blade Runner is now playing in New York and LA. I saw it at the Ziegfeld today. Sweet Jesus. It's odd to be that blown away by a movie one has seen so many times, but hot damn, is it looking and sounding better than ever.

I noticed only one new shot (dancing stripper ladies, which made me think I was about to see the infamous snake dance scene), plus a lot of digital fixes: Tyrell's thumb removed from the flipped close-up that introduces Roy, a CG fix on Deckard and Hassan's lips during the scene in which their dialogue was obviously rewritten and looped later, and a CG matte painting of the LA cityscape behind the obviously-shot-elsewhere insert of the dove at the end of the film. Roy's calling Tyrell "fucker" was changed to "father," and the bloody eye-gouge missing in the previous Director's Cut has been restored. Also, I didn't see the wire on the first spinner take-off; maybe it was erased. Did I miss anything? Yes, I've seen this movie once or twice. In the grand scheme of things, these are probably nitpicky points. The movie didn't need the fixes, but I'm sure if I were Scott, these trifles would annoy me.

Bottom line: the movie is damn near perfect now. It looks gorgeous, still holds up, and it's worth a pilgrimage to LA or New York if you can cut it. The DVD comes out in December. Last thing: I was reminded of the "PURGE" screen on the spinner's dashboard early in the film. It's the same exact screen seen in the cockpit of the Narcissus in Alien, shortly before Ripley escapes while the Nostromo self-destructs. Does Ridley Scott have recurring bouts of the runs? What gives?

Place Your Bets

2007-09-04T08:40:00.000-05:00

Carpenter is scrappy... he could take King in two rounds, tops. But neither would have a prayer against Lloyd Kaufman's The Fart.

PC Users Prefer the +R's

2007-08-26T10:32:00.001-05:00

Words sort of fail me when it comes to the commodification of what is probably my favorite film series of all time. So I'm not sure what to say about Alien vs. Predator 2, aka Aliens vs Predator: Requiem, aka AVP-R. Does this red-band trailer and prominent "R" in title strike anyone else as Fox's thinly-veiled attempt to reassure those fans miffed by the previous AVP's PG-13 rating?

That starts a whole other tirade, by the way. Geeks and bloggers get so incensed over ratings of sequels that they damn the films before they've seen them (Live Free or Die Hard got a lot of this). Who the hell started using ratings as a litmus paper for quality? I'd remind you that Jaws is PG, whereas Jaws 4: The Revenge is PG-13, so you tell me about the the law of direct proportionality when it comes to sequels and their more-restrictive ratings. Bull.

As for this trailer (below)... I watched it like I watch commercials for "Too Hot for TV" videos. For a moment I thought it was a video game. Just from the trailer, one can tell that it lacks all of the mystique and majesty of the original Alien trilogy. It's a montage of gory, bloody stuff. It's a direct-to-video monster movie co-opting an A-list franchise. And yeah, I suppose I see Aliens and Predators in there, but it doesn't really look like one of the Alien films to me. It looks like AVP: Totally Xtreme Sports Edition. I'm coping with this potential disaster and heartbreak by denying it much attention or feeling -- just like I still deny that the first AVP was a bad movie. Denial helps, people. I'll get to anger and bargaining soon.

Herbie Robinson From Cleveland

2007-08-09T20:51:00.000-05:00

In honor of Ocean of Fear, a documentary about the U.S.S. Indianapolis, which aired repeatedly this past Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, I present my favorite monologue in all of filmdom. Props to Peter Benchley, Carl Gottlieb, John Milius, and Robert Shaw (all of whom wrote it, with Shaw putting finishing touches on before performing it). And of course there's the assist by Spielberg and John Williams (whose strings in this scene are amazing, and hard to hear on YouTube).

By the way, the doc is pretty worth watching, and this is for you history buffs: www.ussindianapolis.us

Tortureporn and a Barrel of Laughs

2007-07-29T23:47:00.001-05:00

What do the above three hotties have in common? Maybe more than you think. I recently saw the term "Tortureporn" in an issue of Entertainment Weekly. It refers to the Hostels and Saws of the world. Then, a friend dropped the term in conversation and assured me that yes, this is the hot new word that the kids are using to describe that genre of film -- so in demand these days -- of really bad s#%t happening to trapped people.

Are people actually getting off on it? I hope not. Those ain't folks I want to know. But the inclusion of the word "porn" may not be far from the mark. It reminded me of a paper I wrote in college. I wrote about Raimi's Evil Dead trilogy, focusing on Evil Dead II as a synthesis of film genre -- as the perfect "horror comedy."

It was far more intellectual than I usually get, and I certainly don't give much credence to genre studies in general (labels are for squares, man!), but my paper led me to the conclusion that horror and comedy are basically the same thing. At least, they work with nearly identical devices. Comedy creates tension, playing off expectations to elicit physical relief (laughter). Horror creates tension, playing off suspense to elicit physical relief (screams or jumps). Evil Dead is unique in how well it does these simultaneously.

So horror and comedy, I decided, were definable as genres by virtue of the audiences' physical reactions to them. And think of all those people who just laugh during scary horror movies. But there's one more genre that fits the "defined by physical reaction" bill. Pornography creates tension, playing off arousal to elicit physical relief (I think you get this one). And think of all those people who just laugh during porn. Some even scream and can't watch. Bottom line: horror, comedy, and porn are the same thing. They toy with audiences in the same way, and it's why Hung Wankenstein is probably the ultimate film. It's a fine line between a laugh, a scream, and an orgasm. Come on, tell the truth... haven't you ever done all three at the same time?

Like a Colander With No Holes

2007-07-26T18:29:00.000-05:00

Will somebody please explain to me the purpose of a Transformer that does not transform? I went to the giant Toys R Us at Times Square today, and the big ground floor Transformers display had several dozen toys, of which, to my count, five actually changed form. What is going on?

Bulls#%*wulf

2007-07-26T16:51:00.000-05:00

The highly-unanticipated trailer for Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf is online. I can hardly contain my non-enthusiasm. I guess it's nice to see that Ray Winstone beefed up and turned his keg into a six-pack before donning the motion capture sensors for the mov... oh, wait, he's still fat.

I guess this is Zemeckis's new thing -- CG motion capture photo-realistic movies. I've never seen the point. Making something that looks like Tom Hanks or Angelina Jolie is possibly an impressive technical feat, but what's the point? It's the dog that stands on its nose at the county fair -- neat, but why? What are you trying to tell me that wouldn't be best left to the actors themselves, or to a stylistically enhanced, imaginatively painted CG canvas (rather than a literal depiction)? Zemeckis has always been one for showing off movie magic with no apparent depth. I could have made an independent feature with the money and talent he spent on changing the color of Bill Clinton's ties in the archival footage in Contact.

And accurate representations of actors, apparently, does not extend to accurate representations of the oldest narrative in Western literature. Grendel looks curiously like a muddy zombie, by way of the recent Mummy flicks. Angelina, listed on IMDb as "Grendel's Mother," looks her usual hot self, but WTF? Isn't Grendel's Mother supposed to be the most wretched of subterranean Hellspawn? The most rank and vile of monsters? From her lines, I actually thought she might be a sexed-up version of the Dragon, but even so, that's taking quite a liberty. I'm all for reinvention and adaptation (John Gardner's Grendel is a monsterpiece and you know I love Crichton's Eaters of the Dead), but this obvious Hollywood coat of gloss on what is one of the most tried and true and simply beautiful epics has already lost my vote. At least they did their research and got Angie's early Anglo-Saxon stilettos right (below). Stilettos? Come on, Bob Z. Sheesh.

The Thrilla Near Manila

2007-07-20T21:58:00.000-05:00

Thanks to my friend A. Mo for sending this to me. This is one of the strangest and most wondrous things I've ever seen. Inmates at the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines have put on a little talent show:

The Big 6-0

2007-07-19T17:00:00.000-05:00

Congratulations to Saturn, whose 60th moon has been discovered. Does Earth have satellite envy -- for which we compensate by thrusting metal transmitters into space? It's no substitute for raw, hot, natural celestial bodies spinning around you.

Saturn, you're the alpha male of the Gorilla band in the gravitational jungle that is our solar system. Even that pencil-d*%#ed fat-ass Jupiter can't compete with the real silverback of the skies, the seductively-ringed sex-machine, Saturn.

Celebrity Impersonator Deathmatch

2007-07-10T08:43:00.000-05:00

If a few dozen out-of-work actors in New York dressed up as their favorite pop culture icon and hung around the Virgin Megastore in Times Square, it might look something like the scene in front of Graumann's Chinese Theater in LA. Apparently Chewie fondled Marilyn. I for one think Chewie is being victimized by a prejudice against Wookies. Besides, if Marilyn knew what Chewie was packing under that thick shag, she might think twice.

What's next? Will Xena: Warrior Princess sue Superman because he's an alien? Have these fakers no shame? It's actually a pretty crazy scene. A few years ago, when this blogger's own short film played at the Tromadance Film Festival in the shadow of Sundance, there was a short documentary on this gang. As I recall from way back then, Superheroes: We Work For Tips is really good and can be downloaded here or viewed on iFilm.

For That Ill Grill

2007-07-06T16:51:00.000-05:00

I know -- it happens to you often. You're on North Main street in Dayton, Ohio, on your way to a Wright Brothers black tie memorial ball. Suddenly you realize, "S%#*!!! I forgot my oral bling!" Look no further. There is help:Another window boasts that they "buy scrap gold." So those of you with an excess of precious metal, please, think of the Dayton children without gold teeth and grillz. They need it more than you.

Happy Birthday Ray

2007-06-29T08:57:00.001-05:00

To the granddaddy of monsters, the godfather of visual effects, and all-around badass Ray Harryhausen, this blogger wishes a very happy birthday and many happy returns. Harryhausen studied under Willis O'Brien (who created King Kong), and later greatly surpassed his teacher's techniques and artistry. Virtually every major VFX person in Hollywood today cites Harryhausen as his/her greatest hero, and it's no wonder. Harryhausen's stop-motion work is the reason people remember Jason and the Argonauts, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers, Clash of the Titans, and my favorite, The 7th Voyage of Sinbad. These are seminal films in geekdom, and their influence is all over Jurassic Park, Star Wars, Independence Day, etc.

What I find most notable is that Harryhausen was basically an auteur. His films were often his own brainchildren, greenlit based on the strength of his name and plotted by him. The directors of Harryhausen films (none of them as famous as he), tend to work around the FX sequences, which were all Harryhausen's design. His films are unmistakably Harryhausen films, not just because of his iconic creatures, but because of their pace, structure, and character. I can not think of any other technician in film history of whom this can be said. Sure, many cinematographers, editors, and designers have definitive and important styles, but no one ever said, "That was a great John Alton movie," or "Walter Murch movie," or "Edith Head movie" (you get the idea). But all of Harryhausen's films are known as "Harryhausen films." He's got two box sets and an "Early Years" collection in his name, plus several coffee table books. Tell me if I'm wrong, but I think this is unique.

No, his work is not photo-realistic by today's standards. The animated puppets are dated. But dramatically, they still work extraordinarily well. There's an indispensible sense of wonder in all his work. In his own words (I'm paraphrasing from memory here), effects that are too "real" are not interesting. There needs to be an other-wordly, slightly unbelievable quality in order to create drama. It shouldn't be too fake either, but his work always balances that fine line between the fantastic and the real (isn't that what movies are, at their core?). And so, to the ultimate filmmaker, Ray Harryhausen, I tip my hat. He's 87 today. Here's to 87 more.

Guilt Present on Pride Day

2007-06-25T16:00:00.001-05:00

I don't want this to be a divisive, political blog (other than pitting fans of the thing against fans of the blob), but I feel compelled to share these photos from the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco yesterday (I was in town for a lesbian baby shower, of course).

On the note of divisiveness, I will say that I was pleased at how harmonious the above incongruence was. The theologists were met with more eyerolls than dirty looks or curses. And, despite their constant droning in megaphones, the rhetoric was much more "Jesus loves you all!" than it was "You shall burn in Hell!"

Indeed, forgiveness is wonderful, but then again, so is a nice big fist up your a%#, from what some of my friends have told me. Ah well, at least there's a sale at Nordstrom.
P.S. Man, am I glad I like my parents, otherwise I'd own a lot more Village People albums than I do now. Maybe my love of the movie Cabaret can be traced back to that fight I had with my folks when I was 12.

All the Paris' Men

2007-06-24T10:33:00.000-05:00

I'm not holding onto hope that this heralds the ren- naissance of journal- ism (which died sometime in the past 20-30 years), but it is with great joy that I offer this link. Apparently, ABC, NBC, and CBS all publicly turned down the post-prison Paris interview. Huzzah.

Dueling Goo Puddles

2007-06-15T12:03:00.002-05:00

In honor of my going to see John Carpenter's The Thing on the big screen tonight, I offer to the public an age-old debate which has perplexed my mind for years, namely: who would win in a fight -- the blob or the thing? Howard Hawks' original Thing monster was a lumbering Frankenstein-type dude from a planet where man evolved from vegetable. No question there; the blob would turn him into carrot smoothie. But Carpenter's thing is a shapeshifter and assimilator. Both it and the blob work on a cellular level, the thing digesting and replicating cells in its own chemical composition, the blob simply digesting and converting tissue into its own goopy and ever-increasing mass. Both organisms are capable of surviving individually on a microscopic level, in small segments that can separate or rejoin at will. Both grow indefinitely.

In light of upcoming rumored remakes of both films (the third versions of each, not including several blob sequels), it is a timely debate. So which is it? Would the blob dissolve the thing into more pink slop, or would the thing eat the blob and convert it into more pink Kurt Russell? These are the deep, important questions that keep me up at night. These are the issues on which I base my support of political candidates. Someone solve this for me, so I can sleep.

One thing is certain: against the team of Blob and Thing stars McQueen and Russell, both creatures would surely perish. I mean, look at them:

Addendum, posted after the initial post: a chat with my friend G.

G:
Is the blob acidic? It seems to be.
Strange Case:
I would say that if it is, that's a good point in its favor. Then again, who knows what neutralizing properties the thing is capable of imitating.
People inside the blob seem to be digested.
In the 80's remake of the blob (photo above), they suggest that it is viral.
How do they suggest viral? That almost doesn't make any sense.
It's been a while, but I recall them sending some viral experiment into space in a small satellite. It crashes back to earth and has become the blob.
It's vaguely cancerous.
Because it grows. But if it's a cancer, I say the thing imitates and replaces the blob tumor.
I'm having a real back and forth in my science here... I'm gonna have to grab a reference book.

Look for G's exciting and thoroughly-researched comment to follow.

Avengers Assemble!

2007-06-14T17:20:00.000-05:00

We all knew this was imminent. IMDb Pro (sorry if only members can follow the link) says that Marvel Studios is starting work on a live-action film of The Avengers, using go-to comic movie scripter Zak Penn (why can't they branch out and try new people just once?).

I can only wonder at the inherent legal dilemma: Marvel farmed the film rights of all their major characters out to competing studios, so how on Earth-616 are they going to pull together a team that is supposed to include (at least at its core) Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, The Wasp, Giant Man/ Ant-Man, Quicksilver, The Scarlet Witch, and possibly The Hulk? Half of these characters haven't even been introduced to contemporary audiences, so you know whatever they write will be bogged down in endless exposition and backstory, and may or may not have any connection to the other Marvel films that already exist (e.g. will Robert Downy, Jr. play Iron Man?).

Such questions may be beside the point. The only important thing is that they make a good movie. But I've been so disappointed by the sometimes good/ usually awful history of recent Marvel movies (peaks of X-Men and Spideys 1&2 interrupted by vast valleys of nearly everything else), that frankly, I doubt they'll pull their s%#* together. I suspect that Warner Brothers' Justice League of America stands a much better chance of being a good movie based on nothing more than the central ownership and administration of the intellectual property. That may sound nitpicky, but in the few years this blogger has worked lowly jobs in film production, I've seen enough to know that when expectations are too high, with too many cooks in the kitchen and too many people to please or let down, the result is usually bad. DC kept all their eggs in one basket, are owned by WB, and to completely generalize, have presented their characters with what is -- to my tastes -- a far better track record than Marvel. Bad exceptions are when we get into sequel territory, where too much money becomes involved (I'm looking at you, high-numbered Superman and Batman movies). Whatever... this is a pointless ramble until the trailers come out and we can complain all over again.

They're here! You're next!

2007-06-10T13:31:00.001-05:00

The upcoming Kidman flick, The Invasion, marks the fourth time that Invasion of the Body Snatchers has been made -- more if you include ripoffs (I mean homages) like The Faculty. What's remarkable is that all three versions so far ('56, '78, '93) have been very good movies. From the red scare era came this perfect formula: alien invaders replace our loved ones, turning the human race into an emotionless species of automatons.

The beauty of this sci-fi premise is that it can be used to talk about all sorts of issues. The original is widely regarded as a pro-American take on the spread of godless Communism. But other interpretations hold that the spreading disease is actually the mindless hysteria of red scare itself, and that Kevin McCarthy is the only sane, free-thinking man in a world gone mad with 1950's conformity. The Sutherland version is largely a film about organic food and obsession with health and decontamination. Maybe that's a stretch, but this is a hot topic in '78. Abel Ferrara's film is probably the scariest of them all, and although it's been a while since I've seen it, I seem to recall the notion of virus and disease (HIV maybe?) being a big part of it.

But this is all pseudo-intellectual jargon that may well be beside the point. The bottom line is, this premise will always be horrifying. The zombie film is a formula not far off from Body Snatchers, but these invaders aren't mean. They don't bite. They look and sound just like us, call us by name. They are calm and calculating, not malicious, doing what they do only because of their biology. They simply spread. Dress it up with whatever social context you like. Watching the new trailer (below), I realized that we've seen all of this before. Each version is largely the same movie set 10-20 years after the last one, with the same key scenes and familiar situations and dialogue. But even in this trailer, I'm scared. So maybe this will be about terrorism (the title alone seems indication of that), who knows? It's set in DC, so I'm sure there will be plenty about a passive, non-thinking government. But more importantly, it's about a couple people in a world of apathy, detatchment, and intellectual vacancy. It's scary as hell, and somehow, I never mind that they're remaking a classic over and over.

P.S. Sigur Rós? WTF?

P.P.S. My favorite alien impostor film ever, John Carpenter's remake of The Thing, is playing at the Aero in LA on Friday, June 15th. All in the area, be there.

Let Hish Armiesh Be the Birdsh in the Shky

2007-06-08T11:50:00.000-05:00

It's official... no Connery in Indy 4. Apparently, "retirement is just too damned much fun." Besides, he really wanted to go out with The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Who wouldn't right? (gagging, heaving, etc.) Hollywood rumors say he's eyeing public office in Scotland, to push for Scottish independence. No, I'm not citing any sources on that. It's hearsay. I heard it, so I'm saying it.

Oh well, Shia LaBeouf will have to suffice.

The World's Biggest Snowcone

2007-06-04T12:08:00.001-05:00

Danish artist, Marco Evaristti, announced plans to paint the summit of Mont Blanc red to raise awareness for environmental issues (he previously did this with an iceberg, above). He also wants to declare the peak a sovereign "pink" state. Is anyone else reminded of that episode of G.I. Joe (or was it just one of the comics?) in which Cobra used depth charges to raise land masses in the ocean and claim them as a sovereign state so that they could no longer be attacked as a terrorist cell? Evaristti is setting up a dangerous precedent. Next thing you know, Christo and Jeanne-Claude will t.p. the Reichstag and mandate that anyone without orange hair is part of a lower race. Heck, I'd eat dye pellets and piss all over Hawaii for my own private island. But really, how much money is this going to cost? What if that cash went towards finding an alternative energy source, or Katrina relief? How many defilers of Mother Nature, truly, are going to become more aware of the environment because some dude paints a mountain (something most of the world will see in what might as well be a Photoshopped image)? I guess my frustration at the b.s. that was Christo's "The Gates" is shining through here. If I want a red mountain, I'll stick with Kurosawa's "Mount Fuji in Red," from Dreams (which, granted, looks more orange below).

Coaster Rails Lubed With the Oil of Olivier

2007-05-31T12:10:00.001-05:00

Yahoo! News reports that plans are set for a Harry Potter theme park in Orlando. Finally, fans will be able to walk amongst the $20 cotton candies, vomitting children, and fat Midwestern tourists they know and love from the books.

Trailer Will Tear Us Apart

2007-05-29T00:16:00.000-05:00

The Control trailer is finally online. Some say "why make a Joy Division movie," since 24 Hour Party People is so good. I agree on that flick, but Joy Division fills maybe 10% of the time there. Besides, Anton Corbijn, whose videos and photographs are beautiful, actually directed Joy Division videos twenty years ago. And, while Ridley Scott, David Fincher, Spike Jones, Michel Gondry, and others have made the leap from music videos to outstanding features, we've yet to see a Corbijn film. I, for one, can't wait. And that's coming from a big Joy Division fan. Now all we need is for Chris Cunningham finally to make Neuromancer (oh dream of dreams).

What Can Mediocrity Do For You?

2007-05-28T10:03:00.000-05:00

In light of a certain five-year reunion that just took place in Middletown, Connecticut, I found the timing of this bit from last week's Daily Show quite nice. Check out our shout-out, disparaging as it may be. Go Wes.

Lost in Sparta

2007-05-24T15:26:00.000-05:00

I sort of made myself a promise never to jump into the Lost blogging game and post a "Lost theory." But in the wake of last night's season 3 finale (see image), I think I've cracked it. As we clearly can see in Lost's flash-forward, Jack will become King Leonidas once he leaves the island. In fact, the beginning of season 4 will start off with Jack leading the survivors from the radio tower to the Pass at Thermopylae, stopping along the way at Rhodes to visit the ruins of the Colossus (now down to one foot missing a toe).
Once at the Hot Gates, they will face off against an army led by Paulo (who rose from his being buried alive this season, shaved his head, and is wearing a lot of jewelry). Don't buy it? Then why did Rodrigo Santoro, who plays Paulo, also play Xerxes in 300? I'm sorry to spoil it for everyone, but I think Jack dies gloriously in battle, possibly at the hands of this previously-deceased Brazilian hunk.

El Barbarelliachi

2007-05-23T18:06:00.000-05:00

Thanks to G for pointing this out for me. According to The Hollywood Reporter, Robert Rodriguez is set to make a new film of Barbarella. Is this a remake, or a readaptation? Few are as familiar with the French comics as they are with Vadim's film, but the books are very worth looking at if you can find them. Each issue has a monochromatic color scheme (one with hints of blue, one with green, orange above, etc). That's familiar territory for Roberto "That Yellow Sin City Bastard" Rodriguez, but I wonder if he'll stick with it. I've always gone back and forth on Rodriguez from film to film, but I don't shudder at this news. But can he, I wonder, make something that will leave as indelible a mark on today's youth as Roger Vadim left on several other generations? I have to admit that the plastic-clad Jane Fonda was as much a part of this blogger's adolescent development as was any early-90's supermodel. Moreso, actually.

Whatever this new one is, I doubt it can be as much fun as Vadim's. I guess we can all but bet on Rose McGowan Rodriguez as Barbaralla. I liked her in Grindhouse, to be sure, but is she what Fonda was 40 years ago? Even decades later, the original film stands as a breakout feminist superheroine icon. Sci-fi damsels before her just screamed their way through disaster while Buck and Flash did all the work. But here was a woman who could discover -- and exploit -- her sexuality on her own terms, managing to save worlds and look really good doing it. There's always room for more good sci-fi heroines, but will the late 60's context be missed? Will Barbarella's social siginificance be impossible to recreate? Who cares, as long as she's smokin' hot, and there's a zero-gravity striptease scene. I'm down.

Grok This Jacuzzi

2007-05-22T23:11:00.001-05:00

Hot springs found on Mars. "Potential for life." Here's the article.

Realism Schmealism

2007-05-22T22:08:00.000-05:00

Bless my friend Yeagers. Following up on the Joker discussion... here's the best example of why "realism" is overrated. We love Dick Tracy, and will challenge anyone who thinks otherwise to a bout of fisticuffs. In her words, "F%#* realism." Anyone operating under the opinion that reality (which is a subjective word, granted) has anything to do with the comic book page or the cinema screen is deluding themselves. Even the most "verite" of improvised dramas (Hollywood calls these "gritty") -- or a documentary for that matter -- is engineered, designed, and manipulated to elicit a manufactured response in an audience. It's why I never bought Dogma 95 (I vastly prefer Lloyd Kaufman's Dogpile 95). Spin these cinematic gimmicks with any lofty, pretentious BS you want... it's still a constructed fiction. So everyone banking on a real Joker, and a real Batman, those ideas are contradictions in terms. The only question is, "Does this work in the context of its own world?" Forget how easy it is to imagine the Joker in our "real" world.

The Joker? Fo' rizzle?

2007-05-22T15:01:00.004-05:00

By now the whole world has seen the photo of Heath Ledger's new Joker for Batman Begins 2: Batman Progresses. Released through guerilla web tactics that make it impossible to confirm that this picture is real, it's caused more consternation, debate, and blogging among us fanboys than we've seen since they gave Spider-Man moulded nipples. Wait, is that right?

First of all, I'm working on the assumption that this is in fact a real picture of the new Joker (sorry all you photoshop conspiracy theorists). And what I have to say is this: while I trust both Ledger and director Chris Nolan to make this work in its own way -- to make it scary and dramatically satisfying -- I have to admit disappointment. The Joker (as we know him) is important and interesting because he is Batman's alter-ego in every sense. The (traditional) Joker's perpetual grin and menacing brow may be scary, but he is a caricature of the Punch figure -- the fool. His sense of humor never wanes (unlike that of Batman, who has little or no sense of humor). His appearance is as bright and mirthful as Batman's is black and brooding, making the irony all the greater -- the colorful Joker stands for death and mayhem, while the dark Batman stands for justice and honor.

So, by giving Ledger the appearance they have, all of the symbolism and irony is lost. Personally, I find the scar make-up horrifying. It hints at a backstory of a man who was either tortured and disfigured (inside and out), or worse yet -- he mutilated himself (this could be the most deeply disturbing Hollywood serial killer in a long while). But the bottom line is, it's not The Joker. It's not Batman's antithesis. It's a literal, grimmer physical manifestation of Joker's inner ugliness. All the irony, and frankly all the fun, is absent.

But die-hard Begins fans will say that the new series is more believable -- more realistic -- and that this approach rocks. Ok, this psycho scarface may be more plausible in the world we live in, but that doesn't make it the best possible fiction. To be honest, I'm not that into this "let's make a realistic comic book" approach. I have no problem with my superheroes and villains being elevated, exaggerated, and colorful. I say that as a comic reader. Using the word "realistic" is a bit pointless when talking about a man in a bat suit. Look... Greek, Norse, and other mythologies are beautiful because the gods reflect all the foibles, failings, and strengths that man actually exhibits. But they are superhuman. No one can say that there is anything remotely realistic about a Thunder God, or a Gorgon, or a flying horse. I'm not the only one who sees comics as a kind of contemporary mythology, and so this is why I become wary of the attempt to turn fantasy into reality.

Now, by the same token, I detest representaions of these characters that stray too far from their reflection of real human emotions and spin into out-of-control exaggerations that have no dramatic merit. Schumacher's Batman films are travesties in my opinion, and I'll take Batman Begins over those any day. But I worry that Ledger's Joker will be as "real" as Schwarzenegger's Freeze is "surreal." This cut-up face that speaks of a deeply disturbed mind is certainly plausible (John Wayne Gacy comes to mind), but is "real" better? For those who think so, then Joker: Portrait of a Serial Killer may be your bag. To me, it's an interesting exercise, but strays from the spirit of the characters.

Different comic writers and artists have manifested The Joker many different ways, but this is drastically different from anything I've seen before. I'm in no position to condemn change, so ultimately this interpretation may be a good thing, but man, is it different as hell. What I've always loved about Joker is that even at his most maniacal, he is funny. But I see nothing funny about this new picture. Hopefully Ledger has the humor up his sleeve somewhere. The Joker (as we've known him) is always smiling! At least, that is his default state. Everything is funny to him, always. But that spirit is absent from this first publicity still. Of course, a still may not be indicative of the performance. But WB decided to go with this shot, and I kind of wish he were, in fact, smiling.

I'm not condemning this look unequivocally. The inner workings of the character, the writing and performance, are certainly the most important things here, and so I'm ultimately saying, "Let's wait and see." Many comic purists have dismissed this new Joker completely and immediately. These are the same people who invariably point to some internet fan film or another as the only real Joker on film. Well, no offense to those earnest efforts, but there's more to a good film character than just copying the books (remember that great line in the first X-Men, "What did you expect, yellow spandex?"). You've got to go for the essential spirit of the character. Forget the details. On this note, I'll put in my votes for Cesar Romero on the Adam West Batman run and the Mark Hamill-voiced incarnation on the 90's Animated Series as the best examples of the sheer joyful sadism that is The Joker (I'll give Nicholson honorable mention).

All that said, I still stand by my initial reaction: this may work very well, and in a very new way, but I find something missing. It's not The Joker; it's a new guy called "The Joker." Looking at this picture, I don't see The Clown Prince of Crime... I see the Sick Twisted F#*% of Crime. I applaud the fact that a major studio is doing something new, genuinely twisted, and creative with a character we've seen for decades. And to be fair, one must reserve final judgement until seeing the film. But right now, it seems weird, and not in a good way.