Hey all you people who don't know me from Facebook or real human contact!
I thought I should share some exciting news with you.
Last week, I became the newest staff member of the lovely...
All you have to do is click the image above to unlock a thoughtful overflow of cinema nerdery.
We review new theatrical releases, home video releases, personal favorites, classics, and more...
(now including weekly recaps of a few choice television shows (whoever watches that stuff...))
You should check out the site right away, but also like the facebook page:
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Doing both of the above-mentioned thangs will not only give you piece-by-piece updates on all the new material to read, but could also result in your winning some WAY COOL STUFF FOR FREE!!!!
"FREE STUFF? Holy SHIT!"
-Anyone Who Breathes
I will continue to post here weekly, but there will be a lot more blah blah blah from me at my new home. Please show them some love... for showing me some love.
...while you're doing all that liking, couldn't hurt to run over to MY facebook page and give me the like, as well...
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Movie forth, cinema soldiers!
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Saturday, August 23, 2014
"Sin City: A Dame to Kill For" Review
- Release date: August 22nd, 2014 (U.S.)
- Director: Robert Rodriguez, Frank Miller
- Writer: Frank Miller
- Editor: Robert Rodriguez
- Score Composer: Robert Rodriguez
- Cinematographer: Robert Rodriguez
- Budget: UNKNOWN (by me)
- Current Domestic Gross $475,000
- Material: Digital
- Aspect ratio: 1.85 : 1
- Running time: 102 Min.
- Current Tomato Meter: 43%
When
I was 17, Sin City came barreling
onto the big screen in an explosion of sex, style, violence, and noir
anti-heroism. Needless to say, I found that kind of exciting. Only once before
had we seen a film shot entirely on a green screen soundstage as an obvious
stylistic choice (the maligned Sky
Captain and the World of Tomorrow… never saw it), and since then, the use
and popularity of the exercise has ebbed and flowed. I can think of several titles off the top of my head which
featured the practice for select shots, at least. Ever since the Star
Wars prequels hit theaters, filmmakers have applied it to action and
fantasy movies easy (and somewhat stealthy) placement of their characters into
a fantastical landscape. It often
works to great affect (the opening moments of Man of Steel), but it has also felt like a crutch bolstering weak
material (Tim Burton’s Alice in
Wonderland). In the
long-awaited sequel, Sin City: A Dame to
Kill For, I’m afraid I have to report it has more in common with the latter.
We’re
back in black and white and sometimes gold, red, blue, and green land, and
everybody is up to no good. Mickey
Rourke killed some evil frat boys and can’t remember where he got his
coat. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is
having no gambling problems what so ever until he faces Powers Boothe. Josh Brolin has an abusive relationship
with the sociopathic femme fatale Eva Green, and Jessica Alba is an alcoholic
stripper who wants revenge. Sound
interesting? Kinda?
It
just isn’t. Robert Rodriguez and
Frank Miller have assembled a cast almost as cool as they had back in 2005, but
the stories aren’t nearly so much fun or harrowing as they were back then. Most of the performances seem
phoned-in, and even the more committed actors only inspire a chuckle here or there. I remember being sad when Marv (Mickey
Rourke) died in Sin City. Marv… the guy with the most contrived,
frightening and outdated moral code ever assembled. I loved him! I
still do, actually. Rourke, along
with Boothe, Green, and Rosario Dawson manage to shine through the rest of the
film’s mundane indifference, but I could care less who comes out on top.
The
visuals aren’t helping much, either.
Between the blocking and camera placement, it is often hard to know if
anyone was paying attention. That’s not to say any moment is confusing, or
disorienting. I always understood
what I was looking at, but in a film I hear was mostly shot one actor at a time
(resulting in compositing multiple actors in the same scene in post
production), I have to wonder if some good old-fashioned composition would have
helped a movie which has the potential to do ANYTHING with its image. The movie plods along from
scene-to-scene, and vignette-to-vignette, in such a tiresome fashion, it feels
more like the forgotten project someone finally got around to begrudgingly completing. By the time Jessica Alba cuts her hair
and face and is reborn looking like Michael Jackson The Vampire Slayer… I was
ready to go home.
I got up to pee during this movie. ME. I got up
and left... while the movie was playing…
Sunday, August 17, 2014
R.I.P. Robin Williams
I entered my apartment after work on August 11 with every
intention of doing laundry, wiping countertops, clearing my desk of spent
coffee containers, and maybe even working out. I pulled two items from my mailbox, noticed neither was
addressed to my girlfriend, or myself (because that’s how mail works around
here), and brought them inside to introduce the parcel boo-boo’s to our garbage
can. I held one envelope in each
hand while Katha asked me about my day, and as I answered her, she interrupted
me with, “What!? Robin Williams
died!?” I involuntarily moved my
left hand in a counter-clockwise circle, and my right hand in the opposite
direction, but sent only the right-handed envelope limply airborne. I could hardly spare a moment’s thought
to what my body had just done without my blessing, what with all the images
flashing through my mind of a man who arrested so much of my childhood
attention. Although I like to
think I know how I will “mourn” the passing of any loved artist (when Bob Dylan
finally bites it, you won’t hear from me for a good 24 hours), I was apparently
caught completely off guard when I was told Robin Williams had committed
suicide. It was almost as though I
naturally felt the need to throw something, even if it happened to be so unsubstantial
as a notice from a stranger’s debt collector. What is substantial, however, is the effect his career had
on me, and the rest of my generation. Personally,
losing him was like losing an estranged relative.
He
was exactly the kind of person I wanted to be when I was a child. I idolized him as I delighted in his
every move. Somewhere on a dusty
old VHS tape, there may yet exist a clip from Nick News with Linda Ellerbee
(HA, you forgot about that shit, right?) from 1993(?) featuring the late actor
“discussing” comedy with a small and stunned audience of children. Williams was given a box of props, and
10 minutes, and I thought I had rediscovered humor. Watching him feverishly work dozens of jokes into this
humble set was almost too much for my young mind to process. I had already seen him in a couple
movies, but I had never before experienced the riffing abilities on which we
have all been reflecting this week.
He was so sharp, so quick, so endlessly full of funny, and I was
instantly addicted to the unequivocal joy of making people laugh.
I
was always a ham (as soon as I finally started speaking, anyway), and growing
up watching him in films like Hook (a
beautifully imaginative movie about fatherhood, childhood, and family), Mrs. Doubtfire (a ludicrous excuse to
get Williams in drag – still one of the funniest family-friendly comedies of
the 90’s) and even Father’s Day (not
a big winner, but Williams’ character is pretty delightful), made me want to
give people the same chaotic release of endorphins he had given me. I understood this was a valuable skill,
and I was desperate to make it mine.
Thanks to him (not to mention Jim Carrey and Mike Meyers), my family had
many an opportunity to sit through a post-dinner improvised comedy
routine. They were good sports…
really good sports. As I remember
it, these things would typically last until I could no longer achieve a
9-year-old’s comedic apex (whatever the hell that would have been like… look, I
remember them laughing). As I
grew, his career continued to grow with me.
By
the time Mrs. Doubtfire was experiencing “drive-by fruitings”, Williams had
already taken several roles in dramas.
I caught many of them in the early 90’s, but it wasn’t until 2002’s One Hour Photo that I was shocked by his
abilities as an actor. Regardless
of what affect that stunning performance may have had on me, what really
changed me was watching the film, itself.
For most of the guys and gals I met in film school, 2001: A Space Odyssey was the work that changed the way they
thought about movies. For whatever
reason (probably the age at which I first saw it), Kubrick’s seminal
masterpiece just didn’t make that happen for me. This one did. Mark
Romanek’s “official” writer/director debut is by no means a perfect film. It is, however, thoughtfully designed a
shot. Its use of light, color, and
camera movement was not only great to look at, but spoke to the film’s meaning,
and how Sy Parrish (Williams) felt about each space he inhabited at any given
moment. For the second time in my
life, this great comedian had shaped my life’s trajectory.
Basically,
he led me here. I wish I had more
to show for it at a time when I am paying tribute to a man who had so much
influence on me. Writing a blog as
an aspiring film critic, rather than a professional one just isn’t that
significant. Still, this is what I
want to do. Robin Williams
indirectly sent me on a course from telling jokes at the dinner table, to
starring in high school plays. He
then sent me to film school, and from being a filmmaker, to a film critic, and
entertainment writer. Now, I have
the sad task of wishing him farewell.
I may have lost track of him over the past several years, but I was
always excited to see what his next project would be. Even with FOUR posthumous releases coming down the shoot, I
can’t help but feel there is nothing left to look forward to. Robin William’s career is over, and no
matter how far away I get from the comedies that exhausted my sister and I in
laughter as children, losing him is like losing a dear friend.
Fortunately,
he happens to have quite a career behind him. He had roles in over 40, many of them worth your time (and
several that are not), and even his recently canceled TV show The Crazy Ones is something you should
check out. I can’t end this
without recommending Bobcat Goldthwait’s 2009 film, World’s Greatest Dad.
Its themes and events might be a little too much to stomach so close to
its star’s suicide, but you should watch it as soon as possible. Stream-able on Netflix, it follows the
noble, then not-so-noble actions of a father after his jerk-water son
accidentally kills himself. It
results in a brilliant satire about the cult of celebrity, but it has just as
much to say about the exploitation of tragedy for political or personal gain. It’s funny, damn smart, and even just a
little bit moving. Sounds about
right for a man of his talents.
Hard
to end this without getting mushy(er)… I guess I’m done.
Goodbye, Mr.
Williams.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" (2014) Review
- Release date: August 8th 2014 (U.S.)
- Director: Jonathan Liebesman
- Writers: Josh Appelbaum, Andre Nemec, Evan Daugherty
- Editors: Joel Negron, Glen Scantlebury
- Score Composer: Brian Tyler
- Cinematographer: Lula Carvalho
- Budget: $125 million
- Domestic gross: Currently Unknown
- Material: Digital
- Aspect ratio: 2.35 : 1
- Running time: 101 minutes
- Current Tomato Meter: 18%
I used to work a job as an auto insurance underwriter. I reviewed, for the most part, identical
auto policies (usually around 40 in an eight hour work day) for boo-boo’s,
illegalities and whether or not the customer was compatible with the company
program. I’m telling you this so
you know I am experienced with boredom. I know it well. Tonight,
however, I spent so much time with boredom that it took on a separate and
sentient personality within my mind.
He became something of a pet. He is mine. I named him.
My boredom’s name is Deeders Tarmopolis Shneolonia.
That's the kind of time I had.
The
turtles are back, and that pesky Shredder (now a flaccidly mysterious Japanese
dude wearing samurai inspired robo-armor) wants to attack New York City with a
deadly-owie-producing gas so he can “have control of the city” (but we are
never told why), and so his partner in crime, Erich Sachs (the usually great
William Fichtner), can become super rich by producing the antidote… the mutagen
which created the heroes on the half-shell and their rat sensei. April O’neil (Megan Fox), a struggling
small-time reporter this time around, knows there are vigilantes saving the
city from Shredder’s Foot Clan, but everyone she tells (including her boss,
Whoopi Goldberg, who disappears 40 minutes in) thinks she is beyond crazy.
That
crazy thing – that could have provided some much-needed funny. Instead, every moment Fox spends
speaking dialogue on screen makes you wonder if these lines were programmed,
rather than learned and studied. I’m
not saying she was given a screenplay worth studying, though. The material found in this, the fifth
big screen adaptation of the popular comic book, is among the simplest I’ve
encountered this summer. Having
said that, there would still be enough humor to capitalize on (with a script clearly
designed for easy laughs) if it weren’t for the nearly incompetent direction by
Jonathan Liebesman. The majority
of the jokes bounced off me like the bullets fired at our heroes near the end
of the film (yeah… they are bulletproof now. Not bladeproof, apparently… what with all the ducking and
deflecting Shredder’s attacks).
Numerous moments of silence, or awkward beats, seemingly deliberately
timed to suspend a punch line were followed by… usually nothing. Including the rarely exciting fight
scenes, it’s all setup for hardly any payoff.
The
turtles themselves, only occasionally able to dodge the filmmaker’s weaknesses
as frequently as their opponents’ gunfire, manage to charm just barely enough
to make me not want them to receive physical or emotional harm. That’s about all I can say for their
efforts. Once they realize they
are impervious (adding that cherry atop the fully-loaded sundae of being 7 feet
tall/500 pounds of pure muscle each), there isn’t much point in hanging around
to see how they will save the day.
I spent most of my time listening to the children surrounding me say
funny things to their adults about “take me doodie” and “THAT WAS A FUNNY
PART!” Based on my experience, I
do at least know it can entertain tiny children, but apparently not enough to
coax bowel movement restraint.
Whether doodie, or funny, I was checked out after 30 minutes. Sure, it has other problems, some of
them very weird (like where are these mountains just outside of New York which are
covered in snow in the spring?), but I am already tired of talking about it… oh yeah, there
are sexual harassment jokes…
Is
it the worst movie ever? No. That
qualification does not, however, make it worth your time or money.
Monday, August 4, 2014
"Guardians of the Galaxy" Review
- Release date: August 1st 2014 (U.S.)
- Director: James Gunn
- Writers: James Gunn, Nicole Perlman
- Editors: Craig Wood, Fred Raskin, Hughes Winborne
- Score Composer: Tyler Bates
- Cinematographer: Ben Davis
- Budget: $170 million
- Domestic gross: $160 million and counting
- Material: Digital
- Aspect ratio: 2.35 : 1
- Running time: 122 minutes
- Current Tomato Meter: 92%
Comic book movies are here to stay. It has now been over a decade since
Hollywood began pumping out films based on graphic novels which managed to
please both audiences and critics regularly. The quality is often as high as the budget, and with the
help of an enthusiastic foreign patronage, the dollars return in quantities
higher than those sent off to die in the film production war. Fine by me. I like these movies almost as often as the majority of
attendees (X-men: Days of Future Past
being part of that “almost” factor), and I am always up for another science
fiction movie. Regardless of the
source material, or the sub-genre title given to this particular group of
films, every one fits the term sci-fi just fine. The interstellar vessels explode, the laser guns blast, the
anthropomorphic raccoon has a traumatic existential crisis. When I want an action/adventure
delivery system, a movie with that kind of stuff is my preferred mode of
transport, and Guardians of the Galaxy
is just as good a method as any to get it to me.
Peter
Quill (Chris Pratt) is out to find a mysterious orb which holds something
everyone in the universe needs at any cost. Having no desire to learn its secrets, he absconds with it,
now a fugitive from the law, and from his former partners in crime. During his attempt to sell the orb, he
attracts the attention of above-mentioned raccoon, Rocket (Bradley Cooper),
Gamora (Zoe Saldana), Drax (Dave Bautista), humanoid/possibly feeble giant
tree, Groot (Vin Diesel) and far more threatening bad guys, Ronan the Accuser,
and Thanos. As the anti-heroes
slowly realize they are more effective in profiting from the orb’s sale by teaming
up, they make their way to another planet, and another… and back again…
whatever.
The
story happens, but what keeps us interested is learning the sad, funny, or
honorable histories lurking beneath what could be considered archetypical
characters. The whole thing
gradually increases in humor, excitement, and visual splendor as it goes along,
but for nearly the first quarter of the running time, I was wondering what all
the fuss was about. Most of the
jokes fall flat, the writing seems to miss a lot of opportunities, and the
action sequences don’t pay off. When
you show up to a movie expecting, if absolutely NOTHING else, to be
entertained, all of my $10.50 (and that is cheap compared to coastal cities)
better be spent on a two hour long fun-splotion. Still, I have to admit, by the end of the movie, I could
hardly remember a moment that didn’t work. This one, here… is a genuine summer movie experience.
Looking
perfectly cartoonish in his starring role, TV funnyman, Pratt, surprisingly
seems to sit back and let the rest of the cast take the big laughs. The biggest shock in the bunch is Dave
Bautista, the latest pro-wrestler to take a shot at movie stardom plays one of
my most favorite characters this year.
Much like Worf, from Star Trek,
or Ka D’argo from Farscape, he is the
kind of naturally funny warrior whose masculinity is perfectly balanced by a
scewed sense of honor and dutiful respect for his allies. He is a joy to watch, as are the two
all-computer-generated fighters, Rocket and Groot, and every image on the
screen, from character, to set designs is astonishing.
I
have not seen a movie look this good, with a fictional world this feverishly
detailed and realized, since The Empire
Strikes Back. Writer/director,
James Gunn, is brave enough not to choose convenience at every turn in creating
this universe. Many alien figures
have been crafted using make-up over the skin of live performers, rather than
doctored later by effects teams sitting at computers. 90% of the time, you are looking at the real thing, and it
makes an immense difference. Not
to sell the value of CGI short, every task designated to those computer-sitters
has been fulfilled in its most beautifully realistic execution. It may not be the most fun you ever had
at the theater, but plenty of care has been taken with this clever piece of
work. I doubt you will be asking
for an end to the comic book adaptation trend by the time the credits role.
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