Vertigo (1958), starring Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, is one busy film. Stewart's Scottie is a San Fransisco detective who retires after his newly discovered fear of heights manifests itself at a very inopportune moment and gets a beat cop killed. A few weeks later, old friend Elster asks Scottie to shadow his (Elster's) wife, and that's where things get interesting. Madeleine (Kim Novak) appears to be either posessed by a haunted spirit, or mentally unstable, and Elster needs someone skilled and discreet to help him get to the bottom of things. This, of course, is where things go a little awry.
Vertigo is considered by many to be the penultimate Hitchcock film. People love this movie. People think this is one of the greatest thrillers ever.
I am not "people". I found Vertigo to be overstuffed and often redundant - was it really necessary to spend around fourty-five minutes on watching Scottie follow Madeleine and listening to her spout ramble about a past life? Incidentally, Vertigo is notable for containing the single worst tailing job in the history of respectable film. How this guy ever made detective remains a mystery. Of course, there's the requisite not-founded-on-anything madly falling in love, also within the first hour, a device I've never held any empathy for. Things do start to get more interesting in the second half of the film, but it remains that Vertigo is two hours and eight minutes long, and I felt every minute of it. I've seen much longer films whose passage of time went unnoticed, because they were much tighter films. A lot of the compliments directed toward Vertigo revolve around the many elements and genres contained within. They're good elements - it's a detective story, an affair story, a thriller (kind of), and its legitimately creepy second half revolves around what could be construed as necrophilia on Scottie's part. There are writers and directors who can make that work; I'm going to brave the storm here and say bluntly that Hitchcock and co. were not a part of that club. In these hands, it was just too many stories, in competition instead of compliment. "Overstuffed" is definitely the word of the day here.
Perhaps the big allure of a Hitchcock film is the acting. He exhibited great care in casting, and the result was master performances, often fuelled by some pretty great dialogue. This is one area in which I doubt I can ever level negative criticism at a Hitchcock production.
Having now seen three Hitchcock films - Psycho, North by Northwest, and Vertigo - I can only say, what's the big deal. Okay, Psycho got my attention, and has a lot to recommend itself as a thriller and character piece. As for the other two, I'm getting the impression that most people love these films not because they're great films, but because they're important films, ergo we're supposed to love them. By "important", I mean in terms of influence of future filmmakers, and technical development (that wierd shot of zooming in while pulling the camera back was invented for Vertigo). Take Citizen Kane - now, that's one heck of a boring film. Being vastly influtential and very important to the development of moviemaking doesn't make it any less boring. But people love it (or claim to); it regularly tops "Best Movies of All Time" lists. If you want film cred, you don't say that you hate Citizen Kane, just like you don't say that you hate things like Vertigo, or Star Wars, or King Kong, or Casablanca, or John Wayne (or, if you're Canadian, The Tragically Hip). Incidentally, I do not hate any of the things listed above after Vertigo. If I want that kind of cred, I'll just brag about how the vintage silver bracelet worn by Kim Novak during and after the creepy shopping scene is either identical or very, very similar to one I inherited from Grandma Elly ("Oh yeah? I may hate Vertigo, but do you have a prop from it?" Or something like that).
Let me make one thing clear: I love classic film. I was steeped in it from a very young age, and it stayed with me. If you'd like, I can spout off a list of favourites to "prove" it. I also enjoy a good thriller. I also don't find Vertigo to be good or thrilling. I cannot express how bored I was yesterday. I think Vertigo is an important film; I don't think that that makes it a good film. If we're going to compare in the same era, I can think of at least three classic Twilight Zone episodes off the top of my head that kick Vertigo from here to Brazil for both quality and, um, thrilling-ness (?). The last fifteen minutes of the film were alright, the twist ending appropriately morbid, the acting was solid, but overall it was about fourty-five minutes too long, and kind of sloppy. It didn't know how to stop acts, how to transition before one of its many acts pulled an Energizer Bunny stunt. That could be one of the reasons I found it so dull and sloppy - poor or no definition between acts, which is an essential quality for the flow of any story.
I'll say it because I can: I got more enjoyment out of watching that other vastly influential classic, Plan 9 from Outer Space. Watch Vertigo at your own peril. Now excuse me while I find a good place to hide from the Hitchcock fans.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
You Can't Make This Stuff Up, v.2.0
Well, technically you can make this stuff up, but if no one would read it if you did, because it's so stupid. On the front page of today's National Post:
1) Several doctors have been quick to point out that the part about "only affecting white people" a load of crap, and,
2) even if it were true, so what? Funding research for diseases that attack specific people groups is nothing new (and, I think it's safe to say, nothing wrong). This may, unbelievably, take top honours for stupidest political play of 2008. On a side note, the first person I ever met who suffered from CF was, it so happens, black On another not-so-side note, does this mean that the CUSA will, in the future, make a point of not doing charity fundraising for sickle-cell anemia, on the grounds of being not inclusive enough because it primarily affects Africans, specifically those from the Sub-Saharan region? And what about breast cancer, which primarily affects women, thus resulting in an insufficiently inclusive gender bias?
As Shaggy would say, zoinks.
The Carleton University Student's Association has voted to drop a cystic fibrosis charity as the beneficiary of its annual Shinearama fundraiser, supporting a motion that argued that the disease is not "inclusive" enough. Cystic fibrosis "has been recently revealed to only affect white people, and primarily men," said the motion read on Monday night to student councillors, who voted almost unanimously in favour of it.
1) Several doctors have been quick to point out that the part about "only affecting white people" a load of crap, and,
2) even if it were true, so what? Funding research for diseases that attack specific people groups is nothing new (and, I think it's safe to say, nothing wrong). This may, unbelievably, take top honours for stupidest political play of 2008. On a side note, the first person I ever met who suffered from CF was, it so happens, black On another not-so-side note, does this mean that the CUSA will, in the future, make a point of not doing charity fundraising for sickle-cell anemia, on the grounds of being not inclusive enough because it primarily affects Africans, specifically those from the Sub-Saharan region? And what about breast cancer, which primarily affects women, thus resulting in an insufficiently inclusive gender bias?
As Shaggy would say, zoinks.
The Foolish Man Builds His House Upon the Sand: The Quiet Duel
I was introduced to films older that I am from a very young age, and it is my experience that people who talk about how films used to be so clean and innocent and never deal with taboo subjects haven't actually watched too many classics. Usually, when people try to pull that stunt, I refer them to Rita Hayworth's eponymous Gilda, a black-and-white film about a sexual predator that is anything but subtle or gentle, and even includes strong suggestions that the reason Gilda and her husband have remained married in spite of her is because he's homosexual. A stunning, excellent film - and absolutely not family-friendly. I remember the wierd reviews of George Clooney's tribute to classic noir, The Good German, in which reviewers complained that the oldies didn't have such foul language or sexual elements. Yeah. Watch any good classic noir and you'll note that, in most cases, the only significant differences in content as compared to contemporary film is that the old-time characters say "damn you" instead of "fuck you", and things like gunshot wounds are depicted more realistically - but there's this wierd idea that not being graphic somehow makes something clean, or innocent, or naive, or repressed.
Which brings us to Japan, 1949. Four years after the nuking of Hiroshima and the armistice signed three months after that, in an era so many contemporary viewers think of as naive, out of a country broken in more ways than one and under foreign occupation comes Akira Kurosawa's The Quiet Duel. Opening in 1944, we watch as army surgeon Kyoji Fujisaka (Toshiro Mifune!) cuts himself during an operation on a badly wounded man. He knows that if he pauses long enough to properly clean and dress the cut, his patient may not make it, and so he just daubs on some iodine and finishes the surgery, which lasts another hour. His subsequent blood test confirms that he's contracted syphillis from that operation, but being shuttled from location to location in order to treat patients, he doesn't have regular access to his medication, and his condition is aggravated. Upon returning home, he immediately breaks up with his fiancee, Misao, because he knows that it will be anywhere between five and ten years (at least) for his syphillis to run its course, even with regular treatment, and he also knows that she would wait for him...so he refuses to tell her why he won't marry her. She would be too old to start a family by the time he's healthy, and he wants her to have a life, so he says nothing, suffering quietly.
Even a quiet duel needs a louder one to help it along, and this comes along in the guise of the man Kyoji contracted syphillis from. Nakada is a careless, selfish, hedonistic man who refuses to believe that he could possibly be infectious, and Kyoji is outraged when he learns that Nakada is not only married, but has a baby on the way, courtesy of his unsuspecting wife. He ignores Kyoji's insistence on treatment, and lives in denial of his condition. You can bet this plot doesn't end well.
What sets this film apart, though, is the exploration of how sacrifical love can in fact be selfish. Kyoji's refusal to tell Misao the reason for their break-up is founded on his desire to not feel guilty about the fact that she would wait for him. In doing this, in not allowing her the choice to sacrifice, he condemns her to a life of second best - she loves Kyoji above all others, and though she eventually marries, it's plain that her husband will never be the one she wants. At the heart of The Quiet Duel is the exploration of the falliability of a conscience founded not on goodness or virtue, but the expectation of reward. This is what keeps Kurosawa's films from seeming dated - he tackles the human condition with thought and honesty, not through the lens of the decade's social mores. Some people find it easy to write The Quiet Duel off as a melodrama about a "saintly" man suffering due to the sins of another. I would suggest that those people, amongst other things, completely ignored the scene of Kyoji's confession, and the revelations therein.
There are other things I can't reasonably fit in this space, like the main secondary plot (oxymoron?) involving a single mother training as a nurse at Kyoji's practice, and how the writers used a fart as an apt metaphor for a heartbreaking conversation finished seconds earlier. That bit of relevant comic relief made me howl with laughter, which caused me to cry as well, because of how the laugh pushed forward the intensely sad emotions provoked by the aforementioned conversation. And, of course, there's Toshiro Mifune. Seeing him clean-shaven and not maniacal was a distinct change from what I'm used to (see: Seven Samurai, The Three Villains of the Hidden Fortress, Rashomon...), but man, did he nail this role. One of the greatest film actor's there's ever been.
I have no idea where to tell you to find this film; we found it at the sheer awesomeness that is the Edmonton Public Library. If you find it, go for it. And no, it's not in colour or English.
Which brings us to Japan, 1949. Four years after the nuking of Hiroshima and the armistice signed three months after that, in an era so many contemporary viewers think of as naive, out of a country broken in more ways than one and under foreign occupation comes Akira Kurosawa's The Quiet Duel. Opening in 1944, we watch as army surgeon Kyoji Fujisaka (Toshiro Mifune!) cuts himself during an operation on a badly wounded man. He knows that if he pauses long enough to properly clean and dress the cut, his patient may not make it, and so he just daubs on some iodine and finishes the surgery, which lasts another hour. His subsequent blood test confirms that he's contracted syphillis from that operation, but being shuttled from location to location in order to treat patients, he doesn't have regular access to his medication, and his condition is aggravated. Upon returning home, he immediately breaks up with his fiancee, Misao, because he knows that it will be anywhere between five and ten years (at least) for his syphillis to run its course, even with regular treatment, and he also knows that she would wait for him...so he refuses to tell her why he won't marry her. She would be too old to start a family by the time he's healthy, and he wants her to have a life, so he says nothing, suffering quietly.
Even a quiet duel needs a louder one to help it along, and this comes along in the guise of the man Kyoji contracted syphillis from. Nakada is a careless, selfish, hedonistic man who refuses to believe that he could possibly be infectious, and Kyoji is outraged when he learns that Nakada is not only married, but has a baby on the way, courtesy of his unsuspecting wife. He ignores Kyoji's insistence on treatment, and lives in denial of his condition. You can bet this plot doesn't end well.
What sets this film apart, though, is the exploration of how sacrifical love can in fact be selfish. Kyoji's refusal to tell Misao the reason for their break-up is founded on his desire to not feel guilty about the fact that she would wait for him. In doing this, in not allowing her the choice to sacrifice, he condemns her to a life of second best - she loves Kyoji above all others, and though she eventually marries, it's plain that her husband will never be the one she wants. At the heart of The Quiet Duel is the exploration of the falliability of a conscience founded not on goodness or virtue, but the expectation of reward. This is what keeps Kurosawa's films from seeming dated - he tackles the human condition with thought and honesty, not through the lens of the decade's social mores. Some people find it easy to write The Quiet Duel off as a melodrama about a "saintly" man suffering due to the sins of another. I would suggest that those people, amongst other things, completely ignored the scene of Kyoji's confession, and the revelations therein.
There are other things I can't reasonably fit in this space, like the main secondary plot (oxymoron?) involving a single mother training as a nurse at Kyoji's practice, and how the writers used a fart as an apt metaphor for a heartbreaking conversation finished seconds earlier. That bit of relevant comic relief made me howl with laughter, which caused me to cry as well, because of how the laugh pushed forward the intensely sad emotions provoked by the aforementioned conversation. And, of course, there's Toshiro Mifune. Seeing him clean-shaven and not maniacal was a distinct change from what I'm used to (see: Seven Samurai, The Three Villains of the Hidden Fortress, Rashomon...), but man, did he nail this role. One of the greatest film actor's there's ever been.
I have no idea where to tell you to find this film; we found it at the sheer awesomeness that is the Edmonton Public Library. If you find it, go for it. And no, it's not in colour or English.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Art of Survival: North by Northwest
Some classics never feel old. Rashomon, Lawrence of Arabia, Gilda, to name a few. And then there are those which may need to be watched in context for a full appreciation of what they are. In this case, I refer specifically to Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest.
Starring Cary Grant, James Mason, and Eva Marie Saint, as a comedy and a character piece this film will probably never get old. The script is packed with zingers (but not overstuffed), and those zingers are delivered so very well. As a case of mistaken identity and counterespionage, it's a fine and thoroughly enjoyable film, especially because none of the characters are stupid, or ever get stupid for the sake of easy 'drama'. As a thriller, I can't say I was particularly thrilled, which is where watching in context (of era) may come into play. Then again, it could just be that, as a thriller, North by Northwest just - horror of horrors! - isn't that tight. It happens. Even with that factor lacking, it's still better than the average film. The players are fantastic across the board, and the only time I got distracted from the dialogue was in Grant and Saint's first love scene, wherein he has to very awkwardly hold his massive, giant hands in order to not obscure her petite face. It was quite funny, really. And James Mason is so very, very suave and sexy - if there's a male edition of the femme fatale, this is it.
As someone immersed in classic film from childhood, I was happy to experience a new (to me) Bernard Herrmann score. Herrmann worked regularly for Hitchcock, but I know him best from his regular collaborations with Ray Harryhausen. He was one of those guys like Ennio Morricone, who scored an absurd variety of films, and though he died in the late '70's, people have continued to use his compositions posthumously - Quentin Tarantino used Herrmann's work for two sequences in Kill Bill Vol. 1. What I'm trying to say is, any film with a Herrmann score makes me happy.
The most satisfying thing about North by Northwest? Finally finding out how Cary Grant got away from that crop duster. The most disappointing thing about North by Northwest? Finding out that the title is not in fact a clever metaphor or analogy, but simply a literal description, kind of like John Wayne's North to Alaska. Unlike North to Alaska, however, this film's title is one of the biggest product placement coups of all time, which I have to admit amuses me on a pure level.
Speaking of James Mason, someone borrowed my beloved 2-disc special edition copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea back when I was living in Oakville, and never gave it back or forgot that they had it when I asked everyone, "do you have my copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea". If you have a copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, starring James Mason and Kirk Douglas, that you don't remember buying and are not sure why you would own such a thing, please look me up. I do miss it so.
Starring Cary Grant, James Mason, and Eva Marie Saint, as a comedy and a character piece this film will probably never get old. The script is packed with zingers (but not overstuffed), and those zingers are delivered so very well. As a case of mistaken identity and counterespionage, it's a fine and thoroughly enjoyable film, especially because none of the characters are stupid, or ever get stupid for the sake of easy 'drama'. As a thriller, I can't say I was particularly thrilled, which is where watching in context (of era) may come into play. Then again, it could just be that, as a thriller, North by Northwest just - horror of horrors! - isn't that tight. It happens. Even with that factor lacking, it's still better than the average film. The players are fantastic across the board, and the only time I got distracted from the dialogue was in Grant and Saint's first love scene, wherein he has to very awkwardly hold his massive, giant hands in order to not obscure her petite face. It was quite funny, really. And James Mason is so very, very suave and sexy - if there's a male edition of the femme fatale, this is it.
As someone immersed in classic film from childhood, I was happy to experience a new (to me) Bernard Herrmann score. Herrmann worked regularly for Hitchcock, but I know him best from his regular collaborations with Ray Harryhausen. He was one of those guys like Ennio Morricone, who scored an absurd variety of films, and though he died in the late '70's, people have continued to use his compositions posthumously - Quentin Tarantino used Herrmann's work for two sequences in Kill Bill Vol. 1. What I'm trying to say is, any film with a Herrmann score makes me happy.
The most satisfying thing about North by Northwest? Finally finding out how Cary Grant got away from that crop duster. The most disappointing thing about North by Northwest? Finding out that the title is not in fact a clever metaphor or analogy, but simply a literal description, kind of like John Wayne's North to Alaska. Unlike North to Alaska, however, this film's title is one of the biggest product placement coups of all time, which I have to admit amuses me on a pure level.
Speaking of James Mason, someone borrowed my beloved 2-disc special edition copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea back when I was living in Oakville, and never gave it back or forgot that they had it when I asked everyone, "do you have my copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea". If you have a copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, starring James Mason and Kirk Douglas, that you don't remember buying and are not sure why you would own such a thing, please look me up. I do miss it so.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Don't Hate Me 'Cause I'm Beautiful
This week's episode of Life was, start to finish, the tightest, best thing the show's done to date, and the kind of TV that's supposed to at least make Emmy shortlists across the board. If you've never watched Life, there's not an overabundance of character plot in this one, so it's a great place to start. It's also just some great TV that's worth the fourty-odd minutes of your time. Of course, Global doesn't stream it, and I can't get it from NBC because I have a Canadian IP address, so it'll take some time and discretion for you to find this in a legal way. Especially as the title of this episode is, "Badge Bunny", the nickname given to (adopted by?) women who have cop fetishes and are essentially groupies, hanging out at cop bars, dating cops, sleeping with cops, etc. So google "badge bunny" alone and your chances of porn or extreme creepiness are high. So be sure to toss the following information into your search query: Life episode 209 (standard online abbreviation for season 2 episode 9).
Ah, come on, just do it - the show will be dead soon, anyways. NBC just barely gave it the green light to complete the second season, and Global has moved its time slot from Fridays at 8 (we're not sure, but we'll give you a fighting chance) to Fridays at 10 (industry shorthand for, "screw you, show! We hate you!"). In the immortal words of Rahm Emanuel: Dead! Dead! Dead!
In other cancellation news, of the "neither great nor horrible show" variety, light-'n-fluffy occasional enjoyments Pushing Daisies and Eli Stone have been axed by ABC. Not cancelled, but axed - cut off, not allowed to finish a season, left dangling. Now that's just rude. Unless ABC is cooking the books, it's not like they have to chop a show in the middle of a story arc because they can't afford it. Or maybe, in the case of Eli Stone, all those George Michael appearances were starting to add up...
Ah, come on, just do it - the show will be dead soon, anyways. NBC just barely gave it the green light to complete the second season, and Global has moved its time slot from Fridays at 8 (we're not sure, but we'll give you a fighting chance) to Fridays at 10 (industry shorthand for, "screw you, show! We hate you!"). In the immortal words of Rahm Emanuel: Dead! Dead! Dead!
In other cancellation news, of the "neither great nor horrible show" variety, light-'n-fluffy occasional enjoyments Pushing Daisies and Eli Stone have been axed by ABC. Not cancelled, but axed - cut off, not allowed to finish a season, left dangling. Now that's just rude. Unless ABC is cooking the books, it's not like they have to chop a show in the middle of a story arc because they can't afford it. Or maybe, in the case of Eli Stone, all those George Michael appearances were starting to add up...
Saturday, November 22, 2008
My Sidekick Has a Mustache: EW's Top 25
Click here for the completion of Entertainment Weekly's 50 Greatest Sidekicks (Everrrrr). It's not their best list ever; pretty standard, pretty 'meh', and I'm far too young for their number 1 pick to be in any way meaningful...which is ironic, in a way, seeing as how I was able to grin and nod at their inclusion of Barney Fife (Andy Griffith) and Tattoo ("Da boat!"). Ah well, I guess you can't really re-run no.1's show for us young un's to see. Some of my favourite sidekicks, the sort who don't get on official lists, and not ordered in any preferential way:
But my favourite sidekick of all? Gordito Delgado, pre-pubescent gunslinger extraordinaire and sidekick to Dr. McNinja, Dr. McNinja. New on the scene and relatively obscure - it's only a three-year old webcomic, after all - Gordito is a boy with the mustache of a man, sprouted by the sheer stregnth of his will so that adults would respect him after his trapeze-artist single father was assassinated by PETA. After throwing in with a gang of raptor-riding banditos, Gordito was so impressed by the doctor's mad ninja skills that he assigned himself as sidekick, thus helping to fulfill another chapter of the doctor's quest to be more like Batman. What makes Gordito my favourite sidekick above so many classic and excellent sidekicks? He is an excellent mirror and foil to Dr. McNinja - and I really do mean excellent. His twelve-year old boy sensibilities, ludicrous as they are, hold up perfectly agains the doctor's straight man sensibilities - which, in the case of Dr. McNinja, are equally if not more ludicrous than Gordito's. It's a truly masterful take on the odd couple/Abbot and Costello archetype, and hilarious to boot.
Click here for the introduction of Gordito's character in Dr. McNinja #3, "There's a Raptor in my Office", and pop ahead to #7, "Spooky Stuff", for a backstory unashamedly ripped from Batman and Stephen King's Dark Tower series. All the usual warnings about toned-down Shaun of the Dead-esque zombie etc. violence prevail.
- Zeus Carver, sidekick to John McClane, Die Hard 3
- Mr. Bingley, sidekick to Mr. Darcy, Pride & Prejudice
- Morgan Grimes, sidekick to Chuck Bartowski, Chuck
- Vir Kotto, sidekick to Londo Mollari, Babylon 5
- Al Giordino, sidekick to Dirk Pitt, Sahara
- Martha Jones, sidekick to the Doctor, Doctor Who (series 3)
- Sherif Ali, sidekick to T.E. Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabia
- Fezzik, sidekick to Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride
- Cosmo Brown, sidekick to Don Lockwood, Singin' in the Rain
- Dr. McCoy, sidekick to Captain Kirk, Star Trek
- Binabik, sidekick to Simon, The Dragonbone Chair (Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn)
- Sandy "Mac" MacDonald, sidekick to Roger Bartlett, The Great Escape
- The Littlest Hobo, sidekick to all in need, The Littlest Hobo
- Hank Yarbo, sidekick to Brent Leroy, Corner Gas
- Cordelia Chase, sidekick to Angel, Angel
- Millie Thompson, Meryl Strife, and Nicholas D. Wolfwood, sidekicks to Vash the Stampede, Trigun
- Radar O'Reilley, sidekick to Col. Potter, M*A*S*H
- Jet Black, sidekick to Spike Spiegel, Cowboy Bebop
- Bishop, sidekick to Ellen Ripley, Aliens
- Archie Kennedy, sidekick to Horatio Hownblower, Horatio Hornblower (TV only)
But my favourite sidekick of all? Gordito Delgado, pre-pubescent gunslinger extraordinaire and sidekick to Dr. McNinja, Dr. McNinja. New on the scene and relatively obscure - it's only a three-year old webcomic, after all - Gordito is a boy with the mustache of a man, sprouted by the sheer stregnth of his will so that adults would respect him after his trapeze-artist single father was assassinated by PETA. After throwing in with a gang of raptor-riding banditos, Gordito was so impressed by the doctor's mad ninja skills that he assigned himself as sidekick, thus helping to fulfill another chapter of the doctor's quest to be more like Batman. What makes Gordito my favourite sidekick above so many classic and excellent sidekicks? He is an excellent mirror and foil to Dr. McNinja - and I really do mean excellent. His twelve-year old boy sensibilities, ludicrous as they are, hold up perfectly agains the doctor's straight man sensibilities - which, in the case of Dr. McNinja, are equally if not more ludicrous than Gordito's. It's a truly masterful take on the odd couple/Abbot and Costello archetype, and hilarious to boot.
Click here for the introduction of Gordito's character in Dr. McNinja #3, "There's a Raptor in my Office", and pop ahead to #7, "Spooky Stuff", for a backstory unashamedly ripped from Batman and Stephen King's Dark Tower series. All the usual warnings about toned-down Shaun of the Dead-esque zombie etc. violence prevail.
Your Vote Counts: The Prefect
Freedom
never came for free
patriots are bleeding their veins clean
that's me in the corner, singing
"God save, God save the Queen."
- "Independence Day", Brave Saint Saturn
One of the most striking things about the collected novels of Alastair Reynolds is how they highlight his ability to shift to and from, and combine, grand and intimate scales. Pushing Ice takes place over thousands of years (grand scale) - but all the action is contained within a few square kilometers. Chasm City takes place simultaneously over hundreds of years and a few weeks, using dreams and mirrored plots to pull it off. Century Rain covers roughly forty-eight hours, as does my most recent Reynolds encounter, The Prefect (2007), a very well-done policeman's tale that questions whether unfettered democracy can actually erode freedom.
Set in the universe of Chasm City, but before the plague, The Prefect focuses its action on the Glitter Band, the collection of ten thousand-odd habitats that orbit planet Yellowstone. These habitats are the ultimate expression of democratic freedom. Housing anywhere from a few hundred to a few million citizens, each is the embodiment of a distinct theme or overarching ethic. House Perigal is a center of hedonism. The Chevelure-Sambuke Hourglass is built on living out classical, beautiful fantasies, by doing things like bioengineering flying horses - the majority of the habitats are some sort of Bioshock-style state wherein artists and scientists can create without legal or ethical restrictions, with varying degrees of benigness and horror. People voluntarily go into comas in order to allow their minds to run free in virtual reality in the Persistent Vegetative State. Some citizens have even decided that their greatest freedom is the abdication of all responsibilities, and so they democratically elect tyrants to rule their lives and rob them of the need to make decisions. The inhabitants of the Glitter Band are, in many ways, the most powerful collection of ordinary people in history, because there is literally nothing they can't vote on. Elections happen every millisecond, on everything from leadership to what shape a fountain should be, and democracy is the one unquestionable quality of human existence. Even the Glitter Band's legal body, Panoply, is completely subject to the will of the people, who have democratically denied Panoply's agents, the Prefects, the right to bear arms. But that's okay with the Prefects, because observance of democratic exercise is the only law they uphold - in the Glitter Band, its the only law there is.
The Prefect launches with Panoply's discovery of someone exploiting a loophole in the voting system, followed by the unprecedented destruction of an uninvolved habitat. While young prefect Thalia Ng embarks on a twenty-four hour tour to upgrade the polling cores of four habitats in order to close the loophole, her boss, Tom Dreyfus, turns his attention to the mass-murder. Along the way, a traitor does his thing, the eighty people converted into digital format mentioned in Chasm City come into play, as does a terrible machine thought destroyed and known as the Clockmaker, and at the center of it all is the question of how much freedom is necessary for the greater good. It's a cautionary tale, as is most great sci-fi, and it's also far better than the average. This exploration of freedom is one of those ideas which, in a democratic country, is often controversial amongst academics and activists, and those are the sort of ideas that Reynolds has no problem tackling in a thoughtful manner. On a personal note, the healthy limits of freedom have been on my mind lately, and The Prefect has made a very interesting contribution to that mental stew.
Great for any with an interest in political science, and even for those who have a carpet policy against sci-fi, The Prefect is a physically short but mentally challenging read, and highly recommended by me.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
"I can't believe everybody's just ad-libbing!"
The latest member of the lineup at the end of which people make inane comments about Quantum of Solace: Jian Ghomeshi. In today's National Post he writes in reference to QoS, and I quote, "only the James Bond franchise could get away with a pretentious title that is incoherent to anyone without a combined PhD in physics and linguistics." Now, I'm a college drop-out, but somehow have the magical ability to comprehend this contentious phrase. A reasonable vocabulary built through reading not forced on me by school may have contributed here, along with the supernatural powers of looking words up if I don't understand them, and asking Corey's grandma to save the New York Times Sunday crossword for me. I didn't take physics in high school, but somehow, magically, have still learned enough about its most basic principles and ideas on my own time (and because I'm a sci-fi geek, but that's another matter). In my mind, it's a pretty big leap to justify (and project) one's laziness by claiming the most basic research (i.e. looking words up in the dictionary) to be something of doctoral proportions. In the words of the great philosopher Homestar Runner: sewiously.
Speaking of dictionaries, the Post also reports today that the latest edition of the Collins English Dictionary will now include, by popular vote, the word "meh" - as in, "Isn't Quantum of Solace a great title?" "Meh.". I am pleased by this development.
On a note entirely unrelated to vocabulary, check out the first half of Entertainment Weekly's list of 50 greatest sidekicks. I've got to hand it to these people: when paying tribute to Jimmy Olsen, they used a photo from Lois and Clark. Now that's class. I make Corey wear headphones if he's going to watch Smallville in my presence. Though I've got to give Smallville credit where credit's due: they've just introduced Doomsday. It takes a lot of guts and other things to introduce what may very well me the most reviled Superman storyline of all time, and partway into their final season, too.
On a note unrelated to Superman, but not to vocabulary, my new job has seriously cut into my reading-for-fun time, and is probably incurring library fines as I write, but by the weekend I should finally be done Alastair Reynolds' latest gift to everyone, The Prefect. Seriously. This guy.
And the title of this odds-and-ends post? One of the few useable out of context quotes from my all-time favourite tragicomic TV character, Futurama's Doctor Zoidberg.
Speaking of dictionaries, the Post also reports today that the latest edition of the Collins English Dictionary will now include, by popular vote, the word "meh" - as in, "Isn't Quantum of Solace a great title?" "Meh.". I am pleased by this development.
On a note entirely unrelated to vocabulary, check out the first half of Entertainment Weekly's list of 50 greatest sidekicks. I've got to hand it to these people: when paying tribute to Jimmy Olsen, they used a photo from Lois and Clark. Now that's class. I make Corey wear headphones if he's going to watch Smallville in my presence. Though I've got to give Smallville credit where credit's due: they've just introduced Doomsday. It takes a lot of guts and other things to introduce what may very well me the most reviled Superman storyline of all time, and partway into their final season, too.
On a note unrelated to Superman, but not to vocabulary, my new job has seriously cut into my reading-for-fun time, and is probably incurring library fines as I write, but by the weekend I should finally be done Alastair Reynolds' latest gift to everyone, The Prefect. Seriously. This guy.
And the title of this odds-and-ends post? One of the few useable out of context quotes from my all-time favourite tragicomic TV character, Futurama's Doctor Zoidberg.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
There Is No Sheep: A Scanner Darkly
I've never enjoyed the assorted writings of Philip K. Dick. His rather bad amphetamine problem resulted in a lot of prose that I either found extremely disconnected, or just didn't get. Some of the film adaptations of his work, however, have special places in my heart (and my DVD shelf) - films like Blade Runner and Minority Report. Some of those adaptations have been neutrally forgettable, like Total Recall, others have taken on League of Extraordinary Gentlemen proportions, like 2003's Paycheck. And then, we have the most recent stab at PKD, the semi-autobiographical A Scanner Darkly.
On the surface, Scanner seems to be a fairly standard tale of an undercover cop (Keanu Reeves' Fred/Bob) done wrong by his superiors, abandoned to his increasing involvement in a bad scene and his inability to remove himself from it. Fred is a narc who's infiltrated a group of friends he and his department believe will provide leads on a major dealing of the drug du jour. Substance D comes across as a combination of meth, heroin, and possibly cocaine, and appears to be about as healthy as taking all three at once, in large doses, and its usage has spread to epidemic proportions. Of course, Fred is in deep, his usage increasing to the point where its begun to have severe repercussions on his health, slowly causing growing permanent damage to various sensory brain functions - and then, of course, there's the mental side of things. His tenuous grip on reality is compounded by the fact that there isn't even a human contact element within his division, like there is in Infernal Affairs. While in the police station, everyone wears a "scramble suit", a head-to-toe outfit whose outer layer is in constant flux, morphing between (and combining) assorted male and female appearances. Eventually, his investigation progresses to the point where he's asked to install spyware and monitor his house, and the subjects of his investigation who live there, and watch surveillance tapes to search more thoroughly for leads on the source of the Substance D supply; hence, the title of the story. It's also a nice twist - and more meaningful - as it comes from him observing himself as opposed to a Big Brother outside influence. As Fred becomes sicker and sicker, and we witness the tragic and pathetic life that is the lot of his fellow addicts, the story tackles the question of whether it is right (or at least necessary) to sacrifice one innocent in order to save many, and due to the author's personal experience, it doesn't appear to answer that question in the traditional liberal way.
The casting makes this film. Let it never again be said that Keanu Reeves is a one-note robot of an actor - as Fred, one shift of thought playing across his eyes speaks volumes, and his misery and defeat bleeds throughe every frame he's in. In short, he does a great job here. His friends, played by Woody Harrelson, Rory Cochrane, Robert Downey, Jr., and Winona Ryder, are a veritable fountain of tragedy and hilarity walking hand in hand, especially those first three mentioned. It's interesting to note that Harrelson, Ryder, and Downey all have had some degree of legal and/or medical troubles related to drug posession or use - a factor in them being cast, perhaps? After all, no one tells more effective stories of why not to do something self-destructive than someone who's suffered the repercussions themself. Or perhaps they were all cast just because they all did a great job, and my observation is nothing more than a very ironic coincidence.
If you're reading all this and going, "bo-ring!", then at least catch Scanner for the visual interest. I was suspicious about the full-colour rotoscoping as a gimmick; as it turned out, it wasn't a gimmick at all, but a highly complimentary way to support the film's message of disconnection and sense unreality, and, as Corey pointed out, was the only way the scramble suits could be rendered and still look good. There are a few issues with rendering roadways and cars that aren't quite in step with the appearance of the rest of the film, but this is a minor transgression and not too disorienting. In other words, the film looks great, and the medium suits the message.
My favourite anti-drug film has long been Val Kilmer's The Salton Sea, but A Scanner Darkly is certainly up there. It's not the tightest story ever told, but it's excellently rendered, fairly powerful, and generally engaging. Rated R for drug use (duh), language, sexual content, and "a brief violent image".
On the surface, Scanner seems to be a fairly standard tale of an undercover cop (Keanu Reeves' Fred/Bob) done wrong by his superiors, abandoned to his increasing involvement in a bad scene and his inability to remove himself from it. Fred is a narc who's infiltrated a group of friends he and his department believe will provide leads on a major dealing of the drug du jour. Substance D comes across as a combination of meth, heroin, and possibly cocaine, and appears to be about as healthy as taking all three at once, in large doses, and its usage has spread to epidemic proportions. Of course, Fred is in deep, his usage increasing to the point where its begun to have severe repercussions on his health, slowly causing growing permanent damage to various sensory brain functions - and then, of course, there's the mental side of things. His tenuous grip on reality is compounded by the fact that there isn't even a human contact element within his division, like there is in Infernal Affairs. While in the police station, everyone wears a "scramble suit", a head-to-toe outfit whose outer layer is in constant flux, morphing between (and combining) assorted male and female appearances. Eventually, his investigation progresses to the point where he's asked to install spyware and monitor his house, and the subjects of his investigation who live there, and watch surveillance tapes to search more thoroughly for leads on the source of the Substance D supply; hence, the title of the story. It's also a nice twist - and more meaningful - as it comes from him observing himself as opposed to a Big Brother outside influence. As Fred becomes sicker and sicker, and we witness the tragic and pathetic life that is the lot of his fellow addicts, the story tackles the question of whether it is right (or at least necessary) to sacrifice one innocent in order to save many, and due to the author's personal experience, it doesn't appear to answer that question in the traditional liberal way.
The casting makes this film. Let it never again be said that Keanu Reeves is a one-note robot of an actor - as Fred, one shift of thought playing across his eyes speaks volumes, and his misery and defeat bleeds throughe every frame he's in. In short, he does a great job here. His friends, played by Woody Harrelson, Rory Cochrane, Robert Downey, Jr., and Winona Ryder, are a veritable fountain of tragedy and hilarity walking hand in hand, especially those first three mentioned. It's interesting to note that Harrelson, Ryder, and Downey all have had some degree of legal and/or medical troubles related to drug posession or use - a factor in them being cast, perhaps? After all, no one tells more effective stories of why not to do something self-destructive than someone who's suffered the repercussions themself. Or perhaps they were all cast just because they all did a great job, and my observation is nothing more than a very ironic coincidence.
If you're reading all this and going, "bo-ring!", then at least catch Scanner for the visual interest. I was suspicious about the full-colour rotoscoping as a gimmick; as it turned out, it wasn't a gimmick at all, but a highly complimentary way to support the film's message of disconnection and sense unreality, and, as Corey pointed out, was the only way the scramble suits could be rendered and still look good. There are a few issues with rendering roadways and cars that aren't quite in step with the appearance of the rest of the film, but this is a minor transgression and not too disorienting. In other words, the film looks great, and the medium suits the message.
My favourite anti-drug film has long been Val Kilmer's The Salton Sea, but A Scanner Darkly is certainly up there. It's not the tightest story ever told, but it's excellently rendered, fairly powerful, and generally engaging. Rated R for drug use (duh), language, sexual content, and "a brief violent image".
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Worlds Collide: The Husband, the Wife, the Bandit...and the Plan!
Colonel Tom Edwards: This is the most fantastic story I've ever heard.
Jeff Trent: And every word of it's true, too.
Colonel Tom Edwards: That's the fantastic part of it.
- Plan 9 from Outer Space
"I don't want to hear it. No more horror stories."
- The Priest, Rashomon
I told you I like my double-features strange, so today I watched what is considered one of the greatest films ever made - Rashomon - followed by what is considered one of the worst films ever made - Plan 9 from Outer Space. I thought it would make an interesting exercise; for one thing, I'd never seen either of them, and as a student of film and culture, it makes sense to watch a pair of movies that have been vastly influential, albeit for very different reasons.
Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon (a.k.a. In the Forest) is famous for being the first film to use the plot device of recounting a story in flashback from multiple points of view - stuff like The Usual Suspects and Hero are children of Rashomon. In this story, a shell-shocked priest and equally shell-shocked woodcutter are waiting out a torrential storm in the burnt-out ruins of a temple and making references to a horrible story they heard that day when some vagabond comes in out of the rain and wants to know what they're talking about. We learn that the priest and woodcutter had just testified that day as witnesses to a rape and murder, and after their recollections of events, their memories of the trial yield the story of the bandit accused of the murder, the dead man's wife (the rape victim), and what could be described as a surprise witness. In the end, what really happened is presented with disturbing clarity - there's no ambiguity as to how things went down, because that's not the point of the film.
I've always heard this film described as being about the nature and pursuit of truth. I would now suggest that this description misses the entire point of Rashomon. As the nature of the murder is gradually revealed, along with the ways in which the players reveal it, Rashomon turns out to be an exploration not of the nature of truth, but the nature of shame - what happens when we refuse or embrace it, and how our responses to shame shape events. Toshiro Mifune's bandit is a man who has built his life on refusing to feel shame. The dead man's wife has been bound by her views on shame associated with rape. Her husband's reaction to his wife's shame, and his refusal to feel shame himself, shapes events even further. I'd love to dissect this film right here and now, but I also don't want to give it away. It's a powerful, masterful, freakin' brilliant piece of work, not to mention a harsh exploration of the philosophy of justice, as it brings into question just who is responsible for the husband's death, for it could be said that, because each of the people involved incites another to some form of violence, be it sexual, psychological, or physical, through how they respond to their shame.
Rashomon was made in 1950, just five years after Japan lost a war, and remains one of the best films you'll ever see, guaranteed. There's a reason Kurosawa - who had, by 1950, directed twelve films, not to mention how many he'd worked on as an A.D. or writer - is regularly labelled as brilliant and visionary. At a time when countries with far older film industries, like the U.S., still hadn't worked out the concept of non-linear cinematography and continued to make movies based the philosophies of stage productions, Kurosawa was using his cameras to do things like follow characters as they walked. The two fight scenes in Rashomon are the direct ancestors of the style and method refined in the Bourne films, and even though I knew how the fights would end, they were so visceral and intimate that I actually had a physical reaction of fear and anxiety while watching. Intimacy is a key word for Rashomon. When I had my photography classes, I was taught that for portraiture, you fill your frame with the subject's face and shoulders to keep it focused and intimate, and Rashomon is full of such shots. It's of a much smaller scope than other Kurosawa films I've seen, which have been teeming with people and using wide, sweeping shots, and its scope suits its story to a tee. That being said, it's still one of his older films, and so the kabuki (traditional Japanese theatre) presence is more distinct than in his later ones...and yet, with all the other components at work, I wonder if that was intentional, to further maintain the film's power in its intimacy.
...Which brings us to what I watched less than an hour later: Ed Wood's Plan 9 from Outer Space. Yes, I can now say that I've seen the Plan. I'm glad that I have, because I maintain that it is an important part of American film history. It's also hilarious, though, of course, not by design. It's probably safe to say that all the stories you've heard about Plan 9 are true. The dialogue defies logic on a scale even greater than that of those old Flash Gordon serials, as does Wood's flagrant disregard for little things like night/day continuity. The DVD I watched included interviews with stars Bela Lugosi, Vampira, and Ed's wife, Doris Fuller, which was particularly interesting. Even more interesting was the fact that my strange double-features continue to correlate. I meant this one purely as contrast, for the entertainment value of a great film followed by a really bad one, but, like many of my combos, it became something more. As I said, Rashomon is a story about man's varied responses to shame...and shame is something that Ed Wood spent a career defying, and pushing on in the face of, by doing whatever it took (even if what it took was a pretty big compromise) in order to finish films on very tight budgets. It could perhaps be said that Wood eventually succumbed to shame, as after Plan he struggled for work and descended into alcoholism, relying mostly on porn to make ends meet, until his death by heart attack at the age of 54. Who knew that, with the right set-up (in this case, Rashomon), such a ridiculous film could take on such serious and tragic overtones?
Akira Kurosawa: he even makes Plan 9 interesting!
Rashomon, the Criterion Collection release, runs 88 minutes, has been so well-restored that it doesn't show its age, and comes with a mini-documentary about the cinematographer as well as a look at the paintings that served as Kurosawa's storyboards. It even has an English dub track, which, as usual, I don't recommend unless you suffer from a visual impairment or reading disability. Plan 9 from Outer Space runs around 90 minutes and is, well, Plan 9 from Outer Space, for better or ill a significant influence on American film (and two generations of aspiring filmmakers who live by the idea that if Ed Wood can make a movie, anyone can), not to mention quite unintentionally entertaining - I had a good time watching it. Honestly, if you've had the misfortune of watching Bring it On, House on Haunted Hill, Dude, Where's My Car?, or anything by Uwe Boll, you've seen a worse movie than Plan 9 from Outer Space. This one, at least, is fun to watch, and did not at any point incite me to thoughts of poking myself in the eye repeatedly with a pencil in order to end my torment. Go on - you know you want to be able to boast that you've seen it. And then we can speculate as to what plans 1 through 8 were!
Predictions for the Future, where You and I are going to spend the rest of our lives.
Well, I'm no Criswell, but since the producers of American Life on Mars said that it would not end like the original UK version - with Sam having been in a coma - I'm going to call it: the show takes place in the minutes while he is legally dead as paramedics (try to?) ressuscitate him.
Why? Well, for one thing, audience appeal - if it's coma-induced, it's a hallucination, and doesn't mean much. If he's in the place between life and death, that adds a mystical/spiritual element. Plus, 1973 has turned out to be a catalytic year for the people who have most influenced Sam in either good or bad ways, and now he finds himself having the opportunity to pay them back (double-entendre intentional). Plus, the mysticism makes it possible for him to literally be in the past, changing things.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And now, those of you who caught the Criswell reference will know what I watched this afternoon.....
:D
The Horror!
Why? Well, for one thing, audience appeal - if it's coma-induced, it's a hallucination, and doesn't mean much. If he's in the place between life and death, that adds a mystical/spiritual element. Plus, 1973 has turned out to be a catalytic year for the people who have most influenced Sam in either good or bad ways, and now he finds himself having the opportunity to pay them back (double-entendre intentional). Plus, the mysticism makes it possible for him to literally be in the past, changing things.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And now, those of you who caught the Criswell reference will know what I watched this afternoon.....
:D
The Horror!
Robert Einstein, King of the Road
If the words "Super Dave Osborne" mean something very special to you, click here to download the November 14th Q podcast for a fascinating and hilarious time. Fast forward to the 43:30 mark and let the fun commence as SD steamrolls national hack interviewer Jian Ghomeshi while sharing some of his very interesting history. Why do all the bad interviewers, like Ghomeshi and George Strombolopoulos, get all the good guests? Hacks they may be, but I suppose I must give them full marks for being very enterprising hacks.
If you have time to kill, and like that sort of thing, the first 22 minutes revolve around a Norwegian born artiste musician who I find unimpressive, but who you should probably hear speak for a minute as he sounds like an emo kid doing an imitation of Walter Koenig (Star Trek's Chekov) - I have to salute the guy for having such a great and entertaining speaking voice. After the 22 minute mark, you can listen to an interview with Ken Whyte, who recently wrote a pretty good book about William Randolph Hearst (I didn't listen to this one as I've been reading excerpts from said book in The National Post for the past few weeks).
A rather diverse hour, but personally, I feel that all you need to get out of it is Super Dave.
If you have time to kill, and like that sort of thing, the first 22 minutes revolve around a Norwegian born artiste musician who I find unimpressive, but who you should probably hear speak for a minute as he sounds like an emo kid doing an imitation of Walter Koenig (Star Trek's Chekov) - I have to salute the guy for having such a great and entertaining speaking voice. After the 22 minute mark, you can listen to an interview with Ken Whyte, who recently wrote a pretty good book about William Randolph Hearst (I didn't listen to this one as I've been reading excerpts from said book in The National Post for the past few weeks).
A rather diverse hour, but personally, I feel that all you need to get out of it is Super Dave.
The Super Terrific Zoidberg Hour All-Media Blowout
Some people think that once you're married, you can no longer do all the stuff you loved doing as a freewheelin' bachelor. Sure, that's true, if your marriage is unhealthy and you don't understand the concept of supporting your spouse. Corey and me, we don't swing that way.
Back when yours truly was a swingin' bachelor of the lady persuasion (I hate the word bachelorette because it just sounds dumb), I had my favourite media habit, exercised on a regular basis (i.e. at least monthly): I'd pop down to Blockbuster and take advantage of their "three old movies" deal by renting a trifecta in the spirit of TVO's Saturday Night at the Movies. That is to say, the films might have a very blatant connection, or the relation may be a bit more tenuous. Like the time my triple-feature was The Right Stuff, The Man who Fell to Earth, and The Magnificent Seven. Another example might be Bullitt, Blade Runner, and, I don't know, The Fifth Element. Usually the collections were far wierder and less obvious than those examples. I always got a huge kick out of it, some interesting times, and all for less than the price of one matinee at the local cineplex.
Nowdays, I don't find I like to isolate myself like that as often. But there are days, like today, when Corey is out on a job, and I find myself back in the enviable position of a day - and appartment - to myself. Today's lineup has thus far included a CBC radio interview with Robert Einstein - more on that in the next post! - and the U.S. premiere of Life on Mars, which I missed (just great). This will progress to this week's episode, which I also missed, and then to two feature films which I believe are key touchstones of cinematic influence, and essential viewing for anyone who considers themselves a student of film and culture. And you'll know what those were after I've watched them, and you'll probably either laugh or quote the great Internet philosopher Homestar Runner with a rousing rendition of "What. The. Crap??"...and my anecdote about what I liked to do for fun when I was single will make particular sense.
Variety. It's the spice of life! I recommend it.
Back when yours truly was a swingin' bachelor of the lady persuasion (I hate the word bachelorette because it just sounds dumb), I had my favourite media habit, exercised on a regular basis (i.e. at least monthly): I'd pop down to Blockbuster and take advantage of their "three old movies" deal by renting a trifecta in the spirit of TVO's Saturday Night at the Movies. That is to say, the films might have a very blatant connection, or the relation may be a bit more tenuous. Like the time my triple-feature was The Right Stuff, The Man who Fell to Earth, and The Magnificent Seven. Another example might be Bullitt, Blade Runner, and, I don't know, The Fifth Element. Usually the collections were far wierder and less obvious than those examples. I always got a huge kick out of it, some interesting times, and all for less than the price of one matinee at the local cineplex.
Nowdays, I don't find I like to isolate myself like that as often. But there are days, like today, when Corey is out on a job, and I find myself back in the enviable position of a day - and appartment - to myself. Today's lineup has thus far included a CBC radio interview with Robert Einstein - more on that in the next post! - and the U.S. premiere of Life on Mars, which I missed (just great). This will progress to this week's episode, which I also missed, and then to two feature films which I believe are key touchstones of cinematic influence, and essential viewing for anyone who considers themselves a student of film and culture. And you'll know what those were after I've watched them, and you'll probably either laugh or quote the great Internet philosopher Homestar Runner with a rousing rendition of "What. The. Crap??"...and my anecdote about what I liked to do for fun when I was single will make particular sense.
Variety. It's the spice of life! I recommend it.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Chuck? What's wrong, Chuck?
Last year, Chuck was the best show on TV. With strong comedy, reasonable conflicts, first-rate writing and acting, an actual and intimate understanding of the geek life, and a full cast of characters whom I know or have met, it was unrivalled. Is anyone else feeling like this year isn't quite delivering?
For me, it started going down the moment they introduced Arrested Development's Tony Hale as the Buy-More's new efficiency guy - in other words, a Buy-More nemesis for Chuck. The first season did such a good job of arcing Lester from nemesis to not, and setting up the Buy-More as its own entity, with its own plots and jokes and troubles, because frankly, creating extra drama involving Chuck's constant needs to flee the store got old fast. But they fixed that, and set up Lester, Anna, Jeff, and Morgan as a secondary cast, almost a secondary show, and it gave an added dimension of interest and fun. Lester was a fair nemesis because of his own self-awareness and shortcomings, but his merging into a full member of that little Buy-More family completed, well, the family, and seeing them interact and problem-solve together was enjoyable, and enough. Toby Hale's character, Emmett, feels forced on every level, and just plain unnecessary. If there's one show that didn't need added drama - and there are many! - it's Chuck. Remember the episode a couple of weeks ago where Morgan and co. had to figure out how to get rid of a gang of jocks who were monopolizing (and wrecking) the home theatre room? Or the one where they chose their new assistant manager? The Buy-More worked just great on its own. Making outsider tension for Chuck is starting to bleed into the rest of the show, which can't be good news. Plus, as I've said about four times already, the Buy-More was just great how it was.
Also, Tony Hale doesn't exactly specialize in realistic characters, and Emmett is no exception - thus creating a further sense of disconnectivity and general not workingness, as Chuck has thrived thus far on the stregnth of its believable cast.
Hopefully, Emmett will be soon expunged in one way or another, and Chuck and gang will get back to business, and it'll all happen before we meet the promised Bruce Boxleitner (!!!) as the Captain's dad.
For me, it started going down the moment they introduced Arrested Development's Tony Hale as the Buy-More's new efficiency guy - in other words, a Buy-More nemesis for Chuck. The first season did such a good job of arcing Lester from nemesis to not, and setting up the Buy-More as its own entity, with its own plots and jokes and troubles, because frankly, creating extra drama involving Chuck's constant needs to flee the store got old fast. But they fixed that, and set up Lester, Anna, Jeff, and Morgan as a secondary cast, almost a secondary show, and it gave an added dimension of interest and fun. Lester was a fair nemesis because of his own self-awareness and shortcomings, but his merging into a full member of that little Buy-More family completed, well, the family, and seeing them interact and problem-solve together was enjoyable, and enough. Toby Hale's character, Emmett, feels forced on every level, and just plain unnecessary. If there's one show that didn't need added drama - and there are many! - it's Chuck. Remember the episode a couple of weeks ago where Morgan and co. had to figure out how to get rid of a gang of jocks who were monopolizing (and wrecking) the home theatre room? Or the one where they chose their new assistant manager? The Buy-More worked just great on its own. Making outsider tension for Chuck is starting to bleed into the rest of the show, which can't be good news. Plus, as I've said about four times already, the Buy-More was just great how it was.
Also, Tony Hale doesn't exactly specialize in realistic characters, and Emmett is no exception - thus creating a further sense of disconnectivity and general not workingness, as Chuck has thrived thus far on the stregnth of its believable cast.
Hopefully, Emmett will be soon expunged in one way or another, and Chuck and gang will get back to business, and it'll all happen before we meet the promised Bruce Boxleitner (!!!) as the Captain's dad.
I Know Where You Live: The Mentalist
After catching its second episode, I've made a point of not missing this very fine new procedural starring Simon Baker. The premise could have gone very awry in the wrong hands. Patrick Jane (Baker) is a cold/hot reader (a what? more on that soon) who had a good living performing as a stage psychic. When he casually answered a late-night talk show question about what kind of man an unidientified serial killer would be, he came home one night to find a note on his bedroom door reading something along the lines of, "I don't appreciate you slandering me in public. If you're really a psychic, you won't need to open the door to know what I've done to your lovely family." Yikes.
Five years later, no longer performing for obvious reasons, Patrick is a licensed PI who consults for the California Bureau of Investigation on homicides. A 'reader' is a real profession and skill - hot readers are the psychics who ask you for some personal information, or to see an object you own, and use the clues (and statistics) to tell you something accurate about yourself. Cold readers, like Patrick, are the ones who only need look at the way you sit in a chair to know that your father was a football coach. This premise is the first thing that sets The Mentalist apart from weaker, loopier shows, because Patrick's skill is an actual skill, requiring years of study and refinement. As for the man himself, his personality still retains what drove him to the stage in the first place; he clearly loves to perform, but the writers don't overdo it. As a career performer, Patrick has a charming and easy manner, and he's very comfortable with the fact that he's very good at his job. Of course, though the unsolved murder hasn't come up in the plot yet, it remains a significant background factor...but we only know this because of a quick scene showing Patrick going to sleep on the floor of the same bedroom his family was killed in, complete with the happy face painted in blood by the killer still on the wall. I personally would be interested to see the show progress with this remaining stagnant, in the past, and looking at how that colours Patrick's life as opposed to the eventual "I think I found the killer!" we can probably expect.
The second thing that sets The Mentalist apart is the cast of characters. Robin Tunney as the cop Patrick works most directly with has a perpetual frown, but never slides into shrewy, bitchy, or tritely cold territory, and is in fact none of the above. Her Agent Lisbon is a person, though the writers are being inconsistent in deciding when she recognizes Patrick's assessments as being based on knowledge and when she doesn't ("speed of plot" syndrome, I believe it's called). That being said, she doesn't think he's a nut case, and she respects him, and when she needs to take him to task for being a bit too inconsiderate of things like procedure and law, there's no "cop-vs.-not" tension, simply one professional explaining something to another. Rounding out the players are Tim Kang as a seasoned officer, and Owen Yeomain and Amanda Righettit as a younger pair. Kang's Det. Cho is someone who's clearly seen a lot, and handles it on the job in a very matter-of-fact way without coming off as disconnected, and as a person, he's well-adjusted (as a homicide detective should be, to qualify the psych profiles) and has a nicely quiet humour. Yeomain's Rigsby is more of a California boy, younger and easily excited with an easy, happy manner, constantly vying with Righetti's Van Pelt to be the one to impress the boss, but still the kind of person who would be make detective - he knows restraint. Van Pelt isn't a stereotype of a young woman trying to prove herself as a cop, but rather a young cop trying to prove herself as a cop - but again, not in any kind of pushy, out-of-the-way manner. These are some of the most normal people you'll ever see on screen. And, most importantly, they're all good cops. This week's episode opened with a brilliant scene of everyone waiting around the California-Nevada state line to hear the verdict on what state a disembodied hand near the line belongs to. Patrick does his thing, looking at how the nails are groomed, lines where rings were worn, etc., and calls what kind of job was held by the man the hand belonged to, which leads to a wonderfully normal (and funny) wager between him and Cho in the amount of how much change is in Cho's pocket. Which leads to a shocked rebuke from Van Pelt ("you can't gamble on body parts!"), and Rigsby's cheerful disagreement ("You can't do that in California. But...(takes a step) we're in Nevada now! So it's okay!" or something along those lines). It was so comfortable, and natural, and real, and even more so because the boss, Lisbon, wasn't involved, because she was doing her job and consulting with the leader of the Nevada team to determine jurisdiction.
Comfort is the keyword here. This show is very comfortable with itself, its premise, its characters, Patrick's job, its larger-than-life (California) setting - everything about it is comfortable. It's not self-conscious, or trying to prove something, or trying to manufacture drama. It just is, and that is why it works so very well.
The Mentalist is a CBS show; we watch it here in Edmonton on Access, Mondays at 8.
Five years later, no longer performing for obvious reasons, Patrick is a licensed PI who consults for the California Bureau of Investigation on homicides. A 'reader' is a real profession and skill - hot readers are the psychics who ask you for some personal information, or to see an object you own, and use the clues (and statistics) to tell you something accurate about yourself. Cold readers, like Patrick, are the ones who only need look at the way you sit in a chair to know that your father was a football coach. This premise is the first thing that sets The Mentalist apart from weaker, loopier shows, because Patrick's skill is an actual skill, requiring years of study and refinement. As for the man himself, his personality still retains what drove him to the stage in the first place; he clearly loves to perform, but the writers don't overdo it. As a career performer, Patrick has a charming and easy manner, and he's very comfortable with the fact that he's very good at his job. Of course, though the unsolved murder hasn't come up in the plot yet, it remains a significant background factor...but we only know this because of a quick scene showing Patrick going to sleep on the floor of the same bedroom his family was killed in, complete with the happy face painted in blood by the killer still on the wall. I personally would be interested to see the show progress with this remaining stagnant, in the past, and looking at how that colours Patrick's life as opposed to the eventual "I think I found the killer!" we can probably expect.
The second thing that sets The Mentalist apart is the cast of characters. Robin Tunney as the cop Patrick works most directly with has a perpetual frown, but never slides into shrewy, bitchy, or tritely cold territory, and is in fact none of the above. Her Agent Lisbon is a person, though the writers are being inconsistent in deciding when she recognizes Patrick's assessments as being based on knowledge and when she doesn't ("speed of plot" syndrome, I believe it's called). That being said, she doesn't think he's a nut case, and she respects him, and when she needs to take him to task for being a bit too inconsiderate of things like procedure and law, there's no "cop-vs.-not" tension, simply one professional explaining something to another. Rounding out the players are Tim Kang as a seasoned officer, and Owen Yeomain and Amanda Righettit as a younger pair. Kang's Det. Cho is someone who's clearly seen a lot, and handles it on the job in a very matter-of-fact way without coming off as disconnected, and as a person, he's well-adjusted (as a homicide detective should be, to qualify the psych profiles) and has a nicely quiet humour. Yeomain's Rigsby is more of a California boy, younger and easily excited with an easy, happy manner, constantly vying with Righetti's Van Pelt to be the one to impress the boss, but still the kind of person who would be make detective - he knows restraint. Van Pelt isn't a stereotype of a young woman trying to prove herself as a cop, but rather a young cop trying to prove herself as a cop - but again, not in any kind of pushy, out-of-the-way manner. These are some of the most normal people you'll ever see on screen. And, most importantly, they're all good cops. This week's episode opened with a brilliant scene of everyone waiting around the California-Nevada state line to hear the verdict on what state a disembodied hand near the line belongs to. Patrick does his thing, looking at how the nails are groomed, lines where rings were worn, etc., and calls what kind of job was held by the man the hand belonged to, which leads to a wonderfully normal (and funny) wager between him and Cho in the amount of how much change is in Cho's pocket. Which leads to a shocked rebuke from Van Pelt ("you can't gamble on body parts!"), and Rigsby's cheerful disagreement ("You can't do that in California. But...(takes a step) we're in Nevada now! So it's okay!" or something along those lines). It was so comfortable, and natural, and real, and even more so because the boss, Lisbon, wasn't involved, because she was doing her job and consulting with the leader of the Nevada team to determine jurisdiction.
Comfort is the keyword here. This show is very comfortable with itself, its premise, its characters, Patrick's job, its larger-than-life (California) setting - everything about it is comfortable. It's not self-conscious, or trying to prove something, or trying to manufacture drama. It just is, and that is why it works so very well.
The Mentalist is a CBS show; we watch it here in Edmonton on Access, Mondays at 8.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I Heart Diversity
Coinciding with today's Remembrance ceremonies, let's all wish a happy 89th birthday to Gen. Mikhail Kalashnikov (Ret'd). Irony? Comedy? Logic? Confusion? (Q: Mikhail Who? A: Look it up!) You decide!
In today's random news bits, the Edmonton Journal has an article on the front page regarding the city's recent syphilis outbreak in which the author derides the provincial health authority, saying that it's "all well and good" to say that citizens are responsible for their sexual health, but the the health authority should be more involved. Which leads to the question, if one is going to holistically champion Pierre Trudeau's assertion that the nation has no place in the bedrooms of the people, then wouldn't one have to agree that it is, for the most part, people having sex who are responsible for their own sexual health? Let's face it; less than three years ago in Toronto, a school board survey (high school level) revealed that a whopping 60% of Toronto-area teens believed that AIDS is a low-risk, curable disease, which in turn revealed that it the possibility it doesn't matter how much education is given in terms of high-risk sex and knowledge of communicable diseases. Perhaps everyone's just listening to Trudeau and ignoring The Man's advice in regards to their sex lives. Of course, than you run into the paradox of the fact that serious and easily communicable STDs like syphilis are a public health issue, in spite of the fact that they're sexually transmitted, and Trudeau's mantra breaks down quicker than a trick-or-treaters tooth enamel.
But, personally, the fact that Kalashnikov's birthday coincides with Armistice Day is far more interesting.
In today's random news bits, the Edmonton Journal has an article on the front page regarding the city's recent syphilis outbreak in which the author derides the provincial health authority, saying that it's "all well and good" to say that citizens are responsible for their sexual health, but the the health authority should be more involved. Which leads to the question, if one is going to holistically champion Pierre Trudeau's assertion that the nation has no place in the bedrooms of the people, then wouldn't one have to agree that it is, for the most part, people having sex who are responsible for their own sexual health? Let's face it; less than three years ago in Toronto, a school board survey (high school level) revealed that a whopping 60% of Toronto-area teens believed that AIDS is a low-risk, curable disease, which in turn revealed that it the possibility it doesn't matter how much education is given in terms of high-risk sex and knowledge of communicable diseases. Perhaps everyone's just listening to Trudeau and ignoring The Man's advice in regards to their sex lives. Of course, than you run into the paradox of the fact that serious and easily communicable STDs like syphilis are a public health issue, in spite of the fact that they're sexually transmitted, and Trudeau's mantra breaks down quicker than a trick-or-treaters tooth enamel.
But, personally, the fact that Kalashnikov's birthday coincides with Armistice Day is far more interesting.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Artists who are Interested in Life, Part II
Tony and Ridley Scott's Numb3rs has really found its legs the past three years and morphed into one of the strongest shows on network TV. Focusing on the Eppes family, consisting of retired city planner/widower Alan (Taxi's Judd Hirsch), FBI team leader Don (Rob Morrow, Northern Exposure), and former child prodigy and adult math genius turned professor/FBI consultant Charlie (Bernhard Krumholtz), Numb3rs is a strong study in interpersonal and family relations, and has some solid cop action to boot. If you gave up on it after the first two seasons, it's time to try again.
Anyways, the reason I bring it up now is because last night's episode presented something not typically seen in primetime. For the past two seasons or so, Don has been in an actively self-destructive spiral, manifested by a string of relationships that have all failed for the same reason and increasingly risky behaviour on the job. Two weeks ago, he found himself having reached the point where he recognized this behaviour as being born from a need he's been trying to fill, but unable to name, and the episode closed with him walking into a synagogue, something he hadn't done as an active participant since his bar mitzvah. This week, that translated into some tentative questions for Charlie's best friend, Larry, who spent most of last season living at a monastery as part of a spiritual quest after having had the opportunity to be a specialist on a shuttle mission. And this was unusual for contemporary primetime for two reasons. First, because Larry continues to voice what is a reality for many people deeply immersed in math and science; that their studies in these areas have convinced them of the existence of God. Second, because after walking in on the conversation (which was taking place in his kitchen), Alan asked Don, in all seriousness, if he (Don) felt he'd been cheated because Alan hadn't raised him in the faith.
Just to re-iterate: a father asks a son, on a regular network show, if he feels he's harmed his child by not raising him in a religious manner. TV usually shoots for the other way around. Numb3rs, on this issue and others, is interested in both sides of the equation, and that's a large part of why it rocks.
Anyways, the reason I bring it up now is because last night's episode presented something not typically seen in primetime. For the past two seasons or so, Don has been in an actively self-destructive spiral, manifested by a string of relationships that have all failed for the same reason and increasingly risky behaviour on the job. Two weeks ago, he found himself having reached the point where he recognized this behaviour as being born from a need he's been trying to fill, but unable to name, and the episode closed with him walking into a synagogue, something he hadn't done as an active participant since his bar mitzvah. This week, that translated into some tentative questions for Charlie's best friend, Larry, who spent most of last season living at a monastery as part of a spiritual quest after having had the opportunity to be a specialist on a shuttle mission. And this was unusual for contemporary primetime for two reasons. First, because Larry continues to voice what is a reality for many people deeply immersed in math and science; that their studies in these areas have convinced them of the existence of God. Second, because after walking in on the conversation (which was taking place in his kitchen), Alan asked Don, in all seriousness, if he (Don) felt he'd been cheated because Alan hadn't raised him in the faith.
Just to re-iterate: a father asks a son, on a regular network show, if he feels he's harmed his child by not raising him in a religious manner. TV usually shoots for the other way around. Numb3rs, on this issue and others, is interested in both sides of the equation, and that's a large part of why it rocks.
Life was his sentence. Life is what he got back.
I don't believe I've tipped my hat to Life yet in this space - my memories are all confined to my long-defunct Facebook page. I just got the news that NBC will in fact be allowing the show to complete its season, and this makes me happy, and I'm going to tell you why.
Life premiered last season and tells the story of Detective Charlie Crews (Damian Lewis, Band of Brothers), who was wrongly convicted of a particularly gruesome triple-homicide and spent twelve years in the can before being exonerated. Granted an unspecified (but clearly massive) cash settlement, and his request to re-join the force as a homicide detective (he was a beat cop at the time of his arrest), Charlie is a man looking for answers on many levels. His time on the inside changed him, obviously, in some very believable ways. After twelve years of living in a cell, he's purchased a huge mansion that remains unfurnished except for a bed and a few bar stools around the kitchen island. Fresh fruit being one of the things not on the menu in a federal pen, he's become obsessed with the stuff (a man after my own heart). During his sentence, he turned to extensive Zen study to help himself cope, and though he seems to wish he believed the platitudes he constantly irritates his new partner with, it's been made very clear that he doesn't. Charlie's one of the most interesting and believable passive-aggressives on TV, and Damian Lewis is great at his job. As are the writers, for creating and maintaining a man who is far from cliched.
Rounding out the cast are the afore-mentioned partner, Det. Reese, nicely played by Sara Shahi and, again, well-maintained by the writing staff, as well as Charlie's housemate and the new captain. I haven't seen a female detective on TV who buttonned her shirts and was, you know, a good cop, since New Amsterdam was cancelled the same year Life premiered. Two things in particular separate Reese from the stereotypical sassy lady cop: her quiet personality, and the fact that while Charlie can irritate her, she's quiet, and temperate, and doesn't go flipping out about what a freak he is, nor secretly denying her attraction to him. That's one of the best (and most unusual) things about this show: there is no sexual tension between Crews and Reese. There never has been, and there probably never will be. It's not an issue. And yet, there is still chemistry between the two characters - it's just normal, cop partner chemistry. That's really refreshing, and, frankly, makes the show far more interesting than comparable-quality dramas run on sexual tension.
Right, two other players! Ha ha! Charlie met his housemate, Ted, when they shared a prison cell. Ted (the always enjoyable Adam Arkin) was an accountant, in other words, a white-collar criminal, and clearly didn't do well in prison. Quiet, and with a sense of being perpetually crushed that somehow doesn't drool itself into a sense of pathetic, Ted is a nice counterpart for Charlie. After losing last season's captain in the aftermath of...oh, I won't spoil it for you, Ottawa-born Donal Logue was brought on to replace her, and is very welcome. The previous captain was strong and believable, no-nonsense without being a hard ass. This one is equally believable, and...well...I'm not sure how to describe him. It's almost as if a California beach bum grew up in New York and then went to the police academy, and retained his personality, but still became (as has been proven on-screen) good at his job. He provides a reliable string of black humour, and a general relateability factor that we don't often get from Charlie or Reese. I'm really digging this guy. The seeds of romance planted for him and Reese in the last two episodes - well, longer than that, as he's been offering comments verging on sexual harassment all season long - and I appear to be the only one seeing no problem of believability with this one. She's somewhat quiet and reserved but hardly timid; he's not loud but is quite far from reserved...he's pretty crass, but I think he's a good guy, and this is an interesting match. Of course, people are hollering about a lack of realism, because Sarah Shahi is slender and quite lovely and Donal Logue is not, shall we say, a Hollywood hunk. Yep, that would never happen in real life. Never.
Never!
Other good things about Life include the fact that they've already moved past "who is the real murderer?" and are now (sloooowly) focusing on the bigger question of, who are the cops who framed Charlie, and why, and how does it all tie back to the Bank of L.A. heist? There hasn't been quite enough story development yet this season for my liking, but I'll let that slide as they've been busy integrating a new character, but what story's been given so far has been tight. On a rather different note, Life also has one of my favourite things to see on a cop show: cops using, you know, proper cop procedure, the kind that TV audiences have been so cheated of that a reviewer in the Toronto Star once described a scene of the guys on Raines actually entering an armed suspect's house properly, and then blasted the show for lack of realism because he genuinely believed that the way to breach was by one or two detectives without backup...because that's how TV's always done it.
As Life was almost denied a full second season by NBC, there's a good chance it'll be gone for good by April, so why not start streaming what you've missed now? In Canada, it airs 8pm. Fridays on Global.
Life premiered last season and tells the story of Detective Charlie Crews (Damian Lewis, Band of Brothers), who was wrongly convicted of a particularly gruesome triple-homicide and spent twelve years in the can before being exonerated. Granted an unspecified (but clearly massive) cash settlement, and his request to re-join the force as a homicide detective (he was a beat cop at the time of his arrest), Charlie is a man looking for answers on many levels. His time on the inside changed him, obviously, in some very believable ways. After twelve years of living in a cell, he's purchased a huge mansion that remains unfurnished except for a bed and a few bar stools around the kitchen island. Fresh fruit being one of the things not on the menu in a federal pen, he's become obsessed with the stuff (a man after my own heart). During his sentence, he turned to extensive Zen study to help himself cope, and though he seems to wish he believed the platitudes he constantly irritates his new partner with, it's been made very clear that he doesn't. Charlie's one of the most interesting and believable passive-aggressives on TV, and Damian Lewis is great at his job. As are the writers, for creating and maintaining a man who is far from cliched.
Rounding out the cast are the afore-mentioned partner, Det. Reese, nicely played by Sara Shahi and, again, well-maintained by the writing staff, as well as Charlie's housemate and the new captain. I haven't seen a female detective on TV who buttonned her shirts and was, you know, a good cop, since New Amsterdam was cancelled the same year Life premiered. Two things in particular separate Reese from the stereotypical sassy lady cop: her quiet personality, and the fact that while Charlie can irritate her, she's quiet, and temperate, and doesn't go flipping out about what a freak he is, nor secretly denying her attraction to him. That's one of the best (and most unusual) things about this show: there is no sexual tension between Crews and Reese. There never has been, and there probably never will be. It's not an issue. And yet, there is still chemistry between the two characters - it's just normal, cop partner chemistry. That's really refreshing, and, frankly, makes the show far more interesting than comparable-quality dramas run on sexual tension.
Right, two other players! Ha ha! Charlie met his housemate, Ted, when they shared a prison cell. Ted (the always enjoyable Adam Arkin) was an accountant, in other words, a white-collar criminal, and clearly didn't do well in prison. Quiet, and with a sense of being perpetually crushed that somehow doesn't drool itself into a sense of pathetic, Ted is a nice counterpart for Charlie. After losing last season's captain in the aftermath of...oh, I won't spoil it for you, Ottawa-born Donal Logue was brought on to replace her, and is very welcome. The previous captain was strong and believable, no-nonsense without being a hard ass. This one is equally believable, and...well...I'm not sure how to describe him. It's almost as if a California beach bum grew up in New York and then went to the police academy, and retained his personality, but still became (as has been proven on-screen) good at his job. He provides a reliable string of black humour, and a general relateability factor that we don't often get from Charlie or Reese. I'm really digging this guy. The seeds of romance planted for him and Reese in the last two episodes - well, longer than that, as he's been offering comments verging on sexual harassment all season long - and I appear to be the only one seeing no problem of believability with this one. She's somewhat quiet and reserved but hardly timid; he's not loud but is quite far from reserved...he's pretty crass, but I think he's a good guy, and this is an interesting match. Of course, people are hollering about a lack of realism, because Sarah Shahi is slender and quite lovely and Donal Logue is not, shall we say, a Hollywood hunk. Yep, that would never happen in real life. Never.
Never!
Other good things about Life include the fact that they've already moved past "who is the real murderer?" and are now (sloooowly) focusing on the bigger question of, who are the cops who framed Charlie, and why, and how does it all tie back to the Bank of L.A. heist? There hasn't been quite enough story development yet this season for my liking, but I'll let that slide as they've been busy integrating a new character, but what story's been given so far has been tight. On a rather different note, Life also has one of my favourite things to see on a cop show: cops using, you know, proper cop procedure, the kind that TV audiences have been so cheated of that a reviewer in the Toronto Star once described a scene of the guys on Raines actually entering an armed suspect's house properly, and then blasted the show for lack of realism because he genuinely believed that the way to breach was by one or two detectives without backup...because that's how TV's always done it.
As Life was almost denied a full second season by NBC, there's a good chance it'll be gone for good by April, so why not start streaming what you've missed now? In Canada, it airs 8pm. Fridays on Global.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Like a Trail of Goldfish Dung: The Adventures of Sanjuro
Art tends to be both cyclical and reciprocal. Akira Kurosawa drew inspiration from John Ford. Sergio Leone drew inspiration from Akira Kurosawa. The result on all ends was some brilliant, beautiful, thoughtful, and often fleetingly hilarious films. Last night, I had my first encounter with the man who inspired the Man with No Name: the titular hero of Akira Kurosawa's Sanjuro.
Sanjuro is a follow-up of sorts to Yojimbo ("Bodyguard"), the film Leone re-made virtually scene-for-scene as A Fistful of Dollars. Sanjuro takes place an indefinite time in the future, with our hero stumbling upon a group of clansmen fighting a corruption problem. Or, rather, the clansmen stumble upon him, as they happened to meet in a quasi-abandoned shrine that Sanjuro was sleeping in. Sanjuro is the quintessential ronin, a masterless samurai who's not had to commit ritual suicide (we don't know what happened to his master) and is instead set to wandering. His heart is not evil; he remains a samurai and desires to do good, and fight injustice. As such, the story of Sanjuro is a simple and familiar tale of an honourable lone wolf helping those who are weaker in their time of need. But its presentation, and especially its hero as portrayed by the always wonderful Kurosawa regular Toshiro Mifune, is what makes this film special.
Sanjuro is an anomaly, a good hero with a crass manner. Early in the film, his lack of compunction towards manners is evident, and he has no fear of causing offense if it may be good to do so. For example, after saving some lives, the men ask him what reward he would like. He replies that he is hungry, and would like money for a meal. When one of the men offers Sanjuro his whole purse, Sanjuro roots through it only for the cost of a meal and gives it back - in the manners of the time and place, he is saying, "your life is worth no more than the cost of a meal", and yet, he is refusing the money not to insult but because he doesn't believe saving one's life should render the person destitute. Later in the film, he offers himself as a footstool to an old woman so that she can quickly climb a wall to get out of harm's way, and she initally refuses, because it's rude, it's debasing to Sanjuro - but he insists this rude thing be done, because it is necessary for the safety of the whole group. The original Japanese theatrical trailer includes a scene wherein the nine clansmen are following Sanjuro as he attempts a stealth manoeuvre, and in frustration he tells them, "you're like a trail of goldfish dung!" - translated for American audiences as "we're moving like a centipede!". As anyone can tell you who's seen a small fish poop, goldfish dung is a great analogy here, as the fish has to swim and wriggle to get rid of the trail. In some ways, it's an analogy for most of Sanjuro's current life. It's also a very crass analogy. Sanjuro was released in 1962, but even today, we don't typically see heroes who are both noble/good-hearted and crass - if a hero has a rude manner, there's usually some character problem as well, and he is more of an antihero. Sanjuro is, cinematically, an anomaly, but realistically, a familiar heart. And can you remember the last time you saw a hero who, after being forced to kill a room full of bad guys because of an ally's error, was so furious and upset about being forced to take those lives that he proceeded to roundly curse his allies? Most heroes who don't like to kill just shut down. Not Sanjuro.
Thematically, the film is strong in its exploration of the idea that a good sword must often stay sheathed. There are some delightful humorous infusions, particularly a running joke involving a man in a closet. And why does the original Man with No Name have a name in this film? Well, let's just say that the hospital scene from Dave Foley's The Wrong Guy is a perfect mirror of its Sanjuro inspiration. And to top it all off, there's no such thing as a bad actor in a Kurosawa film. His productions are, in every sense, holistic. You'll see some breathtakingly gorgeous camera work in Sanjuro, as well as some that may seem strange, like shots that look like they were taken by someone sitting on the floor - which they probably were. Any older films, western and eastern, retain vestiges of stage blocking as filmmakers slowly discovered cinema as a separate art form, and in Japan, traditional kabuki theatre is watched by audiences seated on - you guessed it - the floor. So that explains that.
Here's one thing I was quite mistaken of: just because you know the Man with No Name, that does not mean you know Sanjuro. The two are almost polar opposites. Blondie shares Sanjuro's hatred of injustice, but For a Few Dollars More and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly demonstrated that as much as he hates injustice, he loves money more. At the end of the day (or reel), Blondie's true love is personal gain. He's a villain, and "anithero", and in many ways, he's no less evil than the men he bounty hunts. He's also rather stoic, as we westerners like our heroic men to be. Sanjuro is a whole other creature, of greater depth and a better heart (which he often wears on his sleeve). He's fascinating, tragic, and an all-around delight to watch.
Of course, this being 2008, I need to warn people that Sanjuro is both black-and-white and, unless you understand Japanese, subtitled - two things that are enough to send contemporary mass audiences fleeing. I've met too many people who flee from such criteria. Personally, I think that unless you have a reading disability or visual impairment, refusing to watch a film because of monochrome or subs is rather closed-minded and silly. Kurosawa's films are some of the greatest ever made - don't miss out on them because of stubbornness.
Sanjuro, Criterion Collection edition: it's worth your 96 minutes.
Sanjuro is a follow-up of sorts to Yojimbo ("Bodyguard"), the film Leone re-made virtually scene-for-scene as A Fistful of Dollars. Sanjuro takes place an indefinite time in the future, with our hero stumbling upon a group of clansmen fighting a corruption problem. Or, rather, the clansmen stumble upon him, as they happened to meet in a quasi-abandoned shrine that Sanjuro was sleeping in. Sanjuro is the quintessential ronin, a masterless samurai who's not had to commit ritual suicide (we don't know what happened to his master) and is instead set to wandering. His heart is not evil; he remains a samurai and desires to do good, and fight injustice. As such, the story of Sanjuro is a simple and familiar tale of an honourable lone wolf helping those who are weaker in their time of need. But its presentation, and especially its hero as portrayed by the always wonderful Kurosawa regular Toshiro Mifune, is what makes this film special.
Sanjuro is an anomaly, a good hero with a crass manner. Early in the film, his lack of compunction towards manners is evident, and he has no fear of causing offense if it may be good to do so. For example, after saving some lives, the men ask him what reward he would like. He replies that he is hungry, and would like money for a meal. When one of the men offers Sanjuro his whole purse, Sanjuro roots through it only for the cost of a meal and gives it back - in the manners of the time and place, he is saying, "your life is worth no more than the cost of a meal", and yet, he is refusing the money not to insult but because he doesn't believe saving one's life should render the person destitute. Later in the film, he offers himself as a footstool to an old woman so that she can quickly climb a wall to get out of harm's way, and she initally refuses, because it's rude, it's debasing to Sanjuro - but he insists this rude thing be done, because it is necessary for the safety of the whole group. The original Japanese theatrical trailer includes a scene wherein the nine clansmen are following Sanjuro as he attempts a stealth manoeuvre, and in frustration he tells them, "you're like a trail of goldfish dung!" - translated for American audiences as "we're moving like a centipede!". As anyone can tell you who's seen a small fish poop, goldfish dung is a great analogy here, as the fish has to swim and wriggle to get rid of the trail. In some ways, it's an analogy for most of Sanjuro's current life. It's also a very crass analogy. Sanjuro was released in 1962, but even today, we don't typically see heroes who are both noble/good-hearted and crass - if a hero has a rude manner, there's usually some character problem as well, and he is more of an antihero. Sanjuro is, cinematically, an anomaly, but realistically, a familiar heart. And can you remember the last time you saw a hero who, after being forced to kill a room full of bad guys because of an ally's error, was so furious and upset about being forced to take those lives that he proceeded to roundly curse his allies? Most heroes who don't like to kill just shut down. Not Sanjuro.
Thematically, the film is strong in its exploration of the idea that a good sword must often stay sheathed. There are some delightful humorous infusions, particularly a running joke involving a man in a closet. And why does the original Man with No Name have a name in this film? Well, let's just say that the hospital scene from Dave Foley's The Wrong Guy is a perfect mirror of its Sanjuro inspiration. And to top it all off, there's no such thing as a bad actor in a Kurosawa film. His productions are, in every sense, holistic. You'll see some breathtakingly gorgeous camera work in Sanjuro, as well as some that may seem strange, like shots that look like they were taken by someone sitting on the floor - which they probably were. Any older films, western and eastern, retain vestiges of stage blocking as filmmakers slowly discovered cinema as a separate art form, and in Japan, traditional kabuki theatre is watched by audiences seated on - you guessed it - the floor. So that explains that.
Here's one thing I was quite mistaken of: just because you know the Man with No Name, that does not mean you know Sanjuro. The two are almost polar opposites. Blondie shares Sanjuro's hatred of injustice, but For a Few Dollars More and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly demonstrated that as much as he hates injustice, he loves money more. At the end of the day (or reel), Blondie's true love is personal gain. He's a villain, and "anithero", and in many ways, he's no less evil than the men he bounty hunts. He's also rather stoic, as we westerners like our heroic men to be. Sanjuro is a whole other creature, of greater depth and a better heart (which he often wears on his sleeve). He's fascinating, tragic, and an all-around delight to watch.
Of course, this being 2008, I need to warn people that Sanjuro is both black-and-white and, unless you understand Japanese, subtitled - two things that are enough to send contemporary mass audiences fleeing. I've met too many people who flee from such criteria. Personally, I think that unless you have a reading disability or visual impairment, refusing to watch a film because of monochrome or subs is rather closed-minded and silly. Kurosawa's films are some of the greatest ever made - don't miss out on them because of stubbornness.
Sanjuro, Criterion Collection edition: it's worth your 96 minutes.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
This changes everything
So! President-Elect Barack Obama, eh?
First off, I don't think there's any country for which it could be more significant (in a good way) to have a black president. So I'm quite thrilled about that. And I'm also looking forward not only to the likely change in American image on the global stage, but to, perhaps, improved goodwill amongst Canadians. It's so fashionable here to make a point of pride about "not being like the U.S.", and Harper has taken a lot of flack for - horror of horrors! - being on good terms with his U.S. counterpart, but that's hardly a surprise, as PM's going as far back as Pearson have traditionally been at odds with their concurrent Presidents. What should prove interesting now, and why I think Canadian attitudes towards the U.S. will shift, is due to:
a) Obama's campaign has been about unity, and Harper has no fear of being united with our most significant ally. He also appears to have been planning for an Obama white house, as he stated back in August that he felt Obama would take it, which means...
b) Our PM will most likely be on good terms with a President the majority of Canada likes. This is a big deal, folks!
Perhaps this is all pie in the sky, but I think it would be very exciting if less Canadians clung to a knee-jerk snobbery in regards to looking down on America.
That's what I'm looking forward to with Obama's white house. But in the larger scheme of things, my gut reaction to his win has been fear. He's smooth, and charming, and tells people what they want to hear - in other words, in 22 months, he hasn't put any cards on the table involving stands that someone may not want to hear. In his (laudable) press for unity, he hasn't been willing to risk rocking the boat. What this adds up to is someone whose policies and stances are very murky. The reason I'd have been comfortable with a McCain white house is because I feel I'd know what to expect from it. Obama, with so little federal experience and so little said in 22 months of generally electrifying speeches, hasn't shown or told me what to expect from him at all, except that he apparently seeks to please everybody. But that's not a leader's role, not even in a democracy. It's not anywhere close to being realistic, either. But it's what the voters want to hear. This is why I would never vote here at home for Jack Layton, because of how his public statements on issues shift to match opinion polls, and it's what makes me so nervous about Obama.
Well...this gives me very good practice at not fearing, in a relatively simple test of heeding Christ's admonition to quit my worryin'. I do believe a lot of good can come from this administration. And, if nothing else, it will be the most fascinating American administration in my memory.
And hey! Nothing says interesting like an unpredictable Commander-in Chief! Am I wrong?
So well done, sir, and may you walk the straight and narrow.
First off, I don't think there's any country for which it could be more significant (in a good way) to have a black president. So I'm quite thrilled about that. And I'm also looking forward not only to the likely change in American image on the global stage, but to, perhaps, improved goodwill amongst Canadians. It's so fashionable here to make a point of pride about "not being like the U.S.", and Harper has taken a lot of flack for - horror of horrors! - being on good terms with his U.S. counterpart, but that's hardly a surprise, as PM's going as far back as Pearson have traditionally been at odds with their concurrent Presidents. What should prove interesting now, and why I think Canadian attitudes towards the U.S. will shift, is due to:
a) Obama's campaign has been about unity, and Harper has no fear of being united with our most significant ally. He also appears to have been planning for an Obama white house, as he stated back in August that he felt Obama would take it, which means...
b) Our PM will most likely be on good terms with a President the majority of Canada likes. This is a big deal, folks!
Perhaps this is all pie in the sky, but I think it would be very exciting if less Canadians clung to a knee-jerk snobbery in regards to looking down on America.
That's what I'm looking forward to with Obama's white house. But in the larger scheme of things, my gut reaction to his win has been fear. He's smooth, and charming, and tells people what they want to hear - in other words, in 22 months, he hasn't put any cards on the table involving stands that someone may not want to hear. In his (laudable) press for unity, he hasn't been willing to risk rocking the boat. What this adds up to is someone whose policies and stances are very murky. The reason I'd have been comfortable with a McCain white house is because I feel I'd know what to expect from it. Obama, with so little federal experience and so little said in 22 months of generally electrifying speeches, hasn't shown or told me what to expect from him at all, except that he apparently seeks to please everybody. But that's not a leader's role, not even in a democracy. It's not anywhere close to being realistic, either. But it's what the voters want to hear. This is why I would never vote here at home for Jack Layton, because of how his public statements on issues shift to match opinion polls, and it's what makes me so nervous about Obama.
Well...this gives me very good practice at not fearing, in a relatively simple test of heeding Christ's admonition to quit my worryin'. I do believe a lot of good can come from this administration. And, if nothing else, it will be the most fascinating American administration in my memory.
And hey! Nothing says interesting like an unpredictable Commander-in Chief! Am I wrong?
So well done, sir, and may you walk the straight and narrow.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I Make My Own Reality!
I don't usually find much of interest on CNN Entertainment's Marquee Blog, but this post on the lack of "real characters" on primetime TV caught my eye.
Now, poster Katie McLaughlin doesn't go out of her way to define what constitutes the "real[istic] characters" whose loss she's lamenting, but as far as I can tell "real" in this context means the one show she references as an example, that being the Connors on Roseanne. Since that's the only yardstick she offers as the basis of her post, the conclusion I've reached is that "real characters" are blue-collar, loudmouthed folks who still manage to maintain happy family bonds.
This poses two problems for me. The first is that, though TV has gone overboard in this direction as of late, unhappy families are no less realistic than the happy ones - in fact, I seem to remember hearing lots of whining (not from Ms. McLaughlin in particular) about the happy family sitcoms of yore as being unrealistic. And, as any poor schlub must grudgingly attest to, white-collar families are a fact of life too. Granted, they could be shown in primetime without going to 90210 or Gossip Girl extremes, but still.
Second, I've observed that recent shows with "real characters" have either taken lots of flack, or been cancelled altogether, like Journeyman, which had the most true marriage I can remember on the small screen. In the "lots of flack" category, let's take a look at two of the most widely reviled: Two and a Half Men and According to Jim. Men is a very adult show starring Charlie Sheen as a rich, narcissistic, hedonistic, sex fiend who's grudgingly taken in his brother and nephew after the former's messy divorce. The criticisms I've heard about this show are primarily directed at the Charlie character, and how he's too unpleasant. The thing is, there are lots of other past and present primetime stars like Charlie - the difference with Two and a Half Men is that it actually dares to show this spoiled, self-obsessed playboy as being a miserable and offensive person whose lifestyle is a farce, not a goal. And in that, Two and a Half Men has one of the most boldly realistic characters I've seen on TV, period. According to Jim gets most of its flack because it's "unrealistic" that someone who looks like Jim Belushi could win the love (and hand in marriage) of a gorgeous blonde like Courtney Thorne-Smith. This odd new sexism has been especially rampant since the promo posters for Knocked Up featured a headshot of Seth Rogen under the slogan, "Would you sleep with this guy?" - the joke, of course, being that Seth Rogen doesn't exactly fall under the common definiton of good looking, and that the girl who does sleep with him is, again, a gorgeous blonde. A couple of months ago, the Toronto Star ran a horrific full-page article whose thesis was that there must be something wrong with beautiful people (celebrities) who marry not-so-beautiful people. I kid you not. Just last week, in honour of Zack and Miri Make A Porno - Seth Rogen again! - , the Edmonton Journal did an article about how ridiculous and unrealistic movies are wherein the leading man isn't good-looking (according to them), but the leading lady is. My point is, if such mind-bogglingly infantile definitions of realism are publicly accepted, then it's no wonder the studios are just giving the people what most of them want.
At any rate, unless the conversation is limited solely to sitcoms, I don't think there's a terrible dearth of believable or realistic TV denizens at the moment. On Chuck alone, Chuck, Morgan, Sarah, Casey, Ellie, Lester, and even Captain Awesome are all people I've met at some point. Rodney McKay and Radek Zelenka from Stargate: Atlantis. Col. Tigh, Gaius Baltar, and Laura Roslin from Battlestar Galactica. Van Pelt and Rigsby from The Mentalist. Sam, Dean, and Bobby from Supernatural. The Epps family from Numb3rs. Heck, even Brent and Lacey from Corner Gas. A lack? I'd have to disagree.
I guess it all depends on what you watch and where you watch it. And what you think makes a character real.
Now, poster Katie McLaughlin doesn't go out of her way to define what constitutes the "real[istic] characters" whose loss she's lamenting, but as far as I can tell "real" in this context means the one show she references as an example, that being the Connors on Roseanne. Since that's the only yardstick she offers as the basis of her post, the conclusion I've reached is that "real characters" are blue-collar, loudmouthed folks who still manage to maintain happy family bonds.
This poses two problems for me. The first is that, though TV has gone overboard in this direction as of late, unhappy families are no less realistic than the happy ones - in fact, I seem to remember hearing lots of whining (not from Ms. McLaughlin in particular) about the happy family sitcoms of yore as being unrealistic. And, as any poor schlub must grudgingly attest to, white-collar families are a fact of life too. Granted, they could be shown in primetime without going to 90210 or Gossip Girl extremes, but still.
Second, I've observed that recent shows with "real characters" have either taken lots of flack, or been cancelled altogether, like Journeyman, which had the most true marriage I can remember on the small screen. In the "lots of flack" category, let's take a look at two of the most widely reviled: Two and a Half Men and According to Jim. Men is a very adult show starring Charlie Sheen as a rich, narcissistic, hedonistic, sex fiend who's grudgingly taken in his brother and nephew after the former's messy divorce. The criticisms I've heard about this show are primarily directed at the Charlie character, and how he's too unpleasant. The thing is, there are lots of other past and present primetime stars like Charlie - the difference with Two and a Half Men is that it actually dares to show this spoiled, self-obsessed playboy as being a miserable and offensive person whose lifestyle is a farce, not a goal. And in that, Two and a Half Men has one of the most boldly realistic characters I've seen on TV, period. According to Jim gets most of its flack because it's "unrealistic" that someone who looks like Jim Belushi could win the love (and hand in marriage) of a gorgeous blonde like Courtney Thorne-Smith. This odd new sexism has been especially rampant since the promo posters for Knocked Up featured a headshot of Seth Rogen under the slogan, "Would you sleep with this guy?" - the joke, of course, being that Seth Rogen doesn't exactly fall under the common definiton of good looking, and that the girl who does sleep with him is, again, a gorgeous blonde. A couple of months ago, the Toronto Star ran a horrific full-page article whose thesis was that there must be something wrong with beautiful people (celebrities) who marry not-so-beautiful people. I kid you not. Just last week, in honour of Zack and Miri Make A Porno - Seth Rogen again! - , the Edmonton Journal did an article about how ridiculous and unrealistic movies are wherein the leading man isn't good-looking (according to them), but the leading lady is. My point is, if such mind-bogglingly infantile definitions of realism are publicly accepted, then it's no wonder the studios are just giving the people what most of them want.
At any rate, unless the conversation is limited solely to sitcoms, I don't think there's a terrible dearth of believable or realistic TV denizens at the moment. On Chuck alone, Chuck, Morgan, Sarah, Casey, Ellie, Lester, and even Captain Awesome are all people I've met at some point. Rodney McKay and Radek Zelenka from Stargate: Atlantis. Col. Tigh, Gaius Baltar, and Laura Roslin from Battlestar Galactica. Van Pelt and Rigsby from The Mentalist. Sam, Dean, and Bobby from Supernatural. The Epps family from Numb3rs. Heck, even Brent and Lacey from Corner Gas. A lack? I'd have to disagree.
I guess it all depends on what you watch and where you watch it. And what you think makes a character real.
"____________? I've heard of you! I thought you were DEAD!" Part 1 in a series.
I don't watch The Hour on purpose, but Corey will often sneak a peak to see who the guest is - they tend to be almost bizarre in their diversity. So, hence, at supper tonight:
Indeed, Canada's most legendary ex-pat Scot, he who kept owls, fought in WWII, and wrote one of the books that most terrified me as a child*, is not only still alive, and allegedly looking ever more like St. Nick, but writing one last book. And still wearing that tam. So. Sometimes, it's nice to be wrong.
*Lost in the Barrens
Corey: Guess who was on The Hour last night!
Me: Who?
Corey: Farley Mowat!
Me: He's still alive???
Indeed, Canada's most legendary ex-pat Scot, he who kept owls, fought in WWII, and wrote one of the books that most terrified me as a child*, is not only still alive, and allegedly looking ever more like St. Nick, but writing one last book. And still wearing that tam. So. Sometimes, it's nice to be wrong.
*Lost in the Barrens
Saturday, November 1, 2008
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Alan Moore is a grumpy man. A very grumpy man with a very bitter (and probably permanent) grudge against Hollywood. The film version of his League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was so spectacularly awful that it caused Sean Connery to quit acting, and that's saying something, as Sean Connery had prior experience with some truly shameful productions. I was unfamiliar with any of Moore's work at the time LXG was released in theatres, so I figured it was just a plain old unbelievably bad movie. Then I read Watchmen for the first time, and shortly thereafter learned that LXG was a Moore book, and got very, very interested.
Penned by Moore and extended with lush, living, period-inspired illustrations by Kevin O'Neill, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is a first rate comic-turned-graphic novel meant for people who read. The premise is that the works of Verne, Wells, Conan Doyle, Stoker, Stevenson, and others of the sort, are true accounts of events, and that England has responded by forming MI-5. MI-5, in turn, has sought to recruit those it feels are able and qualified to serve as agents of the Crown by responding to the more, er, unusual threats to national security. Consisting of legendary adventurer Allan Quartermain, Captain Nemo, Hawley Griffin the Invisible Man, and Dr. Jekyll (but mostly Mr. Hyde), and led by Dracula's Mina Murray (formerly Harker), the League's first mission (Vol. I) is wonderfully old-fashionned. The anti-gravity matter from The First Men in the Moon (a Wells book filmed by Ray Harryhausen) has been stolen by that omnipresent villain of yore, a Chinese criminal mastermind (basically, Dr. Fu Manchu) who seeks to use it to rain down aerial bombardment on Britain, and it is this crisis that has led directly to the formation of the League. In and of itself, it's a basic and familiar story, and much adventuring - and literary referencing - ensues.
What makes League such a strong, interesting, and all-around great book is Moore's love of, interest in, and commitment to the old stories. This could also be a hinderance to many readers, and is probably why the film producers had no interest in it - I have at least a passing familiarity with 99% of the literary references made, and there were times when I felt like an outsider. However, this has only served to pique my interest in further reading - probably one of Moore's goals. Everyone wants to share the stories they love, and this is as effective a way as any. Moore incorporates them is a point of brilliance - volume II melds HowThe War of the Worlds with in a genius and delightfully (horribly) morbid way. Let's just say that, even though it freaked me out before, I'll never look at The Island of Dr. MoreauThe Wind in the Willows the same way again. As well, he isn't choosy or snobby with what he uses. Early on in volume II, a battle on the surface of Mars sees the Sorns from C.S. Lewis' space trilogy saving the day for the human settlers - an inclusion from a story that isn't too widely known (and, where known, frequently disregarded), but the non-snobs in the know consider it one of the greatest of its genre. Interestingly enough, as Corey pointed out, Lewis may have been the first person to go hard-core on mixing mythologies - a primary source of influence for Moore, perhaps? The old stories also influence the style of the work, from the fact that the characters use period phrases like "chinaman", to the illustrations, to the fun tongue-in-cheek add-ins on the book jacket and as epilogues. Volume I is a good ol' adventure; volume II is a horror story.
As with any Moore work, there is plenty to discourage the more delicate reader - in this case, his unflinching (and visual) look at the nature of sin, evil, and violence. Mr. Hyde is the physical embodiment of Dr. Jekyll's sin; in effect, the physical embodiment of sin itself, and Moore treats him as such. He's very big, very strong, and wholly savage, feral, and evil, and his method of choice for killing - even sanctioned killing - involves biting and ripping off heads and limbs. The Invisible Man is the true Invisible Man, not the impish, powers-for-good champion so often seen in other incarnations. Hawley Griffin is a man whose morality has eroded to nothing because he has become nothing - no one will ever find his sins out, thus infusing him with the most evil of freedoms. He has become drunk on the fact that there is nothing he can't get away with, to the point where he sees no more point to not doing evil. When Mina and Quartermain first track him down, it's because he's become a serial rapist at a girls boarding school. In a later scene, he beats a policeman to death with a brick and shovel so that he can steal his clothes. Griffin is an extreme, but the same day I read vol. I, I was enjoying some fresh air on my lunch break and asked someone what time it was. When I learned it was the end of my break, and went to go back inside, the person said, "oh, stay a few minutes more, no one will notice" - and though I told her it was important to me that I not do that, the assertion that the majority of self-discipline and morality is based on whether or not we'll get caught sprang off the page and hit me hard with how frighteningly innocuous and pervasive it is. Griffin is not Moore's character, but he's a brilliant, striking character, essential in his repulsiveness. So many adhere to the teachings of the Invisible Man; Moore and O'Neill remind us just how horrific, and how wrong, those teachings are.
Yep, to re-iterate the point I was trying to make: Moore and O'Neill take violence seriously by showing it as something horrific. Read League and you will see fairly realistic depections of people being rent from limb to limb, run through with swords, being beaten to death, getting parts of their skulls sheared off by impact, and in vol. II, though it is interestingly the one act of violence that is not graphic (and is, in the end, largely implicit), Hyde sodomizes a man to death as slowly as possible. But let me make one thing clear: none of this, as far as the book is concerned, is cool. Moore doesn't think it's cool. It's not depicted as cool. It's meant to offend and repulse and horrify, for the best of reasons. I suspect a part of it may be due to the fact of how often Dr. Hyde and the Invisible Man have been tamed into creations that aren't so bad or too dangerous, despite the fact that Hyde is sin incarnate and the Invisible Man is the death of morality. I don't believe there is any other way violence should be presented than the way Moore and others like him present it. I would suggest that PG and PG-13 works that show acts of violence in tame and censor-friendly manners do evil and share much responsibility for perpetuating desensitivity by denying the truth of such acts, and ignoring or hiding the consequences thereof. Think of how many villains have been hit in the face by shovels in PG movies. Now think of how many of those same villains were next seen motionless on the ground with broken noses, smashed features, or flattened skulls leaking grey matter. The answer will be none, and yet, this is what happens when people are hit in the face with heavy blunt objects swung with force and intent to harm. I'm not saying you should read your kids League as a bedtime story; I am saying that I far prefer being horrified by seeing the depiction of such an act rather than getting a (literally) harmless chuckle out of it.
Oh yeah, there's also some sex in vol. II, but I don't find I can call it graphic. Not because it isn't plainly depicted, but because it's very realistically depicted. Not sensationalized, or particularly romanticized, it's just two broken people having sex the way people have sex. "Graphic" has come to be used in a negative sense, usually to denote an exploitative depiction of something. I would say there is no content in the book that is, in that sense of the word, graphic. I think I have to be honest, though, that I would have been very uncomfortable if I'd have read this before I was married, and not sexually active.
Another strong point of storytelling in this book is the fact that a woman chosen to lead the league is not some ridiculous, rah-rah, you-go-girl feminist device. Mina Murray, for those of you who haven't read Bram Stoker's fantastic book, is the only person to survive a full encounter with Dracula. Before being captured and assaulted (and bitten) by the Count, she witnessed from a distance her husband's suffering at Dracula's hands, and her best friend's slow death and eventually euthanasia as the result of a bite. She witnessed, and went toe-to-toe with, one of the greatest fictional horrors mankind has known. In other words, she isn't just intelligent, clever, and resourceful, but is also unlikely to encounter anything worse and, as such, has little to be unable to face (this is not to say that she has become immune to fear, or was not scarred by her experience). Though Mr. Hyde doesn't know the fullness of her story, she is the one person he respects, because though she fears him, she has encountered something worse than him and defeated it. Unlike Nemo, she is temperate and takes no thrill from domination or violence. She really is the most logical character, irrespective of gender, to head the League, so kudos to Moore for that.
(For those of you who have read Dracula, you're probably thinking, as I did, that there's no plausible reason why Mina would come to despise Jonathan so much that she would not only divorce him but revert to her maiden name. Moore devised a logical yet tragic one, revealed in vol. II)
If you've seen the film, and are feeling skeptical about the book, then I sure hope you've read Starship Troopers, because that's what we have here. Paul Verhoeven's take on Starship Troopers was not only a drastically awful film, it was also, bizarrely, the ideological antithesis of Heinlein's book. The only things the two had in common were character and place names. Starship Troopers is one of the finest sci-fi (and, in the fiction realm, poli-sci) books ever written. It's the same scenario with The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. This is one great book.
If you decide to read this fine tale, I suggest being familiar or somewhat familiar with the following (literary) titles: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The War of the Worlds, Dracula, The Invisible Man, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Mysterious Island (Ray Harryhausen's film would suffice here), and a story or two about Allan Quartermain (there are...several). A key secondary plot point requires knowledge of Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty in order to be at all interesting, and references are strewn throughout the book like sprinkles on a child's sundae and include everything from Moby Dick to Edgar Allen Poe's The Murder in the Rue Morgue and C.S. Lewis' Out of The Silent Planet / Perelandra to a bunch of things I've never heard of, like some Edgar Rice Burroughs yarn called A Princess of Mars. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen may be a comic, but it's not for people who aren't well-read. If all you know of the majority of the above titles are, well, the titles, or perhaps a film version, the chances that you'll be able to appreciate (or understand) this tale are slim at best. Personally, I've found that these are some pretty good books, though the writing styles of some can be a bit difficult to enjoy. But don't let that put you off - it would be a shame, really.
Volume III is due for release sometime next year; as a bound volume or as individual issues, I'm not sure. I await.
Penned by Moore and extended with lush, living, period-inspired illustrations by Kevin O'Neill, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is a first rate comic-turned-graphic novel meant for people who read. The premise is that the works of Verne, Wells, Conan Doyle, Stoker, Stevenson, and others of the sort, are true accounts of events, and that England has responded by forming MI-5. MI-5, in turn, has sought to recruit those it feels are able and qualified to serve as agents of the Crown by responding to the more, er, unusual threats to national security. Consisting of legendary adventurer Allan Quartermain, Captain Nemo, Hawley Griffin the Invisible Man, and Dr. Jekyll (but mostly Mr. Hyde), and led by Dracula's Mina Murray (formerly Harker), the League's first mission (Vol. I) is wonderfully old-fashionned. The anti-gravity matter from The First Men in the Moon (a Wells book filmed by Ray Harryhausen) has been stolen by that omnipresent villain of yore, a Chinese criminal mastermind (basically, Dr. Fu Manchu) who seeks to use it to rain down aerial bombardment on Britain, and it is this crisis that has led directly to the formation of the League. In and of itself, it's a basic and familiar story, and much adventuring - and literary referencing - ensues.
What makes League such a strong, interesting, and all-around great book is Moore's love of, interest in, and commitment to the old stories. This could also be a hinderance to many readers, and is probably why the film producers had no interest in it - I have at least a passing familiarity with 99% of the literary references made, and there were times when I felt like an outsider. However, this has only served to pique my interest in further reading - probably one of Moore's goals. Everyone wants to share the stories they love, and this is as effective a way as any. Moore incorporates them is a point of brilliance - volume II melds HowThe War of the Worlds with in a genius and delightfully (horribly) morbid way. Let's just say that, even though it freaked me out before, I'll never look at The Island of Dr. MoreauThe Wind in the Willows the same way again. As well, he isn't choosy or snobby with what he uses. Early on in volume II, a battle on the surface of Mars sees the Sorns from C.S. Lewis' space trilogy saving the day for the human settlers - an inclusion from a story that isn't too widely known (and, where known, frequently disregarded), but the non-snobs in the know consider it one of the greatest of its genre. Interestingly enough, as Corey pointed out, Lewis may have been the first person to go hard-core on mixing mythologies - a primary source of influence for Moore, perhaps? The old stories also influence the style of the work, from the fact that the characters use period phrases like "chinaman", to the illustrations, to the fun tongue-in-cheek add-ins on the book jacket and as epilogues. Volume I is a good ol' adventure; volume II is a horror story.
As with any Moore work, there is plenty to discourage the more delicate reader - in this case, his unflinching (and visual) look at the nature of sin, evil, and violence. Mr. Hyde is the physical embodiment of Dr. Jekyll's sin; in effect, the physical embodiment of sin itself, and Moore treats him as such. He's very big, very strong, and wholly savage, feral, and evil, and his method of choice for killing - even sanctioned killing - involves biting and ripping off heads and limbs. The Invisible Man is the true Invisible Man, not the impish, powers-for-good champion so often seen in other incarnations. Hawley Griffin is a man whose morality has eroded to nothing because he has become nothing - no one will ever find his sins out, thus infusing him with the most evil of freedoms. He has become drunk on the fact that there is nothing he can't get away with, to the point where he sees no more point to not doing evil. When Mina and Quartermain first track him down, it's because he's become a serial rapist at a girls boarding school. In a later scene, he beats a policeman to death with a brick and shovel so that he can steal his clothes. Griffin is an extreme, but the same day I read vol. I, I was enjoying some fresh air on my lunch break and asked someone what time it was. When I learned it was the end of my break, and went to go back inside, the person said, "oh, stay a few minutes more, no one will notice" - and though I told her it was important to me that I not do that, the assertion that the majority of self-discipline and morality is based on whether or not we'll get caught sprang off the page and hit me hard with how frighteningly innocuous and pervasive it is. Griffin is not Moore's character, but he's a brilliant, striking character, essential in his repulsiveness. So many adhere to the teachings of the Invisible Man; Moore and O'Neill remind us just how horrific, and how wrong, those teachings are.
Yep, to re-iterate the point I was trying to make: Moore and O'Neill take violence seriously by showing it as something horrific. Read League and you will see fairly realistic depections of people being rent from limb to limb, run through with swords, being beaten to death, getting parts of their skulls sheared off by impact, and in vol. II, though it is interestingly the one act of violence that is not graphic (and is, in the end, largely implicit), Hyde sodomizes a man to death as slowly as possible. But let me make one thing clear: none of this, as far as the book is concerned, is cool. Moore doesn't think it's cool. It's not depicted as cool. It's meant to offend and repulse and horrify, for the best of reasons. I suspect a part of it may be due to the fact of how often Dr. Hyde and the Invisible Man have been tamed into creations that aren't so bad or too dangerous, despite the fact that Hyde is sin incarnate and the Invisible Man is the death of morality. I don't believe there is any other way violence should be presented than the way Moore and others like him present it. I would suggest that PG and PG-13 works that show acts of violence in tame and censor-friendly manners do evil and share much responsibility for perpetuating desensitivity by denying the truth of such acts, and ignoring or hiding the consequences thereof. Think of how many villains have been hit in the face by shovels in PG movies. Now think of how many of those same villains were next seen motionless on the ground with broken noses, smashed features, or flattened skulls leaking grey matter. The answer will be none, and yet, this is what happens when people are hit in the face with heavy blunt objects swung with force and intent to harm. I'm not saying you should read your kids League as a bedtime story; I am saying that I far prefer being horrified by seeing the depiction of such an act rather than getting a (literally) harmless chuckle out of it.
Oh yeah, there's also some sex in vol. II, but I don't find I can call it graphic. Not because it isn't plainly depicted, but because it's very realistically depicted. Not sensationalized, or particularly romanticized, it's just two broken people having sex the way people have sex. "Graphic" has come to be used in a negative sense, usually to denote an exploitative depiction of something. I would say there is no content in the book that is, in that sense of the word, graphic. I think I have to be honest, though, that I would have been very uncomfortable if I'd have read this before I was married, and not sexually active.
Another strong point of storytelling in this book is the fact that a woman chosen to lead the league is not some ridiculous, rah-rah, you-go-girl feminist device. Mina Murray, for those of you who haven't read Bram Stoker's fantastic book, is the only person to survive a full encounter with Dracula. Before being captured and assaulted (and bitten) by the Count, she witnessed from a distance her husband's suffering at Dracula's hands, and her best friend's slow death and eventually euthanasia as the result of a bite. She witnessed, and went toe-to-toe with, one of the greatest fictional horrors mankind has known. In other words, she isn't just intelligent, clever, and resourceful, but is also unlikely to encounter anything worse and, as such, has little to be unable to face (this is not to say that she has become immune to fear, or was not scarred by her experience). Though Mr. Hyde doesn't know the fullness of her story, she is the one person he respects, because though she fears him, she has encountered something worse than him and defeated it. Unlike Nemo, she is temperate and takes no thrill from domination or violence. She really is the most logical character, irrespective of gender, to head the League, so kudos to Moore for that.
(For those of you who have read Dracula, you're probably thinking, as I did, that there's no plausible reason why Mina would come to despise Jonathan so much that she would not only divorce him but revert to her maiden name. Moore devised a logical yet tragic one, revealed in vol. II)
If you've seen the film, and are feeling skeptical about the book, then I sure hope you've read Starship Troopers, because that's what we have here. Paul Verhoeven's take on Starship Troopers was not only a drastically awful film, it was also, bizarrely, the ideological antithesis of Heinlein's book. The only things the two had in common were character and place names. Starship Troopers is one of the finest sci-fi (and, in the fiction realm, poli-sci) books ever written. It's the same scenario with The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. This is one great book.
If you decide to read this fine tale, I suggest being familiar or somewhat familiar with the following (literary) titles: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The War of the Worlds, Dracula, The Invisible Man, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Mysterious Island (Ray Harryhausen's film would suffice here), and a story or two about Allan Quartermain (there are...several). A key secondary plot point requires knowledge of Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty in order to be at all interesting, and references are strewn throughout the book like sprinkles on a child's sundae and include everything from Moby Dick to Edgar Allen Poe's The Murder in the Rue Morgue and C.S. Lewis' Out of The Silent Planet / Perelandra to a bunch of things I've never heard of, like some Edgar Rice Burroughs yarn called A Princess of Mars. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen may be a comic, but it's not for people who aren't well-read. If all you know of the majority of the above titles are, well, the titles, or perhaps a film version, the chances that you'll be able to appreciate (or understand) this tale are slim at best. Personally, I've found that these are some pretty good books, though the writing styles of some can be a bit difficult to enjoy. But don't let that put you off - it would be a shame, really.
Volume III is due for release sometime next year; as a bound volume or as individual issues, I'm not sure. I await.
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