Directed by James Wan. Written by Chris Morgan
Vin Diesel Dom
Paul Walker Brian
Jordan Brewster Mia
Ludicris Tej
Tyrese Gibson Roman
Jason Statham Deckard Shaw
This review might sound like I had a horrible time at Furious 7 and that's not the case. Still, I want this franchise to quit before it morphs further into a full blown parody of itself. The problem with Furious 7 starts with new director James Wan (Saw.) To say that the previous director of the Furious franchise, Justin Lin, is solely missed would be quite an understatement. Justin Lin had a certain creative symmetry with this franchise. Lin knew when to up the ante on the mayhem and the action but he also didn't turn the volume up so high as to relegate his actors to mere set pieces. In Furious 7 it seems like Wan turns up the volume high so on the stunts that all of the actors become thinly referenced footnotes. This is more than evident with the Deckard Shaw character (Jason Statham.) All of we know of Shaw is that he's an angry bad ass from England with a black ops background. And oh yeah, he likes to blow stuff up but good. The beauty of the previous films is that the villains have always been drawn relatively well. Think Wings Hauser in 2 Fast 2 Furious. The Shaw character disappears for a good portion of the film and his main purpose is to set up the next round of demolition derby with Torretto (Diesel.) Let me go back to director James Wan for a second. The cardinal sin he makes by pumping up the volume is that he draws attention to how inane this film is. If a franchise like F and F walks a tightrope within the bounds of its own implausibility, it's not a good thing for the director to constantly remind us of said implausibility. There is a moment when Terreto and Shaw go mano a mano in their souped up hot rods and Wan just can't help himself; over done close ups and shots of the car preparing for war and some ridiculously insulting rock and roll ditty that made me think of Last Action hero.
Plot: Back from a successful mission in London and with their records cleared, Dom (Vin Diesel) and his crew try to settle into a less action oriented future. But all that changes when the brother of the man that Dom and his crew killed in London swears vengeance on Dom and everyone he knows. The baddie is Deckard Shaw (Jason Statham.) Deckard is what they call a ghost, an impossibly hard to track former black op with a penchant for anonymity and pure carnage. During his quest to take Shaw out, Dom finds an unlikely ally in a well connected CIA spook (Kurt Russell.) The spook offers Dom a deal. If Dom and his crew retrieve a valuable tracking device called the gods eyes, the spook will help Dom track down Shaw. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
If you want anymore proof that the Furious franchise should quit while it's ahead, look no further than the final act. If Wan wanted to redeem himself, he could've trimmed at least 15 minutes off of the last act. For a film franchise that seems to be in the mood to top itself, the final act seems to stick to the tried and true action film formula. That is to say, the bad guys miss ... ALOT.... and there's a member of the crew that always seems to arrive when one of his compadre's needs him most. The F and F franchise seems to have designated Roman (Tyrese Gibson) as the designated savee when all seems to be lost. There's really no rhyme or reason to the last act except for James Wan paying tribute to a virtual apocalypse as Dom's gang manages to destroy most of LA while trying to keep the other bad guy (Djimon Hounse) from gaining control of the gods eye. Somehow, a man who got a hold of a very powerful tracking device can't seem to shoot straight when he has a helicopter loaded with military grade weaponry at his disposal. What's even more ridiculous about the last act is the fact that Shaw, the bad ass assassin, ends up being felled by..... the sidewalk. Yes, you heard that right.
I thought about giving Furious 7 a reluctant three star recommendation but I can't. I had a good time at Furious 7 but I couldn't help feeling that this film is the beginning of the end of a franchise that is heading for that cliff known as as self parody. Eight and nine are rumored to be in the works and my hope that is either Rob Cohen or Justin Lin are recruited to restore order in the directors chair. Either director James Wan was over whelmed by the huge canvas of a multi million dollar action fueled franchise or he just put Furious 7 on auto pilot because he chose the path of....."the audience is to dumb to get it."
One final thought. While the Paul Walker tribute at the end of the film was stirring, I couldn't help but wonder if it was appropriate. One reviewer said that the beauty of the Walker tribute was that the film was dealing with Walker's death head on. I have to disagree. The tribute feels like some thing written for an actor who is simply stepping away from the franchise to do something else. As we all know, Paul Walker is no longer with us. Oh well, maybe it would've been better if Furious 7 had been scrapped all together. Or at least, re imagined with a director who has a bit more respect for the IQ of the audience. Or better yet, a healthy respect for everything that made the F and F franchise the exception to the rule in an era of big dumb and loud action films. Welcomes to the status quo James Wan.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Stilted Alice
Directed by Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland
Written by Richard Glatzer. Based on the novel by Lisa Genova
Alice Julianne Moore
Lydis Kristen Stewart
John Alec Baldwin
Anna Kate Bosworth
Still Alice is one of those films that seems to have good intentions but doesn't execute well enough to be anything more than a hollow film with some really wonderful and heartfelt moments sprinkled in between. I walked in expecting this film to grate on my last nerve of pure cynicism and I was pleasantly surprised that I never found myself wanting to escape from it. Instead I kept imagining what this film might have looked like under the watchful eye of a more seasoned director. Or in this case, directors. Directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland commit the cardinal sin of film making by manipulating the audience at every point. There is a moment where Alice (Julianne Moore) goes for a run and struggles to remember where she is. Cue, the sad tinkling of the piano based score. Alice gets her Alzheimer's diagnosis..... cue the sad tinkling of a piano based score. There is a nice moment where Alice, almost a year into her diagnosis, makes a rather compelling speech to the Alzheimers foundation. So how do directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland handle the big payoff moment with the speech? We get standard shots of weeping audiences members and an un necessary close up of Alice as she drinks in the moment. Of course, this moment wouldn't be complete without.... wait for it..... the sad tinkling of a piano based score. As a film goer, I think I have enough of an intellect to know when to be moved by the material of a given film. And as you can tell, I hate it when a film maker goes to no end to manipulate my emotions. FYI..... the best directors know when to let their material breathe.
I've taken co directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland to task for their direction but
I also have to take Richard Glatzer's screenplay to task. There's a certain feeling of derision with Glatzer's screenplay. It's almost like he doesn't trust the audience enough to fully understand what Alice is going through as her mind begins to betray her. One wonders if Glatzer's own bout with ALS ended up coloring his final screenplay draft with that sense of derision I spoke of earlier. To be fair, this isn't the only problem with Glatzer's screenplay. Valiantly he tries to create the people in Alice's life as a flawed souls who sometimes can't see past their own ego's or possibly, themselves. This is a neat idea, except for the fact that each of the supporting characters are so thinly drawn that their worst moments don't seem to have a counterbalance in which they can be redeemed in the eyes of the audience. A prime example of this is John, Alice's husband, who is played by Alec Baldwin. All we see of a John is a man with blinders on who can't or won't face the gravity of his wife's illness. When we get that moment when John finally cracks under the strain of Alice's diagnosis, the payoff seems hollow. Quite simply, you can't feel empathy for a character you don't know. Or in my case, don't particularly like. Then there are Alice's daughters, Anna (Kate Bosworth) and Lydia (Kristen Stewart.) We want to see Lydia as one of the constants in her ailing mother's life and we want to empathize with Lydia during the ending sequence of the film. Except, Lydia comes and goes and then reappears at the end of the film and the whole sequence feels like Alice has becomes Lydia's cross to bear in a cruel game of emotional hot potato between John and Anna and Lydia.
Plot: Alice (Julianne Moore) is a wildly successful linguistics expert at Columbia University. Alice seems to have it all. A loving husband, and three wonderful children. Fast forward a few months. Alice starts having memory issues and after seeing a neurologist, she is hit with the diagnosis of early stages Alzheimer's disease. Soon Alice's perfect world begins to show its cracks when she is unable to work and her husband John (Alec Baldwin) is forced to prioritize between his sick wife and HIS ever burgeoning career. Also affected are Alice's daughters, Lydia and Anna, who struggle to be there for her mother as they try to navigate the pitfalls of their own lives. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
In all honesty, I went to Still Alice to do a little compare and contrast between the performance by Julianne Moore in Alice and Reese Witherspoon in Wild. Moore is a true professional but I think the academy erred by not giving Witherspoon her second best actor statue. Moore has some great moments in Alice but I wasn't exactly blown away by either her or the film itself. Again, I don't think this is an indictment of Moore as it is the film itself. You want to like Still Alice but it's so poorly executed and so disjointed and so under written that you start to wonder why this film is even necessary. You've seen one over wrought melodrama, you've seen em all. Is Still Alice the middling movie of the week clap trap I expected it to be? No. Still Alice is an easily forgettable film that can't seem to distinguish itself from every disease of the week film that has come before it.
Written by Richard Glatzer. Based on the novel by Lisa Genova
Alice Julianne Moore
Lydis Kristen Stewart
John Alec Baldwin
Anna Kate Bosworth
Still Alice is one of those films that seems to have good intentions but doesn't execute well enough to be anything more than a hollow film with some really wonderful and heartfelt moments sprinkled in between. I walked in expecting this film to grate on my last nerve of pure cynicism and I was pleasantly surprised that I never found myself wanting to escape from it. Instead I kept imagining what this film might have looked like under the watchful eye of a more seasoned director. Or in this case, directors. Directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland commit the cardinal sin of film making by manipulating the audience at every point. There is a moment where Alice (Julianne Moore) goes for a run and struggles to remember where she is. Cue, the sad tinkling of the piano based score. Alice gets her Alzheimer's diagnosis..... cue the sad tinkling of a piano based score. There is a nice moment where Alice, almost a year into her diagnosis, makes a rather compelling speech to the Alzheimers foundation. So how do directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland handle the big payoff moment with the speech? We get standard shots of weeping audiences members and an un necessary close up of Alice as she drinks in the moment. Of course, this moment wouldn't be complete without.... wait for it..... the sad tinkling of a piano based score. As a film goer, I think I have enough of an intellect to know when to be moved by the material of a given film. And as you can tell, I hate it when a film maker goes to no end to manipulate my emotions. FYI..... the best directors know when to let their material breathe.
I've taken co directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland to task for their direction but
I also have to take Richard Glatzer's screenplay to task. There's a certain feeling of derision with Glatzer's screenplay. It's almost like he doesn't trust the audience enough to fully understand what Alice is going through as her mind begins to betray her. One wonders if Glatzer's own bout with ALS ended up coloring his final screenplay draft with that sense of derision I spoke of earlier. To be fair, this isn't the only problem with Glatzer's screenplay. Valiantly he tries to create the people in Alice's life as a flawed souls who sometimes can't see past their own ego's or possibly, themselves. This is a neat idea, except for the fact that each of the supporting characters are so thinly drawn that their worst moments don't seem to have a counterbalance in which they can be redeemed in the eyes of the audience. A prime example of this is John, Alice's husband, who is played by Alec Baldwin. All we see of a John is a man with blinders on who can't or won't face the gravity of his wife's illness. When we get that moment when John finally cracks under the strain of Alice's diagnosis, the payoff seems hollow. Quite simply, you can't feel empathy for a character you don't know. Or in my case, don't particularly like. Then there are Alice's daughters, Anna (Kate Bosworth) and Lydia (Kristen Stewart.) We want to see Lydia as one of the constants in her ailing mother's life and we want to empathize with Lydia during the ending sequence of the film. Except, Lydia comes and goes and then reappears at the end of the film and the whole sequence feels like Alice has becomes Lydia's cross to bear in a cruel game of emotional hot potato between John and Anna and Lydia.
Plot: Alice (Julianne Moore) is a wildly successful linguistics expert at Columbia University. Alice seems to have it all. A loving husband, and three wonderful children. Fast forward a few months. Alice starts having memory issues and after seeing a neurologist, she is hit with the diagnosis of early stages Alzheimer's disease. Soon Alice's perfect world begins to show its cracks when she is unable to work and her husband John (Alec Baldwin) is forced to prioritize between his sick wife and HIS ever burgeoning career. Also affected are Alice's daughters, Lydia and Anna, who struggle to be there for her mother as they try to navigate the pitfalls of their own lives. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
In all honesty, I went to Still Alice to do a little compare and contrast between the performance by Julianne Moore in Alice and Reese Witherspoon in Wild. Moore is a true professional but I think the academy erred by not giving Witherspoon her second best actor statue. Moore has some great moments in Alice but I wasn't exactly blown away by either her or the film itself. Again, I don't think this is an indictment of Moore as it is the film itself. You want to like Still Alice but it's so poorly executed and so disjointed and so under written that you start to wonder why this film is even necessary. You've seen one over wrought melodrama, you've seen em all. Is Still Alice the middling movie of the week clap trap I expected it to be? No. Still Alice is an easily forgettable film that can't seem to distinguish itself from every disease of the week film that has come before it.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
The Mayoral Crossroads
So this is where we're at in the great city if Chicago. We have a run off between an incumbent mayor who interests seems to lie into making the city into a glitzy showplace where developers can prosper and there are skyscrapers and condo's as far as the eye can see. If you want to see an area that symbolizes the festering disgust for Rahm Emanuel, one need look at a stretch of Diversey avenue from Damen through Milwaukee. For blocks there is blossoming development anchored by glitzy condo's and high profile anchor tenants. And then the number 76 comes up Albany and I realize that this area of Logan Square has remained as stagnant as it was when I lived there way back when. No condos, no anchor tenants, just a hodgepodge of mom and pop business and empty storefronts that serve as a symbol of the divided Chicago that Emmanuel has over seen since he took over as Mayor. Ah, but here comes Chuy Garcia, Chicago's white knight. Well, he's a knight that wants to see the castle before he storms it and really doesn't have a plan for getting into said castle. So this is where we are, mister and misses Chicago. Emmanuel is a born leader with an actual plan, however vague, to lead in 2015 and beyond. And then we have Chuy Garcia, who criticizes Emmanuel for run away debt and a doomsday snowball rolling towards us in 2015 known as an under funded City Pension system. Again, Emmanuel knows that hell is coming and wants to send everyone into the fallout shelter and Garcia, well, he wants to see what kind of shelter we need to build before said snowball turns into us another Detroit. If there is one thing that makes me hopefully that Garcia can be what he says can be, it's the fact that he has actually acknowledged the fact that our police force is woefully undermanned. How Garcia plans to pay for extra police manpower while shoring up Chicago's long term financial future is another political maguffin that makes you wish Garcia was more of a detail man. But if I've learned anything during my 37 years, it's that you can't dismiss a politician for being vague. If you did, everyone across the nation would be voting for none of the above. And so it goes..... I give you my vote Mister Garcia and with that vote, I am reminded of a line from the Dark Knight. "Everyone deserves to have their faith rewarded." I hope that you reward MY faith Mister Garcia. And as for you Mister Emmanuel, I came to the conclusion that a vote for you is a vote for the status quo and the status quo, in my view, has reached its shelf life. I'm tired of kids being slaughtered in Englewood while the downtown area is polished ad nauseum with corporate tax breaks for developers. We don't need more skating rink's named in honor of the wife of an incompetent former Mayor. We don't need more foreign billionaires nibbling in the mayors ear for a land grab for some gaudy building to house fellow millionaires. We need safer streets and better schools and fiscal sanity. You are the better leader Mister Emmanuel, no doubt. But I can't give you four more years. It's time for change. You're on Mister Garcia, you're on.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
This is 36.....
So I'm standing in the aisle of a seven eleven and I'm actually scanning trans fat content on a pre maid turkey sandwich. And I'm as scanning the health content on this particular breakfast item and I as frantically try to engage myself in a healthy breakfast...... one thought looms on the horizon like a patch of storm clouds; this must be what adulthood must be like. This must be what thirty six feels like. Counting of calories, a recurring daydream when I put my foot on the gas of an automobile and escape reason and responsibility for awhile. This mist be maturity, the point where I want to find my younger stupid self and throttle him but good for making incredible stupid and or poor decisions. This must be maturity; counting calories and embracing the rebirth of a relationship that I know isn't good for me in the long run. This is maturity; acting out of need and counting calories and dreaming of some magical utopia where I have the power to do nothing while still fulfilling the adult contract that I'm liable for until I breathe my last. This is maturity I guess. I'm Crash Davis, wearily roaming the landscape of the minor leagues of life in search of my reward. Namely, my call up to the big leagues. This is my life, this is maturity. Coffee with processed sweeteners, trans fat awareness, cholesterol counts, Woody Allen like bouts of hypochondria, lottery tickets bought on a whim, thoughts of reinvention, the pondering of what was, a growing romance for baseball, a desire for calm, luggage under the eyes, a deep appreciation of the people who can stomach my company for more than a minute, the scramble to maintain self, work spaces that are my own, bosses who are assholes, thoughts of escape followed by thoughts of sobering reasoning, rent payments, bills, web MD visits, self doubt, realization and the sometimes inviting blanket of solitude.
Stratospheric....
The Fault In Our Stars should be a model of how to transcend the disease of the week genre. Screenwriters Scott Neustadtler and Michael H Weber should be commended for the choices they make. Choices that ultimately lift The Fault In Our Stars above and beyond the level of
of a manipulative tear jerker. One of the more prudent choices made by writers Scott Neustadtler and Michael H. Weber choices is to treat the respective illnesses of the main characters Hazel (Shailene Woodley) and Gus (Ansel Elgort) as a looming elephant in the room and not a button to be pushed whenever the plot needs it to be. The screenplay by Scott Neustadtler and Michael H Weber is aware of the destiny that ultimately awaits Hazel and Gus but wisely, their focus is on the elements of love and pathos and these two extraordinary people who have are blessed with enough awareness to make every moment between them count.
I've read some reviews that have taken director Josh Boone to task for directing this film with a heavy hand. IE, his use of music to evoke a certain tone at key moments in the film. Namely, the payoff scene in the last act. I could not disagree more. Yes, there are few moments when it feels like director Josh Boone is maybe trying to use the sound track as a means to create romantically nostalgic pathos. For the most part though, director Josh Boone functions very well as an observer. He is unobtrusive when the film needs him to be and he is observant when the film needs him to be. There is a great moment when Gus declares his love for Hazel after a romantic dinner. The shot of Hazel's reaction when she hears Gus declare his love for her is handled with such delicateness and such care and such skill. It's like I've always said, a good director knows when to lead and when to simple get out of the way of their actors. Perhaps the best moment in the film is when Hazel and Gus have a rather sour experience with a writer they admire named Van Houten (Wilem Defoe.) Most directors would use this sequence as an excuse to create artifical tension to set up the separation and then the eventually reuniting of the characters. Instead of treating them as pawns in the plot, writers Scott Neustadtler and Michael H Weber instill in their characters an uncanny sense of self awareness that, in my view, lifts this film to greater heights.
Plot: Hazel (Shailenne Woodley) is a seventeen year old who has thyroid cancer that has spread to her lungs. But thanks to an experimental treatment, Hazel has been blessed with some added time in terms of her survival rate. Forced by her mother Frannie (Laura Dern) to attend a cancer support group, Hazel ultimately meets another cancer survivor named Gus (Ansel Elgort) who lost a leg to a form of bone cancer. What starts as a meet cute blossoms into a full fledged romance that transcends both time and circumstance for Hazel and Gus. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
I've thrown more than a few accolades at the writers and at director Josh Boone, but let me praise the performances of Shailene Woodley (Hazel) and Ansel Elgort (Gus.) The chemistry between Woodley and Elgort is undeniable and Woodley takes a seemingly one dim,ensional role and instills it with depth and vigor. Elgort as Gus pulls off a difficult balancing act of being charming and memorable without becoming obvious about it after awhile. In the hands of Woodley and Elgort, Hazel and Gus aren't just the typical one note terminal cases in a typical one note tear jerker.
I've heard critics say that the scene towards the end of the last act involving the eulogy is manipulative. I say it's genuine and well acted by everyone in the scene. If you've ever faced down the mortality of a loved one, Hazel's eyes tell you all that you need to know. This is a film that is genuine and honest and this is a film that has it's priorities straight.
of a manipulative tear jerker. One of the more prudent choices made by writers Scott Neustadtler and Michael H. Weber choices is to treat the respective illnesses of the main characters Hazel (Shailene Woodley) and Gus (Ansel Elgort) as a looming elephant in the room and not a button to be pushed whenever the plot needs it to be. The screenplay by Scott Neustadtler and Michael H Weber is aware of the destiny that ultimately awaits Hazel and Gus but wisely, their focus is on the elements of love and pathos and these two extraordinary people who have are blessed with enough awareness to make every moment between them count.
I've read some reviews that have taken director Josh Boone to task for directing this film with a heavy hand. IE, his use of music to evoke a certain tone at key moments in the film. Namely, the payoff scene in the last act. I could not disagree more. Yes, there are few moments when it feels like director Josh Boone is maybe trying to use the sound track as a means to create romantically nostalgic pathos. For the most part though, director Josh Boone functions very well as an observer. He is unobtrusive when the film needs him to be and he is observant when the film needs him to be. There is a great moment when Gus declares his love for Hazel after a romantic dinner. The shot of Hazel's reaction when she hears Gus declare his love for her is handled with such delicateness and such care and such skill. It's like I've always said, a good director knows when to lead and when to simple get out of the way of their actors. Perhaps the best moment in the film is when Hazel and Gus have a rather sour experience with a writer they admire named Van Houten (Wilem Defoe.) Most directors would use this sequence as an excuse to create artifical tension to set up the separation and then the eventually reuniting of the characters. Instead of treating them as pawns in the plot, writers Scott Neustadtler and Michael H Weber instill in their characters an uncanny sense of self awareness that, in my view, lifts this film to greater heights.
Plot: Hazel (Shailenne Woodley) is a seventeen year old who has thyroid cancer that has spread to her lungs. But thanks to an experimental treatment, Hazel has been blessed with some added time in terms of her survival rate. Forced by her mother Frannie (Laura Dern) to attend a cancer support group, Hazel ultimately meets another cancer survivor named Gus (Ansel Elgort) who lost a leg to a form of bone cancer. What starts as a meet cute blossoms into a full fledged romance that transcends both time and circumstance for Hazel and Gus. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
I've thrown more than a few accolades at the writers and at director Josh Boone, but let me praise the performances of Shailene Woodley (Hazel) and Ansel Elgort (Gus.) The chemistry between Woodley and Elgort is undeniable and Woodley takes a seemingly one dim,ensional role and instills it with depth and vigor. Elgort as Gus pulls off a difficult balancing act of being charming and memorable without becoming obvious about it after awhile. In the hands of Woodley and Elgort, Hazel and Gus aren't just the typical one note terminal cases in a typical one note tear jerker.
I've heard critics say that the scene towards the end of the last act involving the eulogy is manipulative. I say it's genuine and well acted by everyone in the scene. If you've ever faced down the mortality of a loved one, Hazel's eyes tell you all that you need to know. This is a film that is genuine and honest and this is a film that has it's priorities straight.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Father's Day,,,,, Nyeh....
I wish I could tell you that I'm sitting in a darkened corner bemoaning the loss of my father on father's day but I'm not. Remember when Red crossed the border in The Shawshank Redemption as a free man? That's the feeling that I had when my dad passed. Not that I hated the man.... well..... maybe.... kinda.... sorta.... I don't know. It's kind of like that scene in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein where Frankstein stumbles onto the ship and hears the echo of the beast in the distance. I know that my dad is somewhere bitching about something in some sub division of the afterlife but every once in awhile I hear the echo of the monster beneath the fog that is sometimes known as my adult life. In my mind, the best thing that I can do is to NOT become like my father. So here's hoping that when or if I get married, I don't make my mate's life a living hell the way my dad made my mom's life a living hell. Hopefully, when or if I get married, I will be more communicative and not walk around the house in my underwear with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. As I'm prone to do I'm looking on the bright side on Father's Day, this day of ambivalence and leisure. Since I'm a writer or more to the point, TRYING to be a writer, I have my father's collection of self esteem crushing moments in my head. All I need to do is bring them out of the archives. Thank you for telling me that the college diploma I had just earned wasn't worth shit and thank you for asking the one person I had a deep and meaningful connection with why she was with me. Thank you poppa. Thank you for telling me to go all color purple on the live of my life if she got "mouthy." I never hot her pop and I never quote on quote "put her in line." I never did what you told me to do poppa because I'm not you and I never will be. Happy Father's day my albatross, I'm happy to say that I am nothing like you. At. All.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
The wicked one
The Wicked One
I'll say it right here and now. The ending for maleficence is a cop out, an obvious attempt by Disney give the adults enough sub-text to keep them interested while not alienating the kiddies that Maleficent is obviously marketed to. I give Disney some credit for not fully lobotomizing Linda Wooverton's script for the sake of outright commercialism. The ending is a good example of this. Well, at least the first act of the ending is at least. There are sequences in the middle of the last act where Maleficent (Angelina Joliet) is unmercileslsly pummeled by her former flame Stephan (Sharlito Copley) with such fury that you wonder who Disney greased at the MPAA to get this film a PG rating. After an incredibly breath taking sequence in which Maleficent drops a vanquished foe off the top of a castle, the next shot is a compromised ball of glossy pomp and circumstance pandering that makes you wonder what this film could've been if Disney had full taken their foot off of the gas.
Now normally this would be a seething two star rating bemoaning a film that didn't have the guts to fulfill its own destiny. The thing about Maleficent is that it works. This film not only works, it actually has enough adult sub text to make it as fascinating as it delicious. Writer Linda Wooverton's script doesn't treat Maleficent as a disposable pawn in which to move the plot. When Maleficent does make her inevitable about face and discovers her humanity beneath the ice that was once her heart, writer Linda Wooverton ceases this opportunity to explore the pathos of revenge in a very grown up manner. There's is a great moment in the second act where Maleficent's unbridled thirst for revenge is held up to her like a mirror and she realizes what she is becoming.
Plot: Young malefience (Isabella Molloy) is a magical fairy creature who develops a crush on young Stefan (Michael Higgins.) As the years go on, Maleficence (now played by Angelina Joliet) finds her romance with Stephan (now played by Sharlito Copley) flagging a bit as Stephan's ambition to become king starts to take precedence over his romance with Maleficient Further complicating matters is the war that the mortals and Maleficent are waging against one another. After single handedly vanquishing the blood thirsty king henry and his royal army, the wounded emperor offers the throne to anyone who is willing to take out Maleficent. In the Stephan accepts the bounty and ends up betraying Maleficent. It is this act of betrayal that leaves Maleficent seeking revenge against not only Stephan but also his first born, Aurora (Elle Fanning.) Upon locking eyes on young Aurora, Maleficent curses the child with a prophecy; young Aurora will fall into a death sleep upon her sixteenth birthday and only a kiss of true love is to being her back from deaths door. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
I've thrown a few bouquets at writer Linda Wooverton but Angelina Joliet deserves some high praise for her work as Maleficent. Joliet is a perfect blend of wickedness, smoldering sensuality, and tempered vampishness that keeps the performance from wandering into a state of pandering or outright parody. Jolie's performance keeps this film afloat because she never over plays the material. In the hands of a lesser actress, Maleficent becomes an empty shell of pre programmed fury/ In Jolie's hands, Maleficent is a wounded soul whose sense of justice blinds her to the collateral damage that revenge often leaves in its wake. Indeed, Jolie's transformation from wide eyed romantic to scornful sorceress seems very organic and unforced. While Jolie deserves the plaudits, credit screenwriter Linda Wooverton for giving Jolie a fully developed character to work and not just a hastily sketched outline. Jolie is given the ball and she runs with it.
I said that Maleficent has adult sub text sprinkled about and nothing is more indicative of this than the battle between Stephan and Maleficent. Like Maleficent, Stephan is a two dimensional character and not simply a caricature for the screenplay to manipulate at will. If it is revenge that blinds Maleficent, it is both power and hate that eat away at the man that Maleficent once knew and ultimately loved.
I'll say it right here and now. The ending for maleficence is a cop out, an obvious attempt by Disney give the adults enough sub-text to keep them interested while not alienating the kiddies that Maleficent is obviously marketed to. I give Disney some credit for not fully lobotomizing Linda Wooverton's script for the sake of outright commercialism. The ending is a good example of this. Well, at least the first act of the ending is at least. There are sequences in the middle of the last act where Maleficent (Angelina Joliet) is unmercileslsly pummeled by her former flame Stephan (Sharlito Copley) with such fury that you wonder who Disney greased at the MPAA to get this film a PG rating. After an incredibly breath taking sequence in which Maleficent drops a vanquished foe off the top of a castle, the next shot is a compromised ball of glossy pomp and circumstance pandering that makes you wonder what this film could've been if Disney had full taken their foot off of the gas.
Now normally this would be a seething two star rating bemoaning a film that didn't have the guts to fulfill its own destiny. The thing about Maleficent is that it works. This film not only works, it actually has enough adult sub text to make it as fascinating as it delicious. Writer Linda Wooverton's script doesn't treat Maleficent as a disposable pawn in which to move the plot. When Maleficent does make her inevitable about face and discovers her humanity beneath the ice that was once her heart, writer Linda Wooverton ceases this opportunity to explore the pathos of revenge in a very grown up manner. There's is a great moment in the second act where Maleficent's unbridled thirst for revenge is held up to her like a mirror and she realizes what she is becoming.
Plot: Young malefience (Isabella Molloy) is a magical fairy creature who develops a crush on young Stefan (Michael Higgins.) As the years go on, Maleficence (now played by Angelina Joliet) finds her romance with Stephan (now played by Sharlito Copley) flagging a bit as Stephan's ambition to become king starts to take precedence over his romance with Maleficient Further complicating matters is the war that the mortals and Maleficent are waging against one another. After single handedly vanquishing the blood thirsty king henry and his royal army, the wounded emperor offers the throne to anyone who is willing to take out Maleficent. In the Stephan accepts the bounty and ends up betraying Maleficent. It is this act of betrayal that leaves Maleficent seeking revenge against not only Stephan but also his first born, Aurora (Elle Fanning.) Upon locking eyes on young Aurora, Maleficent curses the child with a prophecy; young Aurora will fall into a death sleep upon her sixteenth birthday and only a kiss of true love is to being her back from deaths door. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
I've thrown a few bouquets at writer Linda Wooverton but Angelina Joliet deserves some high praise for her work as Maleficent. Joliet is a perfect blend of wickedness, smoldering sensuality, and tempered vampishness that keeps the performance from wandering into a state of pandering or outright parody. Jolie's performance keeps this film afloat because she never over plays the material. In the hands of a lesser actress, Maleficent becomes an empty shell of pre programmed fury/ In Jolie's hands, Maleficent is a wounded soul whose sense of justice blinds her to the collateral damage that revenge often leaves in its wake. Indeed, Jolie's transformation from wide eyed romantic to scornful sorceress seems very organic and unforced. While Jolie deserves the plaudits, credit screenwriter Linda Wooverton for giving Jolie a fully developed character to work and not just a hastily sketched outline. Jolie is given the ball and she runs with it.
I said that Maleficent has adult sub text sprinkled about and nothing is more indicative of this than the battle between Stephan and Maleficent. Like Maleficent, Stephan is a two dimensional character and not simply a caricature for the screenplay to manipulate at will. If it is revenge that blinds Maleficent, it is both power and hate that eat away at the man that Maleficent once knew and ultimately loved.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
What I learned....
It's been a long week so please indulge me while I recount what I've learned this past week. I've learned that you can't get fired in the Obama administration. I've learned that Pat Quinn is an oblivious fool and that I still don't understand Obama care. I've learned that people who pay three dollars a month for roadside assistance expect the moon. I've learned that sleeping with an ex is the equivalent of empty calories. I've learned that I LIKE empty calories and that my mom may have used faulty preventers at the factory when I was hatched. I've learned that I hate doctors and I've learned that my immune system has a learning disability. I've learned that I can't possibly trust the spokeswoman for Wendy's because she doesn't actually eat the god damn food. You're a fraud woman and I'm on to your game. Moving on.... I've learned that Mayor Emanuel wants to turn every piece of available land into a park of some kind. I've learned that a dead pop singer can be resurrected as an awkward looking hologram and I've learned that a dead pop singer can be turned into a cash machine via the magic of old demo's and technological hocus pocus of sorts.
Finally I've learned that the subway close to my house doesn't honor the freedom of assembly or the god given right to have a meatball sandwich without sauce. I've learned that I hate dieting and that I miss my cigarettes. Resist Tyranny!!! Toot!!! Toot!!!
Finally I've learned that the subway close to my house doesn't honor the freedom of assembly or the god given right to have a meatball sandwich without sauce. I've learned that I hate dieting and that I miss my cigarettes. Resist Tyranny!!! Toot!!! Toot!!!
Monsters triumph
Watching the newest update of Godzilla I was reminded of the quandary that seemed to plague the writing team on last year's "Man Of Steel." How does a writing team reinvigorate a premise that is essentially built on a one note character. With Superman the characters flies and there's much more you can seemingly add. The writers on Man Of Steel tried in vain to come up with a premise based on the one note that ultimately defined the Superman character. The way I see it, Godzilla has the same issue. The films hook is the beast itself. So the question is, how do you keep the audience interested after they've gotten what they wanted. Better yet, how does the premise remain fresh and engaging if the main attraction is going to have limited screen time. You could say that both Man Of Steel and Godzilla both suffer from a lack of quality time in the editing room. At a running time of one hundred and thirty minutes, there's only so many times that you can watch a beast like Godzilla emerge from the shadows to wreak havoc on the mortals in his path. Yet after all this, I give the Godzilla update a solid three star recommendation. Sure the pacing bogs way down towards the end of the second act and into the last act, I'll give you that. This being said, it's not because director Gareth Edwards has lost control of the premise. In the directors chair, Edwards shows a steady hand and a rare discipline to let the story and the characters develop organically. In Edwards' hands, the appearance of the monster serves as a snack of sorts. And what of the monster and the cgi effects? There are no quipping extras, just some great shots of terrified mortals running for their existence when Godzilla rumbles through town. I like the less is more approach that director Garreth Edwards takes. Edwards doesn't try to shock and awe the audience to death when it's time to up the eye candy factor. We're passengers on the ride but we're not captives to the special effects. Hello Michael Bay.
Plot: A nuclear scientist named Joe (Bryan Cranston) suspects that the government knows more about a blast tremor than they're letting on. While doing field research on the tremor, Joe's wife Sandra (Juliette Binoche) is killed during yet another nuclear breach. Feeling responsible for his wife's death, Joe drops off the radar; his life now consumed by the need to know why his wife died and what was behind the actual breech itself. Fast forward 15 years. Joe's quest for the truth gets him in trouble with the local authorities and this leads to a tense reunion with his son Ford (Aaron Taylor Johnson.) What begins as a quest to rescue his dad from his own guilt in China turns into an odyssey for survival as Joe and Ford finally encounter the secret Joe had unknowingly fought to expose; a long sought alpha male named Godzilla. The same Godzilla that was presumed dead in a nuclear attack years before. Not only did the monster survive, it grew stronger by feeding on the nuclear power that was used to try and destroy it. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
It's very rare in a popcorn like Godzilla flick to see a set of characters so fully developed. The plot line involving the Ford character and his wife Elle (Elisabeth Olsen) feels genuine because both of the characters are designed by the screenplay as more than disposable set pieces. I can't tell you how refreshing it is to see the Stenz character (David Straithairn) actually being written with more than a seek and destroy mentality. Strathairn's character is a man under the gun who knows he has to contain the carnage being left in Godzilla's wake. But the character is fully dimensional enough to realize that the plan he's set in motion to destroy Godzilla may lead to everyone's undoing. As Stenz says at one point "if you have a back up plan, let's here it."
Is Godzilla too long? Yes. Are there too many shots of smoky desolation while the creature stalks his prey unseen? Yes. And somehow, it works. Garreth Edwards shows a steady hand as director. His style is simple but confident and he has a knack for staying out of the way. For once, it's nice to have a director of a summer blockbuster that actually respects the film IQ of the audience as a whole.
Plot: A nuclear scientist named Joe (Bryan Cranston) suspects that the government knows more about a blast tremor than they're letting on. While doing field research on the tremor, Joe's wife Sandra (Juliette Binoche) is killed during yet another nuclear breach. Feeling responsible for his wife's death, Joe drops off the radar; his life now consumed by the need to know why his wife died and what was behind the actual breech itself. Fast forward 15 years. Joe's quest for the truth gets him in trouble with the local authorities and this leads to a tense reunion with his son Ford (Aaron Taylor Johnson.) What begins as a quest to rescue his dad from his own guilt in China turns into an odyssey for survival as Joe and Ford finally encounter the secret Joe had unknowingly fought to expose; a long sought alpha male named Godzilla. The same Godzilla that was presumed dead in a nuclear attack years before. Not only did the monster survive, it grew stronger by feeding on the nuclear power that was used to try and destroy it. I'll stop there, you can decipher the rest of the plot on your own.
It's very rare in a popcorn like Godzilla flick to see a set of characters so fully developed. The plot line involving the Ford character and his wife Elle (Elisabeth Olsen) feels genuine because both of the characters are designed by the screenplay as more than disposable set pieces. I can't tell you how refreshing it is to see the Stenz character (David Straithairn) actually being written with more than a seek and destroy mentality. Strathairn's character is a man under the gun who knows he has to contain the carnage being left in Godzilla's wake. But the character is fully dimensional enough to realize that the plan he's set in motion to destroy Godzilla may lead to everyone's undoing. As Stenz says at one point "if you have a back up plan, let's here it."
Is Godzilla too long? Yes. Are there too many shots of smoky desolation while the creature stalks his prey unseen? Yes. And somehow, it works. Garreth Edwards shows a steady hand as director. His style is simple but confident and he has a knack for staying out of the way. For once, it's nice to have a director of a summer blockbuster that actually respects the film IQ of the audience as a whole.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Ricketts finally gets it....
Forget the image of Cubs chairman Tom Ricketts looking like a captive and forget the sound of unbearably cheesy music playing in the background as king Cub made his case for the Wrigley renovations to finally move forward. This is a great day for Cubs fans because the grand poobah of Cubdom has finally learned how things get done in the wild west known as Chicago. Tom Ricketts tried to be a nice guy, he tried to placate the rooftop owners. For his trouble, Ricketts was peppered by spitballs in a room full of rowdy kids. Only in Chicago could a group of people be granted a supposedly iron clad agreement to profit off of someone else's product. Someone else said it best when they said Tom Ricketts hasn't been mean enough. Nice guys get eaten in Chicago. What Tom Ricketts needs to do is to scorch the very earth that is blocking his path to making Wrigley Field the money making entity he envisions it to be. My hope is that Tom Ricketts isn't just issuing more empty threats. The entities that get what they want in Chicago do more than talk, they demolish the obstacles in their path. You have a mayor who can be a potential ally Mister Ricketts, use him and his uncanny ability to get what he wants when he wants it. And if the roof top owners want to fight, squeeze them until they break. It's the way things are done in this city. It's time for the Cubs to get what they want. It's time for their park to be a revenue making machine like they have in Fenway. It's time for the Cubs to get paid what they deserve from their TV and radio deals. You look around and it seems like everyone is making more money than the Cubs are on their product. The future of your legacy isn't romanticism or nostalgia or misguided loyalty Mister Ricketts. Two things should have shaken out here. Ricketts should have put the shovels in the ground and had the construction trucks rolling towards Clark and Addison as soon as the city signed off on the proposal to bring Wrigley Field into the modern era. Either that or Ricketts should've have used the carrot of a Rosemont stadium to make his intentions clear. Nothing gets people's attention more than the possibility of dwindling property values and the prospect of an economic depression once one of Wrigleyville's most lucrative landmarks leaves a crater in the middle of Lakeview. This is your chance to silence your detractors Mister Ricketts, don't stop now.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
it's a wonderful state.....
So what did we learn from President Obama's State Of The Union Address last night? Well, we learned that Obama is a lone wolf who still doesn't understand the concept of reaching across the aisle to end the morass of partisan gridlock that has become an all too familiar hallmark of his administration. Watching the state of the union address last night, President Obama reminded me of just another slick politician spewing some gee golly Capraesque rhetoric that probably would've made George Bailey throw his hands up and yell cut at the top of his lungs. Via his own rhetoric about doing things with or without congresses help and or support, Obama came across all Wyatt Earp like. Hell is coming and Obama is bring the thunder apparently. Not since Kurt Russell in the film Tombstone has the American public been treated to such bravado.
After five years, my impression of Barrack Obama is this. He's a preacher in a nice suit who can charm your pants off if your bull shit detector has taken a holiday. Like Bill Clinton, you have to admire Obama's skill at being charming even when you know that he's feeding you the same line that every other politician has fed you during every whistle stop stump or every state of the union address. The more I see of Obama, the more of a true politician he becomes. IE, the Wag The Dog like moment where our fair president put on his every man pants and spun a yarn about the soldier he became "pals" with." The very same soldier that both Obama and the cameras quickly zeroed in on after Obama convienently told the world a tale about how said soldier nearly lost his life after a road side bomb left a piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain. When the economy is stuck in neutral and millions of Americans are left without much needed unemployment benefits, why not use a wounded soldier as a path to selective amnesia? It certain worked for Dubya, seeing as how he used the aftermath of 9-11 to make the worries about a slumping economy magically fade away. Edwin Starr once asked about war and what it was good for? Apparently, it's good for profit and it's good for the commander in chief when he wants to play politics in the name of diversion and or distraction. God bless America.
After five years, my impression of Barrack Obama is this. He's a preacher in a nice suit who can charm your pants off if your bull shit detector has taken a holiday. Like Bill Clinton, you have to admire Obama's skill at being charming even when you know that he's feeding you the same line that every other politician has fed you during every whistle stop stump or every state of the union address. The more I see of Obama, the more of a true politician he becomes. IE, the Wag The Dog like moment where our fair president put on his every man pants and spun a yarn about the soldier he became "pals" with." The very same soldier that both Obama and the cameras quickly zeroed in on after Obama convienently told the world a tale about how said soldier nearly lost his life after a road side bomb left a piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain. When the economy is stuck in neutral and millions of Americans are left without much needed unemployment benefits, why not use a wounded soldier as a path to selective amnesia? It certain worked for Dubya, seeing as how he used the aftermath of 9-11 to make the worries about a slumping economy magically fade away. Edwin Starr once asked about war and what it was good for? Apparently, it's good for profit and it's good for the commander in chief when he wants to play politics in the name of diversion and or distraction. God bless America.
So what did we learn from President Obama's State Of The Union Address last night? Well, we learned that Obama is a lone wolf who still doesn't understand the concept of reaching across the aisle to end the morass of partisan gridlock that has become an all too familiar hallmark of his administration. Watching the state of the union address last night, President Obama reminded me of just another slick politician spewing some gee golly Capraesque rhetoric that probably would've made George Bailey throw his hands up and yell cut at the top of his lungs. Via his own rhetoric about doing things with or without congresses help and or support, Obama came across all Wyatt Earp like. Hell is coming and Obama is bring the thunder apparently. Not since Kurt Russell in the film Tombstone has the American public been treated to such bravado.
After five years, my impression of Barrack Obama is this. He's a preacher in a nice suit who can charm your pants off if your bull shit detector has taken a holiday. Like Bill Clinton, you have to admire Obama's skill at being charming even when you know that he's feeding you the same line that every other politician has fed you during every whistle stop stump or every state of the union address. The more I see of Obama, the more of a true politician he becomes. IE, the Wag The Dog like moment where our fair president put on his every man pants and spun a yarn about the soldier he became "pals" with." The very same soldier that both Obama and the cameras quickly zeroed in on after Obama convienently told the world a tale about how said soldier nearly lost his life after a road side bomb left a piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain. When the economy is stuck in neutral and millions of Americans are left without much needed unemployment benefits, why not use a wounded soldier as a path to selective amnesia? It certain worked for Dubya, seeing as how he used the aftermath of 9-11 to make the worries about a slumping economy magically fade away. Edwin Starr once asked about war and what it was good for? Apparently, it's good for profit and it's good for the commander in chief when he wants to play politics in the name of diversion and or distraction. God bless America.
After five years, my impression of Barrack Obama is this. He's a preacher in a nice suit who can charm your pants off if your bull shit detector has taken a holiday. Like Bill Clinton, you have to admire Obama's skill at being charming even when you know that he's feeding you the same line that every other politician has fed you during every whistle stop stump or every state of the union address. The more I see of Obama, the more of a true politician he becomes. IE, the Wag The Dog like moment where our fair president put on his every man pants and spun a yarn about the soldier he became "pals" with." The very same soldier that both Obama and the cameras quickly zeroed in on after Obama convienently told the world a tale about how said soldier nearly lost his life after a road side bomb left a piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain. When the economy is stuck in neutral and millions of Americans are left without much needed unemployment benefits, why not use a wounded soldier as a path to selective amnesia? It certain worked for Dubya, seeing as how he used the aftermath of 9-11 to make the worries about a slumping economy magically fade away. Edwin Starr once asked about war and what it was good for? Apparently, it's good for profit and it's good for the commander in chief when he wants to play politics in the name of diversion and or distraction. God bless America.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
The city that never changes....
The headlines in Chicago are ripe with stories about innocent people being shot and killed day after day. Every week or so, there's another story about a mob attacking people on the Magnificent Mile. Last week, a young man was shot in the head after he complied with a group of thugs who were attempting to rob him. In all this, you'd think that Mayor Emmanuel's priority would be the safety and protection of ordinary citizens in the great city of Chicago. But no. Mayor Emmanuel's newest pet project doesn't involve finding the necessary funding to increase police manpower in crime ridden areas of the city. Instead, Mayor Emmanuel is devoting his energy to the task of out biding New York City for the right to host the presidential library for his pal Barack Obama.
Chicagoans are once again being subjected to another self serving political initiative that serves neither the interest of the city or its constituents. Let's be real here, this act of political hubris is all about Rahm Emmanuel's Washington based aspirations. It's not about history or recognition or status or anything else. What would the city of Chicago actually lose if Obama's presidential library went elsewhere? Instead of diverting precious city resources to a presidential library, maybe Mister Emmanuel should devote his energy to the infrastructure of the city he currently reigns over. I'd rather have a modernized train system free of antiquated technical gaffes than yet another piece of property built for the ego of a political demi gog. This is all about Rahm Emmanuel currying favor with his political pals in Washington; the place where his true political heart and soul lies. Apparently, there's no money available in the budget for new schools to be built and there's no money for teachers to be paid what they're worth. Chicago schools are being consolidated in poor areas ands children are becoming targets because they have to trek through gang and crime ridden areas just to get to their designated school. There's no money to keep our citizens and our children safe but there IS money in the coffers for Mayor Emmanuel to bid for a glass and steel monstrosity to celebrate the great former senator from Illinois. The more things change in Chicago, the more they stay the same.
Chicagoans are once again being subjected to another self serving political initiative that serves neither the interest of the city or its constituents. Let's be real here, this act of political hubris is all about Rahm Emmanuel's Washington based aspirations. It's not about history or recognition or status or anything else. What would the city of Chicago actually lose if Obama's presidential library went elsewhere? Instead of diverting precious city resources to a presidential library, maybe Mister Emmanuel should devote his energy to the infrastructure of the city he currently reigns over. I'd rather have a modernized train system free of antiquated technical gaffes than yet another piece of property built for the ego of a political demi gog. This is all about Rahm Emmanuel currying favor with his political pals in Washington; the place where his true political heart and soul lies. Apparently, there's no money available in the budget for new schools to be built and there's no money for teachers to be paid what they're worth. Chicago schools are being consolidated in poor areas ands children are becoming targets because they have to trek through gang and crime ridden areas just to get to their designated school. There's no money to keep our citizens and our children safe but there IS money in the coffers for Mayor Emmanuel to bid for a glass and steel monstrosity to celebrate the great former senator from Illinois. The more things change in Chicago, the more they stay the same.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
When Babylon fell.....
Let me ask you a question. What was the one period in time that makes you shake your head in wonder and or disgust? For me, it was the uncertain time that centered around the early years of the AIDS epidemic. One of the best films of the year, Dallas Buyers Club, perfectly defines this particular era. This was a time when the ground opened up and people were suddenly swallowed whole. And as Babylon fell away, the most over rated of our presidents, Ronald Regan, did absolutely nothing. When Regan finally DID awaken from his slumber and when he finally did acknowledge the epidemic before him, 25,000 lives had already been lost. The nation needed a leader during that time, we needed a strong figure to calm the fears of a nation that was threatening to divide against itself. Instead, Regan's apathy allowed panic and fear and almost chaos to fester into a state of narrow minded ignorance that would ultimately prove fatal as the years wore on and the disease known as AIDS preyed on not only homosexuals but heterosexual men and women and babies and intravenous drug users. I can still hear the words of a fellow I once knew. "I thought it was a fags disease" he said, shrugging indifferently as his life quickly ticked away. My friend, god rest his soul, became the symbol of blind indifference; an indifference that would cost not only his life but the lives of millions more. There were preachers spewing hate and there were profit seekers and bureaucrats and scientist fighting the Regan era red tape in a futile attempt to stop the old butchers bill from growing ever larger.
There's a moment in Dallas Buyers Club where a judge stands before Ron Woodruff (Matthew McConaghey) and declares sympathy for his plight; IE, the fact that he's dying from AIDS and is being denied the right to access the drugs needed to prolong his life. This same judge then spits out a litany of terms such as "regulations" "studies" "protocols" and "side effects." People like Ron Woodruff were fighting to survive and we basically told to fill out paperwork and express their feelings while a time bomb was set to go off inside their bodies. In sickness there was profit and god bless the FDA for living up to this mantra as they partnered with doctors and various hospitals to give their patients sugar pills and a treatment known as AZT that proved ineffective in the treatment of AIDS. According to the FDA, thinking outside the box to save one's life just wasn't attractive to the bottom line of the pharmaceutical companies who interests they ultimately protected.
There's a moment in Dallas Buyers Club where a judge stands before Ron Woodruff (Matthew McConaghey) and declares sympathy for his plight; IE, the fact that he's dying from AIDS and is being denied the right to access the drugs needed to prolong his life. This same judge then spits out a litany of terms such as "regulations" "studies" "protocols" and "side effects." People like Ron Woodruff were fighting to survive and we basically told to fill out paperwork and express their feelings while a time bomb was set to go off inside their bodies. In sickness there was profit and god bless the FDA for living up to this mantra as they partnered with doctors and various hospitals to give their patients sugar pills and a treatment known as AZT that proved ineffective in the treatment of AIDS. According to the FDA, thinking outside the box to save one's life just wasn't attractive to the bottom line of the pharmaceutical companies who interests they ultimately protected.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Letter to my unborn offspring....
Well, here's the thing. You're never going to be born because I'm a cynic who will never get married. I know what you're thinking. What the fuck are you writing this letter for if you're not planning on or aren't inclined to have any offspring? Well, I'm probably writing this because it's a frigid winter night and I'm heading home on the subway from a job that I hate. Or perhaps it's the onset of clinical depression. Or maybe I'm just in one of those black Hemmingwayesque moods where I'm feeling writerly because I feel like I really don't give a shit. Sadly, your dad is a tormented soul who wrestles with something known as angst. What I'm hoping for is that you enjoy the world as I never could. My hope is that you don't reach a point in your life where the garden of possibility turns into a vast acre of tumble weeds.
I'm writing this letter in the hope that the cycle of life will always keep us connected. Not at the end when I'm on the way out and your journey has just begun , but all throughout the first act and right up until the very end of the picture. Don't worry I'm not going to preach to you about better living through chemistry. Blow up the lab, get it out of your system. Do all the self indulgent and or stupid things in one shot. Trust me, you'll be better for it later.
My hope is that you have, at some point, a great love story like your dad had once upon a time. Hopefully it's a love story that lasts through the last act and has a happy ending. Nothing contrived, just heartfelt. Hopefully this woman, whoever she is, will make you better and hopefully she'll make you feel like anything is possible. Take a lesson from your old man, nothing is trivial. Not to her anyway. Be a good listener and be a pip and get her coffee in the morning; even if you have to go out in the freezing cold. Be proactive, be open, be sweet, don't ever take this woman, whoever she may be, for granted.
See the world, be impulsive, never over think things. Just.... be the man I aspired to be once upon a time. Lastly, if you root for the Cubs.... keep your sense of humor and an extra supply of faith. Even if all seems hopeless, even if you feel your loyalty wavering; have faith. Have faith and then have a big old cry, it's OK, when you're sitting there at Wrigley on a frigid October night and the Cubs break finally break through and do the unimaginable. Soak it all in. And when it's time to settle back into reality, be sure to tell that woman in your life that you love her. Say it often, don't be a "guy." Why? Because you never know. Life is funny that way.
Yours,
Dad
I'm writing this letter in the hope that the cycle of life will always keep us connected. Not at the end when I'm on the way out and your journey has just begun , but all throughout the first act and right up until the very end of the picture. Don't worry I'm not going to preach to you about better living through chemistry. Blow up the lab, get it out of your system. Do all the self indulgent and or stupid things in one shot. Trust me, you'll be better for it later.
My hope is that you have, at some point, a great love story like your dad had once upon a time. Hopefully it's a love story that lasts through the last act and has a happy ending. Nothing contrived, just heartfelt. Hopefully this woman, whoever she is, will make you better and hopefully she'll make you feel like anything is possible. Take a lesson from your old man, nothing is trivial. Not to her anyway. Be a good listener and be a pip and get her coffee in the morning; even if you have to go out in the freezing cold. Be proactive, be open, be sweet, don't ever take this woman, whoever she may be, for granted.
See the world, be impulsive, never over think things. Just.... be the man I aspired to be once upon a time. Lastly, if you root for the Cubs.... keep your sense of humor and an extra supply of faith. Even if all seems hopeless, even if you feel your loyalty wavering; have faith. Have faith and then have a big old cry, it's OK, when you're sitting there at Wrigley on a frigid October night and the Cubs break finally break through and do the unimaginable. Soak it all in. And when it's time to settle back into reality, be sure to tell that woman in your life that you love her. Say it often, don't be a "guy." Why? Because you never know. Life is funny that way.
Yours,
Dad
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Amfar's cinematic victory lap....
Every once in awhile, I'll be sitting there watching something on HBO and I'll get so flustered by the the obvious political pandering of the content that I'll have to control my urge to launch my shiny HD TV into oblivion. HBO'S latest entry into the political self congratulation archives was a short mini documentary on AMFAR or The American Foundation For Aids Research. If you watched this special, you'd think that AMFAR had rendered the AIDS disease to nothing more than a tragic footnote in the annuals of medical history. While the upper crust ate champagne and dined on their self delusions, actress Sharon Stone was see in one segment touting AMFAR'S horn as if they had plowed the road towards a cure. Last time I checked, a cure for AIDS was nowhere in sight and people were still dying of this dreaded disease. To hear the subjects in the documentary tell it, AMFAR has somehow unlocked scientific doors to the very nature of AIDS and how to attack it. Last I heard scientists had been struggling with another strain of AIDS. A strain that had become resistant to the very HIV/AIDS drugs that AMFAR says they had a hand in developing. Is this where we're at in terms of the outlook on AIDS; people promising better tomorrows while they hand out so called wonder pills and don't worry be happy buttons? This isn't the time for self congratulations. The war against HIV/AIDS isn't over and if organizations like AMFAR think there's nothing left to fight for on this front, then they're simply delusional or too in love with their own press clippings to know better.
Still, that's not even what put the proverbial bee in my bonnet. It's the fact that the film makers, predictably, drudge up the name of Ryan White to prop up AMFAR as some sort of do gooding organization for AIDS research. As we all know, we can never let facts get in the way of a mutual admiration society. Those facts being that Ryan White only became a poster boy for the AIDS movement because he was the victim of blatant bean counting by the blood industry. The blood industry, god bless them, felt that cost was more prevalent than prevention and or public safety when AIDS was in its embryo stages and victims like Ryan White were being infected by the very blood that was supposed to save their lives. Yet, there is AMFAR and their minions taking credit for the HIV blood testing system that is currently in place. The very system that was begrudgingly put into action after organizations like the Red Cross knew they had to deal with the shit storm that would soon follow. But again, let's not let the facts of a brutal epidemic with no end in sight get in the way of an AIDS organization and its need for a victory lap. Make it a quick one AMFAR, there's till work to be done. There are still lives being lost. There are still stigmas that need to be tackled and there are still lives to be saved.
Still, that's not even what put the proverbial bee in my bonnet. It's the fact that the film makers, predictably, drudge up the name of Ryan White to prop up AMFAR as some sort of do gooding organization for AIDS research. As we all know, we can never let facts get in the way of a mutual admiration society. Those facts being that Ryan White only became a poster boy for the AIDS movement because he was the victim of blatant bean counting by the blood industry. The blood industry, god bless them, felt that cost was more prevalent than prevention and or public safety when AIDS was in its embryo stages and victims like Ryan White were being infected by the very blood that was supposed to save their lives. Yet, there is AMFAR and their minions taking credit for the HIV blood testing system that is currently in place. The very system that was begrudgingly put into action after organizations like the Red Cross knew they had to deal with the shit storm that would soon follow. But again, let's not let the facts of a brutal epidemic with no end in sight get in the way of an AIDS organization and its need for a victory lap. Make it a quick one AMFAR, there's till work to be done. There are still lives being lost. There are still stigmas that need to be tackled and there are still lives to be saved.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
And Perez hilton shall lead us.....
I shouldn't get all indignant when I hear about someone snapping photos of a celebrity in the throes of a rather unseemly demise. For all of the advances in technology, it has only served to placate the bottom feeding opportunist looking to make a few quick bucks with some taboo footage. I wonder how anyone can stand there with their cell phone and snap a picture of someone's life slipping away beneath a ton of crushed, smoldering steel. It seems incomprehensible. I don't know if that's as horrible as the report that the amateur shutter bug kept filming even as a friend of Paul Walker's raced to the scene to try and perform some type of miracle rescue. I don't know what makes me sicker, this act of blatantly insensitive voyeurism or the sanctimonious odor of quasi journalism coming from the site of Perez Hilton. I guess it's true what they say, everyone thinks that they're a journalist these days. I fear that the line between bottom feeding media vultures and actual journalists is becoming increasingly murkier by the minute. I think I would respect a guy like Perez Hilton more if he dropped the act. If he truly had a soul or any semblance of integrity, he'd realize that his plastic sense of empathy for Paul Walker's demise is obviously tempered by his need to feed the hunger of the bottom feeders who keep him in business; bottom feeders like the amateur shutter bug who couldn't bring himself to put his cell phone down for one second. Can you imagine if a guy like Perez Hilton was around when say, JFK was gunned down. I imagine Hilton spewing some pre written spiel about the nation's great loss before directing the visitors to his site to a multitude of photos of JFK'S skull being blown into a thousand pieces. But true to Hilton's slimy nature, he'd cloak his carnival barking need for blood and guts in the guise of patriotism. Just like he's wrapping himself up in the guise of journalism when he proudly features multi angle shots of the crash that killed Paul Walker.
A person gets thrown in front of train and our fellow citizens snap photos of said locomotive bearing down on the victim. An actor in the prime of his career lies dead in a mangled heap of foreign steel and some guy zooms in for a pay day shot. We're de evolving as a society and it's extremely unsettling to me. Maybe it's the reality television culture that has led to this perceived sense of moral decay. Today, the opportunity for someone to get their fifteen minutes of fame isn't as daunting as it used to be. You don't need talent, you need only a puppet master. You don't need purpose, you simply need a camera and a tragedy and a knack for being an opportunist. To the amateur shutter bug, I say this. Those photos you took are going to be seen by a fifteen year old who doesn't have a father anymore. Thanks to your voyeurism, that fifteen year old gets a first hand lesson in both selfishness and callousness. Good night and good luck.
A person gets thrown in front of train and our fellow citizens snap photos of said locomotive bearing down on the victim. An actor in the prime of his career lies dead in a mangled heap of foreign steel and some guy zooms in for a pay day shot. We're de evolving as a society and it's extremely unsettling to me. Maybe it's the reality television culture that has led to this perceived sense of moral decay. Today, the opportunity for someone to get their fifteen minutes of fame isn't as daunting as it used to be. You don't need talent, you need only a puppet master. You don't need purpose, you simply need a camera and a tragedy and a knack for being an opportunist. To the amateur shutter bug, I say this. Those photos you took are going to be seen by a fifteen year old who doesn't have a father anymore. Thanks to your voyeurism, that fifteen year old gets a first hand lesson in both selfishness and callousness. Good night and good luck.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
The Hunger Games... in technicolor
A friend and I were having a debate on whether the events of the blockbuster film "The Hunger Games" could possibly occur in real life. My friend argued that we are too civilized of a society to actually engage in something as barbaric. I countered her faith in humanity by pointing out that our society is seemingly decaying by the minute. Nothing is more true of this than the report of a shopper pepper spraying her fellow bargain hunters in a Best Buy in order to rightfully claim a fancy gadget on markdown. If someone in this society is willing to pepper spray someone to get their hands on a discounted piece of technological utopia, imagine what would happen if said person was forced to fight for their very survival on this planet. You can say that you wouldn't watch your fellow humans doing battle for their right to remain on this planet but you know you would. You know you would watch and you know you would be on the phone voting for your favorite combatant to give you your requisite hunk of flesh. And don't tell me there isn't some corporate giant who wouldn't be willing to write a huge check in order to profit from all the blood shed and chaos. I can see it now.... Ryan Seacrest playing Edward R Murrow in a Brooks Brother special; the cool hipster putting the de evolution of society into a marketing friendly package of ad dollars and outright voyeurism.
If the Hunger Games were indeed real would they end up being cloaked in some semblance of partisan politics? I imagine if the Hunger Games were held for real under a Democratic administration, the GOP would be threatening a filibuster to keep down the number of well to do tax payers competing for their lives. And I imagine if the Hunger Games commenced under a Republican administration, the Democrats would be screaming into the heavens about how the middle class are taking on a higher casualty rate than their upper class brethren. I imagine if the Hunger Games commenced for real, that the landscape, post blood shed, would be something akin to Cormac McCarthy's "The Road." I'm not talking about a world devoid of resources and I'm not talking about a world void of self restraint and society based etiquette. I forsee a world post Hunger Games filled with opportunist. A world where the power brokers sift through the casualties in an attempt to try and create a utopia in their own image.
If the Hunger Games were indeed real would they end up being cloaked in some semblance of partisan politics? I imagine if the Hunger Games were held for real under a Democratic administration, the GOP would be threatening a filibuster to keep down the number of well to do tax payers competing for their lives. And I imagine if the Hunger Games commenced under a Republican administration, the Democrats would be screaming into the heavens about how the middle class are taking on a higher casualty rate than their upper class brethren. I imagine if the Hunger Games commenced for real, that the landscape, post blood shed, would be something akin to Cormac McCarthy's "The Road." I'm not talking about a world devoid of resources and I'm not talking about a world void of self restraint and society based etiquette. I forsee a world post Hunger Games filled with opportunist. A world where the power brokers sift through the casualties in an attempt to try and create a utopia in their own image.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Those darn hobbits.....
There's something about mystical works of fiction that just don't strike my fancy. In other words, I don't give a rat's ass about the Harry Potter film library and I don't give a rat's ass about the multi billion dollar Hobbit film that is soon to hit theaters. Where is Smaug and why is it being desolated? And what exactly is a friggin Hobbit any way? I've tried reading Tolkien and it didn't go well. I got through a few pages and I surrendered. But then again, the Lord Of The Rings franchise made a half a billion dollars in total receipts without any of my money going into the LOTR kitty so I guess that Hollywood doesn't give a rat's ass if I give a rat's ass about this particular franchise or its Hobbit franchise off spring.
Maybe someday I'll be sitting on my ass at home wrestling with my angst when the LOTR and Hobbit films will magically strike a chord with me. It happened with Star Wars. Once upon a time I didn't give a rat's ass about Star Wars and now I have one of the combo anniversary limited edition blue ray packs that George Lucas dangles in front of people like water in the desert. Maybe I'm destined to be on the outside looking in when it comes to certain aspects of pop culture. I don't want to see amateurs making fools of themselves on American Idol and I have no interest in hearing the kids on Glee singing other people's tunes. I want the simple things in my life. I want dark indie films that don't compromise and directors that don't butcher the books I love when they become films. I want a woman who is uncomplicated and I want to not act out of need. I don't want hobbits and midgets and British thespians in full beards being tied into a Denny's grand slam meal. I just want to watch dark indie films and write the great American novel so I can make lots of money. Then eventually I'll turn into an even more insufferable sack of crap and some woman will come along and steal all of my wealth. And then maybe I'll spend my last ten bucks on a Netflix subscription and maybe, just maybe, I'll finally understand why people stand in line for two weeks in full Gandolph regalia to watch an overblown CGI fest like The Hobbit. Right before I have my grabber or I get a hit by a bus or my potential wife to be slips a foreign toxin into my coffee, I'll finish one book in JRR Tolkiens epic medieval opera. Then I'll travel to this mystical land of Smaug and one of the liberals will bring their row boat and their film crew along as we try to rebuild the joint. I will install Wi Fi throughout this land known as Smaug and I will teach the hobbits how to get health care through the Obama backed insurance site. And then the Hobbits will find out that there existing insurance has been canceled and I'll be exiled back to the states. Resist Tyranny!!! Toot!!! Toot!!!
Maybe someday I'll be sitting on my ass at home wrestling with my angst when the LOTR and Hobbit films will magically strike a chord with me. It happened with Star Wars. Once upon a time I didn't give a rat's ass about Star Wars and now I have one of the combo anniversary limited edition blue ray packs that George Lucas dangles in front of people like water in the desert. Maybe I'm destined to be on the outside looking in when it comes to certain aspects of pop culture. I don't want to see amateurs making fools of themselves on American Idol and I have no interest in hearing the kids on Glee singing other people's tunes. I want the simple things in my life. I want dark indie films that don't compromise and directors that don't butcher the books I love when they become films. I want a woman who is uncomplicated and I want to not act out of need. I don't want hobbits and midgets and British thespians in full beards being tied into a Denny's grand slam meal. I just want to watch dark indie films and write the great American novel so I can make lots of money. Then eventually I'll turn into an even more insufferable sack of crap and some woman will come along and steal all of my wealth. And then maybe I'll spend my last ten bucks on a Netflix subscription and maybe, just maybe, I'll finally understand why people stand in line for two weeks in full Gandolph regalia to watch an overblown CGI fest like The Hobbit. Right before I have my grabber or I get a hit by a bus or my potential wife to be slips a foreign toxin into my coffee, I'll finish one book in JRR Tolkiens epic medieval opera. Then I'll travel to this mystical land of Smaug and one of the liberals will bring their row boat and their film crew along as we try to rebuild the joint. I will install Wi Fi throughout this land known as Smaug and I will teach the hobbits how to get health care through the Obama backed insurance site. And then the Hobbits will find out that there existing insurance has been canceled and I'll be exiled back to the states. Resist Tyranny!!! Toot!!! Toot!!!
What would the pilgrims say?
I wonder what the pilgrims would say about the way their sacrifices would be celebrated. On this day of Thankfulness, there are people camped outside various department stores across the United States in a battle for marked down bargains. Imagine what the pilgrims would say if they heard about two strangers beating the crap out of one another for a marked down LCD television or a X Box One or whatever the else the department stores dangle in front of us bargain hungry vultures these days. I've never gotten the whole concept of Black Friday myself. Maybe it's because I don't have the people skills to tolerate a bunch of ill mannered cretins pushing and shoving their way towards a materialistic utopia of some kind. But on this holiday of thanks, it's nice to turn on my television and be bombarded by a handsomely paid actor telling everyone that an employment dictatorship like Wal Mart is a place where employees bloom and prosper. I wonder if the person who has to put up with the animals on a Black Friday at Wal Mart for nine bucks an hour would sing the praises of the afore mentioned corporate entity. In one commercial the same handsomely paid actor says with pride how he started at Wal Mart as a cashier and then became a manager; a manager at the next Wal Mart opened up after the union busting giant squeezed another small business into submission more than likely. So this is Thanksgiving. Wal Mart propaganda running in a loop, people working for peanuts slinging burgers at McDonalds, and super stores dangling the karat of Black Friday OT in front of workers that aren't paid enough to begin with.
I imagine I'll be making this same post on Christmas. Christmas, the day that the entity hovering above us celebrates his or her birth day and people across the land spend the day bitching about what they didn't get while the interest on their credit cards accounts accumulate at light speed. But for me the most unbearable of the holidays is probably new years. See I can avoid the materialism of Christmas and the inhumanity of Thanksgiving day shoppers but New Years is another matter entirely. I am currently a singleton and a recovering...... well I'm recovering..... It's a long and complicated story for another time. It's a quandary I think. What does a middle aged singleton do on New Years eve if they are a solo, booze free entity? There's always the cine plex. Perhaps I'll buy a ticket for the Hunger Games and swoon over the lovely Jennifer Lawrence while I'll digest some popcorn and ponder how my life jumped the tracks at some point. Bottoms up everyone and happy shopping!!!!
I imagine I'll be making this same post on Christmas. Christmas, the day that the entity hovering above us celebrates his or her birth day and people across the land spend the day bitching about what they didn't get while the interest on their credit cards accounts accumulate at light speed. But for me the most unbearable of the holidays is probably new years. See I can avoid the materialism of Christmas and the inhumanity of Thanksgiving day shoppers but New Years is another matter entirely. I am currently a singleton and a recovering...... well I'm recovering..... It's a long and complicated story for another time. It's a quandary I think. What does a middle aged singleton do on New Years eve if they are a solo, booze free entity? There's always the cine plex. Perhaps I'll buy a ticket for the Hunger Games and swoon over the lovely Jennifer Lawrence while I'll digest some popcorn and ponder how my life jumped the tracks at some point. Bottoms up everyone and happy shopping!!!!
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