Words of the Weasel Sort

The Red-Headed (Step-)King of Late Night

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 05:22:00 +0000

So, if the investigative reporters at TMZ are correct, it looks like that NBC suits and Jay Leno are about to gang-rape Conan O'Brien's career. This move is both not surprising and all kinds of unprofessional.

It was already an offensive move to extend late-night TV into prime-time just to placate Leno and undermine Conan's authority as the new heir to the throne. It was even worse to force Conan to tone down his patented humor that made his 12:30 show the last bastion of hip on television, in order to make old ladies in Iowa feel comfortable. But this move - according to the NY Times, to put Leno back on at 11:30, forcing The Tonight Show and Late Night back a half-hour - is ugly and discourteous. Yes, this decision seems to be coming from the Comcast people in the wake of their recent acquisition of NBC (what is this going to do for 30 Rock's storyline?!) but goddammit, be tactful about it.

NBC has reportedly been saying that the Jay Leno Show at 10pm has been performing as they've expected, which only means his ratings are enough to justify producing a one-hour talk show five nights a week instead of producing five hour-long dramas with ensemble casts that would cost them millions more if (God forbid) they all become hit shows. And the simple fact that I watch Late Night with Jimmy Fallon (almost exclusively because of the Roots) says to me that that time slot has, at worst, maintained viewership from the Conan days. And, even though I keep watching, the Tonight Show has been disappointing. I don't blame Conan; he's just trying to give them what they want. But when Conan - who had been doing Sarah Palin jokes since she hit the scene - winds up with Palin as a surprise guest to pimp her book, it's fairly obvious that a very big fix is in.

Between Leno's last-minute decision to do a 10pm show and NBC's blank-check approach to publicity for his show, it makes me wonder why they even changed things in the first place. Leno was supposedly unhappy about being forced out of the Tonight Show chair and Conan was doing fine where he was (here in New York... where he belongs... with us). So why move Leno out and Conan across the country if you weren't jazzed enough about him to publicize the hell out of The Tonight Show? Or stop interfering with Conan's thing and let him do what, it seems to me, got him the Tonight Show gig to begin with? His being fired doesn't just solve a problem for NBC or Leno; it makes Conan look like an asshole. Of all the shitty things about this deal, this is by far the shittiest. Maybe TMZ's early scoop kept anyone from doing proper damage control to make it look like everyone's happy, but at the end of it, Conan now has indisputable proof (as does America) that he's got a vote of no confidence from his bosses. There's no way to spin that to make it look good for anyone.

It was obvious from the get-go that Conan was being treated like the middle child of NBC's late-night lineup. After the first couple of weeks, Conan was getting shittier guests on The Tonight Show than he was on Late Night, largely because Leno and even Jimmy Fallon were trumping him somehow. Honestly, I have nothing against Fallon but something's wrong when the new kid in town lands Monty Python for a whole hour and The Tonight Show gets nothing. And with Leno still there at 10PM, doing the same shit he did at 11:30PM, it's a subtle suggestion to America that Conan doesn't deserve any attention. Now, Leno's going to be right back in the same time slot, suggesting that he's bigger and more important than an almost 50-year legacy? What if Johnny Carson pulled that same shit on him back in 1992? He'd have been steamrolled in the ratings. It's like your wife's ex-husband sleeping in between you and her. It's not good for the relationship because everyone's holding onto old baggage they don't need.

If it does go through, I can only hope that Conan eventually tells NBC to piss off and walks. He's guaranteed to get picked up by another network. Fox could join the late-night wars for the first time in ages, and with their first real contender. What NBC has done to Conan is unconscionable. They have demonstrated that they couldn't give a damn about him and will throw him under the bus the first chance they get. What good would it do if he keeps working with the network that just shit in his mouth in public?

Merry New Year!

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 05:00:00 +0000

No New Year's Resolutions for me this year. I'm just glad that we've finally shaken off the suck decade that was the aughts. That's good enough for me.

As you will see, depending on when you're reading this, there have been a few changes around here. I figured, let's make a fresh start as we enter a new decade.

I'll be doing my year-end wrap-up as soon as I can catch a few more movies and, as I promised months ago, I'll be unveiling a decade wrap-up piece including my 100 favorite films, 20 favorite albums, and 10 favorite TV shows of the 2000s. That will all be coming up in the next week or two, for real this time.

Until then, hope you're all doing well and may this decade be better to you than the last. I think we could all use that.

Last Post of this Decade!

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 01:28:00 +0000

I just wanted to get one last post in for the aughts. I think this ought to explain how I feel about the decade, not to put too fine a point on it.

Blue-Eyed Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 14:00:00 +0000

Michael McDonald Christmas Choir - watch more funny videos

Merry Christmas!

Scary Logos

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 18:31:00 +0000

Most of you looking at the logo to the side there are thinking to yourself, "Hmmm... I wonder what this is going to be about."

And a few of you, if you're actually looking at this site for anything besides pictures of Christina Hendricks (which, according to my statcounter results, is almost none of you... maybe I should relaunch the blog), are looking at that Screen Gems logo and not saying or thinking anything at all. You're frozen in terror like you just saw the face of the one-armed man who killed your wife all those years ago.

I have to say, I find that weird.

I happened upon something the other day: the concept of logophobia, where people have emotional reactions to TV logos, mostly from the 60s and 70s. IFC's website did a small report on scary logos and mentioned a short documentary coming out called The S From Hell, about the Screen Gems logo at the top. Apparently, it really freaked a lot of kids out in the 60s. I seem to recall it from my own childhood but I never had that same reaction to it.

I showed it to my wife and she said the weirdest thing I think I've ever heard her say: "If that's freaking people out, then this makes me believe in parallel universes. Like in an alternate universe, that logo might be the equivalent of a swastika."

She watches a lot of Fringe.

I didn't know that this was a thing, being shit-scared of logos. I laughed as I searched youtube for "scary logos" and came across plenty of things I remembered from my childhood. "What the hell is wrong with people? They're freaked out by these?" I said as I watched logo after logo that I hadn't seen in years. I did have to admit that graphic design has greatly improved over the last 40 years but there was nothing that was going to keep me up all night.

And then I saw something I hadn't seen in decades.

I remember going to see Octopussy with my dad when I was small and this logo - more importantly, the music - blared at full six-track Dolby Stereo volume and scared the shit out of me. Add to that a logo that slowly reveals itself from the darkness like a fucking vampire and there you go. Instant fear. What the hell were the UA executives thinking?!

And then I found this one as well (the one in question starts at :14).

This one was always on, as I recall right before my mom watched "Mystery" on Sunday nights, hosted at the time by Vincent Price, whom I had known then only as "the creepy guy in 'Thriller'." While we're at it, here's the opening to THAT show.

So the WGBH logo combined with the opening of "Mystery" (mostly that creepy eye in the woods when the woman is wailing... some nights, I can still feel that eye watching me as I sleep) equals crapped pants. Just terrifying stuff.

It's as if, in the days when computers were gaining ground in all fields of business and labor but hadn't yet been employed to the degree in which they are now, graphic designers started their work in the uncanny valley: too technical and "computer-y" to feel organic, but not precise enough to look like computer generated and "futuristic." The result comes out as something almost inexplicably unnerving, that when you hear or see something from the past like that, it just makes your hair stand on end.

But yeah, I get it now. And you'd better get it too. Or the V of Doom will get you in the night.

Turn me on, dead man...

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 00:59:00 +0000

Today is an important day in rock history.

Today is the 40th anniversary of the death of one of the biggest icons popular music has ever known: Paul McCartney.

What's that you say? He's not dead? He got screwed by Michael Jackson (RIP) for the rights to his own songs but is still Britain's richest man? He divorced that unpleasant one-legged woman a couple of years ago? How could he POSSIBLY be dead?

Well... according to several books and sites, the man that we all know as Paul McCartney, that most of us grew up knowing as Paul McCartney, is an impostor.

Why?

Well, simply because the Beatles were the biggest band in the world at the time. And Paul was the "cute Beatle," the Templeton "Faceman" Peck of the group, if you will. And news of his death would have shattered the hearts of teenage girls (and some guys, to be sure) all over the world. When Rudolph Valentino died, some women committed suicide, they were so saddened by the news. The Beatles' management team saw fit to cover it up, although I think it was more in order to keep their gravy train a-rollin' than mass suicide prevention.

Anyhow, the story goes: Late in the evening on November 8, 1966, the Beatles were at a recording session for the album that would eventually become Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Paul got into a fight with the others and stormed out of the studio. He hopped into his car and drove off into the night. Later that night, he became distracted while driving, and - here's where the details get hazy - he either was so caught up in looking at a pretty girl on the sidewalk that he had to swerve out of the way of traffic, crashed his car into a light pole and died later at the hospital,

OR...

he was driving very fast on a dark road and crashed into a truck and lost the top of his head. The details are hazy here, because, well... not too many people were actually there. Hence, the reason that they could get away with such a huge lie. In either case, the time of McCartney's death was somewhere around 5:00 AM on Wednesday, November 9, 1966; curiously enough, the day that John Lennon reportedly met Yoko Ono.

Rather than announce to the world that Paul was dead, the Beatles' management team decided to hire a young man who recently won a Paul look-a-like contest, name of William Shears Campbell (better known to fans of Sgt. Pepper as "the one and only Billy Shears") to impersonate Paul full-time after a few bouts of plastic surgery to smooth out the rough edges (this explains their long absence from touring between 1966 and 1967). This story is arguably the inspiration for the film Dave, starring Kevin Kline in which he impersonates the President for reasons of national security.

However, the remaining Beatles, grieving over the loss of their friend and bandmate (particularly after such an angry and abrupt parting of ways) decided that the fans deserve to know the truth. But they were contractually bound from saying anything. What could they do?

The answer came to them: stick clues in the songs and artwork that, when analyzed correctly, pointed to the single greatest cover-up in rock history!

For almost 3 years, the lie was kept under wraps. Sgt. Pepper was released and it was received very well, marking a new era in the Beatles' careers and, some said, rock music in general.

However, on October 12, 1969, the lie was blown wide open when someone known as "Tom" called in to WKNR-FM in Dearborn, MI, to tell the world that Paul was, in fact, dead. There was no going back. Damage control swept in amidst the few publications and radio shows that gave credence to this seemingly preposterous theory and effectively dismissed them as drug-induced nonsense.

Shortly after that, the Beatles broke up. The jig was up. The word was out. Most people didn't believe it but that hardly mattered. It was no longer airtight. Sooner or later, the people would discover the truth.

Anyhow, 43 years later, the myth is all but dispelled, but nevertheless it still endures. Someday, perhaps, someone will uncover the entire mystery, completely rip the lid off of it, so that "Paul McCartney," as this charlatan calls himself, will be forced to come clean and admit the truth.

Until then, all we can do is remember.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_is_dead

http://www.paulisdead.co.uk

*In an unrelated story, Bob Dylan worships the devil:

Bored of the Ring

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 03:19:00 +0000

Wait, what was that? I missed what you said. What'd you say?

Scientists found a new ring around Saturn? Oh, well, that's pretty cool.

Wait, what? WHAT?! It's HOW big?!

Over a million miles thick?! Wow!

Big enough to fit A BILLION EARTHS inside it?! OH MY GOD!

Big enough that it would look twice as big as THE MOON?! HOLY SHIT, THAT'S AMAZING!!! So where can I... wait, wait. What do you mean it would look twice as big as the moon? I'm going to the window right now to look at it in the -

What? It's what?

It's invisible?

There's a giant ring in the middle of space and it's INVISIBLE?!

Not with like night vision goggles or something, because I have those. I could...

No, huh?

Not even with like those 3D glasses that I got when I went to see G-Force?

No?

...

Then, I don't give a shit.

http://www.cnn.com/2009/TECH/space/10/07/space.saturn.ring/index.html

Yacht Rock is Alive and Well...

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 15:11:00 +0000

...and it lives in New York City.

This one goes out to the Locketts.

For more information, click here.

(And is it me or does Christopher Cross look like Kyle Gass from Tenacious D?)

State of the Weasel Sort

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 01:33:00 +0000

It's been a while when I posted something here about me. Looking back, it seems to be when I started doing the radio show (which just might be coming back soon... stay tuned). But a lot - I repeat, A LOT - has been happening since then. I'm looking at all the stuff I've been doing and have yet to do and it is blowing my mind! You know how they say, "When it rains, it pours?" Well, they say that for a reason.

So, since I've last posted anything that wasn't about someone dying or yielding to my lust for buxom redheaded actresses...

- I've finally become a senior in college, set to graduate next spring. Yessir, don't let anyone tell you that the 15-year plan doesn't work.

- Over the summer, I directed what was intended to be the beginning of a web series entitled The Pack, written by Friend of the Weasel Sort and Revolving Door Commune-ist Teresa Jusino. Production was a whirlwind and, thanks to taking literature courses in the summer (which invariably force you to read about 1000-2000 pages of books over a six-week period), I was woefully unprepared as a director. However, I met a lot of great, capable people who gave so much to the production, I learned a lot about how to direct and, in light of all this, we made the decision to reshoot the whole thing soup-to-nuts in the spring. Fortunately, everyone is psyched to do it again.

So why reshoot, you ask?

Well, we were under pressure to shoot the first three episodes in time to submit them to a contest. The deadline and the limited availability of everyone made it hard to get together often. In fact, it was a miracle that we got everyone together when we did. As a result, it feels rushed, despite everyone doing an awesome job (except me, really). Not just that but Teresa wanted to add some new ideas AND we all decided that shooting the series in standard definition wasn't as good as shooting in HD, so we're going to do that as well. We'll be starting to shoot that early next year and I think I'll be posting a production diary. But that's a little ways off.

- Pareidolia Films has officially been established. Our first gig, not counting The Pack, was shooting a preview for the fall collection by Gustto, a designer handbag company. We shot the preview in HD and soon discovered the world of difference between that and standard definition. Maybe it's me but the difference between DVD and Blu-Ray isn't as vast as the difference between standard definition digital video and HD. The possibilities with this are tremendous. Here's the finished product:

- The project I'm most immediately excited for (because I'm excited for all of them): a short documentary on another Friend of the Weasel Sort, Michael Lockett. Mike is about to do a 50 mile run (that's miles, not kilometers) in Virginia soon; he's been chronicling his training on his blog 0-50, which is what the working title is for the doc. Liz and I are going down to Virginia with Mike and his wife Michelle, and we're going to film it all. Mike is a very funny, very interesting guy, so I'll do my best to make the finished product worthy of its subject.

- We've also bought a Flip camcorder, something I had never heard of until a couple of days ago. Michelle is buying one to help us with some of the action shooting for Mike's run (as she's the only one physically capable of keeping up with him). The simple fact that I can use something the size of an iPod to shoot video for a project blows my mind (and that's to say nothing about the new iPod nano having similar capabilities). Expect a wealth of video blogs to pop up here from time to time.

- On the occasion of the end of the decade, I'm trying - I repeat, trying - to compile a list of my favorite 100 films from 2000-2009. With all my school and work commitments, this one may not roll out as I'd hoped, which is to count down two a day, five days a week for the last ten weeks of the year, writing a small piece to go along with each one. At the very least, this will happen after the new year but I hope to start it before (as a matter of fact, I'm watching No Country for Old Men as I write, guaranteed a spot in my top 50).

So that's me these days.

Mad (Hot) Woman

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 18:05:00 +0000

In the midst of all the press for the third season of Mad Men, I was saying to myself, "Why the hell isn't Christina Hendricks, the almost unrealistically most gorgeous woman in Hollywood*, on every single talk show plugging this show?!"

And especially after this past week's episode, in which we discover that Joan can play the accordion (which makes her even more unbearably sexy as she sings along to it in French!), I've wondered why a TV show that has it all except for ratings hasn't used her to bring in more viewers.

I need wonder no longer. It turns out that she's been busy doing a photo shoot for Esquire magazine.

Have a seat, take a deep breath, and click here.

You're welcome.

* - Bonus: she likes chocolate covered bacon.

Happy Birthday, Hitch!

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 13:05:00 +0000

Today, if miracles of modern science were even more miraculous and more than a little creepy, would have been the 110th birthday of master filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock.

I'm not going to expound on his genius today because A) you already know, having undoubtedly seen several of his films; and B) I have to get ready to take an American Lit final, after which I'll be able to go back to posting a little more regularly.

So what I will do is leave you with a couple of videos that you hopefully will find of interest.

First is my favorite trailer of all time. No doubt, if you've seen one Hitchcock film, it's Psycho. But have you ever seen the original trailer for it? Hitchcock takes the audience on a tour of the set of the film, leaving you in (for lack of a better term) cinematic blue balls. Imagine sitting in a theatre in 1959 or 1960, having no idea about the iconic shower scene, no idea of Norman Bates, no clue at all... and seeing this:

And this next one should keep you occupied for a while. It's Hitch's personal favorite of his own films: 1943's Shadow of a Doubt. Misanthropic serial killer visits family and his favorite niece picks up that there's something fishy about him. Hilarity ensues.

So if you're bored at work today, have headphones, and are positioned away from any doorways, you can watch this and pay tribute to a golden god of cinema on his birthday.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to end my career as a literary scholar.

John Hughes (1950-2009)

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 14:03:00 +0000

(Editor's note: Things have been pretty busy with me lately, so my apologies for only updating when people die. I promise to start updating with more fun and interesting stuff in the very near future.)

I think it's impossible to overstate the impact John Hughes made on any American born between 1967 and 1983. Hughes, as a screenwriter and occasional director, was one of the architects of 1980s comedy films, scoring his first back-to-back hits with National Lampoon's Vacation and Mr. Mom (reportedly, Hughes wrote BOTH in the same two week period). He will always be best known for his films - mostly set in the fictional Shermer, Illinois - that both exalt and legitimize the American teenager: Weird Science, Sixteen Candles, Some Kind of Wonderful. But lest we forget the "big three": Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Anyone with HBO and at least a third grade education by 1986 has seen these movies multiple times.

By the end of the 1980s, Hughes started to move away from teen flicks and went (his underrated masterpiece Planes, Trains and Automobiles notwithstanding) towards an even younger audience with movies like The Great Outdoors and Uncle Buck. By 1990, he wrote Home Alone, which became a juggernaut and made Macaulay Culkin the youngest self-made millionaire of all time. By 1991, Hughes was on autopilot, it has to be said. His last official teen film, Career Opportunities, is memorable ONLY for Jennifer Connelly seductively riding a mechanical horse in a Target. Dutch, with Ed O'Neill, is a guilty pleasure of mine but overly maudlin. And then there's Curly Sue, Hughes' final film as director, which is best left unmentioned. After Home Alone 2, there's really nothing worth talking about, unless you're a fan of Beethoven (the St. Bernard movie that isn't Cujo) which Hughes wrote under a pseudonym.

For a tribute clip, I decided to go a little deep and I'm glad I found exactly what I was looking for. I didn't go with my favorite scene in any of his films (Steve Martin's rant in Planes, Trains), anything from my overall favorite Hughes film and yours (Ferris Bueller, obviously) or anything from the other teen movies, as you all have encyclopedic knowledge of them.

Instead, I went with a clip from She's Having a Baby, a semi-autobiographical film from 1988 which Hughes wrote and directed. It's not the greatest film ever but it showed the world that Hughes could do drama. This clip, set to Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work," is pretty effective in sharing Kevin Bacon's anguish with the audience as he waits to hear if his wife and baby have survived the birth. The movie only did moderate business so he never went back to anything this personal and it certainly was a smart move for his bank account. Shortly thereafter, Hughes passed on his "serious" baton to Cameron Crowe, whose early films I've always thought had a similar style to Hughes.

For over 15 years, a lot of us have been wondering what happened to Hughes, why he became such a recluse, and if he'd ever show us what a Shermer High reunion would look like (odd, I imagine, since there are at least three kids who looked like Anthony Michael Hall who went there around the same time and three who looked like Molly Ringwald as well). We'll probably never get any answers to those questions but the fact that any of us are asking is a testament to John Hughes' influence on a generation.

Michael Jackson (1958-2009)

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 19:27:00 +0000

I was all set to write a lengthy post today about not only my complicated thoughts on the passing of legendary entertainer Michael Jackson but the smug, flip dismissals and grave-dancing that has popped up on Twitter, Facebook and the like because of his questionable association with children. However, Teresa Jusino has already beaten me to it, posting on the Revolving Door Commune Blog a very eloquent, heartfelt and above all, fair assessment of Jackson's life and death. Considering that there seems to be a "yer either for us or ag'in us" mentality concerning Jackson (on both sides of the coin) infecting the internet today, I really think she's nailed the middle ground that I wish more people would take into account. No matter what he did (and believe me, I'm not making excuses for his alleged behavior), it's shitty to dance on the man's grave before the body's even cold.

In any case, I couldn't agree more with what Teresa has to say.

To Mourn or Not to Mourn? - Revolving Door Commune Blog

The Day Hip-Hop Died

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 17:17:00 +0000

Ladies and gentlemen,

After many years of being inundated with sub-par and inexplicably popular acts that threatened the very livelihood of hip-hop (starting around the time that Master P hit the scene up through the Black Eyed Peas, Lil Wayne and T.I.) and the small but talented line of defense determined to keep some life in it (from the Roots and De La Soul, on up through the entire Def Jux roster, and most recently Q-Tip's The Renaissance), it is time to officially declare hip-hop dead.

Presenting... well, I don't know who these guys are but... oh god, just watch:

Decisions Decisions - live from Nashville

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Thu, 28 May 2009 16:12:00 +0000

City planner makes a subtle statement about a hot button issue?

The Wise Man Has the POWER!

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Tue, 12 May 2009 16:18:00 +0000

I find this particularly hysterical in light of the fact that I can't seem to stop listening to this song recently.

Special thanks to Adam Robbins for informing me that this exists.

The Majesty of New York City - live from 35th and 6th

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Tue, 05 May 2009 01:46:00 +0000

I spent the whole day in the college library working on projects... and was greatly rewarded for my time.

Crank: High Voltage

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 23:28:00 +0000

It's rare that I actually have the time, to say nothing of the inclination, to write a full review here. But by the same token, it's rare that I'm moved enough by a film to do so. I often lament the state of popular culture today. I feel that its importance as a lasting sign of the times has given way to being immediately, intensely gratifying and instantly disposable: another sign that the internet is both increasing our need and decreasing our desire for an analog written record. How the future will view our culture depends as much upon the record we leave behind as our political and geographical history; art is a means by which we connect to history and find some sort of context therein. This is why I occasionally wake up in the middle of night terrified that future generations or alien races will one day, instead of discovering Citizen Kane or Arrested Development, find Meet the Spartans or Keeping Up with the Kardashians and will judge our society by them.

I believe, as do many folks, that the responsibility of the artist is not only to produce something to put up for interpretation or scrutiny, but to be reflective of the times in some sense. The artist must provoke with his or her ideas and not simply for the sake of provoking. The artist must not ask what the future will think of the society that produces this art but state boldly that this is a product of that society, and at no other time in history could this have been created.

This is why Crank: High Voltage is one of the most important American films of recent memory. In just about 90 minutes, it manages to hold a fun house mirror up to our society and the freakish image reflecting back is grotesque and distorted but nevertheless, we can clearly make ourselves out in it. It is a satire of the highest order; it's all of the hopes, fears and desires we thought we tucked safely away covered in thick layer of sexism and racism, topped off with a nihilist cherry. Chayefsky would be proud if he could manage to keep his gorge from rising at the sight of it.

At first glance, Crank: High Voltage looks like the product of a love child between Baz Luhrmann and late-period Tony Scott, raised on a strict diet of Looney Tunes, first-person shooters and hardcore pornography. Hard as it is to imagine, writers/directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor take giant leaps and bounds past the first Crank, in which Chev Chelios (Jason Statham) is given a poison with no antidote and must keep his adrenaline at astronomical levels in order to stay alive. High Voltage picks up mere seconds after the end of the first film, in which Chelios falls from a helicopter to a presumed fate that I think even the most skeptical of viewers never believed was quite final. A Triad gang arrives within seconds and literally scoops him up off the pavement with a shovel. He comes to on an operating table to find that his heart has been replaced with an electrically powered artificial one and that his manhood is next on the chopping block.

"Fuck that," he grumbles as he begins his spree of death and destruction (both physical and psychological) in an effort to find his "strawberry tart" (heart, for those not versed in Cockney rhyming slang). Along the way, he finds cause to shove the business end of a shotgun up... well, the business end of a man, wantonly hack limbs off the patrons of a brothel, have sex with his girlfriend (Amy Smart) on a horseracing track, and a lot more that I can't even get into without putting in chapter breaks; all the while, he has to recharge his heart by any means necessary, whether that means sticking his finger into a car cigarette lighter, clamping jumper cables to his nipples, or grabbing a transformer with both hands.

And that, really, is all you need to know about the plot.

This film would be nothing if not for the prevalence of schadenfreude in our contemporary culture. From The Gong Show and America's Funniest Home Videos to Jackass and Simon Cowell's biting comments on American Idol, we are triggered to laugh at and even thrill to the pain of others. It's further heightened for us when that pain causes someone to achieve above their normal level: the protestant work ethic in action. By the time we see Chelios fight off the advances of a seemingly schizophrenic (and septic) prostitute, played by Bai Ling, the audience hopes he does take his chances with her... just to see what would happen to him. Many of us won't admit it, even to ourselves, but most of us would opt to be as indestructible as Chelios is, even at the cost of frequent and intense self-flagellation. We laugh but, secretly, we wish that we could be him.

In fact, those little moments are put in there to remind us that Chelios is us. To paraphrase The Dark Knight, he is the anti-hero we deserve, equal parts Batman and Joker. Though British, Chelios represents the white American alpha male as he sees himself: a tough, can-do guy who is nevertheless resented by the world around him. Every time he gets one step closer to achieving his goals, or at least snaps a few necks, someone is left barely alive to utter, "Fuck you, Chelios!" It's also no accident that his main adversaries here are Chinese and Mexican (paging Lou Dobbs) or that he's looking for something which has been stolen from him. Furthermore, the treatment of women by virtually every man in the film is so aggressively sexist - women are depicted as either sex dolls, target dummies or both* - that Neveldine and Taylor could only be pushing the point to show that, in Chelios' Gotham of L.A., there are no innocents. Dare I ask if it's possible that Chelios might be a modern-day Travis Bickle?!

Both Crank films take their cues from the video game industry - High Voltage comes as close to a live-action entry in the Grand Theft Auto game franchise as any film possibly could - and the pacing of this film, mistaken for catering to the attention-deficient, actually challenges its audience's patience. By offering us quick cuts, zooms and pans, as well as a few asides that defy both conventional storytelling and logic, Neveldine and Taylor dare you to keep up. Or to want to keep up for that matter. Inside this borderline contempt for the audience lies the unmistakeable virtue of Crank: High Voltage. If in the coming centuries we don't regress to the point of being dumb apes looking quizzically at a tapir's jawbone, future historians might find in it the first successful attempt to fully capture not what it is to live in this crazy world at this crazy time in human history but how it feels.

*Though for the record, it depicts all men as homicidal maniacs, sexual deviants, target dummies, or all three.

I Believe in Werner Herzog

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 19:10:00 +0000

"[W]hy is it that a sophisticated animal like a chimp does not utilize inferior creatures? He could straddle a goat and ride off into the sunset."
- Werner Herzog, Encounters at the End of the World

I'm really starting to think that, if Werner Herzog isn't God Himself, then he's like the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey: the catalyst that points the way for the human race to evolve.

Feedback on the Radio

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 17:39:00 +0000

So, what did everyone think?

Please, pick as many nits as you like. It's all in aid of giving you a better show next time.

Radio Head

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 14:20:00 +0000

Alright, so this may not be a big deal in the grand scheme of things but it's a pretty damn big deal to me so bear with me.

Unless I'm the butt of a very elaborate April Fool's joke started days ago only to be revealed to me later today, I will be co-hosting a radio show on the recently revived Hunter College radio station, WHCS, starting tomorrow!

I will be doing a show called (until further notice) All Things to All People with my buddy Adam Robbins (oh that's right, ladies... THAT Adam Robbins). The show is going to air from 12pm-1pm EDT Thursdays, streaming live through Live365.com.

As the name of the show might suggest, we'll be playing a lot of different stuff, from Miles Davis to Crystal Castles to MC Paul Barman to Pimpcore and everything in between (with the exception of 99% of top selling singles on the iTunes charts... just what in the blue hell is a Flo Rida anyway?). The idea is that there will be something for everyone in there. Oh and we'll be doing some talking in between as well. I'd like to think that Adam and I are amicable guys and, if the pressure to fill air time doesn't make us go into the fetal position naked on the floor, we ought to be able to keep you entertained. If nothing else, check out the show to listen to us fail miserably.

Once again, that's All Things to All People, Thursdays from 12-1pm EDT on WHCS Hunter College Radio. Just click this link or better yet, come back here and listen on the widget found at the right. In fact, click on it right now and keep it on until tomorrow afternoon just so you don't forget.

Also, tweet me and Adam on that fancy Twitter nonsense to let us know how we're doing: what you think works, what doesn't, if you think we suck, or if you love us just the way we are. We appreciate your support in any event.

Where the Wild Things Are

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 04:19:00 +0000

I'm not sure about this one. Now, I have no reason to doubt the potential for this film, as everything works well here, in my opinion. It's based on a children's book that you would have to work hard not to like. Spike Jonze's first two films, Being John Malkovich and Adaptation, are two of my favorites from the last ten years. Dave Eggers, who co-wrote the script with Jonze, is the author of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius which, if I'm not mistaken, is almost okay to declare in public that you like again without being branded some sort of poseur. And the cinematography by Jonze's longtime DP, Lance Acord, looks incredible.

So why am I somewhat skeptical about the film version of Where the Wild Things Are?

I think it might be a case of too clever by half. From the expansion of the book's story to be gleaned from this trailer (and bear in mind, it's been easily 25 years since I've read it) down to the Arcade Fire song playing in the trailer, all of it screams "HIPSTER!" to me. In big bold letters. In Helvetica font. Or maybe some cute animated, hand-drawn font that keeps squiggling.

Watching the trailer, it doesn't look like a film for kids, and this is what worries me. This looks like a film for adults who desperately want to relive their childhood and who want their own kids to be kid versions of them as adults. Knowing that Warner Bros. has had some trouble getting this film out, what with reshoots and the fact that it was pushed back from 2007 to last October to finally this October, I think the suits there might be thinking the same thing. Honestly, I can't imagine a single soul being interested in this trailer without owning any or all of the above-mentioned albums, books and films.

I have to stress, I think this looks great (if that makes me a hipster, then so be it) and I'm thankful that someone - namely someone of Jonze's caliber - is making a children's film that doesn't pander. But will it be successful with the source material's intended demographic? Will it draw the kids in? The rest of us can all go to hell; as long as the kids are interested, then everything is cool. Or even the average parents? This trailer might play well in Brooklyn, Morningside Heights, Austin and certain sections of California, but there's a lot of space in between and I can't see most parents or kids being sold. Kids don't give a shit about indie rock or Charlie Kaufman films, and most parents don't either. I mean, as far as sophistication goes, WALL-E was already riding the line. I keep hearing stories that the kids weren't digging it as much as their parents. With the stakes being so high, if it's as solid as the trailer suggests, it can't risk leaving anyone out in the cold and needs to get as many people interested as possible in the next six months.

But maybe I'm being too cynical. Maybe good kids' films should be saying, "Parents, take your kids to see this!" instead of "Kids, get your parents to take you to see this!" Maybe this is how it's supposed to be. Maybe this is the exact film I wish for whenever I'm subjected to a trailer for whatever CGI talking-animal film that Hollywood craps out on a semi-annual basis.

I don't know. You be the judge. I'll be there but will you? And why or why not?

Itchy Boston Terrier

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 01:42:00 +0000

OK, so anyone who's been on the site for any amount of time knows that I'm borderline obsessed with the Boston Terrier. I think it goes back to watching Lilo & Stitch with Benjamin Birdie and we rewound (though is it really rewinding if it's On Demand? Nothing's winding! And why don't they make the WHOLE PLANE outta the BLACK BOX? IDUNNOOOOOOOO!) and paused one shot of a group of dogs in a shelter that included this one cockeyed BT. Much like Rick Moranis as Louis Tully as Vinz Clortho, Keymaster of Gozer in the basement of the Ghostbusters' firehouse, that Boston Terrier stole the entire scene away from whatever the hell was happening in the foreground.

But I digress.

I was in a major cell phone store today (I'm not proud of myself, as I know I should be patronizing mom-and-pop service providers as opposed to ones run by major corporations but what can you do?) and, while waiting for assistance to get one simple battery, a blind woman walks in with an old looking Boston Terrier. To my knowledge, Bostons don't make ideal seeing-eye dogs, and the way this one was carrying on, it had to be just a plain old, run-of-the-mill pet. If inappropriate behavior from an animal can be qualified in terms of genius, this dog was Albert Einstein, Vladimir Nabokov and Beethoven wrapped up like a douche into one giant itchy ball of brilliance.

What follows is 26 seconds of the best 3 minutes of my day today.

Magic, Pure and Simple

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 21:02:00 +0000

I'm going to be short and to the point.

This is not only pure comedic genius but this is also, on a big damn platter, everything that is missing from most comedy today: ingenuity. As I twatted earlier today, the gag with the dress in the window, that starts at about 31:45 on the video embedded below and pays off at about 34 and change, is one of the greatest escapes put on film. Jim Carrey on his best day could never have pulled off what Buster Keaton does so effortlessly here. And no amount of shitty pop culture references intended to be their own punchlines (I'm looking at you and the hell you have wrought upon us, Wayans Brothers!) can hold up against something so simple (and cliched by then) as Keaton slipping on his own banana peel.

85 years after it was made, it still holds up; my media studies classmates were laughing pretty hard today, which did my soul some good. But funny is funny and will always be funny.

I can't sing the praises of this film enough. Do yourselves a favor, take 45 minutes out and watch this.

From 1924, here is Sherlock Jr.

Battlestar Galactica: The Frakkin' End

noreply@blogger.com (Alex) — Sat, 21 Mar 2009 16:26:00 +0000

[Warning: if you're not in the least interested in Battlestar Galactica, don't bother reading this. Seriously. It won't make you want to watch the show and won't make any sense regardless. Sorry for being so exclusionary but this is also fair warning for the future: you have 14 months to catch up on Lost before my series finale post for that. Get crackin'.]

It's over.

Finally.

And it was good.

Mostly.

Battlestar Galactica, arguably the finest science fiction show produced to date, has ended its run. After a mostly solid three and a half seasons (I'm looking at you, "Scar" and "Black Market"), the final half-season has polarized its audience, right up to and including last night's finale, "Daybreak, Part 2." Truth be told, season 4.5 was a little rough around the edges but after the game-changer in the season 4.0 finale, the discovery of Earth (more on that later), the show had to be a little shaky to complement the characters' damaged faith and hope. Great stuff. As for the finale, I'm not going to say it was the best ever - Six Feet Under holds that title, now and maybe forever - but it was damn great and was better than a lot of movies.

Still, it wasn't perfect. There was one thing that left me a little unsettled. I'm not talking about the ambiguities, such as Starbuck's sudden disappearance or whose bones were discovered in present day (Hera?), I'm talking about a genuine plot hole. But I'll get to that.

THE GOOD

- The action. The show hasn't been so riveting since season 1. The two-minute jag in which Tyrol kills Tory for killing Cally, Cavil kills himself, a poorly timed asteroid bumps the wrong raptor, causing the dead pilot's hand to fire on and blow up the Cylon baseship and Starbuck uses "All Along the Watchtower" as coordinates to earth had me slackjawed, gripping my head in baffled delight. There was no room to breathe (save for that Lee/Kara flashback). Just magnificent.

- The attention given the characters. One thing I kept thinking about last night was The Matrix Revolutions. In the depiction of the final standoff between man and machine, this was the way to do it. Don't make it entirely about the action. We care about the characters and what happens to them, not just simply that we want to see the good guys beat the bad guys. Give everyone something important to do; don't just relegate Morpheus to the role of Lando's co-pilot at the end of Jedi (too... much... geek... can't... go... on...). They got this very very right.

- Sam Anders. As Liz put it last night, we thought he was just some minor dude and he turns out to be a major character in the end. He, jacked into Galactica, is basically the leader written in the Book of Kobol that will bring them to earth but not live to see it. As Sam remote pilots the fleet into the sun, I got a little misty-eyed.

- The realization of the opera hose dream from season 1. "Holy shit!" is all I can say. Holy shit!

- Roslin's death. First off, I was glad she got to dig on Earth for a while before she kicked it. Secondly, I'm glad there wasn't a big maudlin death speech. I've said that Roslin is one of the best-drawn characters on TV (and excluding Six Feet Under's Ruth Fisher, the best-drawn female character ever put on TV). That Mary McDonnell has not received any love from the Emmys just because she's not a sassy Southern lawyer/single mom/psychic is a crime.

- The "when" of the arrival on earth. Given that Galactica 1980 is universally regarded as a bad idea, I knew they wouldn't land in present day. And given that we were tricked into believing that their arrival on the 13th colony of Earth (which was nuked) was the future of our Earth (more on this later), I knew they wouldn't do that again. My guess was ancient Greece. I was off by about 147,000 years. And that's cool with me. I just wanted to know. And to know that they essentially became a presumably more industrious version of the Golgafrinchans from The Restaurant at the End of the Universe... that just puts a smile on my face (google Battlestar Galactica telephone sanitizer if you don't know what I mean).

THE BAD

Not much, as far as I'm concerned. Just, did we have to see Adama puke? Really? Give the man his dignity.

And I would have liked to see them land in a time where they would have come into contact with homo sapiens. It would have been cool to see what language the fleet speaks. My guess was either Greek or Latin. Though Esperanto would have been cool too. Missed opportunity there.

And I guess the "be kind to your titanium-footed friends" message at the end was a little too... well... you know... we've seen Terminator and Blade Runner already... you know what I mean? I just... I get it but... whatever. Moving on.

THE UGLY

OK, here it is. I've twatted about this a LOT and finally got an answer that satisfies me (thanks Adam and Teresa!), even though it's not all that satisfying if you think about it. Furthermore, I've tried to explain it to others, which is damn near impossible to do with 140 characters at a time (XPhile1908, this is to help your head from hurting).

Earth and Earth. From here on in, the nuked Earth that the fleet landed on and Starbuck's corpse was found on will be herein referred to as CYLON EARTH. The earth that the fleet landed on in the series finale will be herein referred to as OUR EARTH. Got it? Good.

So...

At first, I had a hard time understanding how two separate planets had identical landmass formations. But then my friends clarified it for me:

At the end of the season 3 finale, Starbuck, presumed to be dead, comes back and tells Lee, "I've seen Earth and I'm going to take us to it." The shot pulls back from their ships, goes across space and stops on a shot of OUR EARTH. We know this because we can see North America; the Baja Peninsula, Mexico, the Gulf of Mexico, and Florida are very clearly seen.

I'll say it again. This is a shot of OUR EARTH. Not the CYLON EARTH that Starbuck is talking about.

Starbuck initially leads the fleet to CYLON EARTH, which they find has been destroyed by weapons of mass destruction thousands of years before. We never get a clear shot (to my knowledge) of CYLON EARTH as the fleet lands; we can't make out any familiar continents on the face of the planet. So this is not necessarily the same earth as we had already seen; we're just meant to think it is.

CYLON EARTH and OUR EARTH are two different planets, according to executive producer Ronald Moore. So if the CYLON EARTH has the same landmasses as OUR EARTH, then they've completely lost me but if this means that they bullshitted us 2 seasons ago, I can live with that. But it's a minor bullshit as Starbuck was true to her word. She eventually took them to Earth... OUR EARTH.

So it's a very tricky, dishonest sleight of hand that went on here but, if it's not the same planet, just at different points in time, this is the only satisfactory explanation. Otherwise, we're talking about two identical planets that are capable of sustaining carbon-based life in the universe and that is one suspension of disbelief too many.

However, if it comes out that there is a shot of CYLON EARTH that had OUR EARTH landmasses, then I'll be very disappointed.

And that's as well as I can explain it.

So overall, great finale (above issue pending). If we're lucky, Battlestar Galactica has set a new standard for science fiction. Actually, it has set a new standard for science fiction. I just hope that it has resonated enough that it makes a difference. I hope studios are out there looking for sci-fi shows that have a comparable quality of writing and story, attention to character as well as universe. But I can hope in one hand and crap in the other and see which hand has something in it. Battlestar Galactica isn't an easy show to digest in an hour (or even after four seasons) and that makes it indispensible. It exemplifies the best of the genre in that it holds a mirror up to our greatest hopes, fears, and concerns, making us contemplate our own existence as we watch theirs unfold.

And there were a lot of awesome scenes of android sex and things blowing up in space too.

So say we all.

End of line.