If I tell my husband that he's insufficiently romantic, he'll ask me what "romantic" means. When you have no disposable income, romance looks like making supper, having coffee ready if you wake up before I do, and borrowing strange musicals for my viewing pleasure. And the original 1958 film version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific certainly qualifies as "strange".
Set in the Pacific theater of WWII and climaxing with an unspecified campaign that is essentially the Battle of Guadalcanal, South Pacific was written as a Broadway show in 1949 and based on two stories from James Michener's Tales of the South Pacific, a semi-autobiographical account of his wartime service. The show revolves around the relations between naive Midwestern nurse Nellie Forbush (Mitzi Gaynor), the confident, handsome, and mysterious French plantation owner Emile De Becque (Rossano Brazzi), Marine lieutenant Joe Cable (John Kerr), one very bored construction battalion led in spirit by entrepreneurial womanizer Luther Billis (Ray Walston, a.k.a. My Favourite Martian), and the local Tonkinese (Vietnamese) matriarch, Bloody Mary (Juanita Hall) and her daughter, Liat (France Nguyen). Lt. Cable has been sent by his captain to engage in some critical recon of the Japanese-occupied Marie-Louise island with the help of a locally stationed naval group, and it is through his eyes that we are introduced to the strange and magnificent world of the Solomon Islands. His mission may have an ace in the hole courtesy of local planter De Becque, who once lived and hunted on Marie-Louise, and who is utterly starry-eyed for Nellie, who Cable and the Navy ask to gather intelligence on De Becque before they make him an offer. This isn't such a bad request for Nellie, because she in return thinks Emile is the cat's pyjamas. Underlying this serious stuff is Luther, a character added by Michener at the request of Rodgers and Hammerstein to lighten things up. The only thing more antsy and bored than a GI sitting around waiting for action is a combat engineer with nothing to engineer, and Luther blows off steam by making grass skirts to sell as souvenirs, bartering (and bantering) with Bloody Mary, doing favours for the lovely Nellie, and trying to find an officer who will sign out a boat to Bali Hai - with Luther at the tiller. Bali Hai, an island in site of the naval base and off-limits to enlisted men and non-coms because that's where all the plantation women (and native women) have been evacuated to, is also legendary to the sailors for being the site of the local Boar's Tooth ceremony, a sort of hunting festival that involves booze, dancing, and, well, festivities - everything a bored engineer or sailor could want. He eventually convinces johnny-come-lately Cable to head on over, and in the course of the visit, Cable learns three things: a) Bloody Mary has a daughter, Liat, b) Liat is gorgeous, and c) Bloody Mary has it in her head that Cable will make Liat a good husband. With loneliness and loveliness both firmly at play, Cable falls head-over-heels for Liat, and they spend the next several weeks visiting and enjoying each other's company, until Bloody Mary gives Cable an ultimatum to marry Liat, and Cable makes a run for it - whether this is commitment-phobia, fear of not returning to the States, or racial nervousness is not specific in the context of the film, so read it however you like. All this came out on film three or four years before Kirk and Uhura gave us television's first interracial kiss.
Concurrently, Nellie has accepted a marriage proposal from Emile after a two-week whirlwind romance, and has learned that he fled France because he committed manslaughter - which she's okay with, he had a good reason, he's a good man, it was long ago, etc. What she's not okay with? Earlier in the film, in what must have caused a rash of double-takes across America, a pair of Tonkinese children run up and call Emile (who's not with Nellie at the time) 'papa'. After Nellie's accepted his proposal, he digs up the courage to tell her about the kids, and his dead native wife. Nellie freaks out and bolts, rebuffing all subsequent attempts by Emile to contact her. When Cable learns of Emile's broken heart, he does what any soldier good at their job does and gets the edge he needs by taking advantage of Emile at his most vulnerable, after he's been rejected by Nellie a second time, and the two of them start formulating their plan for insertion on to Marie-Louise.
This most recent viewing of South Pacific was my first time seeing it as an adult - the last time was a stage performance in 1998 - and even as a child, I felt it was brimming with unfulfilled potential in terms of the rushed feel to its racial storylines. It was just last year that I learned it was based on a Michener book, which I've been trying to get my hands on ever since. As I've said many times in this space, old-time writers and filmmakers weren't as a whole afraid of social taboos, and South Pacific is no exception. Can you imagine the audience reaction when Cable sings, regarding racism, "You've Got to Be Carefully Taught" ('you've got to be taught, before it's too late/before you are six or seven or eight/to hate all the people your relatives hate/you've got to be carefully taught!)? The whole show, from its Broadway beginnings, was subject to criticism, controversy, and accusations of Communism. It's also notable for, even on Broadway, using actors of appropriate nationality to play the roles of Bloody Mary and Liat. In the film, there are subtle touches like black and Native American faces amongst the construction battalion. What stands out most to me is the subtle-yet-not contrast of Nellie's reaction to Emile's crime versus the matter of Emile's children. In other words, she's completely okay with and able to brush off manslaughter, but can't compute the idea of Emile loving someone who isn't white. Shocking not in terms of politics but of story, especially in a genre known (and often derided) for it's gaity and light-heartedness, is a main character's unceremonious death off-screen.
As a musical, South Pacific is unquestionably one of the finest. With globally recognisable tunes like "Bloody Mary", "There Is Nothing Like A Dame", "Some Enchanted Evening", "Honey Bun", and "Younger than Springtime", it firmly cemented its place in history. Why I say its a strange one is because of the distinct lack of song and dance numbers. With the notable exceptions of the mind-blowing Boar's Tooth ceremony, and the hilarious cross-dressing "Honey Bun" sequence, all songs are sung in, well, very natural manners, the way a bunch of soldiers would sit around making a tune, or two people sitting together - they stay sitting together while they sing. A particularly happy character may break out into a spontaneous and very normal little jig, like in "I'm in Love With a Wonderful Guy", but that's it. It's especially unusual for a Rodgers and Hammerstein show. Even though South Pacific is one of their earlier film projects, preceeded only by State Fair and Oklahoma!, those two are still characterized by lavish dancing. (The next R&H film after South Pacific? The King and I.) It's also kind of wierd in a filmmaking sense. A heavy use of colour filters, a new technology at the time, was originally decided on by director Joshua Logan because he feared the richness of the on-location filming wouldn't translate sufficiently to the film stock of the time, which tended to flatten colours. 20th Century Fox then upped the filters even further before the film's release. Logan later regretted the decision, as the end result is a lot of scenes visually spoiled by mustard yellow or emerald green tinting, the kind of stuff film restorers can do nothing about. Speaking of film restorers, South Pacific is also unusual for being one of the few films that originally screened as what we'd call a "director's cut". Known as the "Roadshow Edition" and clocking in at nearly three hours, it was cut down to 2.5 before going into general release, and that was the South Pacific film audiences knew until an original cut was discovered in a private collection in the late 70's. It's been restored now as best as possible; unfortunately, there's only so much damage even the finest restorers can fix. Still, it's always great to have a film as it was intended to be seen. I have to admit, in spite of all this, the thing that I find oddest about the film is the casting of John Kerr at Lt. Cable. Sure, he was an established character actor by that time, but as a romantic lead, I just found him wierd. For one thing, he wasn't good-looking in the classical sense that you generally see in films from that era - he was a skinny, almost gawky guy, a bit weaselly, with small eyes and a large-ish mouth, kind of like a combination of a thinner version of the main character on Prison Break and the original Ferret-Face, Frank Burns on M*A*S*H. And he wasn't some exceptional singer, either - his songs are the most obviously dubbed as nasal almost-alto Cable breaks into a big low-tenor, to an effect more shocking than dreamy. Not a singer, not a classical hearththrob, and it was a role a dozen other actors of the time could have filled. I wonder if, perhaps, he was the only one courted who would love a Vietnamese woman on-screen.
A great musical, a historical document of cultural importance, and another weapon in the arsenal against the prevailing ignorance of an "innocent age" of film, South Pacific is a film that should not go unseen. Go ahead, rent the two-disc version so you can watch the complete film - it's worth it.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Who Needs Aisles When You've Got a Blog?
Oh my word.
Pun intended!
In today's National Post:
London - Words associated with Christianity, the monarchy, and British history have been dropped from the Oxford Junior Dictionary.
Words such as "aisle", "bishop", "chapel", "empire", and "monarch" have been removed and replaced with words that include "blog", "broadband", and "celebrity". [...] Oxford University Press says the changes reflect the fact that Britain is a modern, multicultural, multi-faith society.
This brings to my mind two questions. First, how exactly is multiculturalism and multi-faith...ism(?) promoted by deleting dictionary entries specific to a particular culture or faith? The OUP justification is pretty flimsy here. Last time I checked, diversity isn't served or promoted (or enacted!) by means of suppression. I'd use a "that's like saying..." example here, but the only ones I could think of were inappropriately extreme. I'm learning to check myself. So.
And second...does any child really need to go to the dictionary to know what a blog is? Are these additions really necessary? How, exactly, does the deliberate shrinking of vocabularies serve our kids? And not all these axed entries are words unique to the church - I can see legions of future children asking their mums what it means when the PA system calls for a cleanup in aisle three at the grocery store. Also axed this year was "abbey" - I can also see legions of future British children wondering what that big thing at Westminster is. And "empire", and "monarchy"...um. Yes, celebrities and "MP3 player" are far more important to understand than the very cornerstone of British history, society, and politics. Again...what kid needs a dictionary to tell them what an MP3 player is???
It has been a growing trend in the past decade or so for junior dictionaries, which are limited in terms of size in order to be easily used by small hands, to eliminate words that reflect the past (and the pastoral) in favour of urban, technological, and politically correct terms (who else finds it bitterly funny that "debate" was added this year to the OJD, while Christian and monarchist words were axed?). Look, I'm only twenty-four, and already I meet high-school kids who don't recognize words or concepts that are normal general knowledge to anyone my age. Sometimes I wonder if my generation is the last to be taught the old stories, to read things that our parents and grandparents read - stuff that's culturally important (and gramatically sound!). The reason I've been so taken recently with the works of Alastair Reynolds is that he one of the few remaining artists who works off of learning from what's come before, which elevates his stuff above the average crap in the Amazon.com sci-fi listings. The end result of this handing down of stories and learning is that even fluffy, uber-contemporary, pop-fantasy books, like Jim Butcher's paranormal detective series The Dresden Files, can make a (hilarious) connection with the richness of the past by saying things like, "Spenser never mentioned that the Faerie Queen had such a nice ass." Incidentally, The Faerie Queen is public domain, and you can legally download a very nice translation for free - this, to me, is what the past meeting the future should be.
Some days, I feel like the well-educated Geico Caveman is but the cruellest of ironic satires. Today is one of those days.
Pun intended!
In today's National Post:
London - Words associated with Christianity, the monarchy, and British history have been dropped from the Oxford Junior Dictionary.
Words such as "aisle", "bishop", "chapel", "empire", and "monarch" have been removed and replaced with words that include "blog", "broadband", and "celebrity". [...] Oxford University Press says the changes reflect the fact that Britain is a modern, multicultural, multi-faith society.
This brings to my mind two questions. First, how exactly is multiculturalism and multi-faith...ism(?) promoted by deleting dictionary entries specific to a particular culture or faith? The OUP justification is pretty flimsy here. Last time I checked, diversity isn't served or promoted (or enacted!) by means of suppression. I'd use a "that's like saying..." example here, but the only ones I could think of were inappropriately extreme. I'm learning to check myself. So.
And second...does any child really need to go to the dictionary to know what a blog is? Are these additions really necessary? How, exactly, does the deliberate shrinking of vocabularies serve our kids? And not all these axed entries are words unique to the church - I can see legions of future children asking their mums what it means when the PA system calls for a cleanup in aisle three at the grocery store. Also axed this year was "abbey" - I can also see legions of future British children wondering what that big thing at Westminster is. And "empire", and "monarchy"...um. Yes, celebrities and "MP3 player" are far more important to understand than the very cornerstone of British history, society, and politics. Again...what kid needs a dictionary to tell them what an MP3 player is???
It has been a growing trend in the past decade or so for junior dictionaries, which are limited in terms of size in order to be easily used by small hands, to eliminate words that reflect the past (and the pastoral) in favour of urban, technological, and politically correct terms (who else finds it bitterly funny that "debate" was added this year to the OJD, while Christian and monarchist words were axed?). Look, I'm only twenty-four, and already I meet high-school kids who don't recognize words or concepts that are normal general knowledge to anyone my age. Sometimes I wonder if my generation is the last to be taught the old stories, to read things that our parents and grandparents read - stuff that's culturally important (and gramatically sound!). The reason I've been so taken recently with the works of Alastair Reynolds is that he one of the few remaining artists who works off of learning from what's come before, which elevates his stuff above the average crap in the Amazon.com sci-fi listings. The end result of this handing down of stories and learning is that even fluffy, uber-contemporary, pop-fantasy books, like Jim Butcher's paranormal detective series The Dresden Files, can make a (hilarious) connection with the richness of the past by saying things like, "Spenser never mentioned that the Faerie Queen had such a nice ass." Incidentally, The Faerie Queen is public domain, and you can legally download a very nice translation for free - this, to me, is what the past meeting the future should be.
Some days, I feel like the well-educated Geico Caveman is but the cruellest of ironic satires. Today is one of those days.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
WW...Huh? Batman: Child of Dreams
There are many stories and characters that can be appreciated cross-culturally. Shows like Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex or Full Metal Alchemist are Japanese to their core, but a quick search for on-line episodes reveals a fan base fanning out through Europe, South America, and North America. Likewise, American stories like Star Trek have found success (and adoration) globally. Where things tend to get lost in translation is when people try to translate another culture's story into their own equivalent - A Fistful of Dollars, or Shall We Dansu?, for example.
Batman: Child of Dreams is a manga by renowned artist Kia Asamiya (Dark Angel). Apparently, Batman is quite popular in Japan, and being familiar with some of their own illustrated characters its easy to see why. Troubled childhood? Check! Dark, violent streak? Check! Strong desire to do good and save innocents? Check! Conflicted, cool, tech-oriented, ninja-like...you get the picture. On the surface, it seems like Batman is the perfect American story to put a Japanese spin on.
Child of Dreams sees Batman off to Tokyo after a local news crew visits Gotham, attempting to get an interview with the Bat when things go sour. It seems that Batman's rogues gallery has escaped and/or returned, but things get especially fishy when our hero notices that a) these rogues are fundamentally different in character than the ones hes come to know over the years, and b) shortly after Batman defeats them, they have nervous breakdowns, age rapidly, mummify, and die, all in the space of a short trip to the cop shop. A quick visit to Arkham, and some DNA tests, confirm Batman's suspicions - the culprit here is a new drug that enables people to live out their biggest dreams, become their idols, literally. Equally suspicious is the appearance of these impostors coinciding with the aforementioned news crew's visit. Young reporter Yuko Yagi has made a meteoric rise through the newsroom ranks, partly due to the patronage of her uncle, who owns the station, and just happens to be a pharmaceutical magnate (dum dum duuuuuum!). Enter a meeting between Yuko and Bruce Wayne, and a subsequent "business trip" to investigate the source of the drug. You can probably see where this is going.
And that, I think, is the problem with Child of Dreams. Asamiya said that he deliberately kept this story from being manga by avoiding the manga convention of suspension of disbelief; you know, how right in the middle of a manga or anime will be something just ludicrous, but you roll with it because that's part of the fun? I'm hardly the expert on manga that Asamiya is, but I don't feel this story succeeded in being something separate. Bruce Wayne and Batman, though they share many international traits, are quintessentially American characters, and the context in which Batman stories have been told is also quintessentially American. I just didn't find it translated well to Japanese sensibilities. I think a large part of this is the melodrama factor. For one thing, Japanese is a very loquacious, emotional language, a factor that survives any good translation, and loquacious and emotional (and dramatic!) aren't really good matches for Batman. Child of Dreams, in its core, isn't about Batman per se, but about poor lovely young Yuko as she realizes her uncle's treachery, sees her childhood dreams of Batman come true, and begins a whirlwind affair with Bruce. It's melodramatic. Batman doesn't work as melodrama. I don't even see this particular story being gripping even if it weren't hampered by its Batman angle.
It's an interesting cultural excercise, so it could be recommended in that respect, but as a story, I was bored and couldn't wait to finish it. At any rate, its nice to know that it's not only American auteurs who can take foreign stories out of their native contexts and not succeed.
Batman: Child of Dreams is a manga by renowned artist Kia Asamiya (Dark Angel). Apparently, Batman is quite popular in Japan, and being familiar with some of their own illustrated characters its easy to see why. Troubled childhood? Check! Dark, violent streak? Check! Strong desire to do good and save innocents? Check! Conflicted, cool, tech-oriented, ninja-like...you get the picture. On the surface, it seems like Batman is the perfect American story to put a Japanese spin on.
Child of Dreams sees Batman off to Tokyo after a local news crew visits Gotham, attempting to get an interview with the Bat when things go sour. It seems that Batman's rogues gallery has escaped and/or returned, but things get especially fishy when our hero notices that a) these rogues are fundamentally different in character than the ones hes come to know over the years, and b) shortly after Batman defeats them, they have nervous breakdowns, age rapidly, mummify, and die, all in the space of a short trip to the cop shop. A quick visit to Arkham, and some DNA tests, confirm Batman's suspicions - the culprit here is a new drug that enables people to live out their biggest dreams, become their idols, literally. Equally suspicious is the appearance of these impostors coinciding with the aforementioned news crew's visit. Young reporter Yuko Yagi has made a meteoric rise through the newsroom ranks, partly due to the patronage of her uncle, who owns the station, and just happens to be a pharmaceutical magnate (dum dum duuuuuum!). Enter a meeting between Yuko and Bruce Wayne, and a subsequent "business trip" to investigate the source of the drug. You can probably see where this is going.
And that, I think, is the problem with Child of Dreams. Asamiya said that he deliberately kept this story from being manga by avoiding the manga convention of suspension of disbelief; you know, how right in the middle of a manga or anime will be something just ludicrous, but you roll with it because that's part of the fun? I'm hardly the expert on manga that Asamiya is, but I don't feel this story succeeded in being something separate. Bruce Wayne and Batman, though they share many international traits, are quintessentially American characters, and the context in which Batman stories have been told is also quintessentially American. I just didn't find it translated well to Japanese sensibilities. I think a large part of this is the melodrama factor. For one thing, Japanese is a very loquacious, emotional language, a factor that survives any good translation, and loquacious and emotional (and dramatic!) aren't really good matches for Batman. Child of Dreams, in its core, isn't about Batman per se, but about poor lovely young Yuko as she realizes her uncle's treachery, sees her childhood dreams of Batman come true, and begins a whirlwind affair with Bruce. It's melodramatic. Batman doesn't work as melodrama. I don't even see this particular story being gripping even if it weren't hampered by its Batman angle.
It's an interesting cultural excercise, so it could be recommended in that respect, but as a story, I was bored and couldn't wait to finish it. At any rate, its nice to know that it's not only American auteurs who can take foreign stories out of their native contexts and not succeed.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
WWBD? War Games Act One: Outbreak
I've always loved comics, but never had enough cash to really do anything about it. However, I have come to the conclusion that the reason the Edmonton Transit Service is the worst major-city transit I've seen in Canada is because the city funnels all its municipal works money to its public library system.
This makes me happy on two distinct levels, those being a) free movies, and b) free comics.
After a recent announcement that Batman will be concluding as a story sometime in the next year, I was delighted to learn that I can now kind of catch up. War Games Act One: Outbreak is a collection of seven issues of a storyline set at what I think is the prelude to the end of the canon. Batman has burned through four Robins - Dick Grayson has been working as a cop in eastern Europe and acting as Nightwing for some time now, and is trying to figure out how to tell Bruce he needs help leaving the League of Assassins ("you joined what???"); the second Robin (who I know nothing about) was killed in action, #3, Tim Drake, has willingly resigned at the request of his parents, and #4, Stephanie, has been newly fired and is actingly independently under the name Spoiler. His rogues gallery isn't a pressing concern, replaced by the ever-escalating gang activity. Batgirl #1 has been paralyzed, shot in the face by the Joker, and now operates Batman's tech and intel as Oracle; the current Batgirl is on good terms and working with Batman. Catwoman is still Catwoman, doing her part to keep the gang wars from blowing up. And Batman is still Batman, becoming ever more entwined with the underworld as he makes deals to bring as many gangs as possible under his control for stability's sake, while doing a great job of alienating as many allies as possible under the belief that he doesn't need any help.
War Games: Outbreak is a solid Batman take on a very old story. All the big-time gang leaders and crime bosses in Gotham are invited to a meeting. Gunfire breaks out, and of the thirty-odd bosses and bodyguards present, only eight walk away. No one knows who called the meeting, but the result amongst the frantic and furious survivors is a war or proportions unprecedented even by Gotham standards. Innocents are dying, the time-honoured code of keeping your rival's family off-limits is violated, and the fragile unity and calm Batman and co. have been working so hard on is shattered in an epic way.
This is a great story. Well-executed - we learn by the end of the act who called the meeting and why, and it's not what you'd expect - well-written, gorgeously drawn and coloured, War Games is a fantastic character piece, great addition to the Batman canon, and an all-around very good book. In many ways, its a story about secondary characters, focusing mainly on Stephanie, Tim, Nightwing, and Batman's allies in the gang wars, but their stories tell us everything we need to know about Bats. I'd love to get my mitts on the stories in which Tim is acting as Robin, because he's a great character. And Nightwing's fear and shame as he tries to summon the courage to tell his former mentor/father figure that he needs help correcting the biggest mistake of his life is near-heartbreaking. The interplay between Batman and Oracle is strong...it's just a good book, okay? And, I shouldn't have to say this but even the library classifies is as children's lit, Batman hasn't been especially kid-friendly since Adam West hung up his tights, and War Games is no exception to that rule.
My knowledge of Batman canon is far from encyclopedic, but I was able to get through War Games and enjoy it every step of the way. So don't be intimidated if you're not too up on the story; if you can find this episode, give it a whirl. Acts two and three are currently on hold for me at the library; I'm really looking forward to them.
This makes me happy on two distinct levels, those being a) free movies, and b) free comics.
After a recent announcement that Batman will be concluding as a story sometime in the next year, I was delighted to learn that I can now kind of catch up. War Games Act One: Outbreak is a collection of seven issues of a storyline set at what I think is the prelude to the end of the canon. Batman has burned through four Robins - Dick Grayson has been working as a cop in eastern Europe and acting as Nightwing for some time now, and is trying to figure out how to tell Bruce he needs help leaving the League of Assassins ("you joined what???"); the second Robin (who I know nothing about) was killed in action, #3, Tim Drake, has willingly resigned at the request of his parents, and #4, Stephanie, has been newly fired and is actingly independently under the name Spoiler. His rogues gallery isn't a pressing concern, replaced by the ever-escalating gang activity. Batgirl #1 has been paralyzed, shot in the face by the Joker, and now operates Batman's tech and intel as Oracle; the current Batgirl is on good terms and working with Batman. Catwoman is still Catwoman, doing her part to keep the gang wars from blowing up. And Batman is still Batman, becoming ever more entwined with the underworld as he makes deals to bring as many gangs as possible under his control for stability's sake, while doing a great job of alienating as many allies as possible under the belief that he doesn't need any help.
War Games: Outbreak is a solid Batman take on a very old story. All the big-time gang leaders and crime bosses in Gotham are invited to a meeting. Gunfire breaks out, and of the thirty-odd bosses and bodyguards present, only eight walk away. No one knows who called the meeting, but the result amongst the frantic and furious survivors is a war or proportions unprecedented even by Gotham standards. Innocents are dying, the time-honoured code of keeping your rival's family off-limits is violated, and the fragile unity and calm Batman and co. have been working so hard on is shattered in an epic way.
This is a great story. Well-executed - we learn by the end of the act who called the meeting and why, and it's not what you'd expect - well-written, gorgeously drawn and coloured, War Games is a fantastic character piece, great addition to the Batman canon, and an all-around very good book. In many ways, its a story about secondary characters, focusing mainly on Stephanie, Tim, Nightwing, and Batman's allies in the gang wars, but their stories tell us everything we need to know about Bats. I'd love to get my mitts on the stories in which Tim is acting as Robin, because he's a great character. And Nightwing's fear and shame as he tries to summon the courage to tell his former mentor/father figure that he needs help correcting the biggest mistake of his life is near-heartbreaking. The interplay between Batman and Oracle is strong...it's just a good book, okay? And, I shouldn't have to say this but even the library classifies is as children's lit, Batman hasn't been especially kid-friendly since Adam West hung up his tights, and War Games is no exception to that rule.
My knowledge of Batman canon is far from encyclopedic, but I was able to get through War Games and enjoy it every step of the way. So don't be intimidated if you're not too up on the story; if you can find this episode, give it a whirl. Acts two and three are currently on hold for me at the library; I'm really looking forward to them.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
So This Is Not Christmas
I may be a masochist. I'm working, by choice, as a seasonal retail employee. Maybe it's because I've worked in the health care sector, but I don't find it too overwhelming, and most of my customers are really swell. What I'm not looking forward to, as I wait for my coffee to brew before I set off to another busy day, is the impressively large, constant string of Christmas songs that are not, well, Christmas songs.
Some people may justify it by saying, "well, it's not just Christmas this time of year, we need to be inclusive and tolerant." Okay. If that were true, I'd be hearing some nice Winter Solstice music (Enya, maybe? I love Enya!), and some kickin' Hanukkah tunes (I'm Jewish by birth, and I love klezmer), and, if there is sacred music associated with Ramadan, I'd be hearing that as well (and especially interested, as I have no idea if there is such a thing). Alas, under the current way of things, for eight hours a day it's nothing but songs about Santa or the weather, which have nothing to do with anything. So not only does the mall sound system bow to the pressure to pretend Christmas is not a Christian festival - wishing something away won't make it go, folks! - they also fail on any and all claims at "tolerance" and "inclusiveness" by not playing any tunes that lie about the natures of Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, Ramadan, etc. It could be so simple, really, except that too many people keep caving to the whining of those who have no religious affiliation, don't actually celebrate any sacred festivals, and seem to believe that, as a result, they shouldn't have to have any accidental exposure whatsoever to even the slightests suggestion that these things exist. So tolerant!
To quote, as I so often do, the great philosopher Homestar Runner: Sewiously.
Some people may justify it by saying, "well, it's not just Christmas this time of year, we need to be inclusive and tolerant." Okay. If that were true, I'd be hearing some nice Winter Solstice music (Enya, maybe? I love Enya!), and some kickin' Hanukkah tunes (I'm Jewish by birth, and I love klezmer), and, if there is sacred music associated with Ramadan, I'd be hearing that as well (and especially interested, as I have no idea if there is such a thing). Alas, under the current way of things, for eight hours a day it's nothing but songs about Santa or the weather, which have nothing to do with anything. So not only does the mall sound system bow to the pressure to pretend Christmas is not a Christian festival - wishing something away won't make it go, folks! - they also fail on any and all claims at "tolerance" and "inclusiveness" by not playing any tunes that lie about the natures of Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, Ramadan, etc. It could be so simple, really, except that too many people keep caving to the whining of those who have no religious affiliation, don't actually celebrate any sacred festivals, and seem to believe that, as a result, they shouldn't have to have any accidental exposure whatsoever to even the slightests suggestion that these things exist. So tolerant!
To quote, as I so often do, the great philosopher Homestar Runner: Sewiously.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Industrable, My Ass: Hellboy II
Ah, good ol' Guillermo Del Toro. And good ol' Hellboy. Back together at last! We were unhappy about not having the munnies to see this on the big screen, but perseverance paid off, and, natch, we got to see it for free courtesy of someone else renting it. And what wonderful free stuff it was!
Working in realtime, Hellboy II: The Golden Army begins at around 11p.m. with an alarm at the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Development and keeps going clear through to the following afternoon. The plot is classic faerie tale, a story of an uneasy truce between humans and faerie folk (you keep out of the city, we'll keep out of the forest) having long been broken by the humans, and a faerie prince (the fabulous Luke Goss) who's decided that he's tired of sitting back and letting humanity break the truce while the faerie folk die. In a sweet (in both the traditional and contemporary sense) opening flashback to Hellboy's childhood, we learn a) that said truce was instigated by the repentant faerie king after he unleashed the indestructible Golden Army on the earth, and b) just how much of Hellboy's adult life has been shaped by watching Howdy Doody as a child. Back to the central plot, though: it's a good old-fashioned tale of patricide, fratricide, attempted fratricide, vengeance, mourning for the lost, and plenty of humour to keep it all from going Pan's Labyrinth on us. In short, Hellboy II is everything a good fairty-tale should be, morbid, funny, large in scale, and splendorous, by which I mean invoking a sense of wonder.
Director Del Toro is good with monsters, and his budget for Hellboy II gave him free reign to shine. His tooth fairies are a great Old World twist on the schmaltzy Western attitude toward fairies. The Troll Market scenes top Hellboy's "sense of wonder" quotient - imagine the Neverwhere miniseries with 85-110% more money and imagination. As all good set designers are also master scroungers and recyclers, I imagine that the dearth of Del Toro's sets budget went to paying those good folk for all their long, hard hours. This is one of the things I most appreciate about any director involved in the fantastical: he knows when to use CGI, and when to not. All the best-looking fantasy films employ that combination attitude, and Hellboy II is a fit addition to their ranks. A good example of combination FX is in the climactic battle situated inside a giant mess of gears and clockwork that uses both physical giant revolving gears and digitally created crevasses.
All the old faces from Hellboy are back, except for Agent Meyers, who has been replaced by wisecracking German Johann Krauss (voice of Seth MacFarlane) who is, essentially, a ghost. A lot of critics hated Johann, either because they felt he was a cheap stereotype or superfluous. He's absolutely superfluous; so what? He holds his own, and is lots of fun to have around. As far as being a cheap stereotype, well, that's what I would have said until watching a DVD featurette of the music of Babylon 5, starring series composer Christopher Franke. I believe this featurette is attached to season four. At any rate, it's all the proof one needs that Germans like Johann are no stereotype, but actual entertaining (and unwittingly entertaining) people. As for the core gang - Hellboy, Liz, and Abe - they're all in fine form. Ron Perlman's title character is up to his old tricks, lazy and obsessed with TV, candy, cats, and revolvers, and hampered by an inability and/or unwillingness to pronounce big words. In this flick, his disrespect for the authority of the BPRD (characterized by Arrested Development's Jeffery Tambor) winds up backfiring on him after he decides that he wants to go public and be recognized for his work, and Hellboy learns a thing or two. Pyrotechnic girlfriend Liz (Selma Blair), the quintessential brooding outsider chick, is learning a thing or two of her own after Abe accidentally uncovers her big secret. Speaking of Abe (Doug Jones, doing triple-duty as the Chamberlain and the Angel of Death), it appears that Jones voiced his character this time around. Doug Jones is most directors go-to guy for etheral or gangly on-screen creatures, having both that build and amazing control of his body, and typically speaks the dialogue during filming, which is then dubbed by someone else. In the first Hellboy film, Abe was voiced by David Hyde Pierce, who refused to be credited for his work because as far as he was concerned, Abe was Doug Jones' character through and through. I think I actually prefer Jones voicing Abe, because David Hyde Pierce's voice-over voice is a bit cartoonish, and this new sound adds a lot to Abe's character. He sounds much more comfortable this time around.
Rounding out the players are the afore-mentioned Luke Goss as faerie Prince Nuada, and Anna Walton (Crusoe) as his twin sister, Princess Nuala. Goss plays his old, mournful, warmonger character to a tee, in voice and body alike, and may just be my favourite on-screen elf. Part of this credit is to the character and makeup design - you know how in other films, you always see these beautiful hundreds- or thousands-year old elves who look about 25 and are perfectly unblemished, Hugo Weaving in The Lord of the Rings being the exception because they let his wrinkles show? While Nuada looks mostly young, Del Toro remembered that he is a warrior, and as such is covered in thick, ropy scars, the souvenirs of his centuries of battle - even master swordsmen get blooded, especially when they've been alive that long. Nuala is more subtle, but the effects of age are still there, such as a close-up of the back of her hands in the Map Shop scene - her hands are crepey like an older woman's. Another nice detail on Del Toro's part is that, when faerie/elves are together, they don't speak English. But neither do they speak a made-up language - a "set visit" featurette identifies it as Old Irish Gaelic, which lends far more gravitas to the faerie folk by being something an old humanoid creature might actually speak.
A lot of the criticisms I saw surrounding The Golden Army were mostly related to a lack of gravitas. Hellboy was certainly a darker, more gravid film, and The Golden Army was made on the heels of Pan's Labyrinth, which is probably the most grave and horrific film I've ever seen (which may have something to do with it being lighter than Pan). There was also criticism because it didn't use Judeo-Christian myth this time around; that, I don't know what to say about - I'm a Christian, and I don't see that using pagan myth made for a lesser story. It seems to be a pattern that, when comedic directors or actors try out serious work - Dreamgirls, Reign Over Me - the critics hail them and see this as a step up, but when serious directors try comedic or less serious work - like this piece - it's a step down, it's not as good as his other stuff, etc. Well, okay, The Golden Army is a less cohesive film than Hellboy, but not by much. And by using more humour and having a greater sense of excitement than of dread, it's a rollicking good faerie tale adventure, a better one than its predecessor. Most of the humour also fleshes it out as a character piece, for example, Hellboy and Abe's drunken "women confuse me!" hang-out/karaoke in the library, a beautiful and hilarious sequence. This is not to say that The Golden Army lacks gravitas. Prince Nuada's story is a tragic one from start to finish; our introduction to his character is ingeniously heartbreaking in its visual cues, and though his pride is his ultimate ruin, it is not the cause of his defeat, providing both a nice twist on the usual as well as heightened tragedy.
Do you like faerie tales? Do you like comfortable humour? Do you like action films that are neither excessively gory nor populated by potty-mouths? If so, Hellboy II: The Golden Army is the film for you.
Hellboy II: It's worth paying to see.
Working in realtime, Hellboy II: The Golden Army begins at around 11p.m. with an alarm at the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Development and keeps going clear through to the following afternoon. The plot is classic faerie tale, a story of an uneasy truce between humans and faerie folk (you keep out of the city, we'll keep out of the forest) having long been broken by the humans, and a faerie prince (the fabulous Luke Goss) who's decided that he's tired of sitting back and letting humanity break the truce while the faerie folk die. In a sweet (in both the traditional and contemporary sense) opening flashback to Hellboy's childhood, we learn a) that said truce was instigated by the repentant faerie king after he unleashed the indestructible Golden Army on the earth, and b) just how much of Hellboy's adult life has been shaped by watching Howdy Doody as a child. Back to the central plot, though: it's a good old-fashioned tale of patricide, fratricide, attempted fratricide, vengeance, mourning for the lost, and plenty of humour to keep it all from going Pan's Labyrinth on us. In short, Hellboy II is everything a good fairty-tale should be, morbid, funny, large in scale, and splendorous, by which I mean invoking a sense of wonder.
Director Del Toro is good with monsters, and his budget for Hellboy II gave him free reign to shine. His tooth fairies are a great Old World twist on the schmaltzy Western attitude toward fairies. The Troll Market scenes top Hellboy's "sense of wonder" quotient - imagine the Neverwhere miniseries with 85-110% more money and imagination. As all good set designers are also master scroungers and recyclers, I imagine that the dearth of Del Toro's sets budget went to paying those good folk for all their long, hard hours. This is one of the things I most appreciate about any director involved in the fantastical: he knows when to use CGI, and when to not. All the best-looking fantasy films employ that combination attitude, and Hellboy II is a fit addition to their ranks. A good example of combination FX is in the climactic battle situated inside a giant mess of gears and clockwork that uses both physical giant revolving gears and digitally created crevasses.
All the old faces from Hellboy are back, except for Agent Meyers, who has been replaced by wisecracking German Johann Krauss (voice of Seth MacFarlane) who is, essentially, a ghost. A lot of critics hated Johann, either because they felt he was a cheap stereotype or superfluous. He's absolutely superfluous; so what? He holds his own, and is lots of fun to have around. As far as being a cheap stereotype, well, that's what I would have said until watching a DVD featurette of the music of Babylon 5, starring series composer Christopher Franke. I believe this featurette is attached to season four. At any rate, it's all the proof one needs that Germans like Johann are no stereotype, but actual entertaining (and unwittingly entertaining) people. As for the core gang - Hellboy, Liz, and Abe - they're all in fine form. Ron Perlman's title character is up to his old tricks, lazy and obsessed with TV, candy, cats, and revolvers, and hampered by an inability and/or unwillingness to pronounce big words. In this flick, his disrespect for the authority of the BPRD (characterized by Arrested Development's Jeffery Tambor) winds up backfiring on him after he decides that he wants to go public and be recognized for his work, and Hellboy learns a thing or two. Pyrotechnic girlfriend Liz (Selma Blair), the quintessential brooding outsider chick, is learning a thing or two of her own after Abe accidentally uncovers her big secret. Speaking of Abe (Doug Jones, doing triple-duty as the Chamberlain and the Angel of Death), it appears that Jones voiced his character this time around. Doug Jones is most directors go-to guy for etheral or gangly on-screen creatures, having both that build and amazing control of his body, and typically speaks the dialogue during filming, which is then dubbed by someone else. In the first Hellboy film, Abe was voiced by David Hyde Pierce, who refused to be credited for his work because as far as he was concerned, Abe was Doug Jones' character through and through. I think I actually prefer Jones voicing Abe, because David Hyde Pierce's voice-over voice is a bit cartoonish, and this new sound adds a lot to Abe's character. He sounds much more comfortable this time around.
Rounding out the players are the afore-mentioned Luke Goss as faerie Prince Nuada, and Anna Walton (Crusoe) as his twin sister, Princess Nuala. Goss plays his old, mournful, warmonger character to a tee, in voice and body alike, and may just be my favourite on-screen elf. Part of this credit is to the character and makeup design - you know how in other films, you always see these beautiful hundreds- or thousands-year old elves who look about 25 and are perfectly unblemished, Hugo Weaving in The Lord of the Rings being the exception because they let his wrinkles show? While Nuada looks mostly young, Del Toro remembered that he is a warrior, and as such is covered in thick, ropy scars, the souvenirs of his centuries of battle - even master swordsmen get blooded, especially when they've been alive that long. Nuala is more subtle, but the effects of age are still there, such as a close-up of the back of her hands in the Map Shop scene - her hands are crepey like an older woman's. Another nice detail on Del Toro's part is that, when faerie/elves are together, they don't speak English. But neither do they speak a made-up language - a "set visit" featurette identifies it as Old Irish Gaelic, which lends far more gravitas to the faerie folk by being something an old humanoid creature might actually speak.
A lot of the criticisms I saw surrounding The Golden Army were mostly related to a lack of gravitas. Hellboy was certainly a darker, more gravid film, and The Golden Army was made on the heels of Pan's Labyrinth, which is probably the most grave and horrific film I've ever seen (which may have something to do with it being lighter than Pan). There was also criticism because it didn't use Judeo-Christian myth this time around; that, I don't know what to say about - I'm a Christian, and I don't see that using pagan myth made for a lesser story. It seems to be a pattern that, when comedic directors or actors try out serious work - Dreamgirls, Reign Over Me - the critics hail them and see this as a step up, but when serious directors try comedic or less serious work - like this piece - it's a step down, it's not as good as his other stuff, etc. Well, okay, The Golden Army is a less cohesive film than Hellboy, but not by much. And by using more humour and having a greater sense of excitement than of dread, it's a rollicking good faerie tale adventure, a better one than its predecessor. Most of the humour also fleshes it out as a character piece, for example, Hellboy and Abe's drunken "women confuse me!" hang-out/karaoke in the library, a beautiful and hilarious sequence. This is not to say that The Golden Army lacks gravitas. Prince Nuada's story is a tragic one from start to finish; our introduction to his character is ingeniously heartbreaking in its visual cues, and though his pride is his ultimate ruin, it is not the cause of his defeat, providing both a nice twist on the usual as well as heightened tragedy.
Do you like faerie tales? Do you like comfortable humour? Do you like action films that are neither excessively gory nor populated by potty-mouths? If so, Hellboy II: The Golden Army is the film for you.
Hellboy II: It's worth paying to see.
Pirates of the Caribbean, blah blah blah 3.
I greatly enjoyed the first Pirates of the Caribbean film. It was an actual homage to the old Disney live-actions like Treasure Island and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, full of wit, excitement, loveable characters, dastardly villains, and moments of genuine peril. With a straightforward and well-executed plot, killer score, and gorgeous sets and cinematography, well, what more could you want? Except for that stupid monologue at the end where poor Jonathan Pryce has to say that piracy can be a good thing because he doesn't want to punish his daughter, it was a stupendous film. Corey and I saw Dead Man's Chest in theaters, and were rather upset at having paid so much to do so - for one thing, it fell apart in terms of narrative cohesion. For another, there were no characters left that we could at all sympathize with. In that installment, the East India Company was doing its job of ridding the seas of pirates - something I think, historically, was a good thing - and the closest thing to a legitimate villain was the one EIC guy who double-crossed Jack...but I didn't care that Jack was getting double-crossed, because everyone and their monkey was double-crossing everyone else, regardless of their place in the pantheon of heroes and villains. What really soured that story for me was the ludicrous concept of loyalty as the only measure of right and wrong - Jack, Will, and Elisabeth devolved into a narcissistic trio of absolutely horrid, bratty people, and just kept on doing stupid, destructive things in the name of "loyalty". I didn't even like any of them in that film, Jack especially having transformed from a rogue who we love anyway (a la Han Solo in A New Hope) into a consummate asshole who we're instead told we must love because of, again, loyalty, so what I wound up with was a sloppy story populated with irritating, dislikeable characters. The only one I was in line with, or rooting for, was Jack Davenport's Commodore Norrington, an upright man playing by the rules and helping rid the seas of the evil of piracy. Dead Man's Chest didn't exactly make a case for why this was a bad thing, though it begged us to believe such.
So why, you ask, did I watch At World's End if I hated Dead Man's Chest so much? The answer, my friends, is "it was free."
I'm not too sure what to say about At World's End. It attempted to clear up Dead Man's fatal flaw by setting up the East India Company as an actual immoral organization, in an opening scene wherein they hang a large group of pirates (I'm okay with that!) without due process (I'm not okay with that) - they came very, very close to creating legitimate overall villainy, they recognized that this hadn't been done in the previous film, so kudos to the writing staff for that. Unfortunately, there remained that other fatal flaw, that of Elisabeth and Will crusading to help keep pirates all over the world from being put out of business by the EIC, despite the fact that they've been exposed to enough to see that pirates in general are not good people that one should want to keep around. Of course, there was a greater plot, that of figuring out how to help Jack break his deal with Davy Jones, and again, here the writing staff redeemed themselves by making it clear that no one cared about rescuing Jack because they liked him, but because they wanted something from him that they couldn't get while he was trapped between worlds. Cancel out that redemption with lazy stabs at portraying the main East India officer as evil for doing everything in pursuit of profit (because pirates do everything in pursuit of...um....lupins? Yeah.). Toss in a Davy Jones love story (eeew!) and a mess of other stuff and you have a movie. It was more cohesive than Dead Man's Chest, but not by too much.
That being said, it was beautifully filmed (I mean beautifully), and used its ludicrous budget well. The game attempts to wrap everything up by bringing back incidentals from the first film were acceptably cute, and when the film was funny, it was very, very funny (the pirate council stands out in memory). It has probably the best use of the american Salt Flats I'll ever see on screen. The fabled Keith Richards cameo was shockingly (wonderfully) understated, and inadvertently said a lot about Jack's childish rebelliousness by showing his father as a straight man. And I was not expecting them to end it the way they did - a good twist, sad. Well done.
I suppose I'd have an easier time accepting the villains of the story if the writers had actually incorporated some of the history of the East India Company when looking for ways to paint them black. I mean, these are the people who begun the Opium War because they needed more capital to buy tea. There are a lot of legitimate issues to run on if you want to villainize the East India Company. Anyways.
If you loved Dead Man's Chest, I imagine you've already watched At World's End at least four times. If you thought Dead Man's Chest was pretty lame, and thus have never gotten around to watching the final film, my suggestion is: only if it's free.
So why, you ask, did I watch At World's End if I hated Dead Man's Chest so much? The answer, my friends, is "it was free."
I'm not too sure what to say about At World's End. It attempted to clear up Dead Man's fatal flaw by setting up the East India Company as an actual immoral organization, in an opening scene wherein they hang a large group of pirates (I'm okay with that!) without due process (I'm not okay with that) - they came very, very close to creating legitimate overall villainy, they recognized that this hadn't been done in the previous film, so kudos to the writing staff for that. Unfortunately, there remained that other fatal flaw, that of Elisabeth and Will crusading to help keep pirates all over the world from being put out of business by the EIC, despite the fact that they've been exposed to enough to see that pirates in general are not good people that one should want to keep around. Of course, there was a greater plot, that of figuring out how to help Jack break his deal with Davy Jones, and again, here the writing staff redeemed themselves by making it clear that no one cared about rescuing Jack because they liked him, but because they wanted something from him that they couldn't get while he was trapped between worlds. Cancel out that redemption with lazy stabs at portraying the main East India officer as evil for doing everything in pursuit of profit (because pirates do everything in pursuit of...um....lupins? Yeah.). Toss in a Davy Jones love story (eeew!) and a mess of other stuff and you have a movie. It was more cohesive than Dead Man's Chest, but not by too much.
That being said, it was beautifully filmed (I mean beautifully), and used its ludicrous budget well. The game attempts to wrap everything up by bringing back incidentals from the first film were acceptably cute, and when the film was funny, it was very, very funny (the pirate council stands out in memory). It has probably the best use of the american Salt Flats I'll ever see on screen. The fabled Keith Richards cameo was shockingly (wonderfully) understated, and inadvertently said a lot about Jack's childish rebelliousness by showing his father as a straight man. And I was not expecting them to end it the way they did - a good twist, sad. Well done.
I suppose I'd have an easier time accepting the villains of the story if the writers had actually incorporated some of the history of the East India Company when looking for ways to paint them black. I mean, these are the people who begun the Opium War because they needed more capital to buy tea. There are a lot of legitimate issues to run on if you want to villainize the East India Company. Anyways.
If you loved Dead Man's Chest, I imagine you've already watched At World's End at least four times. If you thought Dead Man's Chest was pretty lame, and thus have never gotten around to watching the final film, my suggestion is: only if it's free.
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