The Adventures of…

Joss Whedon and J.J. Abrams, comin' atcha!

Season 1:
Joss N’ JJ’s Excellent Adventure
Joss N’ JJ Go To the Moon
Joss N’ JJ Meet Frankenstein
Joss N’ JJ Cure Cancer
Joss N’ JJ Have A Baby
Joss N’ JJ: The Swimsuit Special
Joss N’ JJ Meet the President
Joss N’ JJ Find the Plot
Joss N’ JJ and the Dynamic Duo Kill Jeff Loeb
Joss N’ JJ Start a Band
Joss N’ JJ: The Musical
Joss N’ JJ Meet the Harlem Globetrotters
Joss N’ JJ, Awesome Show It’s Canceled!

What further adventures can we look forward to?

It’s just a momentary gag, yeah, but it’d be fun to see if anybody can some up with some real stories to go along with the idea of a buddie-time-cop series that throws references to these guys’ shows.

I’ve just seen the first episode of the second season of Dollhouse. I’m not too fond of it, but I know that these shows follow a pattern. As soon as the “ordinary circumstances” are drawn in the dirt, we can fully enjoy the thrill of it all being thrown off balance, which was every episode of the first season. Awesome. It has its terrible moments, like the pointless memory-disease episode that only served to give a little backstory to Caroline, who is not a character I sympathize with or enjoy watching, and the plot twists involving Paul’s neighbor/girlfriend was such a trivial thing for a character I passionately hate, but it’s all cool. The Alpha and Omega thing was the perfect apology for such painful moments.
I was almost hoping that it might get canceled, just so I could see a movie-length continuation of the thirteenth episode.

I don’t know what to post about.

I said that I’d try to keep things up to date on here, and really all I have to say is “I’m in another show and I can’t read comics these days.” to hit the nail on the head.
I’m experimenting with sublimation tiles and printer ink. It’s rad.
I’m not quite as excited to act now as I was last year.
I’m not sure quite what to do or not do about someone who’s just entered the picture. I remember saying before that I document thoughts and ideas in notepads. Well, I also remember writing in one that this is a strange feeling for me. I’m not sure what is the cause for my interest in this person, but she gets more fascinating as time passes. Am I attracted? Am I smitten? I have no fucking clue what I’m feeling, but it feels good, whatever it is.
I recently shaved again. I look fatter and paler. I’m ugly, now, and must wait more than a week to make my hideous jaw disappear behind a mask of facial hair again. There was a time I thought I looked good. Now, this feels like a mistake. If I feel good in a beard, I should keep it. What made me shave it, post-audition thrills? Fuck. I look like a harlequin baby. (That’s a terrible thing to say, and I apologize, but I dislike my appearance that much.)
I’m more impatient. I’m more tired. I’m less angry.
One kid in Drama doesn’t seem to know that he plays for another team, but he’s coming onto me pretty hard. I don’t know what to do about it, how to handle it without lying or hurting the guy.
One friend of mine has something for a girl, and I have noticed that this girl’s started paying a strange amount of attention to me. She is attractive, but I don’t feel much for her, and I fear I’m stealing spotlight from my friend.
I am still very uneasy about some things concerning homosexuality. I don’t know if it’s a homophobic thing, because I get along great with some gay guys and lesbians, but there’s some odd feeling that I feel the need to get over, and I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m afraid of finding a bit homosexuality in myself, but I have to wonder if that’s a real possibility. If I have potentially romantic feelings for a girl, and I’m fascinated by women, then there’s no question that I swing that way. Am I bisexual?
This reminds me of a conversation, in which I recalled what my grandmother said to me about one of my astrological alignments, which she said was a trait rarely held by other men. Something to do with my emotions.
Listening to the Rushmore soundtrack. It is a film that I would call perfect, like Broken Flowers. Why? Dunno, don’t care. I love it. At moments, it reminds me of my friendship with Smith, but Max’s absurd desire for romance from his teacher draws a line. At one point, a long time ago, I thought I had those kinds of feelings, but they’re gone, and all I care to be to Smith is the best friend I can be. Sometimes my taste in film reflects my inner conflicts, and the course of the movie reflects my course of meditation. I never did anything outrageous, like Max Fischer, and it was because I’d drawn his very conclusions in a matter of days. Sometimes I have to remind myself that Smith is attractive, and keep in mind what conclusion others would draw if they don’t understand my inner workings. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s part of Smith’s job to know me, and her job doesn’t stop even when we’re capable of having a regular friendly conversation.

I’m tired. Thoughts of a Drama girl keep me awake at night. What do I do to keep myself from forcing this new person away, or thinking the wrong things about what I think of her? I’m not really “scared” of anything, but I worry about how things can go wrong. She seems easy going, but what does that mean? I’m sure she’s spent enough time finding the more attractive guys wandering the halls, and how long will it be before some confident, pretty guy reaches her interest before I do?
Smith has enrolled the help of Kayla to write our script project as a musical. In Amerson’s class, sometimes she goofs around with her guitar, and sometimes she plays, and I can’t help but be so impressed by her. Not in a jealous way, like I’m accustomed to.
I have the strange feeling that I’ve been cheating my way through my short art career, as a student, and I don’t know why. Like I don’t deserve praise, and it’s all I seem to look forward to, sometimes. I used to do things for praise as a kid, like an excited puppy. Now, when I try to do things for myself, I end up depressed when I don’t get rewarded. I want to say that I’m pathetic, but I know it’s for other reasons.
I’m so tired, these days. I’m hardly a pleasant individual in the mornings. I wish I could be, so… the Drama girl gets a little bit of a better impression of me, but it’s better that I act like myself more than show off something that isn’t me. At all.
Last night, I remember going to sleep, feeling like everything’s alright. Like nothing was of consequence. Nothing bothered me, and all that mattered was whatever I happened to be thinking about at the moment. Now, all day, I’ve been so uncomfortable, like last night’s feeling was a sham, like it was all something from a pill I don’t remember taking, but it wasn’t. What’s with me, now? What calls forth this degree of discomfort?

After I turn 18, I’ll ask everyone who matters to me whether they think I should give that free mental health clinic place a go, and weigh their opinions against my own desires.

Halloween 2

Joey tells me that Mike was killed at the end of the first movie, and immediately after embedding the white horse dream symbol into the front of my skull, Rob Zombie starts off right where he left off. Why? I mean, the story could stand very well on its own, and if I’d seen the first damn film, I doubt I’d forget its ending so soon. He excuses himself with a slaughter scene right at the beginning that drags for quite a while, so I made the assumption that the story needs to continue from that specific moment immediately after the first movie ended, but SPOILER it was just a dream. The entire opening of this movie was a recap in a dream. Fuck.

From that moment, I couldn’t take it seriously. I yelled and commented for everyone to hear, and the other eight of us seemed to agree. I even got a few replies now and then from a couple of girls sitting very near by.(Their anonymity suggested a possible interest in myself, but a few good looks from outside the lobby and I decided they were a bit too young, and their looks of disgust made way for a lot of immaturity.)

I had fun with it. Not enough killing, no scare or shock, the purposefully ironic bits were depressing instead of humoring, and the purposefully depressing bits were fucking hilarious. Some overacting and lack of acting, but who cares? I got to see a stripper’s face get flattened against a mirror, the only likable fuckhead in the stupid town get his head stomped, a slut with homosexual tendencies get strangled in slow motion, doctors perform surgery through a mess of barbecue sauce, and the most beautiful stealth-kill I’ve ever seen.

I don’t give a fuck about about Myers having a sister. I didn’t give a damn about any of the characters in the movie, especially Mike’s psychiatrist, whose performance (coupled by the tree-kill) was the highlight of the two-hour-long joke. I could give a rat’s ass about Rob Zombie’s desire to explore the Halloween franchise. It seems to me like he’s got enough ideas he wants to use in a psycho movie, why doesn’t he invent a movie series of his own, with characters of his own, so that people won’t enter the cinema expecting onslaught to get disappointed by a long music video without music. (It does have a score, but the only band music in the whole thing gets framed and highlighted with neon signs surrounding the performers. I’m not being literal, but you get what I mean: the whole thing has to stop just so Zombie can show everyone what performers he likes. Following this particular thought, it seems to me like the movie was perhaps made by a teenager who wants to believe he’s the only person with issues and thinks the imagery he can muster up is demented or unique. “I don’t see you making any movies.” You’re damn straight, asshole. I don’t see you making any fair, critical assessments of film with a self-taught education in film. Zombie, I’m sure you’re a cool guy, and we’d probably be great pals if we met, but I’m sure this movie could’ve been made by the depressed clusters of teenagers in black that go to my school, if they had the budget. I seem to be the only one of those kids that matured to this understanding that fighting convention is the greatest, and longest lasting convention of all.)
Oh my, I’ve filled out another side-note. Whatever. Go watch it for a chuckle or a date, because it isn’t one of those movies that requires or asks for your attention.

Bon Jeer-no

“If you ever wanna eat a Sauerkraut sandwich again take your Wiener Schnitzel lickin’ finger and point out on this map what I wanna know.”

Landing the Shore:
We all knew what we wanted this film to be. Very few of the men and women entering that cinema could understand the gravity of the very things that awaited them, but we veterans knew. Few of us would leave with beating hearts.
My own heart stopped several times, (1.) when the free ticket had to be checked for a real one at the box office,
(2.) when I heard the ticket was void for tonight’s show,
(3.) when the money gathered between my wonderful friends was useless for a SOLD OUT SHOW,
(4.) when I thought I had to watch the movie fifteen minutes late in another cinema, and
(5.) when I got smuggled in.
With beads of sweat and the strongest fear of being discovered, I trudged through the film, thinking that I might be taken out. I’d heard that sometimes you can see the flashlight moving on faces in the audience, and sometimes, you don’t see it at all. Would I be next? (It’s a joke, guys, I wasn’t that scared. I swear, I really wasn’t.)
Further details will not be disclosed to protect myself and others from conviction of theatrical felony. I would like to thank my friends for this night, and you all know who you are.

The Battle for France:
Inglourious Basterds was a cinematic event. Never, never ever even think that you can get away with experiencing the movie as well your first time. Never, fucking, ever think that anything can replace the thrill of hearing a collective “yay” or “nay” from dozens of people just like you cheering on your wildest fantasies. There is no, not a single one, none at all, reason for you to think that it is okay to watch this alone, at home. This movie, just like all of Tarantino’s brilliant works in the past, is one that is meant to be experienced in the vain of those films which he takes his material from. If you want a realistic Nazi-killing team of heroes, watch Zwartboek. If you want to see homicidal fucks killing Nazis, watch The Dirty Dozen. If you want to see all of Hell descend upon the Nazi regime, watch Inglourious Basterds. There’s no need to doubt the surreality of this world, because I’ll be goddamned if our world is as fucking entertaining as this.

Aftermath:
On reflection, there were a few scenes, beautiful and delicious as they are, that were heavy in need-to-know-basis vintage film trivia dialogue which lasted very long, just to put our heroes in slightly tighter spots than before. As if they didn’t need to exist. (Forgive me for thinking that it’s odd for Europeans to have seen only any interest in films instead of art or radio in the days when children had to save for months to afford a cheap ticket and nobody thought the art would last longer than another trend. Well, Germans and French take pride in their places in cinema history, so it is fair, just unusual in a WWII movie.) But I love them, and I love what they do for me, which is get rid of a few aces to make the game more interesting while my ears get a verbal lap dance from Nazi-killing lips. The things that could hold the movie back for some have certainly strengthened my love for it, even though it isn’t altogether one of the best movies, nor, obviously, is it perfect. It is one for the books.

“Grat-zee.”

Dazed and Confused

Or, as I think of it, American Graffiti: the Sequel.

Rich Linklater really shows an influence from the young, experimental George Lucas, with a casual approach to storytelling and a heavy reliance on an understanding of the setting.

Find it difficult to put together better words to say these things.

It’s better than American Graffiti, in ways that the 70s were better than the 50s, and it worse in ways that the 70s were worse than the 50s, which says two things:
I allowed myself to embraces my own age, which movies don’t often accomplish.
The omniscient viewer unanimously associates the time period with the story. That takes a LOT of work to accomplish.

I expected to hate the movie, but I didn’t.
I expected it to be boring, but it wasn’t always.
I expected more stoner scenes, and I’m glad as fuck that I didn’t have to endure many.

I won’t dignify the minor details of the film, which so many mindless people think deserve a “cult following” rivaling the over-popular Boondock Saints and the overpaid Kevin Smith, by mentioning them. I don’t earn anything of value to know that other people can recite that moronic pothead’s George Washington theory.
If anybody should circulate the movie, it should be film students, not potheads. Those fucks think cheap laughs are an art form. No offense to my good friends, but really. Get some perspective in film, and I might consider taking people seriously.

OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

REASONS TO WATCH TROLL 2:

if you despise the appearance of trolls
if pissing on the dinner table is the only way you can organize a hunger strike
if you saw Treevenge and thought something was missing
if you love supporting films with all-robot casts
if you forgot what 80s clothing looks like
if you don’t know how to spell “goblin” backward
if you relate to people whose lives are led by an audible soundtrack
if your dead grandfather told you to do it
if you want to prove the merit behind your hate for the color green to everyone you know
if you stumbled into the room and have nothing better to do
if you’re a vegetarian running out of ideas for acceptable ways to eat people
if you’re sexually aroused by popcorn

I fit all of the criteria! Do you?

Battle Royale

There’s something I love about the Japanese culture in its attitude toward childhood. I’m not talking about the mass hysteria of pedophilia. I am talking about the idea that a person’s life is decided by the actions he or she takes in youth. High schoolers go through all sorts of hell in cartoons, comics, and movies. It’s just a reoccurring theme of boys becoming men and girls becoming women.

Just got a call from Red Cross. Girl sounded cute.

Back to the action!
Battle Royale starts out as a non-stop joyride of dramatic death! I saw the stereotypes: the romantically driven hero and heroine, the war-wise veteran, the homicidal maniac, the cold-hearted bitch… and I fucking loved it!
Until the end. I should’ve stopped watching at a point when the plot twisted. I totally saw it coming, and immediately after, I knew that it wasn’t over, and I kicked myself pretty damn hard, because everything after that predictable “twist” was irrevocable shit. Fuck that ending.

It was good, though, watch it. It shall be my figurehead of my notion of “trash culture”.
If underage Japanese girls turn you on, you should be forced to watch them die horribly at the hands of the people who care most about them. Call me sadistic, but it’s the kind of erotic thrill I can also get by watching beautiful, innocent young women being eaten alive in zombie movies. Have you read American Psycho? The movie was great, but Bret Easton Ellis really knew what kind of horrible deaths could rev me up.
How can I possibly say these things? I’m a humanist and I love women!
Well, we can’t always keep our erotic interests locked in a box. How many have I found within myself? Jesus, more than I can count.
Cannibal Holocaust was really the one that made me reexamine my approach to all of this. It made me so sick.

I started going into a strange direction with this.
No real… plans for this. I didn’t put down any ideas beforehand, and I just started typing immediately after watching, so who the fuck could guess what would get put down?
I wonder how old that woman working with Red Cross is.

Time Traveling Theories

I just read in Roger Ebert’s review of Time Traveler’s Wife, and there are some points in the science that bother me. I haven’t seen it myself, and I realize that this is a drama fueled by a single aspect of science-fiction. It’s supposed to be cute, it needs to be sad, it must drive our emotions, but avoiding scientific principles to do so with an element of science fiction is like using a newspaper praising Spider-Man’s heroics to kill radioactive spiders. There’s nothing more than human drama to distract me from the time traveling, right? The only thing that keeps me from accepting the film’s rules as truth for the movie’s sake is that I’m following two people whose lives keep getting interrupted and shit, yeah? Well, damn it, that’s not enough, is it? I’m okay with LOST and the first season of Heroes. Why? Because I don’t give a shit about about disproving something that I willingly accept and take for granted on my own.

I’m not being fair.

When a person jumps forward or back, it is the living being taken to and fro, not his or her clothing, because that would be ridiculous! Why would non-living material be brought through a vortex created and sustained within a living thing? Following this logic, which I could without the upcoming flaws, wouldn’t dead cells stay behind? The man would be shaved bald, nail-less on fingers and toes, without bodily fluids… he would come into a new point in time needing immediate medical attention, just to justify why his clothes stay behind when he flashes away. That’s a big risk for a mindless summer romance. One that wasn’t taken, so why should I give two shits about a movie that doesn’t give any about me? Well, I don’t, now, and you can predict that this film is very low on my list of “need to see”.

If you thought Shanna took me back…

Ho-lee shit! Age of Reptiles by Ricardo Delgado was a portal to my childhood, and I was just as intelligent back then, by the way. A thrilling tale of vengeance and irony told in stunning silence and brilliant illustrations? I can’t even tell you how awestruck I am in over Delgado’s work.
Hieroglyph is also just as striking, visually and as a story. He’s a master, Delgado, and there ARE people in this world worshiping him, no doubt.

It really is difficult for me to get into how this writer actually makes me feel. He makes me believe in these outrageous and forgotten landscapes, like there’s no room for any doubt that these things could’ve happened, and there’s nothing in existance to stop me from facing it right here and now. He’s a rare type who shows us a world from his imagining, and there’s a bridge between all of humanity, and this man’s comics transcend whatever separates us.

I added quite a few more titles to the wishlist. I love seeing it grow. That’s what it’s for. It shows that I have more to look forward to in life, and that I’m willing to stick around for that.

Getting tired.

Listening to /Filmcast. They’re about an hour away from starting their review of G.I. Joe, while Spill has the unedited form of their review online already. It’ll be removed as soon as it’s edited and animated.

What I’ve heard from my most reliable resources tell me exactly what I expected to hear, except for the “having fun” part. I don’t think I’ll have fun watching this movie. I think that I am far above whatever shitty humor makes up for how terrible the plot and acting are.

I’m starting to have lifted spirits.
School next week, comics tomorrow, I have a handful of readers who still pay attention! That last one is reason enough for celebration! I love you guys! Now love ME more!

Bad thing to write: I’m depressed now. Don’t think you’ll understand why, but I am, and I hate myself again.

I’m still trying to use up space as filler to make the image aesthetically fit where I’ve placed it. It would look like shit if it got any smaller, and it’s much easier to come up with bullshit to make the page look pretty, and it’s a lot of fun anyway. Just look at that illustration. Isn’t it gorgeous. My god, I may ejaculate just looking at the damn thing!

Big Man Japan

I wanted more Big Man scenes. Grandfather’s rampaging through the city, topped off by a salute to the sun, was my favorite part, being the most hilarious. The end: what the fuck? I can understand that this is a parody, but do you really have to swing that at me? Holy shit. I started watching the final scene with an air of confusion, followed by a realization of how far the parody had gone and accompanying laughter, I regained a silent sense of confusion to find myself wondering if I was still supposed to think it was funny, and finally laughed when I realized how poorly delivered such an outrageous joke was… but I’m of another culture, so who knows what I missed. The important thing is that I enjoyed it, and merely thinking about the movie has made me forget how my fragile heart collapsed under the pressure of my depression only a couple of minutes ago.

High Tension, Otis, and Feast

High Tension
After murdering the father in such a manner, I feared how the killer would kill anyone else. I feared so long, I eventually wanted to see someone die: why I’m watching. The dead head was morbid and Alex’s father’s decapitation was surprising, but I’m about halfway through and nothing’s impressed or entertained as much as those brief moments.
Second act is boring. Cat and mouse can be suspenseful, but it isn’t here, and all I find myself wanting is a view of Alex being maimed, that two-dimensional generic victim bitch!
The twist shows me I’ve wasted time, but not as much as The Machinist. I could’ve seen the main character’s pre-twist journey without the game of hide-and-seek. It would’ve been easier to follow and make sense afterward. Should’ve been 30 minutes long.

Otis
A torture film with a summer comedy sense and style of humor probably makes easygoing audiences feel “hardcore” for laughing at images of pain and death the way indie zombie fans do. Doesn’t stick to comedy and drama, tone shifts without warning. I don’t care about any of the characters, least of all the easily identifiable teenage victim, except, very slightly, do I get a flicker of connection with Otis and his brother. All of the payoffs for enduring the film are comedic, and in a knockoff Caddyshack “hyuk, hyuk, it’s irony” kind of way.
I’ll probably delight in the thought of never seeing this again.

Feast
I like it when I see kids die in film, and this one delivers. Fun, until I’m faced with the uncomfortable position of watching two survivors sacrifice a bound, defenseless woman to rape by monster and death by explosion so they can escape. Her death was a little cartoony, but too terrible for me to even think of as a joke.

The Postman Always Rings Twice

Boy, was this one a doozey or what? Overacted, overscored, and underwritten. I felt like I was watching a stage show, which works okay with a stationary story, but the most important moments of the plot take place when the characters are on the move. The actors try to lead the atmosphere, and I see how hard they try. The characters’ actions are so fickle. It seems like this was a production put together by guys looking for money more than a group trying to pay homage to a popular novel, and granted, I’ve yet to read the book and it may be just as painful to endure, but it looks to me like the underlying purpose behind every decision disappears so that the characters can have their stereotypical moments with dramatic music, corny lines, and picturesque poses for the advertisement reel. If all bad murder plots were filmed by the same man, you could tell he hasn’t learned a goddamn thing over the years. It’s such a disappointment to see that even today people manage to squeeze out staged pictures just as bad as this one.

Just saw Watchmen movie, again.

I found myself feeling almost exactly the same way I did in the theatre, with tears and everything, as memories from my first reading returned to me, and all I could focus on was how I felt so close to this other world, from a time I was never alive to see. Even on a screen 1/20th the size of the one in the theatre, with an audience of two people whom I dislike watching anything with, I got completely wrapped in with the film… until I saw, once again, that Zack Snyder fucked up the beautiful sex scenes and butchered the political logic and suspenseful thrill building up in the later half of the movie, but the first act was a magical moment. I heard from someone that Doc Manhattan’s origin story could’ve worked as a short film on its own, and while I disagree, I still feel like the moment’s establishment within the story is separate, in that it begins, has a climax, and ends on its own without interference from the rest of the show, and could certainly hold up better as a separate feature with a lot of work.

I don’t know how to measure the lengths of time that I spend awake.

BOOK:
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
I haven’t touched a book from the series since the only plot-driven, plot invested, plot oriented, and, frankly, entertaining character in the series died by falling behind a black curtain. You can imagine my outrage to find that the woman writing these books expects me to invest my time in following an adolescent ass hole who thinks himself hot shit, when the only well developed character with dependable behavior dies so soon after taking my affection. Perhaps that is her way of pushing the main character’s internal conflict into my own mind, making me come closer to relating with him. Whatever, point is that I’m listening to the audio book, and it ain’t quite as thrilling as I’d hoped it’d be, so far.

COMICS:
Blackest Night seems cool. Really dig Red Robbin’s costume, and he’s okay for a start, but should he become a permanent character, he should at least find some inner conflict that drives him outside of his lost-father complex. Half of all the folks ever met Batman have that now, and he’s got potential to be a very disturbed, very tragically flawed figure. Dark Reign is okay, too. Bringing a gun to dinner may not make sense within the context of the story, and it might even stunt the progression of the story, but Nick Fury certainly is entertaining, and I forgive that the whole world stands still just for his romantic conflicts, as long as it’s a very grueling and ugly world waiting for his return. Of course, I’m very late in continuing to follow him and Dark Reign. And everything, for that matter.
Introduced the Luna brothers’ Girls to Nathan, who responded very positively to it.

MOVIES:
Rifftrax
These guys really improve any movie. Alex, if you’re reading and you haven’t heard their commentary on Spider-Man 3, I think you’ll find it isn’t all that bad of a movie with them to guide you through it. Same for Crystal Skull.
Audition
Didn’t like it.
3-Iron
Kim Ki-Duk continues to dazzle me with amazing cinematography, and with a story deserving of such dedication. The visuals, every sound and even the dialogue seemed mathematically arranged to equate the nearest value of perfection. To some, it may demand attention, and that may annoy those people, but it’s captivating and constantly peeking interest for me.

Speaking of Asian films, I had a doozy of a past-blast, to the days when I was a kid and Cartoon Network had incorporated Japanese imports to prime-time television, over here. A program idiotically called Toonami stole my attention, and everyday after school, I’d wait for the moment to watch gimmicky shows for impressionable little kids like myself. I’ll probably never go back to watching Dragon Ball Z, if that’s what you’re thinking, and if you’re actually reading and care about what I’m typing, no. Yesterday, I sat through the first run of episodes from the Tenchi Muyo franchise, recalling how much I’d loved the show, noticing that the plot shifted to match the comedic or dramatic liking of the writer(s), and hating, once again, how cool visuals met with not-bad vocal talent completely won me over without a hint of tangible plot development. Of course the plot exists, and it’d be idiotic of me to say that it wasn’t planned out, but it suffered from something that all captivating child-targeting series do so from, and it has something to do with predicting the kinds of things that grab a kid’s attention. I never noticed how stupid it was for the villain to show up unexpectedly to kidnap the demonic space-pirate just long enough to lose control over her and vanish to his organ keyboard-powered labyrinth spaceship and await the arrival of the only person who can kill him patiently, because I was distracted by the lightsaber fights, the slight comedic moments, the cute rabbit-thing, the “I’m your granddad, and you’re the savior” drama, the spontaneous love triangle and so many other things. As probably the first animated series to capture my emotional investments, when I was a lonely little boy without friends, the show still has a very special place in my heart, despite its failure to respect my intelligence.

Gran Torino

It was okay. I love Clint Eastwood. He’s the closest thing to a heroic figure I’d ever had, or at least his roles in spaghetti westerns. He strolled across treacherous lands, dropping into troubled communities, stopping those who destroy without reason than to destroy, setting an example for dudes everywhere, and without the patronizing quips and senseless fist fighting you’d expect from John Wayne. For too long, children have gone without a cowboy to look up to, in our country’s culture, and that is why, I suspect, so many peers dig Gran Torino. Because it’s something new. Quentin Tarantino was something new to these people, too. (To me, as well.) The thing that bothers me about the positive energy flowing from these throwbacks to the good old days is that I seem to be one of the few who actually care enough to look back on those days, and embrace what made these tributes great. Gran Torino makes me love Clint Eastwood all over again, but that’s it. No striking visuals, no powerhouse performances, and an unnoticable soundtrack. All of the elements are arranged to bring a strong focus back to Clint Eastwood, just like the westerns full of “actors” and tense, dramatic confrontations. It is a modern western, in that sense, which is great, but it’s done way better with the man with no name. How many of my peers, who love this film, will take the time to look back on Eastwood’s Italian days?
“You must think you’re better than everybody else, just as always. It isn’t enough that people like a movie, is it?”
Like it all you want, I just wish I could let people feel how I feel. It’s a wonderful thing that I feel for those films, that were made with love from their stars and their director and editors, love from the screenwriters and love from the audience… and so many people show such great love for a mediocre movie with some heavy heroics. One man can’t bear the weight of an entire flick, and I tend to love the performance and hate the movie as separate pieces of entertainment, when it comes to that.

This daily posting shit must annoy all three of my readers.

Except the two who hardly jack in until once every who-gives-a-fuck. (I know, I bullshit a lot, but really, some grade-A golden literature may be born of the ideas you’ll’ve read by the end of this entry.)

I want you to think of the only thing in your life that could be the last redeemable trait, should you find nothing else of value in the world or in yourself. The one thing that could be your saving grace, a last hope in days when your name is the last of your worries, and why you can’t remember it.
Yesterday… afternoon (?) I woke in a lazy daze, where I’d slip in and out of consciousness, but so frequently that the few things I was aware of slipped into the dream I seemed to have been having. I had the most fear-inspiring nightmares of abandonment, and the last thing I could ever count on, my writing hand, had disappeared when I needed it most. It was a dead hunk of meat hanging from my arm, stiff, rotting and heartbreaking. Of course, I thought it was dead because I’d slept on my arm, making it go numb, so the half-hour nightmare was just that, but it was terrible. In such a mental state, I couldn’t tell the difference between being paralyzed within the dream and wishing for suicide awake. It’s difficult for me to explain, right now, in my current state of mind, but it really fucked me up.
Incorporating water in my diet and pissing without agony. My sleeping’s gone erratic: waking in early morning, waking at noon without remembering falling asleep, trying not to pass out in the afternoon, waking at midnight… fuckin’ shit, man.
I must be two days ahead, now. It still feels like the day after Sunday, which for me was Tuesday morning, and looking at the digital calendar thing, it’s… Thursday! Shit!

I’ve almost completely been overtaken by an interest in Japanese animation, which ain’t bad, but it’s surprising, still, after my “anime’s for losers who follow gimmicks blindly” phase.
Gotta say, British attempts at animated features in the 70s and 80s have some great art and alright vocal acting, but the lack of enthusiasm for the projects really show, and the overall product suffers.
When the Wind Blows had the chance to have a long-lasting impact on me, if it’d tried to stop being so goddamn subtle in its message, which is kind of an unexplored one. There was a lot of potential for it to kick my ass, to really tug at my heart, but all it wanted to do was pose some interesting ideas without finishing them for me.
Watership Down was easy on the eyes and heart, as well, since I felt a presence behind the characters, but the dramatic elements weren’t fully realized, with the artists trying to show more of what was going on in a physical sense, than trying to make me feel what was going on. That music video in the middle of the damn movie also pulled out of it, because it was way the fuck out of place and not a very good song anyway, as well, the seagull character seemed to be treated more like a Disney comedic character than what he was obviously supposed to be: a crafty foreigner, with crafty foreigner ways of getting shit done.
The only thing that The Plague Dogs had going for it was the beautiful artwork. I could’ve invested more in the characters, if they’d been a little more steriotypical of their tropes, since I was forced to look for complexity in characters who’d started out being more interesting with single dimensions. The wiley Scottish fox was a great character from his appearence, but he turned out to be the expected deus ex machina for several lack-luster confrontations and the sacrificial hero, which is the archtype that the troubled smart-guy was set up to be from the very beginning. I didn’t want two-dimensional characters in an epic, because all two-dimensional characters within epic stories turn out to be all good or all evil by the conclusion, and that’s no fucking fun at all. The rogue, of all characters, should be expected to save his own fucking hide by the end, because that’s what ALL audiences want from their rogues! That’s what made Desert Punk such a great character in the Japanese show/comic (you guessed it) Desert Punk. That’s also why I felt such a loss from seeing Han get frozen in carbonite (which isn’t a metal at all), because I knew, deep down, that a self serving rogue like Han would only care about himself, which made the depressed mood amongst his friends even more tragic. I knew hat Han didn’t care about them, and if the last movie’d been handled my way, I’d make it very clear, without ruining any of his setups, and it would have been a much more dramatic production.
Imagine a film picking up where Han’s friends have rescued him, and he ducks out, like he’d planned to before the attack on Hoth, without a notice, and we focus on Han’s friends feeling betrayed after everything they’d done for him, Luke feeling abandoned by his father, his masters who’ve passed away, his best pal, and his sister who leaves the rebellion to look for Han. Academy, Hugo, Pulitzer and Eisner all wrapped around a single script (and its various adaptations), motherfucker! Just say it, I’m a genius.

Reading up on Jacque Fresco’s movement: Hour One

The connections between the Zeitgeist films and the Venus Project are presented outright by the message of the second Zeitgeist release, as Peter Joseph apparently serves as the coordinator of the active branch of Fresco’s futurist project known as the Venus Project. The outright denouncement of money’s value and corruption is something that I admire and accept with open arms, but this message seems to clash with the “store” section of the Venus Project site, which allows visitors the option to buy Jacque Fresco’s books and DVDs, though the same material can be viewed online for free. Am I to accept that these acts of charity are merely that, or can I safely assume that something is out of place?

I’m still fresh in my investigation, and I want more than anything to believe that Fresco’s intentions are to the benefit of the human race, altogether, but a single doubt can lead to larger and bolder divisions between visionary and activist, which seem to have been the same divisions between representative and banker, in their own infancy. This is not a connection that I feel comfortable implying, so believe that my doubt is as heartfelt as the pride that I’d found after having seen both Zeitgeist films.
No matter what I find out, and decide on the matters of futurist Fresco and his propaganda, know that I am still on humanity’s side, which is my own side, your side, and the side of everyone I love. It doesn’t matter what individual person or organization I support, the only matter of importance is that I support the values that I see great and admire about humanity as a whole.
It’d feel damn good to know that I can be supported by those with a great following, but it’s nothing when their goals contradict my own: our own.

First of all, I have to thank Colt Davidson.

Had he not informed of the existence of these films, I would be in the dark over whether or not my “realizations” on the seat of power in the world today are shared by anyone else alive. My ideas have always been sketchy, and in the constant presence of those who argue the invalidity of my ideas, have been incomplete. Peter Joseph’s Zeitgeist documentaries have given voice to thoughts that I thought unspeakable. When I enter conversation on the subject of our role as humans in the world, I’ve been scoffed at, looked at in awe, and insulted in the most demoralizing ways, and I always play into the role of the failing revolutionary, giving all of my friends and family the benefit of living their lives without asking a single question about the importance of their own submission, and the harm they cause everyone else by this…

Of course, it may seem that I am trying to give myself a little more credit than is due, since I’d just seen the films, and they are very easily treated as propaganda. To this frame of mind in the reaction to my statements, I say:
It doesn’t matter if I came up with my ideas before or after viewing accused propaganda, the point of realization is that it was my decision to make, as it is anybody’s, and the only imposition being made by thinking of me as a victim is the harm done by those who think they’re doing good by thinking of ANYBODY as a victim who believes in the decisions being made by an individual who thinks openly, freely, and without consequence…
I’ve yet to investigate Peter Joseph’s movement, so I cannot say whether the propositions of his films for said movement’s success are beneficial to a minority, but I am certain that despite the true intentions of his movement, the message of his films are very clear, and can easily be detached from any organization posing as what it is not, and used as a guide for a movement for equal benefit to all of humanity, seeing as I can draw the same conclusions as Mister Joseph, my American History teacher, and every assassinated government leader and literary revolutionary who ever died to oppose that which destroys the value and progression of humanity, and as long as we are all capable of reaching these conclusions, then it is beyond a single man’s role in getting the message across. Before even considering joining this movement, I know, right now, that I am supporting the fundamental rights that humanity owes itself by acknowledging that I have these ideas, showing them to others, and letting people know that they are much more to me than the physical power that they can provide a dying system, as I expect the same degree of respect and love from others.

I recommend that everyone view these films. Take in the message, and decide for themselves. I’ve offered to do this by voice, many times, in class rooms and public locations, but it seems that Mister Joseph’s voice is preferred than mine. That’s fine, as long as you recognize what I am telling you through his words. These are words I tell my dearest friends, who look at me in pity for not following the same pointless routines that they do, my teachers, who defend their ideas like children defend a toybox from bullies in another class, my parents, who think that there is something for me to lose in choosing to agree with anybody but themselves, and to me, who was a damn fool for ever thinking that I was alone, and felt so powerless to the things that look so big from far away, who sometimes contemplated suicide as the only escape from the immense depravity that everything that I love can be seen struggling under the weight of, and…

I’m getting a bit emotional. Few of you read my blog. Those few of you may not recall my zealous rants in person. To those who do, I recommend viewing, once more, so that you understand my frustration without hearing my message escape in a cracking voice. I love you all, despite what you may think, because of the behaviors I’ve adopted in anger, but I do.

My Fascinations with Fascination

Recently, my curiosity’s tossed me onto a course to discover the appeal of a single Japanese series known as Oh, My Goddess! I am thoroughly thrilled to discover as much as I can about the culture surrounding me, and though I am a nerd, and nubile in my status as such, I know little more than nothing about it, though my collection of trivia is staggering against many others who allow such a multi-faceted thing slip right by their existences. Growing up after the introduction of anime and manga as a part of popular culture in America, I developed interests based on American companies’ distribution, and when I became more comprehensive, I found that most of the Japanese imports lacked something very important, logic. These were all, of course, things that were brought up over the years to sell things to children, which I’ve come to understand is called “shonen”. The writers and artists of such stories can’t anticipate a universal interest, so the possibility that logic in story-telling is lost-in-translation intensifies the frustration that came with trying to find quality entertainment in anime as a youth, when I am an American boy being sold Japanese stories intended for Japanese boys. Other youths who accepted these shows and comics in America are growing up to be what the Japanese call “otaku” in their own culture, but with the limitations at the time, there are stronger followings for individual series, as there once was a particularly strong following of Star Trek fans who never kicked their obsessions, called “trekkies”. As the budding brilliance of Japanese wealth forms over here, there are more and more “trash-culture” facets coming into view.

By “trash-culture,” I am referring to a phrase that I invented to help me understand my own perception of entertainment in multiple cultures, as well as our own. There are many different idols of trash-culture, and such a complex culture like our own breeds them every decade, as the Japanese do. The link: trash-culture, for example, can include Elvis movies, which were made to sell Elvis Presley through movie theatres, and have formed followings that block out the cruel truths behind the mediocrity of such idols of trash-culture. Exploitation films are trash-culture. B-movies are trash culture. Pulp comics are trash culture. “Trash-culture” is not intended to be used as a negative term, though the misuse of such power over an audience is a greater offense than many that I’d refuse to forget in a Lifeboat situation, if you catch my drift. I am a huge fan of trash-culture idols, like films released in the eighties and nineties that put teenagers through steriotypical situations that have died out long ago, and are being written about today, because the nerds in the 70s don’t knkow what it’s like to be nerds in the 90s… did that sound like ranting? It shouldn’t. It defines our culture, and as a cultureless-culture, as Americans have been described, there is nothing more important than another man’s trash: hence the term “trash-culture,” a modern treasure to people like myself.

Unaware of the importance of trash-culture, I’d reached teenage years with the mind-set that all Japanese imports are for little kids, because of the tight leash that American industrialists held for the products coming in. This was before I’d seen Ghost in the Shell, which helped me become more aware of just how many limitaions I was setting myself up for. Also, around the very end of this time, for me, I’d become completely devoted to movies, and comics were, like Jap culture, something to visit for kid-nostalgea. My complete immersion into film was slow, I couldn’t have gotten very far being limited to HBO and Blockbuster. Netflix hefted me into the history of Searchlight and Miramax, indie films opened my understanding of genre and integrity, and the acceptance of mediocrity for the sake of entertainment. Trash-culture filled everyone’s existence, as John Wayne for my father, primetime television for mother, and I was still exploring the millions of niches that the information age had created within and for itself.

I found a great confusion come about me, when I noticed the trends forming in fanboys and fangirls in America, who attempt to mimic the stereotypical otaku behavior. It’s the niche, I see, that they try to fill in order to pay back, respectfully, to the creators of their trash-culture idols. On close inspection of Oh, My Goddess! and similar other titles, the similarities made my confusion greater, to see a bunch of American kids worshiping plagiarists, until I realized that such stories follow a set of expected events, which have become staple within otaku trash-culture. The nerd gets a woman who loves unconditionally and has magic powers: this may be a familiar premise to Europeans and to Americans, but to the Japanese, this is a genre. An entire genre is based on a single common fantasy. It amazed me. This is the cycle of the “meme,” which develops naturally within a culture as a part of our evolution as humans. When I conducted this research I’d spent time reading American comics that aren’t necessarily recognized universally, but within the brotherhood of comic fans as must-reads. Bill Hicks, Pynchon, Raoul Duke and Hunter Thompson, George Carlin… these are all idols of a sub-culture that extends beyond the “one man’s trash” idea, and formed followings based more on their legend than their work as human beings. (This idea is thoroughly explored in a comic series called Transmetropolitan.)

The genre, the sub-genre, the idol, the sub-culture, scenes, memes… they all occur and coexists, like the millions of species of plant-life growing off of the husk of our information and entertainment. The living thing that culture is, thrives and reproduces, with its masters, the writers and artists, their worshipers: hipsters, nerds, geeks, fans, listeners and viewers, readers, true believers, otaku and anorak, we are all a part of this massive, gigantic artery of information in the body of the human race, and it is at a moment like this that I feel like the only person who sees it all. Like all the beatniks and trainspotters should find something in me to envy, like children looking up to the stiff-lipped gunslinger strolling through town, like a monolith on legs. What makes me so much more important than others? Richard Dawkins wrote these same principles down, more thoroughly, mapping down his thoughts and interpretations in a manner that allowed his own literature on the subject of memes to become a meme itself. In my mind, I see a map of all of these things I’ve collected in my research, and I’d swear it resembles diagrams of the human brain, but when I try to convey my understandings, the more scrambled I become, trying to find the words to describe my connections as five more are created. Every instant not spent on the next, new thing, is thrown into oblivion, as far as I can understand, and just sharing my ideas makes the entire endeavor to learn unravel.

The Machinist

SPOILER ALERT:
The Machinist is a bad knock-off of Fight Club and American Psycho, and I’m not just saying that because Christian Bale is in it. What’s great about the multiple personality “slash” psycho scenario is that when it’s done well, it’ll blow peoples’ minds. There’s no solid plot to go along with the movie, so all it is is a guessing game as to when to expect the next twist, which is really cool, when you have a fucking plot. I found myself getting really bored with it, and instead of going off to do something else, I decided to stick with it, because halfway through a bad movie, things can turn for the better. What did itself in, the movie, was give every scene the feeling of being a dark dream, cleverly putting the characters in atmosphere that made me feel just as tired as the insomniac lead role, and I was literally put to sleep in the middle of a chase scene. Identifying with the main character in such an inclusive way wouldn’t have been such a waste if I’d actually cared about him, but I didn’t. Christian Bale is an amazing actor, and he puts his all into every character he gets, which sucks when he is given a character like this one, who is purposefully an emotionless git with nothing to do than be a Joe, who would be much more entertaining being an extra in a car chase. You have a great actor like this, and you use him to portray a human log, you’ll get a class-A human log, but what the fuck good is that to somebody who wants to see a psychological thriller, which is the curtain that this movie hides behind? It was well assembled. The film looks, feels, sounds, and tastes natural, but in all sincerity, the talent and hard work is not worth the story, which isn’t present at all. People often joke about making a shitty movie called “M. Night Shyamalan’s The Twist” and we have it right here, made by Brad Anderson, starring Christian Bale.

The Spoiler Speaks!

Leon is The Spoiler!

Ah, shit!

Fuck my memory! I have been such a fucking idiot! I walk around, talking about shit, casually, and nobody even thinks of correcting me when I’m FUCKING WRONG! What the fuck?

Punisher: War Zone

I’ve not read much of the Marvel MAX Punisher series that so many people dig, but I’ve read enough from MAX to know just how fucking cartoony they make some of their ideas. The latest Punisher movie is made in such a way, with such goofy villains… well the thing that made the movie work was how goddamn well the lead actor played Punisher. What a piece of shit this movie would have been if he didn’t take this movie as seriously as he seemed to with his performance. His dedication to the role really kept what little suspension for disbelief I could tolerate intact, as difficult to read my own words on the matter has become. A moment without Ray Stevenson was either boring or… stupid. Though, the maturity with which they approached the brothers’ dedication to each other was charming.

Seriously, the shit got so fucking looney that I really expected a limbless Ma Gnucci to come flying out of an exploding building to chew on Stevenson’s boots. Other than Ray’s performance, before I forget, I must say that the approach to appear logical, the way MAX tries to, with comments about where Frank Castle’s weaponry comes from and the general attitude of the police force toward him… kept things from spiraling out of control. I might watch this again, but with friends, so we can all enjoy making fun of it, and no time soon at all.

DOGVILLE

Watch it.

BRICK

A mystery noir with teenage cats in the middle of a drug ring gone undone, the film is a clever mockery and homage to some of the coolest elements of mystery theatre and teen angst. Great, through and through. Some jump cuts really fuck with the feeling, but when placed where tension already exists, they blow the mind. Some other effects that do the trick, but mostly a bunch of visuals that try to convey the idea more than set the mood. Never noticed the music, which means it was never there, or I was completely immersed in the scene, which I mostly was. Great acting, and some good camera tricks to help out those not-so-fresh-moments for the lesser performances.

The Wrestler

A remarkable film which follows a fictional has-been wrestler in a terribly real world, Mickey Rourke acts his ass off in The Wrestler, moving and sounding like a man who’s spent his greater days fighting and putting on the greatest show on Earth, and a man who’s as changed over the years as the time around him changes, a performance that is fully realized by a complete set of fully realized characters and the presentation of a candid documentary. With shaky-cam moments and rough cuts, the camera men may be assumed to be intruding on the reality of The Ram’s world, but they actually melt away into the dusty surface of the rest of the film, and makes us feel like a personal pal following these characters as we would if we knew them in real life.
The movie is not afraid to tell us the greater differences from today and the prior twenty years which are summed up by a bulletin of posters and clippings, by showing us the advances in technology and culture that Randy the Ram refuses to make. Rourke’s character is lovable and endearing, despite the mistakes he makes, and even though we see that there are two sides to every story, I find myself favoring Randy’s perspective, no matter how flawed and naive it seems. I love the guy.
Music placement is natural for the setting, and cleverly synchronized to the action, and there’s no lack for believable atmosphere. I am nearly convinced that I am watching a real man’s struggle in a cruddy fuckin’ world, in a crumby little place just like every other little-America in every state, which combined with rough cuts and cheap audio, confine the character, and make him seem as constricted as he feels, while he’s hated by the women he loves and his only escape from life is the sport that can kill him at any moment.
I feel a bit of delight to see him using that outdated hearing aid.
I don’t care how old they make Marisa Tomei look, she’ll always be fucking gorgeous.
Ayatola’s gotta be the goofiest politically incorrect character I’ve seen so far.
Riveting ending.

SCRIPT: respectable
ACTION: amazing
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: respectable

It seems that I’ve taken on a series of excellent movies, and my ratings are repeating… perhaps I should work on that new system I was contemplating.

Harold and Maude

I certainly can’t call this movie any sort of favorite, and I can’t guarantee I’ll recommend it to other’s, but it ain’t all bad.

First impressions, before watching the film, were that this would be some cartoony overblown comedy with shamefully polite humor. From the get-go, the way Harold commits false suicides is not only a failed attempt at morbid humor, but it is also lacking in proper timing and remorse for the actress, Sunshine (whom I fell completely in love with as soon as I heard her speak… what an unappreciated character with such strange potential).
Most of the film has been boring so far, with hints of attempts to be zany of clever that did not work out, like the motorcop chase and Maude’s introduction. I can tell that scenes like this are intended to make the conventional viewer feel sly for getting away with watching these characters enjoy being careless, but I am not repressed and I have many thoughts beyond convention, so the plot seems… irrelevant. However, some very brief moments were enjoyable, and carried off with such sharm, but without the incredibly unbearable warm-ups from the previous scenes, I would have felt completely different about them. Thus far into the movie, the heart warming bits included Harold’s Jag/hearse scene, and Maude’s invitation to touch her sculpture (which had a feminine presence, due to some similarities to the vagina, that made me approach the scene as a metaphor for Maude’s open acceptance of Harold’s purity and quirkiness, and Harold’s naivety and obnoxious rush to get to the climax… and by that I mean to compare his quick rush to stick his head through the center, and his eagerness to enact death… I could go on comparing that very scene to the rest of Harold and Maude’s relationship throughout the film, but I won’t right now). I also loved, beyond doubt, the moment when Harold’s uncle tries to calm his crazed, sign swinging nephew, and wound up staring at his own reflection. I thought, perhaps this arrogant man can show som capacity for change, that there was a chance for him to redeem himself in my eyes, by seeing what a pathetic caricature he was. Such heart-fluttering stopped, when the possibility of this was dashed, an approach that I can only assume to be purposeful on part of the filmmakers.
On the matter of the two main characters’ relationship, I find it disturbing that the makers of the film found it acceptable to make Harold such a cartoon of suicidal teenagers, and Maude such of eccentric seniors. It’s very possible to make them realistic and accept that they would make such an endearing pair.
Music slightly reminds me of “The Graduate”’s Simon and Garfunkel soundtrack, and falls flat on the ground in comparison.

I am struck.
Having just witnessed Maude tell of her intentions for suicide, I have suffered a dark blow. A sign that despite the film’s shortcomings, I have grown attached to the characters enough to care about them as living beings.
This movie may not be the best, or the most touching, but like a banjo, it accomplishes the simpler approaches to a deeper and more meaningful outcome than most other simple instruments ever try to. A movie to be reckoned.

SCRIPT: respectable
CONTENT: alright
DIRECTION: respectable
ACTION: respectable

STAR TREK

A dramatic space-opera and prelude to the Star Trek continuity, this recent Trek film doesn’t pay homage, like the series of predecessors, to the original show, but completely embodies the series of characters and the universe in which they live without wasting time away from the plot, which weaves very finely between campy and complex… as I watch the years wind into another age for my own generation to dominate, I can see that film has once again entered a status of quality and appreciation that was almost completely lost in the Star Wars prequels and Tim Burton’s Batman.

MUSIC: Nothing to rave about, but very moving at times.

ACTING: Spot-on, without a cinch of wasted potential. The characters were fully realized and used apropriately, as most expected them to be abused and sodomized.

SPEC-FX: Amazing. I’ve seen some big-ship effects, but this movie really does it for me the way The Motion Picture did when I first saw it. And the no-pitstop-for-you attitude on alien species who appeared whenever made the feeling of the atmosphere seem natural to the actors, if you understand what I mean.
Right now, I’m knee deep in my own sweat and snot, shirtless and senseless, so whatever trash comes out of this is… trash… I guess.

SCRIPT: A thoroughly compelling story WITHOUT plotholes! Holy Hell, I expected something borderline magic-god-machine to fly out of Kirk’s ass the way it did in Wrath of Khan, and I am far more eager to follow this new Romulan villain rather than a fully developed (and slightly interesting) one from the original series.
To think of how great a Khan movie could have been… had it not been made until… well, it’s not like we can go back in time.
What was also great about the plot of the script is that it doesn’t RELY on what people got from the show, like Khan does. An audience can go right into the film head-first, and understand everything, because it’s a fresh start for all of these characters.

Watchoo say 'bout mah mama?

I certainly hope that… well… it’s been a long time waiting for a science-fiction film like this to come along, for me, and I have the deepest and sincerest hopes that my generation can develop a greater sense of understanding to the appeal of the genre. Sci-Fi doesn’t have to have a community anymore, does it? With the information age just beginning, aren’t we all a step closer to understanding that the scientific elements of the fictional stories are just… excuses for getting the idea across? Maybe this and other exemplary films in the future can encourage a revival of Sci-Fi youth enthusiasm that came with Star Wars and got fat watching the same damn movies over and over again until they miraculously bred a generation of wise-ass little shits who “rebel” by refusing to watch anything with “star” in the title.

Watch the fucking movie.

High Fidelity

John Cusack plays a moronic, selfish prick with his gorgeous head up his gorgeous ass where he stores an endless pile of albums I’ve never heard of.

Well, it’s not a bad movie, but it’s not as great as some friends would lead me to believe. The biggest downer is that, because the script is presented much like how I identify with outher writers (by relating the characters and their interaction to myself and my own life, since the greatest dialogue always comes from the author-based narrator and two characters polarly opposite in behavior, but connected by a strong set of ideals shared as equally strong with the narrator himself, which shows that the author wrote a very subject version of himself to tell a story with two bumbling idiots as accomplices to represent the high-strung and the sheepish sides of him simultaneously…) I assumed that I would unconditionally love the main character. The first half hour of the whole damn movie has me at odds for whether I should hate him for being the kind of person I should hate (the kind of person that one of my dearest friends in the world might flash-back to with hints of great spite and perhaps anger) and love him for being the kind of person I should love (an obsessed fan of popular culture who quite aware of his own self absorbed flaws which he tries to mend over time and eventually becomes a better person…) …

Well, off of the complications with the main character that I have due to complications I face within myself, the script is a charming story that follows a man’s average life and is burdened by the awareness of an audience that WANTS to think of the story as a romantic comedy, which shows in scenes that cut away from the story where Cusack’s narration turns from a varying verbal orchestral piece with highs, lows, uneasiness, forebodance, pain, and pleasure… to child-talk: moments when it seemed the character was rewritten to explain the character’s conflicts to an audience that could not put two and two together.
No flashy images. Average static. Average conversation staging. Average character focus. Very little action pans. It’s filmed very much like an MTV top-list-countdown, back when the video-jockey would talk into a series of five or six different cameras while standing on the same set, which matches the content and the very mellow pace of the film, and I applaud, despite how tired I am with the approach having been used in almost every eighties movie that wasn’t reliant on stupid humor or jazz music to sway the mood.
Of course the music was good. What, you think a music connesiure’s gonna write a book and some dumb-fuck’s gonna turn it into a movie without knowing how to assemble a soundtrack? Duh! No misplacement. No bullshit. Though, the characters really demand that I pay more attention to their own tastes, and for a moment, being caught in the action and the flow of the scene, I have to suspend my own opinions in disbelief, especially when Cusack says “Frampton?” in a disgruntled sigh. I’m open-minded enough to let it slide, since his opinion is a heavy element in the development of the story in the scene to follow, but if I weren’t, would I have the patience to sit through endless dialogue about how good a girl can sing if the setup didn’t pull through? Probably not, which is true to the content, but fickle when I have to bend backwards for a romantic comedy formula, and be the only one in the room who gets a Frampton joke that isn’t funny to begin with.
And speaking of out-of-place jokes that aren’t that funny to begin with… “Thanks, Boss”?! Are you fuckin’ kidding me? I might’ve stopped watching at that point, had I not revelled in the fact that I got a reference none of my friends would’ve gotten and thrown a little party in my head called the “I’m almost cool enough to be like the grown-ups” bash. A party that got old after seeing Ian’s character the third time, but my distaste was heavily overweighed by my delight in John Cusack kicking some Steven Segal knockoff’s ass.

SCRIPT: respectable
ACTING: respectable
DIRECTION: respectable
CONTENT: respectable

The Post with No Name

Fistful of Dollars (Joe):

I’m totally biased, especially having seen both the original Japanese film and the Spaghetti remake as an impressionable child. Yojimbo, a story about a wise warrior outwitting two feuding gangs, retold as a western with an impressively amazing soundtrack and well framed sequences.
I won’t use my regular rating system for this one, since it’s been a while since I have seen it.

For a Few Dollars More (Manco):

An unnamed gunman travelling through the arid, untamed western front (again) teams up with an equally mysterious bounty-hunter to collect on a team of bandits and their maniacal boss. A thrilling story that draws its romantic borders of good and bad the way great westerns do, and never forgetting how to wind its audience up for a good climactic sequence. Even balance of lights and darks, paced motion (relying not mostly on dialogue, not mostly on still motions, and not mostly and too much motion)… though the flashback sequence is a bit too long for me. It probably should have been revisited more than twice, and each time lasting no more than half a minute. Reminding me what happened in a slow-paced flashback makes me feel like I’m too stupid to follow the simplest of revenge plots. And some more awesome music.
SCRIPT: good
ACTION: respectable
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: respectable

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly (Blondie):

An unnamed gunman travelling through the arid, untamed western front (again) teams up with a not-so-trustworthy cat (again) to find the stolen fortune of a dead soldier, while being chased by a ruthless assassin. Throughout all of the films in this somewhat-trilogy, Clint Eastwood’s character is recognized as the hero, but is treated in every story as a mechanism to resolved unfinished business. In Fistful, he gives the captive woman and her family a happy ending, and brings peace to the town, without really noticing. In A Few Dollars, he gives the colonel his vengeful resolution and ends the villain’s internal torture in doing so, without really trying. In this movie, the “man with no name” teaches his witty pal Tuco a series of life lessons, provides the comfort of companionship he so desperately desires, and allows Tuco the pleasure of ending a period in his life with the death of a great adversary of his. This movie IS a movie, not about the unnamed gunman, but about Tuco, beginning to end, and frankly, I love Tuco more as a three-dimensional character than Blondie as the awe-inspiring predictable badass. The music shakes my soul. The tension of Ennio’s “The Trio” and the sheer energy I get just from humming “Ecstasy of Gold” is incredible. The visual comedy is another point to admire. Union soldiers camouflaged by gray dust, the look on Tuco’s face when he realizes Blondie will shoot the noose… superb. An altogether greater movie than either preceding… it drives a story and pleases the eye, as Fistful told a story and A Few Dollars pleased the eye… The opening credits were kind of corny, though.
SCRIPT: amazing
ACTION: respectable
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: amazing

Outlaw Josey Wales

First act was pretty thrilling, going from a tale of revenge to man-on-the-run to a wanderer’s tale with a snap of the fingers. Reminds me of the black and white ronin movies from Japan. Humorous bits and tragedy mapped out pretty damn well until Josey starts for Mexico with the natives tagging along at the beginning of the second act. The fast-moving plot starts to wane and grow limp, as the story is drawn out by the filmmakers’ knack for displaying accuracy. The bulk of the film, the two middle acts, were incredibly drawn out. Desertous landscapes and treacherous midwestern small-towners don’t impress me much here, but I respect the attention paid to the surroundings. I would’ve appreciated it more, had there been a great wasteland soundtrack like in There Will Be Blood. They could’ve pulled off some cool shit in ‘76, but the only hint of music is the overuse of Rose of Alabama.
Like I said, incredibly drawn out in the middle, and by the climax, when I should’ve felt some sort of relief to see Josey’s vengeance paid, I was emotionally detached, and incredibly disappointed by how distant the movie’d pushed me since the beginning that I dug so much. Other moments demanded an outrageous emotional connection, but I suppose having watched Irreversible has made me immune to rape scenes.
As always, I like to see Eastwood playing the squinty man of action, but there are few scenes where he does here, and the rest have him completely void of emotion (which I expect from any war-battered farmer) but I was unable to pay as close attention to the main character as I’d wanted to. Character interaction also seemed a bit overplayed, as if I were intended to pay attention to every detail of conversation, but my patience had grown weary by Chief’s rambling. (It was fun when I thought he was only going to be a gag-character, but he turned into something loathsome when he became a sidekick.) Even Josey’s romance was uninteresting, and I can only assume that it’s not supposed to be.
Glad I didn’t read the book. Glad I don’t have to remember a lot of reference material for this one. And though it may seem that I only shine a negative light on the film, don’t be fooled. I did enjoy it.

That’s a damn beautiful poster, too.

SCRIPT: respectable
ACTION: respectable
DIRECTION: respectable
CONTENT: respectable

Body Heat

This one is difficult for me to pin. The first third is noir, with well paced dialogue, slow (as shit) scenes, jazz music, and predictable moments. At least there wasn’t a shitty narration. I do love the music of the first act. I became sick to hear it give way to the orchestra instrumentals.
The second third is a murder plot, a little more interesting, actually humorous in some instances, and introducing stylized screenshots that made artful (and incredibly impossible) use of reflections.
The last third is a mystery, though this is very largely underplayed for the integrity of the first two acts. I was really digging the suspense, after nearly falling asleep through most of the movie. By the end, however, the lack of drama presented in revealing the widow’s true intentions left me without caring what the ending was, no matter how awesome it looked (Ka – fucking – boom!). I was never shocked, but the movie seems to think that I’m supposed to be. Crossing outdated noir techniques with the popular eighties show-every-action aspect completely takes away any sense of hidden agenda. All I worried about was whether William Hurt’s pals were gonna figure the plot out. THAT should have been the film’s focus, given the way it was filmed.
As for the very ending; it’s stupid. I don’t need confirmation of what was going on, I didn’t care. I doubt if anyone cared. I can draw my own conclusions if I want to, which is something that the film was real good about until it decided to pretend that I didn’t know that she was still alive. I knew. And even if I didn’t know, wouldn’t it be a bonus to think that Hurt’s character had gone delusional from the experience?
There’s nothing outstanding about the way the movie looks. It looks… boring. The image reeks of disinterest. No distinct use of contradicting colors. No focus on neutrality versus polarity for dramatic effect. Just… filming people talking.

SCRIPT: alright
ACTING: respectable
DIRECTION: respectable
CONTENT: alright

Maximum Overdrive

Opened quite humorously. The story has many faults in logic, where machinery kills humans only at times when it is benificial for the director. The trucks staking out at the truck stop don’t plow through the building to kill the humans immediately, but wait until their tanks run out of gas and force the humans to refill. This is to give Stephen the chance to make people in the audience think that there is some sort of tribute that needs to be paid to machines.

This is something in his screenwriting that disturbs me. There are writers who want to tell stories that give people insight, while inadvertently revealing something to their audiences; these are “critics,” in a way. Some writers try to test their audiences’ resistance of conventional thought just for the joy of making the audience members think that they are conducting original thoughts; these writers are much like “trolls.” I don’t mean to call Stephen a troll, but he certainly does act like one sometimes. Like in his earlier films.

Jukeboxes, big rigs, yard sprinklers, and vending machines try to kill humans, but flashlights are still obedient dogs? Cars are also exempt, but lawnmowers and ice cream trucks chase a little kid riding a bike? And the only fighting chance that these characters have is introduced for the sake of Stephen King being able to show off the budget he’d been granted for his first directing gig: explosives. It’s easy to get worked up over this movie, if you don’t like it, but King’s writing sticks true to human nature in a way that touches my soul. I can’t blame him for making a movie to impress his fans more than to tell a story, but I am disappointed in him for forgetting what is more important.
I had a lot of fun watching, despite the lame-ass excuses that were tossed to-and-fro about the machines and the lack of FEAR that I felt throughout the movie. No, Steve, you did NOT scare the HELL out of me!

SCRIPT: alright
ACTING: respectable
DIRECTION: respectable
CONTENT: alright

Notorious, Vertigo, and Rope

I have seen these already, and I’d like to comment on what they all have in common before getting into specific ups and downs.

Beautiful cinematography, of course, with practical use of the quality of the footage. Instead of obscured shapes in natural shadows due to the inability to rely on color, Hitchcock makes use of the audience’s knowledge of real-life settings to shape an environment around the characters so that their actions and props aren’t lost, but focused upon with subtle placements of cast light. I must stress how important subtlety is to me concerning black and white dramas, since today’s audience is no more smarter than last year’s, last decade’s, or last century’s. Being guided along a path, making me think that my discoveries are my own, is the greater experience of suspense thrillers and mystery dramas. I don’t mean to say that I despise the blunt and obvious, but there’s a great difference between the pronunciations within Citizen Kane and Touch of Evil. Which do you think I prefer, and which do you think I feel sick (or incredibly tired) thinking about?
Also, Hitchcock’s reliance on brilliant actors, ones who embody their characters so perfectly, I quite literally have forgotten while watching some of these that I was in fact WATCHING a MOVIE. It was an experience more akin to witnessing the events firsthand.

NOTORIOUS:
A spy flick. A romance picture. I find it hard to take a secret intelligence man seriously when he falls in love with his instrument, but Cary Grant’s presence brings about a certain charm and attraction that I expect of his characters, which may have thrown me off for the purpose of realism, but prepared me well for the climactic moments. Having seen Saboteur, I know the incredible extent of how sinister a suspenseful moment can get in a Hitchcock, so that may have numbed my senses by the ending, when the tension was intended to be thick enough to swim through, and all I really experienced was a man and a woman descending a case of stairs.

SCRIPT: alright
ACTING: amazing
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: alright

VERTIGO:
I love Jimmy. I love that man, paranoia help me, I love my Jimmy. Right from the start; I see his face, I watch him leap tall buildings, I fall in love with his character. An immediate introduction to the main, his inner conflict, the plot’s instigator, and a plot itself. Very quick opening for Hitchcock, much like Lifeboat, but in a different manner. Gets right to the goods, man. Instead of an overuse of expository dialogue or narration, I learn how the characters think and act alone and with each other. I get to know them, instead of letting myself be told like a child. I am allowed to love and hate those characters I choose, and there is no bias for the sake of the plot whether I like or dislike the wrong characters.
What did bother me was the big twist, not itself, but the way it was explained. (I must say, even though I wished for the main character’s sake that something like that had happened and that it wasn’t his own mind creating delusions, I did not expect my wishes to be granted.) It could all have simply been done with a montage of clips showing Jimmy’s perspective and the love interest’s perspective of past events simultaneously as the letter was being written, instead of the lengthy flashback narration. That entire moment seems to break away from the flow of the rest of the film. It doesn’t take away from the tension, however, which built up to the absolute perfect ending. Those last few frames are the most memorable images from any movie I could possibly imagine. The morning sky. The pale bell tower wall. Jimmy Stuart’s rigid figure standing in front of a large shadow… it makes my vertebrae twist.

SCRIPT: amazing
ACTING: amazing
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: amazing

ROPE:
I see this movie as a lesser of Hitchcock’s movies. It seems to me that most of the people I speak to are so wrapped up in the cinematography that they forget how many times an explanation of characters is provided before each character’s appearance, how predictable each character’s reactions had turned out to be, how likable the dastardly murderers are, and that most of the script seems to have been based around disproving a popular elitist theory. I can forgive it though, because the suspense never failed, and the picture was indeed beautiful, having captured entire reels of action with seamless editing. I just can’t get over how wise and cold Jimmy’s character was throughout a bulk of the film, only to be warmed over by the display of a corpse. That was supposed to be the defining moment, the climactic moment, the moment of truth, and it was really boring and uninteresting.

SCRIPT: alright
ACTING: respectable
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: respectable

The Warriors

Not a lot of time to cover the movies I’d like to, because of new classes, but I’ll get to it. Many things to get to, and this was my first chance.

Sounds awesome, in theory. A small group of warriors against a city of blood thirsty misfits? Yeah, but the coolest things can turn out as shit, given the quality of direction.

00:28
So far, it’s really cool. Kung fu gang, mime gang, baseball gang, skinhead gang, zoot gang… great collection. I appreciate the swift introduction to characters, and the brief confrontation over control of the Warriors. Not very realistic, but that’s because I live in the future that this story was supposedly intended to take place, had things gone the proper way for the timeline. I try to appreciate that aspect the same way I do Space Odessy.
The comic panels are annoying. I could dig it if the artwork was easy on the colors. It would make an easier transition if the panels weren’t brighter than the footage.
Although I am uncertain whether the Warriors are worth being sympathetic towards, since I have “known” them for only half an hour, the chase to the train was suspenseful enough to entertain. I was really hoping those guys’d get away. How many people can fit on that bus, anyway?

00:31
The panels have improved.
Lighting seems spontaneous in some spots and impractically synthetic in others. When the Warriors were hiding, they were in clear light, but being chased by the bus, they were running shadows. Which looked awesome, but the incontinuity with lighting logic distracts me from the actual action, just like in that expansive, shitty animation movie, Renaissance.

00:35
At least the dialogue is consistantly easy to follow. Nothing to condemn so far.
“Those are the Orphans.”
Well, that’s certainly not subtle, but it isn’t much of an issue.
“They write about us in the paper.”
Kind of a nerdy obsession, trying to prove your gang’s worth with newspaper clipings.
“You know what that is, right?”
“Yeah, trouble.”
You just crossed a line, motha fucker! I can handle stating-the-obvious sometimes, but NOT when I can apply my own observations. I am another member of the average audience. Why do so many filmmakers assume that I don’t have a mind? I can’t think? I can’t add two and two?

00:55
I just realized that this is hardly violent enough. I expected a bloody, gory end to the Warrior who rolled in front of the sub, but he was just flung in slow motion and cut away from instantly. Plenty of guns, knives, pipes, boards, chains… not a single sign of blood. How serious am I supposed to take this film as a story about hardcore street violence?

01:09
Swan’s romance? Saw it coming.
Flirtatious police trap? Saw it coming.
Gang of deadly women? Saw it coming.
Is there a single surprising element past the first third of the movie? It started strong, but faded fast. I don’t think there’s enough time for improvement.
Also, as street smart as these cats are supposed to be, why don’t they use their fucking heads? Done in by chicks?
All face-shots and dialogue sequences, few real action sequences that don’t over use slow motion. I wanted to watch a busted skulls, bleeding balls, broken bottle needle cushion street gang flick, not this.
Do you remember the Clowns in Akira? How fucking goofy they looked, but still kicked a shit load of ass? How fucking crazy they were? You see the clowns here, in their baseball uniforms and rollerskates? See how pathetic and unthreatening they are?
This is certainly not worthy of the hype I’ve witnessed.
I will say that Deborah Van Valkenburgh is gorgeous. Not as easy on the acting as she is on the eyes.

01:27
The transition style seems to have come together. Face-shots are absolutely NOT the best moments to use panel transitions for, but at least the art is synched well with the tone of the footage.
Now… how beautiful is this? A battle on the sandy shore, with the salty spraying mist in the calm ocean air… and not a katana in sight.

Pretty cool opening. Shitty middle with hints of an awesome climactic duel to the death at the end. Boring, anticlimactic ending. It’s far too violent for the Saturday morning cartoon crowd, and incredibly dark to the romantic comedy audience.
Shit to me.

SCRIPT: alright
ACTING: not good
DIRECTION: not good
CONTENT: alright

Big Trouble in Little China

I expect this to be funny. I expect to laugh. Will I have these things? Eighties comedies are things to be wary of. They have distorted the minds of practical men, and I do not envy their tastes. When a friend tells me that an eighties comedy is good, what else can I do but find out for myself?

00:03
So, Russell’s playing an idiot. It’s nice to see, after witnessing his father-figure image in a shitty movie and his utterly boring character in Death Proof.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over period music. Electric keyboards? This early in the fucking movie? I got a heads-up with the old Asian magic man, and you fuck up my vibe with generic period music?

00:11
Overplayed dramatic reaction, Kim? Can’t you see a bunch of gang members and NOT spell out the urgency like it’s written in a cardboard book for toddlers? I predict: her performance is bad throughout the movie, and all intended moods in her scenes will be lost.

00:25
Lame introduction to the supernatural. Poses, expensive costumes, post production effects. Disney could’ve made this movie. Decades before this was released. I do like Kurt’s John Wayne impersonation.
No subtlety or control over cliches. I can excuse the light versus dark stereotypes, but only if I am willing to decide for myself who is good and bad. Being told directly, I am pushed into a corner that I do not like being pushed into. I hate this fucking corner.
And why should I care if this chick is worth being saved? All I have is one character’s description of her and a face.
I do not intentionally want to hate this movie; I don’t want to hate any movie I invest my time to, but when I trust a pal’s words, I do not expect to be disappointed within the first half hour. A fourth of this movie is gone, and NOTHING worth paying attention to has happened.

00:33
“You mean the David Lo Pan that’s chairman of the National Orient Bank and owns the Wing Kong Import/Export Trading Company, but who’s so reclusive that no one’s laid eyes on this guy in  years?”
No, I mean the David Lo Pan who you didn’t really have to have a long expose about if the writer knew how to WRITE A FUCKING DECENT SCRIPT!
I get it, I do; this is supposed to be something of a parody of bad Chinese import films, but there’s nothing that lets me know that the movie is aware that it is a parody. I thought that the opening scene was supposed to get me feeling serious about the supernatural elements, but it only mislead me. Maybe I can look fairer upon this movie, as long as nobody says something cliche like, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” or “I was born ready.”

00:36
First good joke. Damn funny one.

00:46
Ah, ha! My man, James Hong, makes ANY shit movie better! This may not be so bad, after all.
Oh, wait… those thugs in black and red are working for the storm guys, right? So, why did three of them try to kill those guys and get machetes in their chests?

01:36
I jsut saw a shit load of awesome effects and applications of latex, and actual humor. Half of this is a fun movie. The other half is a waste of time.
Cool monsters. Really cool shit going on with old man Hong. Stupid fights in the air. Kurt Russell embarrassing himself in the middle of a brawl. Corny as fuck ending.

SCRIPT: not good
ACTING: alright
DIRECTION: alright
CONTENT: alright

Blackbook

I was very curious to see what the guys on Spill were talking about when they mentioned Blackbook during their Resistance review, so I started doing some searching.

00:20
Goddamn it. I know that shit like this happened all the time, and I should’ve expected this, but I didn’t. And I feel a serious loss for the characters. Great characters. Great direction. I attatched myself immediately to the story, and I felt a certain amount of despair to see them die.

00:41
This looks very much like an A&E or History Channel original, where the costumes are historically accurate, but fresh and pristine, like they’re straight from the closet instead of having been worn for weeks in a row. I’m fine with this, and I’m actually glad, because a grittier appearance could make me forget elements of the story. Realism is not overlooked, luckily, because the script and appearance of the movie work together, unlike other supposedly accurate retellings like Lost Battalion, whose script was intended to TEACH its audience rather than ENTERTAIN.
I also like that the lighting seems natural for its setting, instead of an auto-correct image. You know, reflections of light off of natural surroundings give hues of blues and yellows in our eyes that aren’t present for the camera lenses (vice versa, depending on the light source), so I appreciate that it appears someone took the necessary measures to make the scenery appear natural.
What does bother me, so far, is that I don’t understand Hebrew, German or Dutch. I have finally found a WWII-era movie that stays true to lingual boundaries (I didn’t mean to forget Tora! Tora! Tora!), but it’s my own fault to have to rely on subtitles.

00:43
Very nice falshback sequence. Didn’t linger, to the point. Every revenge flashback should be like this.

00:57
First time I’ve ever seen a sequence that cross sectioned for drowning. Mostly, we see a back and a face-shot from underwater. Wouldn’t it be something if they’d panned from a backshot to a cross section seamlessly?

01:11
The fight could’ve been handled better. Flailing fists and shaky face-shots help bring on the effect of the moment, but how can I appreciate the violence if I don’t take a step back, even for just a second or two? The shot of Theo firing down to the front of the camera is a great visual, though. Brief and touching, like his moment of dissillusion.
I also want to take the moment to give thanks for the lack of over-expository dialogue. THANK YOU! One of the few European espionage thrillers that doesn’t hold my hand and cradle me through the experience, like English spy movies.

01:29
Rachel/Ellis should not have been out of focus when appearing in the background of the arrest scene. Her witness of the event is every bit as important as its execution.
I wasn’t so surprised to see the German ambush, with the underplayed barrage. The lack of dramatic impact in the action scenes in the middle third of this movie gives me the impression that our director, here… wait. This man made Robocop and Starship Troopers, and he’s slipping up on action in THIS? What the fuck, Paul?
And the guards in the party… oh my. The German military would not abandon its faith in uniformity to accept these cats who don’t know how to run with rifles. Minute flaws are becoming much more pronounced, but it may be because I am trying to find SOMETHING to criticize, which gives a reflection of a great movie.

02:00
I don’t give a shit WHAT anyone says, Nazis’ got style, motha fucka! Those boots, that pants, the coats… that is the SHIT!
Ha, ha! I love the way the doctor looks like Hitler adressing from his office balcony. Perfection.

Ugh, that was such a wonderful film! I loved it. LOVED it! Even though it had the feeling of a teleplay, I feel like I’ve finished watching an epic.

SCRIPT: amazing
ACTING: amazing
DIRECTION: respectable
CONTENT: amazing

The Graduate and Sunset Blvd.

A friend requested that I write about a few movies.
I’ll get to work on the others once I’ve seen them.

The Graduate:

Strangely enough, I couldn’t stand the main character. A pushover. A numbnut grad. Someone who thought nothing of any of the work that he’d obviously never questioned the necessity of doing, and had absolutely NO IDEA what to do with the earnings. He is the caricature of the zombie members of the babyboomer generation. Jukeboxes, Cadillacs, Bond movies and Star Wars… he is the man in the suit, with a broomstick up his ass, that nobody cares about.
With all of that out of the way, I love this movie. Its sadistic foreplay with kinky MILF fantasies kept people in the theatres, but it wasn’t Mrs. Robinson that we’d all fallen in love with, it was her daughter. That wretched little creep, whose guts I hate more than the flavor of peas, somehow attracted a young, intelligent, caring, understanding miracle. The first thing he does: take her to a strip joint. That fucking asshole. You know what I’d do to a piece of shit like that if he’d ever do that to a girl as equally wonderful around here?
Anyway, a lot of great awkward humor, the drama surrounding the seductive Mrs. Robinson, the urgency of Hoffman’s character (that fuckin’ putz) and his race to the wedding, the multiple climactic scenarios… it’s one of my favorite movies.

SCRIPT: amazing
ACTING: good
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: amazing

Sunset Boulevard:

An appropriate title, considering what Gloria Swanson AND her character were going through during this movie.
Let me start my criticism with the noir narration. It’s good when it’s practical. It’s not good when it’s a monotone soundtrack to a man putting on a coat or unpacking his luggage. Swanson’s performances are SO INCREDIBLE in every scene; does Joe Schmoe really need to explain how deranged she is? Sure, exposition is fine, but when I forget that the entire story’s occurances are caused by the importance of Gillis’ car by the time that its removal is supposed to be a pivotal moment for his character, you may want to reconsider how to handle the situation with CHARACTERS who can exchange DIALOGUE in any SCENE that you can possibly WRITE!
Despite that little detail, I felt all of the things I was supposed to feel; pity for Norma Desmond, heartbreak for Joe and Betty, an incredible depression for Max, and the pain of watching the fickle Hollywood lifestyle gnaw away at such wonderful peoples’ minds.
While my rating will merit this movie superior to The Graduate, it is important to acknowledge that I do not think that it is a better movie to watch. I know that today’s audience, which partially consists of me, does not have the patience or the maturity to understand such characters and situations that are in Sunset (the film really demanded my attention, like what Citizen Caine failed to do), while Graduate has a universal application: not too slow and not too sharp. Much like All About Eve or Touch of Evil, I didn’t have to work for my entertainment in Graduate.

SCRIPT: amazing
ACTING: amazing
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: amazing

Vanilla Sky

The first time I’d ever heard of this movie, it was referenced in a comment posted on my Vicky Christina Barcelona review. I’m limited in my exposure to Tom Cruise, which makes me incredibly disappointed to hear some of my best friends say that Tom is the worst actor to ever live. His performance in Rain Man was decent, and I absolutely love Eyes Wide Shut, so I hadn’t a clue what to expect of Vanilla Sky. Nor did I have any expectations for Penelope Cruz.

00:37
So far, Penelope is beautiful as always, but she seems to be playing a character that is far too subtle for her to have tried playing successfully. That, or she didn’t give a shit. Which is what I get from Tom. I get that the character he portrays is basically the same person he is on promotional programs and interview clips, but what depth do I get from him other than his determination to avoid subtlety all together at this point?

Leading stars: they don’t play characters I want to attatch myself to.

Here’s a brief list of Ninties cliches:
misplacement of popular grunge-guitar music
sex-crazed stalker women
rich boy and bohemian girl find romance (not pretaining to just the Ninties, of course…)

00:48
HOLY SHIT! I have got to say, the director handled the dream sequences well. From this point, however, I probably won’t be surprised by another fast one like that. Not many directors can handle the disorientation of dreams accurately. While I’m not distracted and feeling a loss that waking from dreams usually causes, I am a little confused, which is better than nothing.

00:53
“Fuck my arm!” That’s great. Now, I have to have sympathy for a character who embodies all of the traits that I despise: selfish, materialistic, shallow, and impractical. My own life would be worth little more than nothing if I didn’t have my right arm to draw, write, paint, open bottles, pick my nose or jerk off. Where does Richie Rich come off with an awesome scar, a few million bucks (I can only guess) and a chance to repair his arm, and wants to blow every opportunity to make himself look pretty again for a chick who supposedly doesn’t care about appearances? I’m supposed to like this fucking prick!

01:04
I love rave scenes. Great music. Great scenery for conflict with dramatic depth (Babel’s was one of my favorites)… Strange. Quick. Disorienting. Why don’t I get any of that here? Everything is visible, everyone’s moving slow, the lights aren’t in Ronnie James Dio mode, nothing! This movie keeps getting worse.

I think I get the flashback gimmick. The story isn’t intended to be linear, but the prison sequences break up the flow of the story’s progression. Maybe a bit of insequencial rearrangements of certain flashbacks, and treating the prison scenes as the primary timeline could make me forget what a douche Citizen Dildo is, and actually start paying attention to the story.

01:46
This is a pretty fuckin’ cool movie. I’m a bitch for major twists at the end of shitty movies. It seems that this was a pretty awesome script for a conspiracy drama that was twisted to match the will of those who wanted to showcase a hollow romance story. The movie could be saved, if a remake is attempted that does not draw ANY attention to the original. Sorry, Cameron Crowe.

SCRIPT: amazing

DIRECTION: not good

ACTING: alright

CONTENT: respectable

Vicky Christina Barcelona

I started writing this 36 minutes and 27 seconds into the movie, expecting to see everything I love about Woody Allen’s movies: realistic human conflict, stylized criticism of how outrageous human interaction is, a nearly-impossible-to-believe love story, and the confirmed relief to know that I am capable of being just as paranoid and depraved as an aging writer/director that I am now. Imagine my surprise to see the oh-so-familiar opening credit sequence without my beloved Jew sitting atop the cast list.

I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that the only character in the movie I found interesting was the monotonous, unecessary narrator; or rather, I find his necessity much easier, knowing that he’s saving me the time and pain of finding out how the story unfolds for myself.
I am offended to have finally seen a film written by Woody Allen that both talks down to me as if I’m a child who can’t observe how characters interact, and is filled with such predictable plot that begs me to ask, “Why am I being told twice what I know already, through the narration AND the stereotypical  nature of the plot?” Not only does it beg, this movie is dying to hear me say how fucking disappointed I am.

One hour and 48 seconds into the film: Maria Elena, Penelope Cruz’s character, with her superior beauty (against Scarlett Johansson) and her incredible development from an expository rumor to a raging vesel of emotion and talent has improved the movie a great deal. While I still find it difficult to acknowledge that Woody wrote this, I no longer feel an urge to condemn him for it.

I feel the need to apologize for what may have seemed to be an eagerness to denounce this film before even getting the chance to experience the movie. Rather, I just criticized it (which was the point of writing while watching). With a clearer mind, I can say that today (really, yesterday) has been a day of great relief. End of the semester, I lived through auditions, just finished a scan-job I thought I’d never find the time to do, and because of the free spirit emitting from these characters (who I grow more attached to by the minute) and very helpful conversations with someone I regard a great deal of respect for, I am capable of looking at my own situation and find that it is not so painful, nor so difficult to face, knowing that millions of people feel the same things that I feel, fear the same things that I fear… my overall positive outlook that seemed to last only a few hours long in a single day is returning now, while I watch this film and allow myself to become a part of their realm, made much easier by how closely it was written to our own. In order to criticize this movie, I know that I must be subjective, as with anything, and without bias, but I can’t help but love this movie BECAUSE of its flaws.
At an hour and a half into it (three minutes from ending), I think this may turn out to be my favorite Woody Allen movie, skimming only just a few inches above “Annie Hall”.

SCRIPT: respectable
ACTING: respectable
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: good

I really should work on my ratings. A system of merit, rather than the quality of particular aspects, maybe.

Dear Wendy

Beautiful boys Mark Webber and Jamie Bell live in a tiny town in the west, determined not to work and die in the mines. They work with their friends to pass the time and mature together with a dangerous and perhaps illegal hobby. Sounds like OCTOBER SKY, right?

The perspective of a small-town-boy is reflective of his environment. Having grown up in a place made up of two roads, this band of insecure teenage simpletons seek refuge from the big, scary world of tumbleweeds and black lung underground, where they worship firearms. Practice their aim, study behavioral traits of particular weapons and their bearers, give each other history lessons about the use of guns, and delude themselves into thinking that gun-toting pacifism is protecting the community from harmful elements (which are not present)…

The first half of the movie is OCTOBER SKY.
The second half is a fucking western. I’m talkin’ John Wayne’s-super-pissed-that-nobody-dug-his-corpse-up-so-that-he-could-cameo kinda western. The precise moment in which the movie goes from “these kids just need something to do” to “let’s go FIRST BLOOD on this shit hole town” is so well written, that I completely forgot how corny the damn script is. Honestly, this movie was written around a Mexican standoff, and it doesn’t bother me one damn bit.
It would, normally, but the reason I love it is for the only black kid in town. HE is the only member in the gang of teens who has a real grasp of how looney the people in this movie are. HE points out how stupid the whole scenario, but he goes along with it because there’s nothing better to do.

I’m not sure if this review is really worth much, considering that my head is fucked up right now, and all I can think about… well I need a distraction. For what it IS worth, I recommend watching DEAR WENDY. Not great. Might not even be called “good,” but it was fucking entertaining.

SCRIPT: respectable
ACTING: good
DIRECTION: amazing
CONTENT: respectable

I’m back, bitches!

FIRST UP:

NIRVANA JUICE: Valley of the Bean

NIRVANA JUICE: Nausea Closeup

Okay. That’s out of the way.

I know that I’m late posting my thoughts on the following movies, but bear with me. Just saw ZACK AND MIRI, TROPIC THUNDER, BURN AFTER READING, PINEAPPLE EXPRESS, and DARK KNIGHT (for the second time…)

Recovering from a lack of exposure to the past season’s best (outside of the comic character movies which, we all knew, I did not miss,) and it’s only now that I realize that so many people have been craving good material to flock to theatres for that they’ve invented a new type of theatre hype: stress-induced-illusion. The comedies were funny. That’s it. Just fun to watch. The only busted barriers were done in by BURN AFTER READING.

Malkovich axed that mother fucker in broad daylight! Goddamn!

Serious movies like DARK KNIGHT may have been incredible (a miracle after witnessing the release of the “parody” movie franchise…)  but are people so despirate for comedy-tragedy equilibrium that they’ll make a stoner flick filmed with the buddy-cop formula sound like the funniest thing since James Earl Jones reading the alphabet? Check it out, that shit is hilarious. PINEAPPLE EXPRESS: good for a chuckle.

ZACK AND MIRI shows me that Smith still has a few under his belt and WHAT Jay has under his. I laughed, and I didn’t need a smoking mime. Maybe people will lighten up on we View Askewniverse fans.

TROPIC THUNDER was also funny, but not what most people made it out to be. Yeah, Bobby did a great job, and so did Tom, but you know, it’s a flick for kicks. Why talk up something that really doesn’t need the hype to stay afloat for what it’s worth?

Also saw WALL-E not too long ago. It’s great. I have not said this about any Pixar movie before, because honestly, people see that their stuff is animated and forget to criticize things that Dreamworks is constantly hassled for. At least Pixar doesn’t make Family Guy-ish reference jokes to popular culture.
WALL-E was purely entertaining, and I think that it has a lot to do with the fact that the main characters didn’t speak more than two words each.

BEHIND THE MASK

The Rise of Leslie Vernon is an end-all film for me. No other slashfilm can be quite so intelligent, so shocking, nor entertaining.
A realistic take on cursekillers and their methods, this film opened perspectives that I may never have imagined considering to think about. Vernon’s traps, and staged scenarios aren’t inventive or original, but the way his character logically describes the cursekilling methods and even gives nicknames to certain stereotypes often found in horror films (the most popular of which are real events in this alternate universe where Camp Crystal Lake and Elm Street have become national symbols) is hilarious and appropriate.

The story was fantastic. Absolutely AMAZING, as opposed to the critically acclaimed OTIS, which suffered from a lack of ENJOYABLE SCRIPT. (Honestly, for a movie that supposedly redefined serialkiller movies, I should not have been able to predict the ending of every scene.)
Performances seemed genuine. The visual direction was convincing (Blair Witch cam) and a major role for the story itself, even when the cinematic moments took over.

I loved this movie. Its humor, its reliance on the audience’s understanding of a staple genre… especially during the quarter-hour plot twist at the end of the movie. God damn. My head is still rocking.

This film is not without flaws, but I can’t find any for myself.

BOB SAYS:

SCRIPT:  amazing
ACTING:  respectable
DIRECTION:  respectable
CONTENT: amazing

CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST

My first reaction after seeing the film was that its rudimentary use of film-within-filmstyle and shockumentary techniques allowed for the iconic images and sequences that people still vomit over today to be strung together with the excused of a plot and possibility of political statement.

The “introduction” of relating the cruelty of civilized man’s behavior with the most barbaric people was something that I did not intend to see from an anticipated gorefest, but was something of an excuse to allow Deodato to do as he wished with what he could get away with.

Not to say that I did not like the movie, that is. Quite to the contrary, but for reasons outside of the filmmaker’s “but, you don’t get it” list.
Foremost, I appreciate the gore. Ripping flesh, torn bodies, mutilated animals… it was an experience that I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to live through again. The feeling of genuine savagery, and the actual savagery that was used to capture the more shocking images were things that I enjoyed to the fullest. No excuses other than, “That’s what happens.” I felt connected to the barbaric nature of my species in a way that I can’t in daily situations. What else but careless abuse of our fellow man can make us feel closer to him?

Serious time: all people who consider themselves film critics NEED TO WATCH THIS MOVIE. It was my introduction to mondofilms, and it gives me quite the perspective of what I can stand for within a film.
I found that I can stomach a woman stoned to death by a dildo much easier than an old hag vomiting her guests’ food. The rape scenes were exceptionally sensational.
Perhaps my senses had already been numbed by this day due to American Psycho, which introduced to me the my own erotic fascination with explicit violence. (I have fantasies about carving vaginae with broken champagne bottles.)
But, if anyone expects to be taken seriously as one who has perspective on what should be expected of respectable film content, he or she MUST see CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST. Losing your mondo-virginity should be seen as something to celebrate. Perhaps you’ll learn something about yourself and the way you view things after taking a long look at yourself in the mirror when the movie ends.

BOB SAYS:

SCRIPT:  not good
ACTING:  alright
DIRECTION:  good
CONTENT:  respectable