Not long ago, I said I hated the Jerry Bruckheimer approach to filmmaking, and now, having seen the second sequel to Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl entitled POTC: At World's End, I can emphatically reiterate this sentiment.
The movie embodies so many of the things that I hate about a Bruckheimer production, from the eyeball-searing special effects to the overbearing music score to the ludicrous dialogue, this time taking the form of clumsy "inspirational" speeches delivered by a truly uncharismatic actor (Keira Knightley). If I had heard her say "our enemies" one more time I swear I would have thrown something at the projector.
I write this review as someone who genuinely enjoyed the first POTC movie and even its sequel, Dead Man's Chest. Both of those films, the first much more than the second, had a sense of fun driving them. The beauty of the first film really hit me upon repeat viewings: it had all the proper ingredients of a good action adventure movie: an engaging plot, a truly despicable villian, a charismatic lead character, and a plucky, beautiful heroine. Of course, the key ingredient, without which everything else is useless, is a well-woven narrative. The movie fails in this respect, and everything else comes tumbling down. It's a chop-suey of iconic visuals that have no real emotional impact, mainly because they feel like parts from different movies thrown together.
The opening scene, where several people, including a young boy, are hanged for aiding pirates, with its somber lighting and grim music score, is a potentially powerful scene...that belongs in another movie, not one that's supposed to be fun. Clearly, the intent is to establish the villain, Cutler Beckett, as a badass, a fearsome adversary, but in truth and in fact it just does not have the desired effect. From start to finish, he is incurably bland. The sad thing is that this is not the only scene that feels sorely out of place in this film, because in a lot of ways the movie does not even seem to know what it is, with its mishmash of jokes, murder, mayhem and bad "Braveheart" speeches. If Keira Knightley's condition for coming back to the series was that the writers churn out these prosaic "we must fight" speeches for her, then I frankly hope her clout in Hollywood diminishes greatly over the next few years.
I won't even go into the specifics of the chaotic plot, other than there seems to be some kind of ham-handed allegory as to how corporate capitalism, as represented by the East India Trading Company, is bad, while independent, free enterprise as represented by the pirates, is good, or something like that. Everything else is a hopeless mess.
The film does have its redeeming moments, such as all of Johnny Depp's screentime. Although his sashaying drunkard does get old at some point, it's still head and shoulders more enjoyable than most other things in the film. Geoffrey Rush, who played the campy pirate villain to perfection in the first movie is here considerably less menacing but nonetheless a welcome addition to a mostly uninspired cast. He does his fair share of scenery chewing, and is easily the most "piratey" of the bunch.
Although done to excess, the digital effects are still topnotch. The last act was good for the most part though they really tended to go overboard (no pun intended). Still, on the top of visual effects achievements, one of my biggest, and I mean literally BIGGEST pet peeves was how the writers killed the Kraken, the gigantic squid that dragged the Black Pearl and Captain Jack into Davy Jones' locker at the end of the second film, OFF CAMERA. The once fearsome beast shows up here only as an enormous carcass washed up on land. What an anticlamactic end to such a magnificent movie monster. I don't know if they were trying to save money on the effects they would need to animate it or were just too unimaginative to think of how else it could have been killed (they had a sea goddess, for crying out loud, who could probably have dispatched it easily). The climactic whirlpool scene was indeed breathtaking, although the classic Bruckheimer overkill pops up again and again.
The biggest problem with this movie was that it didn't keep things simple, the way the first one did. As with its box-office rival, Spider-Man 3, its makers tried to cram too many things into one movie, and when one thinks about it there were just so many narrative dead-ends that the film could certainly have done without, particularly the proliferation of double-crossing.
Well, the box-office verdict is mostly in, and it appears that this installment of POTC, largely expected to smash Spider-Man 3's opening weekend record, fell short. While I wasn't too thrilled with Spider-Man 3, this is still good news to me because for all its flaws, Spider-Man 3 was still better than this piece of crap. At least that movie's beating heart was the story itself, rather than a prosaic, ill-conceived story device created so Orlando Bloom could utter hideous lines like "it's always belonged to you."
With apparently all three of the 2007 summer's big threequels being huge disappointments, I hope Hollywood learns a very important lesson about market saturation...
...ah, who are we kidding?
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
The End of an Era
Last Thursday, I picked up issue #13 of Ultimates 2, which marks Mark Millar's and Bryan Hitch's final issue on the series before they pass the baton on to a new creative team.
Since it first launched in January of 2002, The Ultimates has come to redefine comics as readers know them, as most vividly exemplified in Marvel's recent Civil War event. Grim and gritty comics may have had their heyday in the 1980s with Frank Miller and Alan Moore leading the way, but it was only with Hitch's 21st century take on Marvel's Avengers that comics achieved such remarkable verisimilitude. Comics had a real world feel and a "widescreen" scope. Thus was Millar's and Hitch's legacy to the world of illustrated storytelling clearly etched into history.
It's been 26 issues of mayhem, wall-to-wall action interspersed with scathing political commentary, presented in some of the most stunning artwork ever seen in a mainstream comic book publication, and as the curtain falls on one of the most visually arresting creative collaborations of all time I cannot help but feel a little empty inside.
Issue #13 wraps up Millar's "Grand Theft America" storyline, which has a number of the world's Eastern powers such as Russia, China and Middle Eastern nations such as Syria conspiring to overthrow America, the "new Roman Empire" by throwing together their own assemblage of superhumans. This politically-charged scenario, which has the coalition's team known as "The Liberators" violently taking over both Manhattan and Washington D.C. in a lightning strike by issue #9, ends with an extremely violent confrontation between Asgardian half-brothers Thor and Loki (who worked with the Liberators) and their assembled forces.
That Millar and Hitch wrap up their tenure on the most successful 21st century reimagining of some of the comic world's most recognizable superheroes to date is saddening, but what is more disappointing is how they seem to drift away, at the eleventh hour, from the controversial realpolitik approach that has made this book so memorable, towards more conventional superheroics. Thor is revealed to be an actual god and not the lunatic he was set up as in the first five issues of Ultimates Vol. 2. The Ultimates break away from the U.S. government and are funded by Tony Stark instead. Sound familiar? Yes, it sounds a lot like Millar is trying to make the series a lot more like its mainstream counterpart, the Avengers, who themselves have gone in the other direction, with one half of the team becoming civil servants and the other half going underground.
Millar's change in direction, whether intentional or not, seems to perfectly accommodate succeeding writer Jeph Loeb, who is not exactly the left winger Millar was.
Still, at least all plot points are tied up quite neatly, with nothing left to the imagination, and at least, even after all the set-up for the next creative team has been established, Millar and Hitch manage to sneak in at least one nicely dark scene as one of the team members, the lone traitor in their ranks, is murdered in cold blood. This is a character whose mainstream counterpart features quite prominently in the Avengers titles, and so the death is a nice way of asserting the independence of the Ultimate universe from the Marvel universe proper.
I don't know what Millar's and Hitch's next project is, but if, as Millar once boasted, they can make Superman as interesting as they've made Captain America and company, I'd definitely start reading the Man of Steel books quite regularly.
Since it first launched in January of 2002, The Ultimates has come to redefine comics as readers know them, as most vividly exemplified in Marvel's recent Civil War event. Grim and gritty comics may have had their heyday in the 1980s with Frank Miller and Alan Moore leading the way, but it was only with Hitch's 21st century take on Marvel's Avengers that comics achieved such remarkable verisimilitude. Comics had a real world feel and a "widescreen" scope. Thus was Millar's and Hitch's legacy to the world of illustrated storytelling clearly etched into history.
It's been 26 issues of mayhem, wall-to-wall action interspersed with scathing political commentary, presented in some of the most stunning artwork ever seen in a mainstream comic book publication, and as the curtain falls on one of the most visually arresting creative collaborations of all time I cannot help but feel a little empty inside.
Issue #13 wraps up Millar's "Grand Theft America" storyline, which has a number of the world's Eastern powers such as Russia, China and Middle Eastern nations such as Syria conspiring to overthrow America, the "new Roman Empire" by throwing together their own assemblage of superhumans. This politically-charged scenario, which has the coalition's team known as "The Liberators" violently taking over both Manhattan and Washington D.C. in a lightning strike by issue #9, ends with an extremely violent confrontation between Asgardian half-brothers Thor and Loki (who worked with the Liberators) and their assembled forces.
That Millar and Hitch wrap up their tenure on the most successful 21st century reimagining of some of the comic world's most recognizable superheroes to date is saddening, but what is more disappointing is how they seem to drift away, at the eleventh hour, from the controversial realpolitik approach that has made this book so memorable, towards more conventional superheroics. Thor is revealed to be an actual god and not the lunatic he was set up as in the first five issues of Ultimates Vol. 2. The Ultimates break away from the U.S. government and are funded by Tony Stark instead. Sound familiar? Yes, it sounds a lot like Millar is trying to make the series a lot more like its mainstream counterpart, the Avengers, who themselves have gone in the other direction, with one half of the team becoming civil servants and the other half going underground.
Millar's change in direction, whether intentional or not, seems to perfectly accommodate succeeding writer Jeph Loeb, who is not exactly the left winger Millar was.
Still, at least all plot points are tied up quite neatly, with nothing left to the imagination, and at least, even after all the set-up for the next creative team has been established, Millar and Hitch manage to sneak in at least one nicely dark scene as one of the team members, the lone traitor in their ranks, is murdered in cold blood. This is a character whose mainstream counterpart features quite prominently in the Avengers titles, and so the death is a nice way of asserting the independence of the Ultimate universe from the Marvel universe proper.
I don't know what Millar's and Hitch's next project is, but if, as Millar once boasted, they can make Superman as interesting as they've made Captain America and company, I'd definitely start reading the Man of Steel books quite regularly.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
When Studio Executives, and Not Filmmakers, Make Movies.
I hate the Jerry Bruckheimer approach to making movies. With a few exceptions, the man has been responsible for some of the trashiest movies of our time. He is the man whose movies exemplify the phrase style over substance, and in many instances his movies don't have either of these two, but try to pass of bombast, thundering music, slow motion photography and repeated use of orange-tinted lighting as style. As much as I enjoyed it, I think last year's Pirates of the Caribbean sequel was made very much in this vein, with some rather mindless action sequences and a reed-thin plot holding everything together.
Which is why I found myself genuinely saddened by what happened in Spider-Man 3, even after I read about it breaking box-office records. It struck me, even though I enjoyed it, that the people behind the movie were taking the Bruckheimer route.
What made the Spider-Man series special for me was that it eschewed the traditional action-movie formula and went for character and story development above all else, with the action set-pieces being more incidental than instrumental to Peter Parker's journey from boy to hero. It was very much the case with the first movie and even more so in the second. Sam Raimi and his screenwriters proved that you could make Jerry Bruckheimer and George Lucas money without going for all-out action sequences or a million digital effects shots. Raimi's weapon of choice as always the strength of his characters and the actors who played them, and the human drama that took place between them; the action was never center-stage. It's not an easy balancing act to achieve; last year Bryan Singer tried aping the Raimi formula with his attempted Superman revival and flopped spectacularly, whatever Warner Brothers execs may claim.
Unfortunately, it seems that Raimi's weapons were very much blunted for the third (and, potentially his final) installment of the series. For this, we have to thank Avi Arad and the suits at Sony.
I once wrote in this blog that Arad was a genius and the next Bruckheimer. I now basically recant on the former and while I'm still standing pat on the latter, I have to say that is not a good thing at all.
Looking back at the entire slate of Marvel films that have hit screens since Blade knocked Saving Private Ryan off the top of the box-office charts in 1998, I have to say that the only true standout, quality films they have produced are the first two X-Men movies and the first two Spider-Man movies. All four of these movies were brilliant in that they effectively crossed over from fanboy fare into films that everybody could appreciate, and they definitely (especially the two Spider-Man films) transcended the whole "comic book movie" stigma. While Avi Arad's name is attached to all of these movies in one fashion or another, he should not dare take credit for their artistic integrity. Credit for that should go to Bryan Singer for his vision of Marvel's merry mutants and Sam Raimi for his masterful rendition of everyone's favorite web-slinger. These movies were great because the directors prevailed over the studio execs in the most important creative choices.
Arad has been rather public, almost to the point of gloating about how he strong-armed Raimi into shoehorning Venom into the second Spider-Man sequel. Having seen the movie twice, I can say for certain that this was a huge mistake.
The Spider-Man movies have followed a very definite, deliberate trajectory since the first film, as exemplified, I would say, by Peter Parker's relationships with both Mary Jane Watson and Harry Osborn. These are the most important threads running through all three movies.That, and the lessons Peter learns about his power as Spider-Man and his responsibility to the people of New York City. This particular installment was meant to be a movie about forgiveness. This was exemplified by the story of Sandman.
Throwing Venom into the mix, however, just made things that much more convoluted, and if the story feels bloated and overlong, it's simply because the way the entire series was designed, it simply was not meant to accommodate the rather one-dimensional Eddie Brock. All of Raimi's villains of choice have been conflicted men corrupted by power, in stark contrast to Brock, who is a corrupt man who is corrupted even more by power. He does not belong in Raimi's universe, no matter how much aplomb Topher Grace invested in his portrayal.
I don't know how much money Sony threw at Sam Raimi or how many of their executives got down on their knees to get him to tell the press that he had learned to like Venom even after his initial vehement dislike, but from the way Spider-Man 3 played out it distinctly feels to me like he was lying through his teeth. Venom just did not belong in the story. Maybe, just maybe, the black suit did, but not Venom.
(SPOILER WARNING)
Sure, Venom may have served a useful story purpose by bringing out dark (dork?) Peter and providing a device through which Harry Osborn was finally killed off, but that could have been done in another manner, if the writers were creative enough.
(END SPOILER WARNING)
Here's how the story could have played out without Venom:
Peter is harassed by Harry, who gets the bump on his head.
His relationship with Mary Jane is strained because of how full of himself he becomes (which happened even without the black suit)
Enter Sandman (hehe), Uncle Ben's real killer, whom Spider-Man defeats and believes dead.
Harry reenters the picture and schemes against Peter. Mary Jane leaves Peter upon Harry's threat, just like in the movie.
Sandman's daughter dies of the sickness (which she really has) which is ailing her.
Meanwhile, Sandman reassembles himself and, in a rage, kidnaps Mary Jane to get back at Spider-Man (don't ask me how he knows to kidnap her, I'm sure they could have thought of something).
No matter how distraught he is, Peter peels himself away from Harry, goes up against the extremely powerful Sandman and is having a hard time beating him.
Harry finds out (perhaps not through the butler, a rather clumsy device) that Peter didn't really kill his father and decides to help Peter out, even though his experimental goblin formula is highly unstable and causing his body to rapidly deteriorate.
The two of them team up, and using a combination of Spidey's skill and Harry's Goblin-tech, they are able to subdue the Sandman to the point where he is helpless, but Harry's "New Goblin" formula ends up killing him...JUST LIKE IT DID IN THE COMICS.
Peter is in a position to kill Sandman, who, now helpless, gets to tell Peter his sad story, and Peter ends up forgiving him, just like what actually happened. Sandman is either carted off to jail or slips away in the sewage system, I don't know.
Peter and MJ bury Harry, then get back together.
The movie, with a few tweaks, could have worked just fine had it played out this way and would have been much closer in spirit to its two predecessors. Not only that, it would have been a lot shorter to boot.
Arad may be patting himself on the back with the new sequel's record-breaking box-office, but by shoving something down the throat of his one remaining creative genius, Sam Raimi, he basically diluted the quality of what, in my opinion, could have been the best comic-book based film series of all time.
I still enjoyed Spider-Man 3, Arad's and Sony's tampering notwithstanding, but in my humble opinion it could have been so much more...had it focused on less.
I can only hope that the upcoming Iron Man is made more like the first two Spider-Man movies, because it strikes me that if Sony makes any more Spider-Man movies, they will try to ape the formula of this third one more than that of the first two.
Filmmaking, really, should be left to the filmmakers and not to their paymasters.
Which is why I found myself genuinely saddened by what happened in Spider-Man 3, even after I read about it breaking box-office records. It struck me, even though I enjoyed it, that the people behind the movie were taking the Bruckheimer route.
What made the Spider-Man series special for me was that it eschewed the traditional action-movie formula and went for character and story development above all else, with the action set-pieces being more incidental than instrumental to Peter Parker's journey from boy to hero. It was very much the case with the first movie and even more so in the second. Sam Raimi and his screenwriters proved that you could make Jerry Bruckheimer and George Lucas money without going for all-out action sequences or a million digital effects shots. Raimi's weapon of choice as always the strength of his characters and the actors who played them, and the human drama that took place between them; the action was never center-stage. It's not an easy balancing act to achieve; last year Bryan Singer tried aping the Raimi formula with his attempted Superman revival and flopped spectacularly, whatever Warner Brothers execs may claim.
Unfortunately, it seems that Raimi's weapons were very much blunted for the third (and, potentially his final) installment of the series. For this, we have to thank Avi Arad and the suits at Sony.
I once wrote in this blog that Arad was a genius and the next Bruckheimer. I now basically recant on the former and while I'm still standing pat on the latter, I have to say that is not a good thing at all.
Looking back at the entire slate of Marvel films that have hit screens since Blade knocked Saving Private Ryan off the top of the box-office charts in 1998, I have to say that the only true standout, quality films they have produced are the first two X-Men movies and the first two Spider-Man movies. All four of these movies were brilliant in that they effectively crossed over from fanboy fare into films that everybody could appreciate, and they definitely (especially the two Spider-Man films) transcended the whole "comic book movie" stigma. While Avi Arad's name is attached to all of these movies in one fashion or another, he should not dare take credit for their artistic integrity. Credit for that should go to Bryan Singer for his vision of Marvel's merry mutants and Sam Raimi for his masterful rendition of everyone's favorite web-slinger. These movies were great because the directors prevailed over the studio execs in the most important creative choices.
Arad has been rather public, almost to the point of gloating about how he strong-armed Raimi into shoehorning Venom into the second Spider-Man sequel. Having seen the movie twice, I can say for certain that this was a huge mistake.
The Spider-Man movies have followed a very definite, deliberate trajectory since the first film, as exemplified, I would say, by Peter Parker's relationships with both Mary Jane Watson and Harry Osborn. These are the most important threads running through all three movies.That, and the lessons Peter learns about his power as Spider-Man and his responsibility to the people of New York City. This particular installment was meant to be a movie about forgiveness. This was exemplified by the story of Sandman.
Throwing Venom into the mix, however, just made things that much more convoluted, and if the story feels bloated and overlong, it's simply because the way the entire series was designed, it simply was not meant to accommodate the rather one-dimensional Eddie Brock. All of Raimi's villains of choice have been conflicted men corrupted by power, in stark contrast to Brock, who is a corrupt man who is corrupted even more by power. He does not belong in Raimi's universe, no matter how much aplomb Topher Grace invested in his portrayal.
I don't know how much money Sony threw at Sam Raimi or how many of their executives got down on their knees to get him to tell the press that he had learned to like Venom even after his initial vehement dislike, but from the way Spider-Man 3 played out it distinctly feels to me like he was lying through his teeth. Venom just did not belong in the story. Maybe, just maybe, the black suit did, but not Venom.
(SPOILER WARNING)
Sure, Venom may have served a useful story purpose by bringing out dark (dork?) Peter and providing a device through which Harry Osborn was finally killed off, but that could have been done in another manner, if the writers were creative enough.
(END SPOILER WARNING)
Here's how the story could have played out without Venom:
Peter is harassed by Harry, who gets the bump on his head.
His relationship with Mary Jane is strained because of how full of himself he becomes (which happened even without the black suit)
Enter Sandman (hehe), Uncle Ben's real killer, whom Spider-Man defeats and believes dead.
Harry reenters the picture and schemes against Peter. Mary Jane leaves Peter upon Harry's threat, just like in the movie.
Sandman's daughter dies of the sickness (which she really has) which is ailing her.
Meanwhile, Sandman reassembles himself and, in a rage, kidnaps Mary Jane to get back at Spider-Man (don't ask me how he knows to kidnap her, I'm sure they could have thought of something).
No matter how distraught he is, Peter peels himself away from Harry, goes up against the extremely powerful Sandman and is having a hard time beating him.
Harry finds out (perhaps not through the butler, a rather clumsy device) that Peter didn't really kill his father and decides to help Peter out, even though his experimental goblin formula is highly unstable and causing his body to rapidly deteriorate.
The two of them team up, and using a combination of Spidey's skill and Harry's Goblin-tech, they are able to subdue the Sandman to the point where he is helpless, but Harry's "New Goblin" formula ends up killing him...JUST LIKE IT DID IN THE COMICS.
Peter is in a position to kill Sandman, who, now helpless, gets to tell Peter his sad story, and Peter ends up forgiving him, just like what actually happened. Sandman is either carted off to jail or slips away in the sewage system, I don't know.
Peter and MJ bury Harry, then get back together.
The movie, with a few tweaks, could have worked just fine had it played out this way and would have been much closer in spirit to its two predecessors. Not only that, it would have been a lot shorter to boot.
Arad may be patting himself on the back with the new sequel's record-breaking box-office, but by shoving something down the throat of his one remaining creative genius, Sam Raimi, he basically diluted the quality of what, in my opinion, could have been the best comic-book based film series of all time.
I still enjoyed Spider-Man 3, Arad's and Sony's tampering notwithstanding, but in my humble opinion it could have been so much more...had it focused on less.
I can only hope that the upcoming Iron Man is made more like the first two Spider-Man movies, because it strikes me that if Sony makes any more Spider-Man movies, they will try to ape the formula of this third one more than that of the first two.
Filmmaking, really, should be left to the filmmakers and not to their paymasters.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
The Joy of Re-Reading Old Comics
My collection of toy cars grew by yet another car yesterday: a 1965 Shelby Cobra, part of the "For Sale" line of cars which basically consists of die cast cars designed to look like cars you would find in a used car lot, replete with uneven splotches of primer and chalk on the windows advertising what good shape the car is in. It's very nice. Like most of my cars, however (with the exception of the boxed ones, which I can pop out of and return to their boxes), it is staying in its clamshell case in which I bought it, where I can admire it and nothing more. Until I'm rich enough to build a glass or acrylic case to hold all these things and protect them from the elements, it is in their clamshells that they will stay. As much as I enjoy admiring them, I have to admit there isn't much more than that.
Which is why, even four months into this hobby (which has currently slowed down considerably), I can still say with certainty that comic books still trump diecast cars for one important reason: you can read them and re-read them, unless you're one of those sickos who buys multiple copies and has them "graded" for the sole purpose of hawking them on eBay. I'm proud to say that, as much money as I made off my comics online, at least I read them first.
My collection, much leaner now than it was two months ago, has a few truly great reads, some of them in single or two-issue stories, but for the most part in terms of four to six-issue storylines.
It's gratifying to revisit old series which I would take months to collect and complete and just read them all again in one sitting. The beauty of being a Marvel collector is that most of their latter-day stories were designed for such readings, and so for the most part they hold up so well that whatever delay may have been incurred in waiting for all four, five, six or seven issues of a miniseries or storyarc is suddenly forgotten.
There are some really good examples of such series that come to mind.
One of my favorites is Mark Millar's 12-issue run on Spider-Man, which still holds up well three or four reads later. Although this story has been accused of ripping off the format of Batman: Hush, its narrative architecture holds up a lot better than Jeph Loeb's flimsy excuses to have Jim Lee draw Batman's entire rogues gallery. Millar's opus is one big, 12-issue arc divided up among three smaller arcs, and they're all really fun reads. Artists Terry and Rachel Dodson and guest artist Frank Cho make it a real visual treat as well, though not necessarily on par with Lee's amazing illustrations.
Another series I really loved to revisit was J. Michael Straczynski's inaugural arc on Amazing Spider-Man, entitled "Coming Home." It's a pretty back-to-basics Spider-Man story with a couple of twists and from the outset JMS makes it pretty clear he has his own direction planned for the character. Artist John Romita Jr. absolutely shines, especially during the balls-to-the-wall action sequences.
Another series that Romita Jr. did really well recently was The Eternals. On an initial reading of the last couple of issues, which I didn't pick up right away because I was busy buying diecast cars, I found the series to be anticlimactic. Though upon re-reading them I still get that vibe, I have to admit now that there was some definitive progression in the story. After all the hype, though, I have to say that the real star of this miniseries was JR Jr., much more than its heralded writer Neil Gaiman.
Of course, not all series hold up to re-reading, no matter how deliberately Marvel plans its arcs, and in one case lateness really did hurt the overall quality of the story. The Spider-Man/Black Cat six-issue miniseries which officially took Kevin Smith about three and a half years to finish is one such example. Three tightly plotted and scripted, rather gripping issues came out in 2002, with an extremely formidable new villain and a hell of a cliffhanger that had the readers wondering if the Black Cat was going to get raped. Three years later, the remaining three issues of the series came out, and the plot just took a completely wrong turn. Even after reading it again over again I found that the whole thing just stank something terrible. It was as though Smith completely lost a handle on the story and just decided to churn out whatever came to mind. Not even Terry Dodson could save this book.
Lateness, however does not hurt a storyarc if it's already been carefully mapped out, and if the only thing that causes the delay is the art.
A surprisingly good example of this would be Joe Quesada's Daredevil: Father miniseries which, like Smith's Spider-Man miniseries, took over two years to finish. Quesada's lateness is much easier to forgive than Smith's considering that Joe doubled as the writer and the artist of the series, on top of that whole Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics business. At first I thought the ending had been re-tooled towards the end as well, but when I re-read the series, and I've done so two or three times, I actually realized how very tightly, yet intricately everything was woven together. I'm generally not a fan of artist-writers, but Quesada really hit it out of the park with this one. Of course, it helps that these six issues showcase some really terrific art, with the latter chapters featuring, in my opinion, some of the best art of Quesada's career.
My favorite example of a series whose quality is unaffected by lateness, however, is, yes, I'll say it: Civil War. Yes, there were mischaracterizations. Yes, it was flawed storytelling, which is a little disappointing considering Millar's talent, but from the first page of issue #1 to the last page of issue #7 this series was just totally riveting. It really and truly had a what-the-hell-is-going-to-happen-next vibe --(even when it was predictable!)-- and this ability to generate anticipation for the next installment is one of the best things that a serialized form of storytelling can have going for it, other shortcomings notwithstanding. It didn't hurt that it had some of the best art produced by any Marvel artist, or any artist in GENERAL, for that matter, in the last two decades or so. As good as Millar's writing is, Civil War would simply not have achieved what it did in terms of graphic storytelling without Steve McNiven's steady, if not necessarily quick pencil. He was definitely worth the wait.
Right now there's nothing out that I'd really care to buy (and the Dark Tower comic adaptation is a tad rich for my blood at this point), but I know there's stuff in the pipleline, like JMS and Quesada's four-issue team-up for the former's last storyarc on Spider-Man. As I understand it, much if not most of it's in the can, so I won't have to worry too much about lateness. Well, whether it's on time or late I look forward to buying it, reading it, and re-reading it.
So frankly, even after I'm swimming in money and all my cars are sitting in polished glass cases for admiring eyes to see, I will still love reading my old comics again. Hell, maybe even after I've made a mint off my cars on eBay I'll still be re-reading these things. They're just so much fun.
Which is why, even four months into this hobby (which has currently slowed down considerably), I can still say with certainty that comic books still trump diecast cars for one important reason: you can read them and re-read them, unless you're one of those sickos who buys multiple copies and has them "graded" for the sole purpose of hawking them on eBay. I'm proud to say that, as much money as I made off my comics online, at least I read them first.
My collection, much leaner now than it was two months ago, has a few truly great reads, some of them in single or two-issue stories, but for the most part in terms of four to six-issue storylines.
It's gratifying to revisit old series which I would take months to collect and complete and just read them all again in one sitting. The beauty of being a Marvel collector is that most of their latter-day stories were designed for such readings, and so for the most part they hold up so well that whatever delay may have been incurred in waiting for all four, five, six or seven issues of a miniseries or storyarc is suddenly forgotten.
There are some really good examples of such series that come to mind.
One of my favorites is Mark Millar's 12-issue run on Spider-Man, which still holds up well three or four reads later. Although this story has been accused of ripping off the format of Batman: Hush, its narrative architecture holds up a lot better than Jeph Loeb's flimsy excuses to have Jim Lee draw Batman's entire rogues gallery. Millar's opus is one big, 12-issue arc divided up among three smaller arcs, and they're all really fun reads. Artists Terry and Rachel Dodson and guest artist Frank Cho make it a real visual treat as well, though not necessarily on par with Lee's amazing illustrations.
Another series I really loved to revisit was J. Michael Straczynski's inaugural arc on Amazing Spider-Man, entitled "Coming Home." It's a pretty back-to-basics Spider-Man story with a couple of twists and from the outset JMS makes it pretty clear he has his own direction planned for the character. Artist John Romita Jr. absolutely shines, especially during the balls-to-the-wall action sequences.
Another series that Romita Jr. did really well recently was The Eternals. On an initial reading of the last couple of issues, which I didn't pick up right away because I was busy buying diecast cars, I found the series to be anticlimactic. Though upon re-reading them I still get that vibe, I have to admit now that there was some definitive progression in the story. After all the hype, though, I have to say that the real star of this miniseries was JR Jr., much more than its heralded writer Neil Gaiman.
Of course, not all series hold up to re-reading, no matter how deliberately Marvel plans its arcs, and in one case lateness really did hurt the overall quality of the story. The Spider-Man/Black Cat six-issue miniseries which officially took Kevin Smith about three and a half years to finish is one such example. Three tightly plotted and scripted, rather gripping issues came out in 2002, with an extremely formidable new villain and a hell of a cliffhanger that had the readers wondering if the Black Cat was going to get raped. Three years later, the remaining three issues of the series came out, and the plot just took a completely wrong turn. Even after reading it again over again I found that the whole thing just stank something terrible. It was as though Smith completely lost a handle on the story and just decided to churn out whatever came to mind. Not even Terry Dodson could save this book.
Lateness, however does not hurt a storyarc if it's already been carefully mapped out, and if the only thing that causes the delay is the art.
A surprisingly good example of this would be Joe Quesada's Daredevil: Father miniseries which, like Smith's Spider-Man miniseries, took over two years to finish. Quesada's lateness is much easier to forgive than Smith's considering that Joe doubled as the writer and the artist of the series, on top of that whole Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics business. At first I thought the ending had been re-tooled towards the end as well, but when I re-read the series, and I've done so two or three times, I actually realized how very tightly, yet intricately everything was woven together. I'm generally not a fan of artist-writers, but Quesada really hit it out of the park with this one. Of course, it helps that these six issues showcase some really terrific art, with the latter chapters featuring, in my opinion, some of the best art of Quesada's career.
My favorite example of a series whose quality is unaffected by lateness, however, is, yes, I'll say it: Civil War. Yes, there were mischaracterizations. Yes, it was flawed storytelling, which is a little disappointing considering Millar's talent, but from the first page of issue #1 to the last page of issue #7 this series was just totally riveting. It really and truly had a what-the-hell-is-going-to-happen-next vibe --(even when it was predictable!)-- and this ability to generate anticipation for the next installment is one of the best things that a serialized form of storytelling can have going for it, other shortcomings notwithstanding. It didn't hurt that it had some of the best art produced by any Marvel artist, or any artist in GENERAL, for that matter, in the last two decades or so. As good as Millar's writing is, Civil War would simply not have achieved what it did in terms of graphic storytelling without Steve McNiven's steady, if not necessarily quick pencil. He was definitely worth the wait.
Right now there's nothing out that I'd really care to buy (and the Dark Tower comic adaptation is a tad rich for my blood at this point), but I know there's stuff in the pipleline, like JMS and Quesada's four-issue team-up for the former's last storyarc on Spider-Man. As I understand it, much if not most of it's in the can, so I won't have to worry too much about lateness. Well, whether it's on time or late I look forward to buying it, reading it, and re-reading it.
So frankly, even after I'm swimming in money and all my cars are sitting in polished glass cases for admiring eyes to see, I will still love reading my old comics again. Hell, maybe even after I've made a mint off my cars on eBay I'll still be re-reading these things. They're just so much fun.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
A Pleasant Surprise
I love watching movies in provincial SMs. I get most of the amenities of the SM movie theater (a decent, though not necessarily stellar sound system, nice clean seats and a decent snack bar) at roughly half what I pay for a movie in Manila.
Today I watched Bridge of Terabithia with my son at SM Dasmarinas. I watched it for the two reasons only: I was trying to beat the heat by killing time in a mall and it was the only movie I could get my son into that looked halfway decent. I had seen some of the early trailers and was initially turned off by by what appeared to be yet another fantasy clone spurred by the success of the Harry Potter and Narnia film adaptations. Never was I happier to be proven wrong.
Bridge to Terabithia is apparently based, not on a fantasy novel, but a coming-of-age book which has more in common with the film My Girl than it does with Harry Potter. For those who have forgotten that movie, it was essentially about friendship, pre-pubescent love, and dealing with loss. I am actually glad to have been completely ignorant of this as the story unfolded because I found myself surprised at almost every turn.
Its story revolves around Jesse Aaron (Josh Hutcherson), an imaginative and very artistic ten-year-old boy who is bullied at school and neglected at home. He is very much the loner until he meets a kindred spirit: the new girl in school name Leslie Burke (Annasophia Robb of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), who like him is ostracized because of being the new kid in school but more importantly because, like him, she is an artist, although her inclination is towards writing. She is also ignored by and large by her parents, both writers. They also turn out to be neighbors. A match made in heaven, obviously.
Terabithia is Leslie's creation; it is the name she gives to a large tract of forest land into which the two children wander by swinging across a frayed old rope. It is a fantastical realm with all kinds of creatures, and because Jess is as imaginative as Leslie they both see wondrous and scary things, all of which are rather well-rendered in CGI by Oscar winners WETA Digital.
In this world, Jess and Leslie reign supreme. They are the fastest, the strongest and the cleverest. They are, as Leslie proclaims, the rulers of the realm.
Then, however, tragedy strikes and the focus of the story shifts considerably in tone. Director Gabor Csupo and his stars, however, make the segue seamlessly, and the end result, for me, is truly moving.
Their story, which is one of friendship which evolves subtly and beautifully into a very genuine young love, is, however, told with both taste and finesse. Csupo eschews the usual conventions of romance, abandoning the more overt physical manifestations of love like holding hands and kisses in favor of some very expressive facial acting by Hutcherson in particular. This is very much a story about emotions, and they are conveyed very convincingly here.
The visual effects lack the verisimilitude of the WETA Digital's prior work in the Lord of the Rings trilogy and King Kong, but this makes perfect sense considering that this world is more impressionistic in nature; it's a fantasy realm born out of two children's very active imaginations. They are wondrous to behold when appreciated on those terms.
Terabithia is easily the best release of 2007 that I've seen so far, providing a welcome contrast to the all-out stupidity of Ghost Rider and the mindless carnage of 300. It's the first film I've seen this year with nuanced, sophisticated storytelling which is funny considering it was based on a children's book. I think it succeeds, however, because it does not at any point treat its audience like children.
Today I watched Bridge of Terabithia with my son at SM Dasmarinas. I watched it for the two reasons only: I was trying to beat the heat by killing time in a mall and it was the only movie I could get my son into that looked halfway decent. I had seen some of the early trailers and was initially turned off by by what appeared to be yet another fantasy clone spurred by the success of the Harry Potter and Narnia film adaptations. Never was I happier to be proven wrong.
Bridge to Terabithia is apparently based, not on a fantasy novel, but a coming-of-age book which has more in common with the film My Girl than it does with Harry Potter. For those who have forgotten that movie, it was essentially about friendship, pre-pubescent love, and dealing with loss. I am actually glad to have been completely ignorant of this as the story unfolded because I found myself surprised at almost every turn.
Its story revolves around Jesse Aaron (Josh Hutcherson), an imaginative and very artistic ten-year-old boy who is bullied at school and neglected at home. He is very much the loner until he meets a kindred spirit: the new girl in school name Leslie Burke (Annasophia Robb of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), who like him is ostracized because of being the new kid in school but more importantly because, like him, she is an artist, although her inclination is towards writing. She is also ignored by and large by her parents, both writers. They also turn out to be neighbors. A match made in heaven, obviously.
Terabithia is Leslie's creation; it is the name she gives to a large tract of forest land into which the two children wander by swinging across a frayed old rope. It is a fantastical realm with all kinds of creatures, and because Jess is as imaginative as Leslie they both see wondrous and scary things, all of which are rather well-rendered in CGI by Oscar winners WETA Digital.
In this world, Jess and Leslie reign supreme. They are the fastest, the strongest and the cleverest. They are, as Leslie proclaims, the rulers of the realm.
Then, however, tragedy strikes and the focus of the story shifts considerably in tone. Director Gabor Csupo and his stars, however, make the segue seamlessly, and the end result, for me, is truly moving.
Their story, which is one of friendship which evolves subtly and beautifully into a very genuine young love, is, however, told with both taste and finesse. Csupo eschews the usual conventions of romance, abandoning the more overt physical manifestations of love like holding hands and kisses in favor of some very expressive facial acting by Hutcherson in particular. This is very much a story about emotions, and they are conveyed very convincingly here.
The visual effects lack the verisimilitude of the WETA Digital's prior work in the Lord of the Rings trilogy and King Kong, but this makes perfect sense considering that this world is more impressionistic in nature; it's a fantasy realm born out of two children's very active imaginations. They are wondrous to behold when appreciated on those terms.
Terabithia is easily the best release of 2007 that I've seen so far, providing a welcome contrast to the all-out stupidity of Ghost Rider and the mindless carnage of 300. It's the first film I've seen this year with nuanced, sophisticated storytelling which is funny considering it was based on a children's book. I think it succeeds, however, because it does not at any point treat its audience like children.
Friday, April 06, 2007
On Idolatry
The question of whether or not veneration of religious icons is tantamount to idolatry is nothing new. It is, I'm pretty sure, one of the reasons why many protestants look down their noses as us Catholics. Here in the Philippines and in other Catholic countries our ability to worship God seems dependent on our ability to give him, his suffering as passion as well as his glorious resurrection, a face.
For my part, I don't have anything against the veneration of icons because I subscribe to the idea that they are merely tools through which we are able to better worship God.
What bothers me, however, is how the concept of using these icons as tools, as means to an end, has been perverted to the extent that some icons have become ends in themselves. In other words, when people start worshipping and placing faith in a statue and not on the God whom the statue represents, something has gone wrong in my opinion.
In the Philippines alone we have enough stories about religious icons to fill several historical volumes, stories about how this statute of the Virgin Mary helped the Spanish defeat the Dutch or how that statue of the Boy Jesus healed the sick or something like that. While I don't disbelieve these stories, I hardly consider them grounds to get down on my knees and worship a block of wood or plaster.
And yet...I know of how droves of people make pilgrimages to grottos and shrines...perfectly intelligent and discerning people, just to pray to statues.
I want to clarify that I do not think less of these people for their chosen form of worship, but I do think that many of us have lost the point of the religious icon.
I think the religious icon, particularly the statue, was originally meant as an expression of love for the faith by those responsible both for its sculpting and/or commissioning. In that, it is a profound act of faith. When people who see this statue remember the sacrifice of Jesus, or the love of the blessed mother, then the love the sculptor has expressed becomes multiplied.
When that love, however, ends with the statue, to the extent that the worshipper asks the statue for miracles or favors, then the original intention is lost. The intention was not, in my opinion, to create love for a statue but for who or what that statue represents. When I say what, I refer to actions, like the sacrifice or suffering depicted in such imagery.
I would liken it to someone who watches The Passion of the Christ over and over and ends up praying to the DVD rather than to the God whose love is supposed to be depicted therein. As patently ridiculous as this sounds, one must consider that the religious icon is meant to be a representation and nothing more. How this has been distorted to the point that people make regular pilgrimages to ask favors of a piece of plaster isn't necessarily a mystery; in an age of mass media, fast food and other forms of instantaneous gratification, it makes sense that people would much rather put all of their faith in something they can see than a person they only read about in a book or heard about from their priest.
I wonder when we will transcend it, anyway.
For my part, I don't have anything against the veneration of icons because I subscribe to the idea that they are merely tools through which we are able to better worship God.
What bothers me, however, is how the concept of using these icons as tools, as means to an end, has been perverted to the extent that some icons have become ends in themselves. In other words, when people start worshipping and placing faith in a statue and not on the God whom the statue represents, something has gone wrong in my opinion.
In the Philippines alone we have enough stories about religious icons to fill several historical volumes, stories about how this statute of the Virgin Mary helped the Spanish defeat the Dutch or how that statue of the Boy Jesus healed the sick or something like that. While I don't disbelieve these stories, I hardly consider them grounds to get down on my knees and worship a block of wood or plaster.
And yet...I know of how droves of people make pilgrimages to grottos and shrines...perfectly intelligent and discerning people, just to pray to statues.
I want to clarify that I do not think less of these people for their chosen form of worship, but I do think that many of us have lost the point of the religious icon.
I think the religious icon, particularly the statue, was originally meant as an expression of love for the faith by those responsible both for its sculpting and/or commissioning. In that, it is a profound act of faith. When people who see this statue remember the sacrifice of Jesus, or the love of the blessed mother, then the love the sculptor has expressed becomes multiplied.
When that love, however, ends with the statue, to the extent that the worshipper asks the statue for miracles or favors, then the original intention is lost. The intention was not, in my opinion, to create love for a statue but for who or what that statue represents. When I say what, I refer to actions, like the sacrifice or suffering depicted in such imagery.
I would liken it to someone who watches The Passion of the Christ over and over and ends up praying to the DVD rather than to the God whose love is supposed to be depicted therein. As patently ridiculous as this sounds, one must consider that the religious icon is meant to be a representation and nothing more. How this has been distorted to the point that people make regular pilgrimages to ask favors of a piece of plaster isn't necessarily a mystery; in an age of mass media, fast food and other forms of instantaneous gratification, it makes sense that people would much rather put all of their faith in something they can see than a person they only read about in a book or heard about from their priest.
I wonder when we will transcend it, anyway.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
A Collector's Sense of Closure
Well, it's been a bit of a bloggerific weekend for me, this being my third post in as many days.
I haven't really "retired" from collecting comic books, but I would like to call my current state of non-collecting an indefinite sabbatical, while I sort out other matters in my life, and while there isn't anything that particularly tickles my fancy.
Whether I've quit for now or for good, though, I couldn't stop without finishing up the storylines or miniseries I've already begun. Just today, after almost four months of having quit cold turkey, as it were, I finally completed the seven-issue miniseries The Eternals, by Neil Gaiman and John Romita Jr., which I once upon a time trumpeted in this very blog.
I maintain that these pages feature Romita Jr.'s best work since his seminal Daredevil miniseries with Frank Miller, but I confess that as a whole the story was rather anticlimactic and therefore not nearly as satisfying as I would have wanted. It really strikes me that in seven issues, Gaiman did not tell a complete story. Sure, there were a lot of pretty pictures strung together and some enjoyable dialogue and characterization, but all told the whole thing felt largely pointless, in that this is a story with a clear beginning, a clear middle, but no clear resolution to the big dilemma set up for the characters.
Essentially, we learn why the Eternals have forgotten who they are and have lived the last few years thinking themselves to be merely humans. We learn that their enemies, the Deviants or Changing People want to reawaken a Celestial (Jack Kirby's fantastical version of God) buried near the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and we see the Eternals finally all come around and remember who they are and what they have to do, with the exception of Sersi, whose memory remains clouded although she has her power of transmutation back.
But there is so much more that is left to be told, which is why Gaiman aptly captions the last panel with "The Beginning..."
Clearly this series was meant to whet the readers' appetite for more Eternals, but personally I don't think I'll be coming back for seconds, considering the price tag of these issues (P240 in most stores P200 in a couple of others) and given that for most of the series we didn't even get to know the characters, except perhaps Makkari, in any significant way. I see no reason to follow their further adventures when I haven't particularly connected with them in this story.
Say what one will about Civil War, at least a lot took place in those pages, which, all told are fewer than those it took to finish Gaiman's latest tale.
Still, I'm glad I've given myself this closure, the same way I'm glad I waited for Kevin Smith Spider-Man miniseries to end, as big a disappointment as it turned out to be (for all its faults, Eternals played out a lot better).
I have only one more miniseries to finish, two issues of the creator-owned Criminal, and my sabbatical begins in earnest. I'm glad I didn't buy Captain America #25 (and yes, I did spot one in a comic book store, still selling at a normal price, but I put it back on the shelf) because that would just start the collecting cycle all over again. I still love the comics I have (and a much trimmer collection it is now by over a hundred issues), and I'm quite the completist as well (which would explain how quickly my diecast car collection has grown), but to start up new storylines when there isn't anything out there that strikes any particular chord with me would just be prodigal at this point.
So, Mark Millar, Steve McNiven, and all you other creators whose work gets me to the comics stores in a flash, take your time with your next projects or your sabbaticals; I'm glad for some time off from this hobby. It is my hope that, if or when I should revisit this hobby, I'll have quite a bit more money to spare, and that there will be projects worth that money.
I haven't really "retired" from collecting comic books, but I would like to call my current state of non-collecting an indefinite sabbatical, while I sort out other matters in my life, and while there isn't anything that particularly tickles my fancy.
Whether I've quit for now or for good, though, I couldn't stop without finishing up the storylines or miniseries I've already begun. Just today, after almost four months of having quit cold turkey, as it were, I finally completed the seven-issue miniseries The Eternals, by Neil Gaiman and John Romita Jr., which I once upon a time trumpeted in this very blog.
I maintain that these pages feature Romita Jr.'s best work since his seminal Daredevil miniseries with Frank Miller, but I confess that as a whole the story was rather anticlimactic and therefore not nearly as satisfying as I would have wanted. It really strikes me that in seven issues, Gaiman did not tell a complete story. Sure, there were a lot of pretty pictures strung together and some enjoyable dialogue and characterization, but all told the whole thing felt largely pointless, in that this is a story with a clear beginning, a clear middle, but no clear resolution to the big dilemma set up for the characters.
Essentially, we learn why the Eternals have forgotten who they are and have lived the last few years thinking themselves to be merely humans. We learn that their enemies, the Deviants or Changing People want to reawaken a Celestial (Jack Kirby's fantastical version of God) buried near the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and we see the Eternals finally all come around and remember who they are and what they have to do, with the exception of Sersi, whose memory remains clouded although she has her power of transmutation back.
But there is so much more that is left to be told, which is why Gaiman aptly captions the last panel with "The Beginning..."
Clearly this series was meant to whet the readers' appetite for more Eternals, but personally I don't think I'll be coming back for seconds, considering the price tag of these issues (P240 in most stores P200 in a couple of others) and given that for most of the series we didn't even get to know the characters, except perhaps Makkari, in any significant way. I see no reason to follow their further adventures when I haven't particularly connected with them in this story.
Say what one will about Civil War, at least a lot took place in those pages, which, all told are fewer than those it took to finish Gaiman's latest tale.
Still, I'm glad I've given myself this closure, the same way I'm glad I waited for Kevin Smith Spider-Man miniseries to end, as big a disappointment as it turned out to be (for all its faults, Eternals played out a lot better).
I have only one more miniseries to finish, two issues of the creator-owned Criminal, and my sabbatical begins in earnest. I'm glad I didn't buy Captain America #25 (and yes, I did spot one in a comic book store, still selling at a normal price, but I put it back on the shelf) because that would just start the collecting cycle all over again. I still love the comics I have (and a much trimmer collection it is now by over a hundred issues), and I'm quite the completist as well (which would explain how quickly my diecast car collection has grown), but to start up new storylines when there isn't anything out there that strikes any particular chord with me would just be prodigal at this point.
So, Mark Millar, Steve McNiven, and all you other creators whose work gets me to the comics stores in a flash, take your time with your next projects or your sabbaticals; I'm glad for some time off from this hobby. It is my hope that, if or when I should revisit this hobby, I'll have quite a bit more money to spare, and that there will be projects worth that money.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
The Politics of Frank Miller
300 is the spiritual sequel to The Matrix from all indications. I say spiritual because, really, they have nothing to do with each other, obviously being very different films, with different stories, basic philosophies, and characters.
What is similar is the pop culture impact both appear to have had. Just as Wachowski brothers' first (and so far, only) truly significant opus pretty much stuck to the collective consciousness, so did Zack Snyder's adaptation of Frank Miller's graphic novel based loosely on some historical battle leave a rather lasting impression on moviegoers from all walks of life. What, to me, makes 300 that much more remarkable an achievement is the fact that the characters in The Matrix walked around in black leather and blew away people with impunity, the first of which is something young people love to do and the second of which is something they would love to do, so it already had a leg up with viewers (especially the sickos who went on the Columbine massacres shortly thereafter). While I'm sure a lot of viewers would love to be able to dismember people they hate with a passion, I can't imagine they would embrace the idea of walking around in leather thongs while doing so.
It only just recently struck me how similar they were, though, when I read a scathingly bad review of 300 on someone else's blog, in which the film was described as fascist, racist and homophobic. Oddly, as much as I had enjoyed the film for its gripping visuals (and little else), I could not really argue his points. All I could think was how I liked it because it looked cool, choosing to ignore any of its political overtones, intended or otherwise.
I found myself whisked back to early 1999, when The Matrix was leaving its initial impression on audiences here. I had seen it for either the third or fourth time with my then-girlfriend who, shortly after the screening, posed the question for me: "What was so great about that shoot-out in the building's lobby?" to which I could not pose any real answer, when she hit me with yet another question (or maybe it was the same question, I forget. We've been out of touch for a while now, so I can't exactly ask her): "If those guys weren't agents, then weren't they basically killing actual people?"
She totally had a point; taking away how "kewl" the whole sequence came across with its slow-motion photography, wirework and rave music soundtrack, it was basically an act of mass murder as Neo and Trinity slaughtered a bunch of human guards, all of whom were presumably hooked up to the matrix as they had once been. They hadn't killed the evil agents or computer programs (which was something clarified in the second installment as the Merovingian's goons were more categorically described as computer programs and therefore more expendable) but human beings. Unfortunately, just as I was able to gloss this little fact over ("they had to kill them or be killed" I finally managed to say, rather lamely), so did many other filmgoers, possibly including the perpetrators of the Columbine massacre.
300, I think is similar in that many viewers like myself were willing to overlook a number of its shortcomings (like how it fudged history, and how terrible the dialog was in many instances) in favor of its visuals. In that it is truly remarkable, but now that one realizes that Miller's politics, while he is certainly free to adopt them, really are rather abhorrent, whatever his avowed persuasion, one worries about how other viewers might have been indoctrinated.
Most notably, Miller's statements on the invasion of Iraq has revealed that he is essentially one of George W. Bush's staunchest allies in this endeavor. When interpellated on his stand on the matter he attempted and failed to liken the American invasion of Iraq to its having joined World War II upon being bombed by Pearl Harbor. He also went on to talk about what barbarians people are in the middle east, unwittingly exposing himself for the utter bigot that he is. I didn't know there were people who still embodied the White Man's Burden anymore, but apparently Miller still bears it quite proudly.
300, fortunately, was written before Bush even stole the 2000 U.S. Presidential Elections, so may arguably be free from the taint of an analogy, but clearly Miller's belief system was already in place.
Furthermore, it seems that Miller and DC have plans to release a Batman graphic novel called Batman vs. Al Qaeda. Miller actually compares this effort to the comics of the 40s which had Captain America punching out Hitler. Oh, for God's sake. Note to Paul Levitz: it's one thing to edit a cowardly George W. Bush out of the pages of The Authority, and another to feature U.S. Army recruitment ads in every other issue of DC Comics on the stands today, but by doing this you are practically screaming on behalf of America's oldest purveyor of superhero comics "we're Republicans and proud of it!" Your liberal fanbase may cringe in shame, and considering they've dwindled as of late, and especially considering that America's "War of Terror" is rapidly losing popularity, that may not be a good thing.
Happily for me, I am joined in my disdain for Miller's attempt to superimpose his politics onto his comics by highly respected DC comic book writer Grant Morrison, who basically exhorted Miller to give up his 'graphic novel nonsense' and basically join the army where he could really 'fight' Al Qaeda.
Viewed in the context of how Miller thinks, 300 becomes a lot less enjoyable, so my advice to anyone who watches it is pretty much to leave your brain at the door. 300 is not Braveheart nor anything meant to inspire people to acts of valor, and it certainly shouldn't be superimposed on any political situation prevailing today. It's a slick, visually-supercharged comic-book adaptation and should be appreciated on those terms, not in terms of its or its principal creator's politics, because that will probably just leave a bad taste in the mouth.
What is similar is the pop culture impact both appear to have had. Just as Wachowski brothers' first (and so far, only) truly significant opus pretty much stuck to the collective consciousness, so did Zack Snyder's adaptation of Frank Miller's graphic novel based loosely on some historical battle leave a rather lasting impression on moviegoers from all walks of life. What, to me, makes 300 that much more remarkable an achievement is the fact that the characters in The Matrix walked around in black leather and blew away people with impunity, the first of which is something young people love to do and the second of which is something they would love to do, so it already had a leg up with viewers (especially the sickos who went on the Columbine massacres shortly thereafter). While I'm sure a lot of viewers would love to be able to dismember people they hate with a passion, I can't imagine they would embrace the idea of walking around in leather thongs while doing so.
It only just recently struck me how similar they were, though, when I read a scathingly bad review of 300 on someone else's blog, in which the film was described as fascist, racist and homophobic. Oddly, as much as I had enjoyed the film for its gripping visuals (and little else), I could not really argue his points. All I could think was how I liked it because it looked cool, choosing to ignore any of its political overtones, intended or otherwise.
I found myself whisked back to early 1999, when The Matrix was leaving its initial impression on audiences here. I had seen it for either the third or fourth time with my then-girlfriend who, shortly after the screening, posed the question for me: "What was so great about that shoot-out in the building's lobby?" to which I could not pose any real answer, when she hit me with yet another question (or maybe it was the same question, I forget. We've been out of touch for a while now, so I can't exactly ask her): "If those guys weren't agents, then weren't they basically killing actual people?"
She totally had a point; taking away how "kewl" the whole sequence came across with its slow-motion photography, wirework and rave music soundtrack, it was basically an act of mass murder as Neo and Trinity slaughtered a bunch of human guards, all of whom were presumably hooked up to the matrix as they had once been. They hadn't killed the evil agents or computer programs (which was something clarified in the second installment as the Merovingian's goons were more categorically described as computer programs and therefore more expendable) but human beings. Unfortunately, just as I was able to gloss this little fact over ("they had to kill them or be killed" I finally managed to say, rather lamely), so did many other filmgoers, possibly including the perpetrators of the Columbine massacre.
300, I think is similar in that many viewers like myself were willing to overlook a number of its shortcomings (like how it fudged history, and how terrible the dialog was in many instances) in favor of its visuals. In that it is truly remarkable, but now that one realizes that Miller's politics, while he is certainly free to adopt them, really are rather abhorrent, whatever his avowed persuasion, one worries about how other viewers might have been indoctrinated.
Most notably, Miller's statements on the invasion of Iraq has revealed that he is essentially one of George W. Bush's staunchest allies in this endeavor. When interpellated on his stand on the matter he attempted and failed to liken the American invasion of Iraq to its having joined World War II upon being bombed by Pearl Harbor. He also went on to talk about what barbarians people are in the middle east, unwittingly exposing himself for the utter bigot that he is. I didn't know there were people who still embodied the White Man's Burden anymore, but apparently Miller still bears it quite proudly.
300, fortunately, was written before Bush even stole the 2000 U.S. Presidential Elections, so may arguably be free from the taint of an analogy, but clearly Miller's belief system was already in place.
Furthermore, it seems that Miller and DC have plans to release a Batman graphic novel called Batman vs. Al Qaeda. Miller actually compares this effort to the comics of the 40s which had Captain America punching out Hitler. Oh, for God's sake. Note to Paul Levitz: it's one thing to edit a cowardly George W. Bush out of the pages of The Authority, and another to feature U.S. Army recruitment ads in every other issue of DC Comics on the stands today, but by doing this you are practically screaming on behalf of America's oldest purveyor of superhero comics "we're Republicans and proud of it!" Your liberal fanbase may cringe in shame, and considering they've dwindled as of late, and especially considering that America's "War of Terror" is rapidly losing popularity, that may not be a good thing.
Happily for me, I am joined in my disdain for Miller's attempt to superimpose his politics onto his comics by highly respected DC comic book writer Grant Morrison, who basically exhorted Miller to give up his 'graphic novel nonsense' and basically join the army where he could really 'fight' Al Qaeda.
Viewed in the context of how Miller thinks, 300 becomes a lot less enjoyable, so my advice to anyone who watches it is pretty much to leave your brain at the door. 300 is not Braveheart nor anything meant to inspire people to acts of valor, and it certainly shouldn't be superimposed on any political situation prevailing today. It's a slick, visually-supercharged comic-book adaptation and should be appreciated on those terms, not in terms of its or its principal creator's politics, because that will probably just leave a bad taste in the mouth.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Taking Pause
About six weeks ago I wrote that my collection of diecast cars consisted only of about 35 to 36 cars. Since then it's ballooned to almost twice that, not counting the cars I bought then gave to my son, having decided I didn't want them in the collection.
I have committed a lot of the faux pas I was trying to guard against when I set out, the principal one being that I have diversified a bit too much in terms of what I have bought. For example, I have added eight Volkswagens to my collection: five Beetles, two Karmann Ghias and one VW-derived Dune Buggy. It's not that there's anything particularly wrong with VWs, but when I set out on this hobby, truth be told they weren't that high on my priority list. Absolute truth be told they were nowhere on it. I got into it because they seemed to be the hottest car on the forum, and I wanted to know what the fuss was all about, easily the worst reason to pick anything up. Sure, I like having them now, but having spent nearly two thousand pesos on them in a week I wonder if I couldn't have found something else, something cheaper to like.
It hasn't been all wanton acquisition, though; thanks to the forum and some re-shipments, I was able to complete all six Ford GT paint jobs released by Jada Toys, easily one of the high points of my collection. I picked up all of their Shelby Cobras as well. I've also picked up some nice Matchboxes, including some of their new releases. The collection may have grown pretty fast, but at least I haven't bought anything I utterly regretted buying.
I also recently marked another significant milestone in my collection as well, this past week I've finally gotten hold of the car I was looking for when this entire spree began: a 2006 Matchbox Jaguar XK. It only just hit the Philippine market recently, despite being available elsewhere for some months now, which explains why I could never find it.
So now I have something like twenty times as many toy cars as I did three months ago, and there's nothing currently on the market that I'm consciously looking for. Even though there are still quite a few cars out in cyberspace that I'd love to add to my collection which aren't about to show up on shelves here anytime soon, I'm quite happy with the collection I have now. Considering my price bracket (generally speaking), I've acquired some real gems. In fact, out of almost 70 cars, I can almost count on one hand the ones I paid a heavy premium for, even online.
Inevitably, though, I have to ask myself if I've peaked a little too soon. In some ways I feel like I've acquired too many cars too fast, though I was spurred primarily by a fear of scalpers at first. Still, I'd be an utter liar if I didn't admit that in the latter stages I was practically hunting them down out of compulsion. In fact, the thrill of the hunt is slightly blunted by an easy find, even if it's a good one. My trips to Festival Mall became a little less special for their frequency (though thankfully it's been over a month since my last trip) and I find myself a little less attracted to "exotic" cars (i.e., the more expensive stuff as opposed to the garden variety Matchboxes and Hot Wheels).
I have to admit I lost perspective there, so I think it's to time to take a breath for a little bit, especially considering I now have everything I really want that I can buy off the rack, or even online at reasonable prices.
I don't quite want to go the way of eBay yet; that could open a whole new can of worms.
I have committed a lot of the faux pas I was trying to guard against when I set out, the principal one being that I have diversified a bit too much in terms of what I have bought. For example, I have added eight Volkswagens to my collection: five Beetles, two Karmann Ghias and one VW-derived Dune Buggy. It's not that there's anything particularly wrong with VWs, but when I set out on this hobby, truth be told they weren't that high on my priority list. Absolute truth be told they were nowhere on it. I got into it because they seemed to be the hottest car on the forum, and I wanted to know what the fuss was all about, easily the worst reason to pick anything up. Sure, I like having them now, but having spent nearly two thousand pesos on them in a week I wonder if I couldn't have found something else, something cheaper to like.
It hasn't been all wanton acquisition, though; thanks to the forum and some re-shipments, I was able to complete all six Ford GT paint jobs released by Jada Toys, easily one of the high points of my collection. I picked up all of their Shelby Cobras as well. I've also picked up some nice Matchboxes, including some of their new releases. The collection may have grown pretty fast, but at least I haven't bought anything I utterly regretted buying.
I also recently marked another significant milestone in my collection as well, this past week I've finally gotten hold of the car I was looking for when this entire spree began: a 2006 Matchbox Jaguar XK. It only just hit the Philippine market recently, despite being available elsewhere for some months now, which explains why I could never find it.
So now I have something like twenty times as many toy cars as I did three months ago, and there's nothing currently on the market that I'm consciously looking for. Even though there are still quite a few cars out in cyberspace that I'd love to add to my collection which aren't about to show up on shelves here anytime soon, I'm quite happy with the collection I have now. Considering my price bracket (generally speaking), I've acquired some real gems. In fact, out of almost 70 cars, I can almost count on one hand the ones I paid a heavy premium for, even online.
Inevitably, though, I have to ask myself if I've peaked a little too soon. In some ways I feel like I've acquired too many cars too fast, though I was spurred primarily by a fear of scalpers at first. Still, I'd be an utter liar if I didn't admit that in the latter stages I was practically hunting them down out of compulsion. In fact, the thrill of the hunt is slightly blunted by an easy find, even if it's a good one. My trips to Festival Mall became a little less special for their frequency (though thankfully it's been over a month since my last trip) and I find myself a little less attracted to "exotic" cars (i.e., the more expensive stuff as opposed to the garden variety Matchboxes and Hot Wheels).
I have to admit I lost perspective there, so I think it's to time to take a breath for a little bit, especially considering I now have everything I really want that I can buy off the rack, or even online at reasonable prices.
I don't quite want to go the way of eBay yet; that could open a whole new can of worms.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
On Self-Help Seminars
Last night my wife and I attended a "sampler" as it were, of an ongoing self-help seminar spearheaded by some Fil-Am who has apparently dazzled a lot of people with his words of wisdom. Our experience at the sampler consisted principally of former participants of the seminar sharing their experiences and attesting to how they had benefited from the seminar. Some ofthe guests shared some of their frustrations, and I even got a crack at the mike to talk about some of the things I'd like to do with my life which I haven't gotten around to doing. It's not that I really wanted the help; I just like to talk, really.
I found myself struck by the seminar, which is a lot like the seminar Greg Kinnear's character in the film Little Miss Sunshine was trying so hard to push. I was struck by how shrewd its organizers were, basically catering to people with specific insecurities, the most conspicuous of whom seemed to be the ones with relationship problems. I was, during the break (during which Theia and I sneaked out) even approached by a strikingly beautiful facilitator who asked me if I planned to register to which I politely said no. I marvelled at how clever they were; what better way to attract a young man into their seminar than by having a very attractive young woman make the spiel?
I'm not really going to dump on the seminar (thought at P19,000 for four freaking days it is definitely pricey; my Mandatory Continuing Legal Education didn't cost nearly as much) because from what I saw in that room there was definitely a market for it.
What strikes me is how, even in a country such as the Philippines which puts a high premium on family values, there are apparently quite a few people who have managed to alienate themselves from their respective communities and families.
I've never been a particularly outgoing guy, but when I form friendships and other relationships I value I make an effort to nurture them. It's not something I always knew how to do, but I learned it over time and am still learning it. And I certainly didn't need someone else to teach me how to do it. How far gone, then are some people, that they would need someone to tell them how to talk to their family, or something like that?
Is this a signal of the inevitably decay in society? Is this "me" culture which has so many people present at that seminar feeling lost a product of too much Westernization? I really don't know, and it sounds like something that should be viewed a little more scientifically. Whatever it is, I honestly think it's sad that, rather than seek the aid from one's own community, be it from the parish priest or one's extended family or network of friends, there are people willing to shell out large amounts of money just to learn how to relate to others.
I found myself struck by the seminar, which is a lot like the seminar Greg Kinnear's character in the film Little Miss Sunshine was trying so hard to push. I was struck by how shrewd its organizers were, basically catering to people with specific insecurities, the most conspicuous of whom seemed to be the ones with relationship problems. I was, during the break (during which Theia and I sneaked out) even approached by a strikingly beautiful facilitator who asked me if I planned to register to which I politely said no. I marvelled at how clever they were; what better way to attract a young man into their seminar than by having a very attractive young woman make the spiel?
I'm not really going to dump on the seminar (thought at P19,000 for four freaking days it is definitely pricey; my Mandatory Continuing Legal Education didn't cost nearly as much) because from what I saw in that room there was definitely a market for it.
What strikes me is how, even in a country such as the Philippines which puts a high premium on family values, there are apparently quite a few people who have managed to alienate themselves from their respective communities and families.
I've never been a particularly outgoing guy, but when I form friendships and other relationships I value I make an effort to nurture them. It's not something I always knew how to do, but I learned it over time and am still learning it. And I certainly didn't need someone else to teach me how to do it. How far gone, then are some people, that they would need someone to tell them how to talk to their family, or something like that?
Is this a signal of the inevitably decay in society? Is this "me" culture which has so many people present at that seminar feeling lost a product of too much Westernization? I really don't know, and it sounds like something that should be viewed a little more scientifically. Whatever it is, I honestly think it's sad that, rather than seek the aid from one's own community, be it from the parish priest or one's extended family or network of friends, there are people willing to shell out large amounts of money just to learn how to relate to others.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
The Passion of Will Smith
The Pursuit of Happyness marks Will Smith's best performance as an actor since his first leading role on the big screen in Six Degrees of Separation. He may have landed an Oscar nomination once before for doing an eerily accurate impression of Muhammad Ali, but this was the first time in his career he's truly played against type, and it works beautifully.
Happyness (the misspelling is part of the story) is the story of Chris Gardner, a bone density scanner (don't ask) salesman whose fortuntes, at the beginning of the movie, are pretty much in a downward spiral. It is when he learns that he can improve his station in life (i.e. make more money) by being a stockbroker, his path for the next six months is set. He joins an internship at the Dean Witter brokerage where for six months, he will compete with several other candidates for the chance to be declared their new broker.
There's just one problem: as an intern he is not paid any salary, and unfortunately selling his machines gets progressively harder, especially when the IRS hits him for just about everything he's managed to make. As a result, he and his son Christopher (played by Jaden Smith, Will's real-life son, who is a revelation all his own) end up homeless, sleeping in shelters and train station bathrooms.
Of course, this is a feel-good movie, so one doesn't have to be a brain surgeon to know who will eventually beat out all of the other interns for that coveted job with the brokerage.
Still, the journey there is so excruciating, so full of cruel twists of fate that although the audience is aware (having in fact, informed at the very beginning) that this movie was inspired by true events, one cannot help but feel the hand of contrivance pop up time and again in the screenplay. There's a little silliness in the script that is called for, while other times it seems rather unintentional. It doesn't really matter whether or not it really happened, because as far as I'm concerned it's all in the telling.
This movie is billed up as a feel-good movie, but to my mind it plays very much like Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. I don't know how many other people will draw this parallel, but in each stroke of misfortune that Gardner had to endure I saw the inordinate cruelty with which Gibson depicted Jesus Christ's suffering, the difference being that while, word for word, the Bible describes what happened to Christ, screenwriter Will Conrad presumably had a bit more leeway. That notwithstanding, he and director Gabriele Muccino pile on the pain and suffering for nearly two hours straight until both Gardner and the audience can barely stand it, at which point they finally offer up Gardner's moment of redemption.
The thing is, as with Jesus Christ's footnote of a resurrection in Passion, Gardner's success does pretty much nothing to change how terrible I felt after having been put through such an emotional wringer for something like ninety-nine percent of the movie. At some point I was practically groaning at how excessive all the things that were happening to him felt.
Fortunately for this film, Smith elevates it past its script and direction by suffusing Gardner with dignity even in the face of all of his travails. Although Gardner isn't a fountain of wisecracks throughout the movie, Smith still brings to him the charm that he has trademarked (and he does get a few good one-liners in besides). Not only that, but Smith and son Jaden play wonderfully off each other. I don't usually much care for child actors but this kid really knocks it out of the park for me.
At the end of the day, this is every inch Smith's movie, and his ninth or tenth career $100+ grosser. Forget Tom Cruise; THIS is Hollywood's biggest movie star. And he's a better actor to boot.
Happyness (the misspelling is part of the story) is the story of Chris Gardner, a bone density scanner (don't ask) salesman whose fortuntes, at the beginning of the movie, are pretty much in a downward spiral. It is when he learns that he can improve his station in life (i.e. make more money) by being a stockbroker, his path for the next six months is set. He joins an internship at the Dean Witter brokerage where for six months, he will compete with several other candidates for the chance to be declared their new broker.
There's just one problem: as an intern he is not paid any salary, and unfortunately selling his machines gets progressively harder, especially when the IRS hits him for just about everything he's managed to make. As a result, he and his son Christopher (played by Jaden Smith, Will's real-life son, who is a revelation all his own) end up homeless, sleeping in shelters and train station bathrooms.
Of course, this is a feel-good movie, so one doesn't have to be a brain surgeon to know who will eventually beat out all of the other interns for that coveted job with the brokerage.
Still, the journey there is so excruciating, so full of cruel twists of fate that although the audience is aware (having in fact, informed at the very beginning) that this movie was inspired by true events, one cannot help but feel the hand of contrivance pop up time and again in the screenplay. There's a little silliness in the script that is called for, while other times it seems rather unintentional. It doesn't really matter whether or not it really happened, because as far as I'm concerned it's all in the telling.
This movie is billed up as a feel-good movie, but to my mind it plays very much like Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. I don't know how many other people will draw this parallel, but in each stroke of misfortune that Gardner had to endure I saw the inordinate cruelty with which Gibson depicted Jesus Christ's suffering, the difference being that while, word for word, the Bible describes what happened to Christ, screenwriter Will Conrad presumably had a bit more leeway. That notwithstanding, he and director Gabriele Muccino pile on the pain and suffering for nearly two hours straight until both Gardner and the audience can barely stand it, at which point they finally offer up Gardner's moment of redemption.
The thing is, as with Jesus Christ's footnote of a resurrection in Passion, Gardner's success does pretty much nothing to change how terrible I felt after having been put through such an emotional wringer for something like ninety-nine percent of the movie. At some point I was practically groaning at how excessive all the things that were happening to him felt.
Fortunately for this film, Smith elevates it past its script and direction by suffusing Gardner with dignity even in the face of all of his travails. Although Gardner isn't a fountain of wisecracks throughout the movie, Smith still brings to him the charm that he has trademarked (and he does get a few good one-liners in besides). Not only that, but Smith and son Jaden play wonderfully off each other. I don't usually much care for child actors but this kid really knocks it out of the park for me.
At the end of the day, this is every inch Smith's movie, and his ninth or tenth career $100+ grosser. Forget Tom Cruise; THIS is Hollywood's biggest movie star. And he's a better actor to boot.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
300
300 is some good, solid entertainment, and easily the best action film I've seen all year.
In a nutshell, it's a retelling of the ancient Battle of Thermopylae, in which a small cadre of Spartan warriors led by King Leonidas (Gerard Butler in what is surely the role that will launch him into stardom) took on a much larger force in the form of the Persian army and inflicted severe losses on them before being killed to the last man. Of course, that it was directly adapted from Frank Miller's vision of that battle adds another dimension to the filmmaking altogether.
The end result is an hour-and-a-half-long, magnificently shot and choreographed fight scene, abetted by some highly stylized visual effects which embody the best "real actors against virtual backdrops" film so far since the genre was launched with Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow a few years back. If appreciated on these terms, then the film is pure delight.
Apart from that, it's not what I'd call a brilliant film, and anyone who's seen Gladiator and Sin City is sure to recognize their love child, with a little DNA infusion from the Matrix. In short, one of its maladies is that it suffers from a lack of originality.
Another is a script with some rather halting dialogue. I remember how Peter Jackson (or was it Fran Walsh) when accepting the Academy Award for the Best Adapted Screenplay congratulated the actors for being able to spout out some difficult dialogue. On the off-chance the scriptwriters should be similarly rewarded for their efforts they should be doubly grateful because just as 2005's Sin City carried some of Miller's clunkier dialogue onto the screen, this movie does the same.
Still, apart from the stunning action sequences and set pieces, the film boasts yet another asset, and that is Butler. His acting is unabashedly over-the-top, which is presumably his way of dealing with the larger-than-life persona Miller bestowed upon Leonidas. His charisma is such that even though the screen is filled with men in leather thongs, all with virtually identical bodily proportions he still stands out for the sheer ferocity of his performance. The other actors, with the exception of David Wenham who plays the narrator and Rodrigo Santoro who plays the disturbingly strange God-King Xerxes, kind of just melt into the background.
As spectacular as the fight scenes are, though, one finds oneself desensitized to the violence after the first five minutes of the big battle. And yes, I will concede the point raised by many reviewers that the repeated device of slowing the action down and showing in great detail the dismemberment and/or impalement of the Spartans' enemies does get old pretty quickly, to the point where everything seems more than a bit cartoonish after awhile. Gamers should absolutely love this movie, especially when the decidedly anachronistic rock music starts to play; it feels out of place in a period film but right at home in a stylized video game.
These shortcomings notwithstanding, one cannot take away from director Zack Snyder, who remade Dawn of the Dead some years ago, what he has achieved, and that is a visually-arresting spectacle that faithfully translates its source material to the big screen. I won't even go into the political interpretations of this film because I don't think it was meant to be digested with anything even approaching depth; it's just a rip-roaring good action yarn and not much more than that.
In a nutshell, it's a retelling of the ancient Battle of Thermopylae, in which a small cadre of Spartan warriors led by King Leonidas (Gerard Butler in what is surely the role that will launch him into stardom) took on a much larger force in the form of the Persian army and inflicted severe losses on them before being killed to the last man. Of course, that it was directly adapted from Frank Miller's vision of that battle adds another dimension to the filmmaking altogether.
The end result is an hour-and-a-half-long, magnificently shot and choreographed fight scene, abetted by some highly stylized visual effects which embody the best "real actors against virtual backdrops" film so far since the genre was launched with Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow a few years back. If appreciated on these terms, then the film is pure delight.
Apart from that, it's not what I'd call a brilliant film, and anyone who's seen Gladiator and Sin City is sure to recognize their love child, with a little DNA infusion from the Matrix. In short, one of its maladies is that it suffers from a lack of originality.
Another is a script with some rather halting dialogue. I remember how Peter Jackson (or was it Fran Walsh) when accepting the Academy Award for the Best Adapted Screenplay congratulated the actors for being able to spout out some difficult dialogue. On the off-chance the scriptwriters should be similarly rewarded for their efforts they should be doubly grateful because just as 2005's Sin City carried some of Miller's clunkier dialogue onto the screen, this movie does the same.
Still, apart from the stunning action sequences and set pieces, the film boasts yet another asset, and that is Butler. His acting is unabashedly over-the-top, which is presumably his way of dealing with the larger-than-life persona Miller bestowed upon Leonidas. His charisma is such that even though the screen is filled with men in leather thongs, all with virtually identical bodily proportions he still stands out for the sheer ferocity of his performance. The other actors, with the exception of David Wenham who plays the narrator and Rodrigo Santoro who plays the disturbingly strange God-King Xerxes, kind of just melt into the background.
As spectacular as the fight scenes are, though, one finds oneself desensitized to the violence after the first five minutes of the big battle. And yes, I will concede the point raised by many reviewers that the repeated device of slowing the action down and showing in great detail the dismemberment and/or impalement of the Spartans' enemies does get old pretty quickly, to the point where everything seems more than a bit cartoonish after awhile. Gamers should absolutely love this movie, especially when the decidedly anachronistic rock music starts to play; it feels out of place in a period film but right at home in a stylized video game.
These shortcomings notwithstanding, one cannot take away from director Zack Snyder, who remade Dawn of the Dead some years ago, what he has achieved, and that is a visually-arresting spectacle that faithfully translates its source material to the big screen. I won't even go into the political interpretations of this film because I don't think it was meant to be digested with anything even approaching depth; it's just a rip-roaring good action yarn and not much more than that.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
The Politics of Marvel
Well, apparently, Captain America is dead.
It's a story that has featured prominently in all of the comic book sites I read and in some mainstream media sites as well.
Is it permanent? Nah. They would never kill off an icon like that permanently. In both major comic book companies, Marvel and DC, the only icon who remains dead and buried is Barry Allen. As Spider-Man said, once, in one of the earlier JMS issues "that never seems to last very long around here, does it? Just about everyone I know has been dead at one point or another."
Is it a stunt? Well, Marvel haters would happily dismiss it as such, but I honestly think there's more at work here than the commercialism that drove the death of Superman or even (let's be fair here) the cloning and replacement of Spider-Man.
For one thing, one has to consider that Marvel is currently riding on the wave of the publishing phenomenon called Civil War, the best-selling American comic book of the new millenium (the half-a-million-selling issues of Tokyopop stuff aren't American), the seven issues of which have sold over two million copies on the whole. Captain America was one of the two principal characters of that book, the other being Iron Man. It was all about them, really, and it sold like hotcakes.
For another thing, most of Marvel's line (including the Captain America title) has benefited massively from that mini, and it has launched a number of books out of it, besides, including a revamped New Avengers book and an all-new Avengers book.
Oh, and they already have two gimmick event books linedup for the year, one involving the Hulk and the other involving the X-Men (neither of which I am buying, happily for me).
So no, I don't think the flagging popularity of any character came into play here.
I honestly believe that this is Marvel flipping the bird yet again at the Bush administration.
Tony Stark's pro-registration forces may have won the Civil War, and it's a way of acknowledging the current status quo in America with the Patriot Act in place. Now, however, it feels like Marvel is saying that when certain freedoms are curtailed, America might as well be dead. I mean, one of their most important characters is wearing the American flag and lying bloodied on courthouse steps, for God's sake. You don't get much more political than that. It may be a little prosaic, but at least it isn't so much about sales as it is ideology.
And Marvel has brought forth some of the best talent in its roster to tell this story. The current Captain America writer Ed Brubaker is probably one of the most well-loved by fandom since Mark Waid, if not more, and I have yet to hear anyone saying anything bad about Steve Epting's moody, stylish art. Marvel's even lined up a miniseries about the reactions of different heroes to Cap's death called Fallen Son, written by Heroes producer/writer Jeph Loeb and drawn by John Cassaday, David Finch, Ed McGuinness, John Romita Jr. and Lienil Yu. It's not as if they're getting by with gimmick covers or pre-sealed bags. Whatever one may feel about this story, at least Marvel's telling it in style.
Right now I love how Marvel is basically wearing its anti-Bush sentiments out on its sleeve. Its staff was actually anti-Bush even when it wasn't fashionable, the only blip being the time some right-wing journalist wrote a propaganda piece for the war in Iraq which they couldn't bring themselves to publish for the longest time and finally ended up printing as a one-shot rather than the originally planned miniseries.
So what's my guess as to how and when they'll bring Cap back? None, really, but maybe they'll bring him back in time for the 2008 elections, or after the mostly-Democrat Congress has impeached Bush, or after America has elected its first woman or black president.
Will I buy this story? I'm not really sure, but I certainly applaud Marvel's decision to print it.
It's a story that has featured prominently in all of the comic book sites I read and in some mainstream media sites as well.
Is it permanent? Nah. They would never kill off an icon like that permanently. In both major comic book companies, Marvel and DC, the only icon who remains dead and buried is Barry Allen. As Spider-Man said, once, in one of the earlier JMS issues "that never seems to last very long around here, does it? Just about everyone I know has been dead at one point or another."
Is it a stunt? Well, Marvel haters would happily dismiss it as such, but I honestly think there's more at work here than the commercialism that drove the death of Superman or even (let's be fair here) the cloning and replacement of Spider-Man.
For one thing, one has to consider that Marvel is currently riding on the wave of the publishing phenomenon called Civil War, the best-selling American comic book of the new millenium (the half-a-million-selling issues of Tokyopop stuff aren't American), the seven issues of which have sold over two million copies on the whole. Captain America was one of the two principal characters of that book, the other being Iron Man. It was all about them, really, and it sold like hotcakes.
For another thing, most of Marvel's line (including the Captain America title) has benefited massively from that mini, and it has launched a number of books out of it, besides, including a revamped New Avengers book and an all-new Avengers book.
Oh, and they already have two gimmick event books linedup for the year, one involving the Hulk and the other involving the X-Men (neither of which I am buying, happily for me).
So no, I don't think the flagging popularity of any character came into play here.
I honestly believe that this is Marvel flipping the bird yet again at the Bush administration.
Tony Stark's pro-registration forces may have won the Civil War, and it's a way of acknowledging the current status quo in America with the Patriot Act in place. Now, however, it feels like Marvel is saying that when certain freedoms are curtailed, America might as well be dead. I mean, one of their most important characters is wearing the American flag and lying bloodied on courthouse steps, for God's sake. You don't get much more political than that. It may be a little prosaic, but at least it isn't so much about sales as it is ideology.
And Marvel has brought forth some of the best talent in its roster to tell this story. The current Captain America writer Ed Brubaker is probably one of the most well-loved by fandom since Mark Waid, if not more, and I have yet to hear anyone saying anything bad about Steve Epting's moody, stylish art. Marvel's even lined up a miniseries about the reactions of different heroes to Cap's death called Fallen Son, written by Heroes producer/writer Jeph Loeb and drawn by John Cassaday, David Finch, Ed McGuinness, John Romita Jr. and Lienil Yu. It's not as if they're getting by with gimmick covers or pre-sealed bags. Whatever one may feel about this story, at least Marvel's telling it in style.
Right now I love how Marvel is basically wearing its anti-Bush sentiments out on its sleeve. Its staff was actually anti-Bush even when it wasn't fashionable, the only blip being the time some right-wing journalist wrote a propaganda piece for the war in Iraq which they couldn't bring themselves to publish for the longest time and finally ended up printing as a one-shot rather than the originally planned miniseries.
So what's my guess as to how and when they'll bring Cap back? None, really, but maybe they'll bring him back in time for the 2008 elections, or after the mostly-Democrat Congress has impeached Bush, or after America has elected its first woman or black president.
Will I buy this story? I'm not really sure, but I certainly applaud Marvel's decision to print it.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Getting the Big Boys to Pay.
Oddly enough, my new hobby, collecting diecast cars, has even helped enlighten me on how incredibly stupid car companies, particularly American car companies, are.
As a collector, I have found myself gravitating towards the Ford Mustang. Old and new, they comprise a big chunk of my collection, to the extent that I have more Mustangs than any other single type of car. It's the icon I'm drawn to, really, more than anything else.
In my excitement over this particular make of car, I read a bit about them on the internet and watched some youtube videos of my favorite show, Top Gear in which the new Mustang was reviewed. Predictably, the Mustang was lambasted by the show's hosts in view of its poor handling. The same went for the Shelby GT500, the 2007 version of the legendary 1967 Shelby GT500; its poor handling caused a couple of reviewers to give it the thumbs down.
What bothered, me, however, was not the bad review, but a certain technical detail about the car, namely that it employed a live axle, which means that instead of rear-wheel independent suspension, which is what most current performance cars (and most passenger cars for that matter) employ, both its rear wheels turn on a solid metal rod.
Ford and legendary Mustang Tuner Carroll Shelby have defended the decision to deprive what is currently their flagship muscle car of the best technology available, stating that to put in this system would have made the car more expensive by about 5000 dollars and that the handling would not have significantly improved anyway (the latter of which I severely doubt).
It's not like I would ever buy this car anyway, but I was intrigued, so I dug a little deeper and learned what the ultimate cause for the cost-cutting was: Ford is basically in deep shit, having posted its biggest financial loss in years.
Like the other big two car manufacturers, Dodge and General Motors, Ford's primary lines of vehicles are its big, stupid, gas-guzzling SUVs and its pickup trucks, which basically panders to big, stupid Republicans. As is the case with so much else, Americans just have to do everything in ridiculous excess. What do you expect out of a nation where "food fights" are a staple in many of its slapstick comedies?
Well, apparently gas prices have severely curtailed the Americans' propensity to guzzle gas, and so all of the big three have suffered severely for it, with Toyota overtaking GM as the world's number one seller of automobiles, which says a lot considering GM has divisions all over the world churning out all kinds of different cars.
Because Ford, however, has ventured most of its eggs in the SUV basket, it's lost money hand over fist and now can't even afford to put independent rear-wheel suspension in arguably one of its most important products. The proof that things have gotten progressively worse for them is the fact that the previous generation Mustang did, in fact, have IRS.
So it is of some consolation that at least some of the conspirators behind the death of the electric vehicle are finally paying their dues. People are finally using their most powerful weapon against the capitalist; the dollar, or more appropriately, their refusal to spend it, and have brought one of the world's biggest capitalists to its knees.
However, the new Mustang, medieval suspension notwithstanding, is apparently quite the seller, with its iconic appeal and good looks. The other big two car companies have taken their cue and are reintroducing their own sixties icons, namely the Chevrolet Camaro and the Dodge Challenger. Thinking that the SUV is on its way out, the big three may come to believe that the solution is to go retro and bring back the muscle car. The only problem is, these muscle cars still use five-liter V8 engines. It's kind of amazing how myopic these people can be. One would think car executives are smarter than the morons who buy their products.
Of course, if the market is flooded with gas guzzling muscle cars, with gas prices continuing to escalate, it'll only be a matter of time before people stop buying these cars for the same reason they did their SUVs and pickup trucks, and start going back to their gas-sipping Toyotas, Hondas and other non-American cars.
It'd be nice, actually, if some Japanese or European company actually bought Ford out, the way Ford bought British companies Jaguar and Aston Martin. It would be nice to have business managers with long-term vision, and not just a desire to make a quick buck, running the company, and maybe the electric-car technology Ford (and its co-conspirators in the big three) sat on may see the light of day at last. Or, at the very least, a change in company philosophy would come about, with much less reliance on motor vehicles with a displacement any bigger than two-and-a-half liters.
This is Ford's chance to effect a huge paradigm shift; having been screwed by the oil companies who really couldn't give a damn about anybody's bottom line but their own, it is in a position to start hitting those companies back by making cars less dependent on their products. It can join other eco-warrior car companies like Honda and Toyota and make a clean break from the rest of the Detroit conspiracy with cheaper, and more importantly more fuel-economical cars.
Maybe using a revamped business policy that steers away (pardon the pun) from SUVs and excess, they can actually start making money again, and afford to put some real suspension in their Mustangs. Maybe (gasp) they can start making the Shelby GR-1 concept car a reality.
It's poetic justice to see the big three floundering as a result of all their indulgence. The trick now is how to do the same to the oil companies.
As a collector, I have found myself gravitating towards the Ford Mustang. Old and new, they comprise a big chunk of my collection, to the extent that I have more Mustangs than any other single type of car. It's the icon I'm drawn to, really, more than anything else.
In my excitement over this particular make of car, I read a bit about them on the internet and watched some youtube videos of my favorite show, Top Gear in which the new Mustang was reviewed. Predictably, the Mustang was lambasted by the show's hosts in view of its poor handling. The same went for the Shelby GT500, the 2007 version of the legendary 1967 Shelby GT500; its poor handling caused a couple of reviewers to give it the thumbs down.
What bothered, me, however, was not the bad review, but a certain technical detail about the car, namely that it employed a live axle, which means that instead of rear-wheel independent suspension, which is what most current performance cars (and most passenger cars for that matter) employ, both its rear wheels turn on a solid metal rod.
Ford and legendary Mustang Tuner Carroll Shelby have defended the decision to deprive what is currently their flagship muscle car of the best technology available, stating that to put in this system would have made the car more expensive by about 5000 dollars and that the handling would not have significantly improved anyway (the latter of which I severely doubt).
It's not like I would ever buy this car anyway, but I was intrigued, so I dug a little deeper and learned what the ultimate cause for the cost-cutting was: Ford is basically in deep shit, having posted its biggest financial loss in years.
Like the other big two car manufacturers, Dodge and General Motors, Ford's primary lines of vehicles are its big, stupid, gas-guzzling SUVs and its pickup trucks, which basically panders to big, stupid Republicans. As is the case with so much else, Americans just have to do everything in ridiculous excess. What do you expect out of a nation where "food fights" are a staple in many of its slapstick comedies?
Well, apparently gas prices have severely curtailed the Americans' propensity to guzzle gas, and so all of the big three have suffered severely for it, with Toyota overtaking GM as the world's number one seller of automobiles, which says a lot considering GM has divisions all over the world churning out all kinds of different cars.
Because Ford, however, has ventured most of its eggs in the SUV basket, it's lost money hand over fist and now can't even afford to put independent rear-wheel suspension in arguably one of its most important products. The proof that things have gotten progressively worse for them is the fact that the previous generation Mustang did, in fact, have IRS.
So it is of some consolation that at least some of the conspirators behind the death of the electric vehicle are finally paying their dues. People are finally using their most powerful weapon against the capitalist; the dollar, or more appropriately, their refusal to spend it, and have brought one of the world's biggest capitalists to its knees.
However, the new Mustang, medieval suspension notwithstanding, is apparently quite the seller, with its iconic appeal and good looks. The other big two car companies have taken their cue and are reintroducing their own sixties icons, namely the Chevrolet Camaro and the Dodge Challenger. Thinking that the SUV is on its way out, the big three may come to believe that the solution is to go retro and bring back the muscle car. The only problem is, these muscle cars still use five-liter V8 engines. It's kind of amazing how myopic these people can be. One would think car executives are smarter than the morons who buy their products.
Of course, if the market is flooded with gas guzzling muscle cars, with gas prices continuing to escalate, it'll only be a matter of time before people stop buying these cars for the same reason they did their SUVs and pickup trucks, and start going back to their gas-sipping Toyotas, Hondas and other non-American cars.
It'd be nice, actually, if some Japanese or European company actually bought Ford out, the way Ford bought British companies Jaguar and Aston Martin. It would be nice to have business managers with long-term vision, and not just a desire to make a quick buck, running the company, and maybe the electric-car technology Ford (and its co-conspirators in the big three) sat on may see the light of day at last. Or, at the very least, a change in company philosophy would come about, with much less reliance on motor vehicles with a displacement any bigger than two-and-a-half liters.
This is Ford's chance to effect a huge paradigm shift; having been screwed by the oil companies who really couldn't give a damn about anybody's bottom line but their own, it is in a position to start hitting those companies back by making cars less dependent on their products. It can join other eco-warrior car companies like Honda and Toyota and make a clean break from the rest of the Detroit conspiracy with cheaper, and more importantly more fuel-economical cars.
Maybe using a revamped business policy that steers away (pardon the pun) from SUVs and excess, they can actually start making money again, and afford to put some real suspension in their Mustangs. Maybe (gasp) they can start making the Shelby GR-1 concept car a reality.
It's poetic justice to see the big three floundering as a result of all their indulgence. The trick now is how to do the same to the oil companies.
Friday, March 02, 2007
A Movie That Richly Deserved the Best Picture Oscar...
...is the one that won it this year. Fuck. What a year to miss the theatrical runs of each and every candidate for the Best Picture Oscar.
I've seen two of the candidates on video, both of which sport some nice awards including the grand freaking prize, and they're both utter gems of cinema.
Not since 1988 have I failed to see any of the Oscar-nominated films in the theaters. That's nearly a twenty-year fucking streak, and the one year I broke it was the year some seriously kickass movies made it up there.
I would have gladly traded in the year I swallowed crap like The English Patient or American Beauty if it meant seeing both Little Miss Sunshine and this latest gem I've seen, The Departed, up on the big screen where they belong.
The Departed is a film I wanted to see when it came out last September (or was it October? I don't even remember anymore) well before any Oscar buzz even started (though I understand that quite a bit of it was already stirring about in pre-production).
When I finally saw a barely passable copy of it on a bootleg DVD that my sister-in-law brought home, I had mixed feelings; I was ecstatic to finally get to watch this fantastic film, but at the same time I really, really felt bad about not having seen it in its cinematic glory.
Oscar-winning director Martin Scorsese and Oscar-winning screenwriter William Monahan have crafted a masterpiece of narrative. Granted, he borrowed the plot from Infernal Affairs, a Hong Kong movie, but considering the guys who made that movie (or movie trilogy) have openly expressed Scorsese's influence on their series of films, I guess it's a bit of tit-for-tat.
As all the materials have stated, the film is about a cop, played by Leonardo DiCaprio in easily the best performance of his career, who infiltrates Boston's Irish mob, headed by a devastatingly sinister Jack Nicholson, and about a mob mole, played by Matt Damon in yet another astonishing display of versatility, who has infiltrated the Boston police force. The story is so full of twists and turns that to discuss it at length would give away some meaty surprises, but suffice it to say that the characters find themselves in a race against time, each trying to uncover the other.
As though he felt his esteemed leads were not enough to carry this brilliantly-woven narrative, Scorsese tapped the services of an all-star supporting cast that includes Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen and Alec Baldwin, all of whom deliver richly textured (and in Wahlberg's case, career-defining) performances that, together with those of the principals, make this movie that much greater as a whole than the sum of its parts, which says a lot. Even without the Oscar nod, Mark Wahlberg has officially graduated from the name Marky Mark, and has transcended his starring roles in such turkeys as The Big Hit and The Perfect Storm. Alec Baldwin may now be forgiven for his long streak of bad movies and his supporting role in the godawful Pearl Harbor. Martin Sheen may now be remembered for having playing an important role in a momentous film, rather than his stint as the President of the United States on television.
The success of this film all comes down to the writing and the acting. The action, or more appropriately, the violence is so rampant it's almost cartoony, and you can bet this movie isn't about fight choreography or car chases, but it's just as riveting as any of those things because once the script starts on its roller coaster ride it basically grabs the viewer by the throat and doesn't let go until the end credits roll.
Here's the thing of it: in my frustration at missing it in the theaters I read all about it on the internet, spoilers included, and while I admit it would have bit a lot more hard-hitting had I been caught by surprise by a lot of its surprise twists, especially towards the end, I still found myself a little startled by how everything turned out.
The last film I saw with a similar script and narrative structure this good was Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs. It even operated on the same principle; a mole has infiltrated a gang and the movie is about smoking him out. This script had just as much panache and followed its own path. The absence of any Tarantino humor notwithstanding, though, this movie benefitted from some truly incredible writing.
When this movie first came out late last year I asked a friend of mine what he thought of it, to which he could only respond: Bleak.
Well, to be honest, bleak it was, but to my mind it was so much more than that. Scorsese has truly shown himself to be a director for the ages. I mean, he already has more than one masterpiece in each and every decade since the 70s. Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas, Gangs of New York, and now this.
Oscar or no, this should easily be one of the best-remembered films of his career, and with good reason, too.
I feel terrible about seeing this movie on a bootleg DVD because as far as I'm concerned, to do so is a big fat "fuck you" to the makers of the movie, who in this case really did deserve my money, a lot more so than those fuckers at Columbia and Marvel pictures for making Ghost Rider, or Tom Cruise did for any of his vanity movies, especially the Mission Impossible trilogy. It makes me feel bad because I realize now that if I called myself a movie lover while just watching this stuff on pirated DVDs and not in the theaters would be the same thing as calling myself a comic-book lover if all I did was to read them at the store and never buy any. In both cases I'm doing a severe disservice to the art form.
Well, to make it up to these guys, I am hereby committing to buy the real DVD of this someday. They may not need my money, but for giving me a movie this good they damn well deserve it.
I've seen two of the candidates on video, both of which sport some nice awards including the grand freaking prize, and they're both utter gems of cinema.
Not since 1988 have I failed to see any of the Oscar-nominated films in the theaters. That's nearly a twenty-year fucking streak, and the one year I broke it was the year some seriously kickass movies made it up there.
I would have gladly traded in the year I swallowed crap like The English Patient or American Beauty if it meant seeing both Little Miss Sunshine and this latest gem I've seen, The Departed, up on the big screen where they belong.
The Departed is a film I wanted to see when it came out last September (or was it October? I don't even remember anymore) well before any Oscar buzz even started (though I understand that quite a bit of it was already stirring about in pre-production).
When I finally saw a barely passable copy of it on a bootleg DVD that my sister-in-law brought home, I had mixed feelings; I was ecstatic to finally get to watch this fantastic film, but at the same time I really, really felt bad about not having seen it in its cinematic glory.
Oscar-winning director Martin Scorsese and Oscar-winning screenwriter William Monahan have crafted a masterpiece of narrative. Granted, he borrowed the plot from Infernal Affairs, a Hong Kong movie, but considering the guys who made that movie (or movie trilogy) have openly expressed Scorsese's influence on their series of films, I guess it's a bit of tit-for-tat.
As all the materials have stated, the film is about a cop, played by Leonardo DiCaprio in easily the best performance of his career, who infiltrates Boston's Irish mob, headed by a devastatingly sinister Jack Nicholson, and about a mob mole, played by Matt Damon in yet another astonishing display of versatility, who has infiltrated the Boston police force. The story is so full of twists and turns that to discuss it at length would give away some meaty surprises, but suffice it to say that the characters find themselves in a race against time, each trying to uncover the other.
As though he felt his esteemed leads were not enough to carry this brilliantly-woven narrative, Scorsese tapped the services of an all-star supporting cast that includes Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen and Alec Baldwin, all of whom deliver richly textured (and in Wahlberg's case, career-defining) performances that, together with those of the principals, make this movie that much greater as a whole than the sum of its parts, which says a lot. Even without the Oscar nod, Mark Wahlberg has officially graduated from the name Marky Mark, and has transcended his starring roles in such turkeys as The Big Hit and The Perfect Storm. Alec Baldwin may now be forgiven for his long streak of bad movies and his supporting role in the godawful Pearl Harbor. Martin Sheen may now be remembered for having playing an important role in a momentous film, rather than his stint as the President of the United States on television.
The success of this film all comes down to the writing and the acting. The action, or more appropriately, the violence is so rampant it's almost cartoony, and you can bet this movie isn't about fight choreography or car chases, but it's just as riveting as any of those things because once the script starts on its roller coaster ride it basically grabs the viewer by the throat and doesn't let go until the end credits roll.
Here's the thing of it: in my frustration at missing it in the theaters I read all about it on the internet, spoilers included, and while I admit it would have bit a lot more hard-hitting had I been caught by surprise by a lot of its surprise twists, especially towards the end, I still found myself a little startled by how everything turned out.
The last film I saw with a similar script and narrative structure this good was Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs. It even operated on the same principle; a mole has infiltrated a gang and the movie is about smoking him out. This script had just as much panache and followed its own path. The absence of any Tarantino humor notwithstanding, though, this movie benefitted from some truly incredible writing.
When this movie first came out late last year I asked a friend of mine what he thought of it, to which he could only respond: Bleak.
Well, to be honest, bleak it was, but to my mind it was so much more than that. Scorsese has truly shown himself to be a director for the ages. I mean, he already has more than one masterpiece in each and every decade since the 70s. Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas, Gangs of New York, and now this.
Oscar or no, this should easily be one of the best-remembered films of his career, and with good reason, too.
I feel terrible about seeing this movie on a bootleg DVD because as far as I'm concerned, to do so is a big fat "fuck you" to the makers of the movie, who in this case really did deserve my money, a lot more so than those fuckers at Columbia and Marvel pictures for making Ghost Rider, or Tom Cruise did for any of his vanity movies, especially the Mission Impossible trilogy. It makes me feel bad because I realize now that if I called myself a movie lover while just watching this stuff on pirated DVDs and not in the theaters would be the same thing as calling myself a comic-book lover if all I did was to read them at the store and never buy any. In both cases I'm doing a severe disservice to the art form.
Well, to make it up to these guys, I am hereby committing to buy the real DVD of this someday. They may not need my money, but for giving me a movie this good they damn well deserve it.
Monday, February 26, 2007
A Cute Little Film About Life's Little Disappointments
I feel guilty about having seen Little Miss Sunshine on a bootleg DVD (which I didn't buy, incidentally). It was a movie that richly deserved my money, although given that its run was exclusively limited to Ayala Cinemas, it wasn't exactly easy for me to find time to watch it.
Still, after having watched something as wretched as Ghost Rider it is truly refreshing to watch a a light-hearted, well-written film that embodies the art form as well as Sideways did two years ago. While I certainly applaud the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences' decision to award The Departed (a movie I wanted and still want to see) with the best picture statue (and its director, Martin Scorsese with his first, looooong overdue Oscar), this movie richly deserved to be part of that derby.
It's essentially the odyssey of a family that travels cross-country so that their little girl (the irrepressibly plucky Abigail Breslin) can compete in the titular Little Miss Sunshine pageant. A stranger bunch of characters you will not find: a gay, suicidal uncle (Steve Carrell), a drug-snorting, foul-mouthed grandfather (for which Alan Arkin just won an Oscar), a teenaged big brother who's under a vow of silence (Paul Dano), and the "normal" ones, a husband (Greg Kinnear) and a wife (Toni Colette) who are basically betting their bottom dollar on the husband's ability to sell a self-help seminar. Oh, and of course there's the daughter (Breslin). I would be remiss if I didn't mention one of the film's most memorable characters: an old, beat up, yellow VW Bus.
This is simply a superb movie from start to finish. The actors are pitch-perfect, the script is on a par with Sideways and has the distinction of being an original work as opposed to the Alexander Payne's adaptation of a novel. It has all the quirkiness of a Charlie Kaufman film without the metafictional or surreal qualities to it.
And God, it is funny. From start to finish. It is just perfect in its mixture of humor and heartbreak. Films like that truly hit home with me.
And heartbreak is what this film is all about; that, and family. But the element of disappointment, of life's many letdowns, is what I suspect rings true with just about everyone who really enjoyed this film.
It's lovely how Steve Carell's character Frank captures this theme towards the last third of his movie by sharing the experience of French writer Proust; his suffering and disappointments were what truly helped form his character, much more than the moments of happiness in life.
The movie tells us how we should run towards what we want even though potential disappointment awaits us, because it is our efforts, even the ones--maybe even especially the ones--that end in failure, that define us in the end.
I haven't said this in a long time, but it's a good time now: watch this movie. However you get your hands on it, watch it, and be moved by it.
Still, after having watched something as wretched as Ghost Rider it is truly refreshing to watch a a light-hearted, well-written film that embodies the art form as well as Sideways did two years ago. While I certainly applaud the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences' decision to award The Departed (a movie I wanted and still want to see) with the best picture statue (and its director, Martin Scorsese with his first, looooong overdue Oscar), this movie richly deserved to be part of that derby.
It's essentially the odyssey of a family that travels cross-country so that their little girl (the irrepressibly plucky Abigail Breslin) can compete in the titular Little Miss Sunshine pageant. A stranger bunch of characters you will not find: a gay, suicidal uncle (Steve Carrell), a drug-snorting, foul-mouthed grandfather (for which Alan Arkin just won an Oscar), a teenaged big brother who's under a vow of silence (Paul Dano), and the "normal" ones, a husband (Greg Kinnear) and a wife (Toni Colette) who are basically betting their bottom dollar on the husband's ability to sell a self-help seminar. Oh, and of course there's the daughter (Breslin). I would be remiss if I didn't mention one of the film's most memorable characters: an old, beat up, yellow VW Bus.
This is simply a superb movie from start to finish. The actors are pitch-perfect, the script is on a par with Sideways and has the distinction of being an original work as opposed to the Alexander Payne's adaptation of a novel. It has all the quirkiness of a Charlie Kaufman film without the metafictional or surreal qualities to it.
And God, it is funny. From start to finish. It is just perfect in its mixture of humor and heartbreak. Films like that truly hit home with me.
And heartbreak is what this film is all about; that, and family. But the element of disappointment, of life's many letdowns, is what I suspect rings true with just about everyone who really enjoyed this film.
It's lovely how Steve Carell's character Frank captures this theme towards the last third of his movie by sharing the experience of French writer Proust; his suffering and disappointments were what truly helped form his character, much more than the moments of happiness in life.
The movie tells us how we should run towards what we want even though potential disappointment awaits us, because it is our efforts, even the ones--maybe even especially the ones--that end in failure, that define us in the end.
I haven't said this in a long time, but it's a good time now: watch this movie. However you get your hands on it, watch it, and be moved by it.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The End of Hostilities: Civil War #7
Well, a full four months after it was originally scheduled to end, Marvel's Civil War has finally drawn to a close.
As anyone could have guessed, it all came down to a big throw-down between the two opposing factions: pro and anti-superhero registration. This issue is essentially a protracted fight scene, which in this case is not a bad thing at all.
Finally, the resolution of the conflict hinges not on the leader of one faction punching out the other, but on an epiphany. It's quite well-conceived in that sense, and although the ending may seem inconclusive to many, it actually remains quite true to the original spirit of the series which was to reflect the state of America and its civil liberties.
This series has been a bit of a mixed bag, but at least there have been some constants: every issue has boasted some of the best comic book art ever to see print in the new millenium. It has been consistently engaging, whether because of interesting plot developments or character flaws. The question that arises now is whether Marvel will be able to top themselves in the near future, and the way I see it, they won't be able to do it this year, which is pretty much why I've taken a sabbatical from collecting for awhile, and possibly have given up collecting monthlies altogether.
Civil War has served as an incredibly clever marketing tool for Marvel in that, just after getting everyone's attention, it has basically shattered the existing status quo and set the stage for just about its entire line for the next few years.
The thing is, I like self-contained stories, event or otherwise. I come back for more because of the creative teams and not necessarily because any particular hype machine.
I'm not really interested in buying titles just because they spring "from the pages of Civil War."
Fortunately, as a storyline, Civil War has worked on a number of levels, though only time will tell how memorable this series will truly be.
What I truly appreciated about this story was how very grounded it was. Sure, it was fantastical at some crucial points, but the creative team never lost sight of their real-world parallels. I love the resolution precisely because it isn't some neat, cut-and-dried good triumphs over evil, right beats wrong solution to everything.
And, contrary to the expectations of a lot of fanboys, never once did any deus ex machina rear its head.
Yes, this series has provided a hell of a roller-coaster, and anything that comes afterwards is likely to feel rather bland, so for the moment, I'm getting off.
To Mark Millar, Steve McNiven, Tom Brevoort, and everyone else involved, though, I say thanks for the ride.
As anyone could have guessed, it all came down to a big throw-down between the two opposing factions: pro and anti-superhero registration. This issue is essentially a protracted fight scene, which in this case is not a bad thing at all.
Finally, the resolution of the conflict hinges not on the leader of one faction punching out the other, but on an epiphany. It's quite well-conceived in that sense, and although the ending may seem inconclusive to many, it actually remains quite true to the original spirit of the series which was to reflect the state of America and its civil liberties.
This series has been a bit of a mixed bag, but at least there have been some constants: every issue has boasted some of the best comic book art ever to see print in the new millenium. It has been consistently engaging, whether because of interesting plot developments or character flaws. The question that arises now is whether Marvel will be able to top themselves in the near future, and the way I see it, they won't be able to do it this year, which is pretty much why I've taken a sabbatical from collecting for awhile, and possibly have given up collecting monthlies altogether.
Civil War has served as an incredibly clever marketing tool for Marvel in that, just after getting everyone's attention, it has basically shattered the existing status quo and set the stage for just about its entire line for the next few years.
The thing is, I like self-contained stories, event or otherwise. I come back for more because of the creative teams and not necessarily because any particular hype machine.
I'm not really interested in buying titles just because they spring "from the pages of Civil War."
Fortunately, as a storyline, Civil War has worked on a number of levels, though only time will tell how memorable this series will truly be.
What I truly appreciated about this story was how very grounded it was. Sure, it was fantastical at some crucial points, but the creative team never lost sight of their real-world parallels. I love the resolution precisely because it isn't some neat, cut-and-dried good triumphs over evil, right beats wrong solution to everything.
And, contrary to the expectations of a lot of fanboys, never once did any deus ex machina rear its head.
Yes, this series has provided a hell of a roller-coaster, and anything that comes afterwards is likely to feel rather bland, so for the moment, I'm getting off.
To Mark Millar, Steve McNiven, Tom Brevoort, and everyone else involved, though, I say thanks for the ride.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Ghost Rider
Let me state something for the record. I am a Marvel zombie. I was one of the few people who bothered to list the high points of Fantastic Four. I preferred X-Men 3 over Superman. When it comes to comic books and comic-based movies, even though I no longer buy comic books, I still have an inordinate preference towards Marvel (though I still didn't bother with Elektra, The Punisher or the Man-Thing TV movie).
That said, I found Ghost Rider to be a terrible movie. I actually enjoyed myself laughing at how awful it was (more than at their numerous jokes) so fortunately I didn't waste my money, in a strange sense.
I was one of the few people happy to see Marvel Comics' hero Daredevil on the big screen, though I wasn't at all happy with Ben Affleck's performance, or the fact that the story didn't seem to make any sense beyond explaining how he got blinded and got his superpowers at the same time.
The fact that the writer/director of Daredevil, Mark Steven Johnson, was taking on another b-list Marvel hero, Ghost Rider, made me extremely leery of the film. I was assuaged a little by the early trailers featuring some stunning visual effects (particularly his flaming head), but when Sony made the decision to not screen the movie for critics that was a pretty big red alert for me.
Still, I went to see it, even after it had been almost universally panned by critics. After all, it now boasts Nicolas Cage's career-best opening, so I figured maybe the reviewers were just being the uptight, pretentious gits they often are.
Having seen it, I can now say that most of them were right on the money.
Holy cow, this movie was a stinker. Obviously, screenwriter (and director) Johnson wasn't taking the material seriously at all, and while there's nothing wrong with that, per se, it could have been done so much better. It was written as an action-comedy/western with a very slight touch of horror, but that didn't mean it had to be written so badly. The producers may have done well to drop David S. Goyer's script (as his last Blade movie was not only terrible, but a box-office failure as well), but if they had wanted decently-penned action comedy they should have picked up action-adventure go-to-guys Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio, the writers of The Mask of Zorro and more significantly The Pirates of the Caribbean. Johnson's script was horrendous, with some of the most bloodcurdling lines I've heard since the "romantic" dialogue in the Star Wars prequels.
My wife didn't hate it, excusing its nightmarish narrative (and I don't mean that in a horror/gothic sense) by saying "well it's a comic book movie" thereby showing her disdain for the genre in general. See, this movie was okay to people who don't like comic books, which is a sad statement indeed.
I won't even bother summarizing it or going into plot points or anything beyond saying that it's about some stunt cyclist who made a deal with the devil (Peter Fonda), because the story was just so poorly structured even my barest description of it may expose all the holes, and I don't want to go through that again.
To be fair to Sony (though Sony should have been fair to us by giving us a real script), there are a couple of gems in this movie. I found myself feeling bad at how spectacular the effect of Nicolas Cage's head being digitally replaced with a flaming skull was; it was such a gripping visual for such a bad movie. All of the special effects related to the Rider himself were absolutely topnotch, which couldn't have been easy considering how unwieldy fire effects can be. At least they got this right; too bad they didn't focus on the story first. Also, Peter Fonda as Mephistopheles was, in a word, cool. I loved the way he played the devil; it's kind of like the way Morgan Freeman played God in Bruce Almighty, in that I could actually imagine the devil looking and talking just like him. Also, I did laugh at some of their jokes, though it was either do that or cry.
I like my comic-book movies the way I like my comics, tightly-scripted, with the right amount of humor, drama, pathos, and hard-hitting action. Give me the Spider-man films, the first two X-Men films or Batman Begins. Give me V for Vendetta or 300. Hell, give me the first two Blade films! Don't give me idiocy like this!
Memo to Marvel films: please, PLEASE do not inflict Mark Steven Johnson on any more of your characters.
That said, I found Ghost Rider to be a terrible movie. I actually enjoyed myself laughing at how awful it was (more than at their numerous jokes) so fortunately I didn't waste my money, in a strange sense.
I was one of the few people happy to see Marvel Comics' hero Daredevil on the big screen, though I wasn't at all happy with Ben Affleck's performance, or the fact that the story didn't seem to make any sense beyond explaining how he got blinded and got his superpowers at the same time.
The fact that the writer/director of Daredevil, Mark Steven Johnson, was taking on another b-list Marvel hero, Ghost Rider, made me extremely leery of the film. I was assuaged a little by the early trailers featuring some stunning visual effects (particularly his flaming head), but when Sony made the decision to not screen the movie for critics that was a pretty big red alert for me.
Still, I went to see it, even after it had been almost universally panned by critics. After all, it now boasts Nicolas Cage's career-best opening, so I figured maybe the reviewers were just being the uptight, pretentious gits they often are.
Having seen it, I can now say that most of them were right on the money.
Holy cow, this movie was a stinker. Obviously, screenwriter (and director) Johnson wasn't taking the material seriously at all, and while there's nothing wrong with that, per se, it could have been done so much better. It was written as an action-comedy/western with a very slight touch of horror, but that didn't mean it had to be written so badly. The producers may have done well to drop David S. Goyer's script (as his last Blade movie was not only terrible, but a box-office failure as well), but if they had wanted decently-penned action comedy they should have picked up action-adventure go-to-guys Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio, the writers of The Mask of Zorro and more significantly The Pirates of the Caribbean. Johnson's script was horrendous, with some of the most bloodcurdling lines I've heard since the "romantic" dialogue in the Star Wars prequels.
My wife didn't hate it, excusing its nightmarish narrative (and I don't mean that in a horror/gothic sense) by saying "well it's a comic book movie" thereby showing her disdain for the genre in general. See, this movie was okay to people who don't like comic books, which is a sad statement indeed.
I won't even bother summarizing it or going into plot points or anything beyond saying that it's about some stunt cyclist who made a deal with the devil (Peter Fonda), because the story was just so poorly structured even my barest description of it may expose all the holes, and I don't want to go through that again.
To be fair to Sony (though Sony should have been fair to us by giving us a real script), there are a couple of gems in this movie. I found myself feeling bad at how spectacular the effect of Nicolas Cage's head being digitally replaced with a flaming skull was; it was such a gripping visual for such a bad movie. All of the special effects related to the Rider himself were absolutely topnotch, which couldn't have been easy considering how unwieldy fire effects can be. At least they got this right; too bad they didn't focus on the story first. Also, Peter Fonda as Mephistopheles was, in a word, cool. I loved the way he played the devil; it's kind of like the way Morgan Freeman played God in Bruce Almighty, in that I could actually imagine the devil looking and talking just like him. Also, I did laugh at some of their jokes, though it was either do that or cry.
I like my comic-book movies the way I like my comics, tightly-scripted, with the right amount of humor, drama, pathos, and hard-hitting action. Give me the Spider-man films, the first two X-Men films or Batman Begins. Give me V for Vendetta or 300. Hell, give me the first two Blade films! Don't give me idiocy like this!
Memo to Marvel films: please, PLEASE do not inflict Mark Steven Johnson on any more of your characters.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Send In The Clowns
See, THIS is why I'd rather write about movies, or my hobbies, or "fluff."
Because all things considered, next to the "hard-hitting" stuff, the stuff that is supposed to matter, it all seems so much more relevant.
Just this past weekend I've been treated to spectacular displays of stupidity as election season seems to have started a tad early.
Yesterday afternoon I was treated to a shameless display of jump-the-gun campaigning as aspiring senator Richard Gomez used his show, the "S-Files" to broadcast (no pun intended) his intentions to anyone watching. Maybe the guy really is some kind of idealist but I'm pretty sure he crossed a line when he used his TV show as a campaign platform. I can't say for certain but offhand I think he may have violated the statutory period allowed for campaigning. Anyway, let's see if anyone thinks to sue him for it.
Later on I was "treated" to both sides of the political fence announcing their respective lineups for the senatorial race. Seeing people like Pangilinan and Villar batting for the opposition was no big surprise considering how pissed they were when GMA signaled her intention to put the Senate on the chopping block so she could save her ass, but what really blew me away was seeing Tessie Oreta and Tito Sotto on the ADMINISTRATION slate.
Oreta, whose dance of joy incited an angry populace to stage EDSA II. Sotto, who basically was one of the driving forces behind the failed FPJ presidency, who, during his heyday in the Senate, was embroiled in drug charges, which was ironic considering he was supposed to be part of a task force meant to stamp the whole thing out. It's hilarious how desperate the administration are to show off how they've "won over" these buffoons. It's musical chairs at its very worst.
My God, our elections have gone from farce to cartoon. Well, thinking about it, they've been cartoons for ages now but I guess I just persisted in the delusion that they were even halfway serious.
Yep, give me my comics and diecast cars any day of the week. At least they seem more lifelike.
Because all things considered, next to the "hard-hitting" stuff, the stuff that is supposed to matter, it all seems so much more relevant.
Just this past weekend I've been treated to spectacular displays of stupidity as election season seems to have started a tad early.
Yesterday afternoon I was treated to a shameless display of jump-the-gun campaigning as aspiring senator Richard Gomez used his show, the "S-Files" to broadcast (no pun intended) his intentions to anyone watching. Maybe the guy really is some kind of idealist but I'm pretty sure he crossed a line when he used his TV show as a campaign platform. I can't say for certain but offhand I think he may have violated the statutory period allowed for campaigning. Anyway, let's see if anyone thinks to sue him for it.
Later on I was "treated" to both sides of the political fence announcing their respective lineups for the senatorial race. Seeing people like Pangilinan and Villar batting for the opposition was no big surprise considering how pissed they were when GMA signaled her intention to put the Senate on the chopping block so she could save her ass, but what really blew me away was seeing Tessie Oreta and Tito Sotto on the ADMINISTRATION slate.
Oreta, whose dance of joy incited an angry populace to stage EDSA II. Sotto, who basically was one of the driving forces behind the failed FPJ presidency, who, during his heyday in the Senate, was embroiled in drug charges, which was ironic considering he was supposed to be part of a task force meant to stamp the whole thing out. It's hilarious how desperate the administration are to show off how they've "won over" these buffoons. It's musical chairs at its very worst.
My God, our elections have gone from farce to cartoon. Well, thinking about it, they've been cartoons for ages now but I guess I just persisted in the delusion that they were even halfway serious.
Yep, give me my comics and diecast cars any day of the week. At least they seem more lifelike.
Monday, February 05, 2007
What Is It About That Guy?
It being Oscar season, I've made an observation: Brad Pitt's status as a Hollywood power player has shot into the stratosphere. He may not have starred in a box-office blockbuster this year, but I think 2006 is a banner year for him just the same.
Not only is he starring in one of the frontrunners for best picture, Babel, but he has producer credits on the other, more heavily favored frontrunner, Martin Scorsese's The Departed, though he wasn't nominated for it.
Considering how unforgiving Hollywood be, I find this baffling.
When Pitt burst onto the mainstream in Ridley Scott's Thelma and Louise, people were gushing about his charisma and sex appeal and hailed him as the next Redford, especially when he starred in a Redford movie, A River Runs Through It.
1994 would prove to be his true breakout year, however, as he overshadowed Tom Cruise in Interview with the Vampire and enthralled audiences with his turn as a turn-of-the-century James Dean in Legends of the Fall. He was quick to follow that up with Seven.
And then, for years thereafter, he starred in one misfire after another. From Seven Years in Tibet to Fight Club, he couldn't seem to carry any project to box-office success.
It puzzled me that even though he didn't seem to have any box office muscle to flex, for some reason he never entirely lost his golden-boy status. It seemed that only numbers geeks (like myself) thought he was just a flash in the pan. I never understood how he never lost "it" boy status, even though he had something like four or five bombs or underperformers in a row.
In 2000 he married popular wet dream Jennifer Aniston. He was still pretty much in box office limbo, but he managed to grab headlines just the same.
In 2001 he then rode the Soderberg/Clooney train to success with Ocean's Eleven, his first $100+ million hit in seven years, one he couldn't even really take credit for, unlike, say Matt Damon for his Bourne movies. He then followed this up with the hit Troy and his biggest hit to date, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, establishing himself as a box-office star.
This is where things get mindblowing.
What kills me is how, after four or five years of marriage to a woman every other heterosexual male would love to shag, he basically dumps her (admittedly for the also eminently shaggable Angelina Jolie), and has a whole lot of people, men and women, nodding in assent and practically saying "it's all your fault for letting him go, Jen." He then sires a baby by the woman he swore he didn't leave his wife for (how many people actually believed that, anyway), and everyone is now cheering them on as a Hollywood power couple. And now here he is starring in one of the Oscar best picture contenders and producing another.
This is why this perplexes me:
Tom Cruise jumped on a sofa and barked at some TV journalist and everyone thinks he's insane, or a closet homosexual, or any of a million other conspiracy theories. People don't like him; the Razzies award people invented a whole new category just for him, Paramount Pictures, the studio he made probably two billion dollars for in the past twenty years cut him loose because of his recent eccentricity, and there are people still convinced that his recent baby and marriage with Katie Holmes is just one big stunt to revitalize his flagging career. Obviously, then, it's not a question of good looks.
Russell Crowe vented his wrath on some little prick of a hotel clerk who flashed him some attitude, and suddenly became a Hollywood pariah. His last two films underperformed at the box office, with his reunion with Gladiator director Ridley Scott doing a spectacular belly flop. I guess it didn't help that he's widely perceived as a bully, but one thing's for sure: it's not a question of bad boy status.
So why, in a culture/community that can end careers just by refusing to buy movie tickets, is Brad Pitt seemingly on top of the world even after being just as big if not a bigger jerk than some A-list stars who have been recently cast down for less? Bad ticket sales didn't kill his career, and neither did bringing a nasty end to what everyone thought was a dream marriage.
At this point I don't think even bashing Jews or screaming "nigger" at black people in a nightclub (or doing both in succession) could kill his career.
Whatever potion it is he's used to enthrall much of the world at large, I sure want some of it.
Not only is he starring in one of the frontrunners for best picture, Babel, but he has producer credits on the other, more heavily favored frontrunner, Martin Scorsese's The Departed, though he wasn't nominated for it.
Considering how unforgiving Hollywood be, I find this baffling.
When Pitt burst onto the mainstream in Ridley Scott's Thelma and Louise, people were gushing about his charisma and sex appeal and hailed him as the next Redford, especially when he starred in a Redford movie, A River Runs Through It.
1994 would prove to be his true breakout year, however, as he overshadowed Tom Cruise in Interview with the Vampire and enthralled audiences with his turn as a turn-of-the-century James Dean in Legends of the Fall. He was quick to follow that up with Seven.
And then, for years thereafter, he starred in one misfire after another. From Seven Years in Tibet to Fight Club, he couldn't seem to carry any project to box-office success.
It puzzled me that even though he didn't seem to have any box office muscle to flex, for some reason he never entirely lost his golden-boy status. It seemed that only numbers geeks (like myself) thought he was just a flash in the pan. I never understood how he never lost "it" boy status, even though he had something like four or five bombs or underperformers in a row.
In 2000 he married popular wet dream Jennifer Aniston. He was still pretty much in box office limbo, but he managed to grab headlines just the same.
In 2001 he then rode the Soderberg/Clooney train to success with Ocean's Eleven, his first $100+ million hit in seven years, one he couldn't even really take credit for, unlike, say Matt Damon for his Bourne movies. He then followed this up with the hit Troy and his biggest hit to date, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, establishing himself as a box-office star.
This is where things get mindblowing.
What kills me is how, after four or five years of marriage to a woman every other heterosexual male would love to shag, he basically dumps her (admittedly for the also eminently shaggable Angelina Jolie), and has a whole lot of people, men and women, nodding in assent and practically saying "it's all your fault for letting him go, Jen." He then sires a baby by the woman he swore he didn't leave his wife for (how many people actually believed that, anyway), and everyone is now cheering them on as a Hollywood power couple. And now here he is starring in one of the Oscar best picture contenders and producing another.
This is why this perplexes me:
Tom Cruise jumped on a sofa and barked at some TV journalist and everyone thinks he's insane, or a closet homosexual, or any of a million other conspiracy theories. People don't like him; the Razzies award people invented a whole new category just for him, Paramount Pictures, the studio he made probably two billion dollars for in the past twenty years cut him loose because of his recent eccentricity, and there are people still convinced that his recent baby and marriage with Katie Holmes is just one big stunt to revitalize his flagging career. Obviously, then, it's not a question of good looks.
Russell Crowe vented his wrath on some little prick of a hotel clerk who flashed him some attitude, and suddenly became a Hollywood pariah. His last two films underperformed at the box office, with his reunion with Gladiator director Ridley Scott doing a spectacular belly flop. I guess it didn't help that he's widely perceived as a bully, but one thing's for sure: it's not a question of bad boy status.
So why, in a culture/community that can end careers just by refusing to buy movie tickets, is Brad Pitt seemingly on top of the world even after being just as big if not a bigger jerk than some A-list stars who have been recently cast down for less? Bad ticket sales didn't kill his career, and neither did bringing a nasty end to what everyone thought was a dream marriage.
At this point I don't think even bashing Jews or screaming "nigger" at black people in a nightclub (or doing both in succession) could kill his career.
Whatever potion it is he's used to enthrall much of the world at large, I sure want some of it.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Leaner
I remember when the only comic book title I ever bought was The Amazing Spider-Man by David Michelinie and Todd McFarlane. I also bought back issues of The Incredible Hulk by Peter David and Todd McFarlane. Yes, say what I will about him, but Todd was the one creator who really and truly got me into collecting comic books nearly 20 years ago.
Those early years were fun; buying up stuff that I liked, waiting every month for the next issue (and in the case of Amazing, once every two weeks, considering that it shipped fortnightly in the summertime).
As time went on, though, I still collected, but the sense of fun that I got out of it was gone, replaced instead by a growing need to just buy comics for all kinds of reasons that weren't necessarily connected to my enjoyment of the stories. It was subtle at first, but by 1998 I was buying comics featuring characters I couldn't really give a damn about because I'd read about it in Wizard or something like that. For a long stretch I bought Spider-Man's monthly because it was the only book featuring him, regardless of how disappointed I was by the content.
My meager collection of Spider-Mans had grown into several titles, mostly from Marvel but from a lot of other companies as well, only a few of which I liked enough to read more than once or twice after buying them. This trend continued into the new millenium at which point I was picking up comic books almost out of compulsion, with the exception of some titles that I truly enjoyed.
Last year, with the advent of Marvel's Civil War, it became clear to me that the landscape of the Marvel Universe would be radically changed for the next couple of years, which rather made me leery of what the future held. The last time Marvel made a promise like that, the Clone Saga of the 90s was born.
Not only that, but the first half of 2007 seems, from all indications, to be devoid of any creators whose work I follow on characters that I love. Mark Millar is apparently taking the year off, as is Steve McNiven. It seemed as good a time as any to just stop collecting for awhile, at least after all the miniseries I started last year have finished, and so I stopped picking up new titles.
I then got into buying diecast collectible cars, and in the process of doing so, came to a realization.
My toy car collection is small; I only have about 35 to 36 of them, as opposed to over 500 comic books that I have accumulated over the years, but there was one crucial aspect I noted about the collection that made me realize something about my comic book hoard.
For the most part, my car collection only consists of about three or four makes of car. They are mostly Shelby Cobras, Ford Mustangs, and other related cars such as the Shelby GR-1 and the Ford GT. There are a few Ferraris and a couple of Mercedes supercars as well, but overall, there is a consistency to it, a focus on collecting very specific types of cars that I hadn't known since my very first days of collecting comic books.
So I ended up asking myself why I had accumulated so many comic books, apart from the fact that quite a bit of time had lapsed since I started. Did I really like all of the stuff that I bought?
After going over most of them in my mind, I had to conclude that the answer was no.
And so I made the decision to sell a chunk of my collection. It's not because they are or aren't particularly collectible; it's not because I'm trying to cash in on speculation I might have made years ago. In fact, most of these things I'm selling pretty much at value, which puts me at a loss considering inflation. Some of them, I think, are actually pretty valuable but I'm not really trying to make any money off them. (Well, with the exception of the stuff I've put on e-Bay, which I'm selling at their value as stated in Wizard and other authorities on comic book prices. I figure: if someone's going to make money off these things' appreciation, it should be me first of all, and let the others recoup it should the issues continue to appreciate; but that's a relatively small segment of my collection.)
The point, really, is to reduce my collection to the stuff I'm really passionate about. I've always considered myself a selective comic book buyer, and I was therefore shocked to see how much stuff made it into my collection that I wasn't all that crazy about.
What am I keeping? Well, a good three-fourths of my collection will remain very much intact even if all my hoped deals push through. I'm not just keeping the well-worn, newsprint 80s comics that started my collection but a whole bunch of other things as well, stuff I really got into, like the first two years of J. Michael Straczynski's Amazing Spider-Man run or Mark Millar's Spider-Man series, or Frank Miller's The Man Without Fear miniseries. Memorable stuff.
I honestly hope to be able to sell everything I've set out to sell, not so much because I could use the space or the cash (although of course both are most welcome) but I'd rather these comic books find a home with someone who can truly embrace them, someone to whose collection they won't feel like unwanted flab.
My toy car collection is a joy to me because just about everything in it is something I really and truly wanted to buy. I want my comic collection to feel that way again, too.
Those early years were fun; buying up stuff that I liked, waiting every month for the next issue (and in the case of Amazing, once every two weeks, considering that it shipped fortnightly in the summertime).
As time went on, though, I still collected, but the sense of fun that I got out of it was gone, replaced instead by a growing need to just buy comics for all kinds of reasons that weren't necessarily connected to my enjoyment of the stories. It was subtle at first, but by 1998 I was buying comics featuring characters I couldn't really give a damn about because I'd read about it in Wizard or something like that. For a long stretch I bought Spider-Man's monthly because it was the only book featuring him, regardless of how disappointed I was by the content.
My meager collection of Spider-Mans had grown into several titles, mostly from Marvel but from a lot of other companies as well, only a few of which I liked enough to read more than once or twice after buying them. This trend continued into the new millenium at which point I was picking up comic books almost out of compulsion, with the exception of some titles that I truly enjoyed.
Last year, with the advent of Marvel's Civil War, it became clear to me that the landscape of the Marvel Universe would be radically changed for the next couple of years, which rather made me leery of what the future held. The last time Marvel made a promise like that, the Clone Saga of the 90s was born.
Not only that, but the first half of 2007 seems, from all indications, to be devoid of any creators whose work I follow on characters that I love. Mark Millar is apparently taking the year off, as is Steve McNiven. It seemed as good a time as any to just stop collecting for awhile, at least after all the miniseries I started last year have finished, and so I stopped picking up new titles.
I then got into buying diecast collectible cars, and in the process of doing so, came to a realization.
My toy car collection is small; I only have about 35 to 36 of them, as opposed to over 500 comic books that I have accumulated over the years, but there was one crucial aspect I noted about the collection that made me realize something about my comic book hoard.
For the most part, my car collection only consists of about three or four makes of car. They are mostly Shelby Cobras, Ford Mustangs, and other related cars such as the Shelby GR-1 and the Ford GT. There are a few Ferraris and a couple of Mercedes supercars as well, but overall, there is a consistency to it, a focus on collecting very specific types of cars that I hadn't known since my very first days of collecting comic books.
So I ended up asking myself why I had accumulated so many comic books, apart from the fact that quite a bit of time had lapsed since I started. Did I really like all of the stuff that I bought?
After going over most of them in my mind, I had to conclude that the answer was no.
And so I made the decision to sell a chunk of my collection. It's not because they are or aren't particularly collectible; it's not because I'm trying to cash in on speculation I might have made years ago. In fact, most of these things I'm selling pretty much at value, which puts me at a loss considering inflation. Some of them, I think, are actually pretty valuable but I'm not really trying to make any money off them. (Well, with the exception of the stuff I've put on e-Bay, which I'm selling at their value as stated in Wizard and other authorities on comic book prices. I figure: if someone's going to make money off these things' appreciation, it should be me first of all, and let the others recoup it should the issues continue to appreciate; but that's a relatively small segment of my collection.)
The point, really, is to reduce my collection to the stuff I'm really passionate about. I've always considered myself a selective comic book buyer, and I was therefore shocked to see how much stuff made it into my collection that I wasn't all that crazy about.
What am I keeping? Well, a good three-fourths of my collection will remain very much intact even if all my hoped deals push through. I'm not just keeping the well-worn, newsprint 80s comics that started my collection but a whole bunch of other things as well, stuff I really got into, like the first two years of J. Michael Straczynski's Amazing Spider-Man run or Mark Millar's Spider-Man series, or Frank Miller's The Man Without Fear miniseries. Memorable stuff.
I honestly hope to be able to sell everything I've set out to sell, not so much because I could use the space or the cash (although of course both are most welcome) but I'd rather these comic books find a home with someone who can truly embrace them, someone to whose collection they won't feel like unwanted flab.
My toy car collection is a joy to me because just about everything in it is something I really and truly wanted to buy. I want my comic collection to feel that way again, too.
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