The Funky Life of an Un-Funky Writer

TL;DR: Depression Sucks; Caring Acts are Better than Words

2017-10-08T13:14:00.001-05:00

It's been years since my last post, and all I can say is, "Graduate school will do that." To say the least, the intended project I started with this blog has fallen short of my expectations. I just couldn't keep up. I have plenty of ideas to write about, but a lack of energy makes it difficult to put words to page. Even worse, any energy left after school, work, life, and everything is sapped by an ever-present monster in my life: Depression.

Yes, with a capital "D". For me, it's always a proper noun, an annoying, overbearing, hypercritical friend I can never quit, whose presence I just accept. But, see, even that metaphor isn't quite right. Even annoying, overbearing friends aren't a constant presence in my life. I can walk away from them, avoid their texts or phone calls. In short, with real people, I can escape.

Depression is more than that. It's a feeling of being trapped in a windowless, doorless room with that annoying, overbearing, hypercritical friend. No chance for escape. Not even the prospect of murder can help because it's an immortal friend you're stuck with. He will never die. Like a terrifying, yet comically perverse zombie, strike him down and he will rise from the dead to remind me how much I suck as a human being and that everyone I know hates me.

There's probably some deeper, subconscious meaning behind my imagining Depression as a man. I'm sure Freud and Lacan, those specters flitting around my mind, have something to say about the super-ego's voice being that of the Father (for those uninitiated in Freud and Lacan, they mean the dominant social voice that determines what's acceptable and unacceptable in society; in a patriarchal society, that voice is male, hence "Father"). But that discussion would be enough for another post. So, I'll save those ideas for another blog entry.

On a superficial level, I imagine Depression being male because I identify as male. In fact, for me, Depression is my negative self, reflected and enlarged, like a funhouse mirror, but without the fun. He's a constant critic in my life, always trying to convince me that I'm worthless and unloved. Of course, the practical and hopeful parts of my mind--the parts that reason pretty well, I think--have plenty of evidence and powerful logic behind their arguments. Depression's evidence is questionable, but that doesn't really matter; Depression doesn't use traditional logic. Through brute force and relentless screaming, he wears me down until I can do nothing but agree. His arguments aren't convincing, even at that point. I just want the screaming to stop.

Thing is, it doesn't. Never has, never will.

Even when others tell me how much I'm loved and wanted, he's there to shout them down. Worse still, I get to the point where I don't want to hear that I'm loved and wanted because his voice gets louder. Depression feeds on those statements, growing larger and larger. He fills up the room we're trapped in with his increasing rotundity. In depression's logic, the loving and encouraging statements from family and friends reinforce Depression's arguments that I'm unworthy of love. With each word, his argument is strengthened. And all I can say, weakly, is "Stop, stop, stop." He doesn't.

Depression uses a logic with its own set of self-serving rules. Well-intended statements like "You have so much to live for" are neutered in an argument with Depression. Through an impressive feat of rhetorical gymnastics, Depression convincingly says, "See how worthless and selfish you are? You can't even recognize how good you've got it. These 'friends' and 'loved ones' don't deserve you. Pathetic."

I don't think it's a coincidence that I imagine Depression torturing me. Though he's not physically tearing my body apart, he's attacking my mind, shredding my identity and everything I love until nothing remains. Who needs an outside torturer, when my mind does all the heavy-lifting? Elaine Scarry, in her wonderful book, The Body in Pain, provides an extensive analysis of torture and its relationship to political power. Scarry focuses on the logical structure of torture and how it informs and strengthens those in power. And so, at first, it may not appear that her analysis fits, or is even appropriate, for a discussion of depression, but I think that the two experiences resonate on similar frequencies:

In its basic outlines, torture is the inversion of a trial, a reversal of cause and effect. While the one studies evidence that may lead to a punishment, the other uses punishment to generate the evidence. (Scarry 41)

"The inversion of a trial" and using "punishment to generate evidence" are fitting descriptions of depression's most insidious effects. Depression needs no trial because he already knows what he wants. All he needs to do is punish me enough to produce the desired results. With enough work, he can create the evidence needed for me to believe that he is right, that he has been right the whole time.

Although comparing depression to the horror of torture sounds like an exaggeration, it's not. Just a different form of horror. A horror inflicted on the self. Depression is a horror film I cannot escape, to use a different metaphor. The metaphors for depression are legion, after all. In my theater, like the locked room above, I'm trapped. There's no leaving when things get to be too much. Everywhere I go--work, school, home, to dinner and drinks with friends--Depression is there with me. Sometimes he's quiet, allowing me some space to breathe, think, enjoy life. Sometimes he's screaming so loud I can only stare into the distance, incapable of focusing on anything or anyone. Mine may not be the kind of depression that straps me down in bed for days on end, but my depression transforms me into the walking dead: functioning but not present.

Even with all the evidence to the contrary, Depression causes me to mistrust my own observations. Depression is so convincing that I've often found myself sitting amongst friends, having a good time, and yet still thinking, "They all look like they're waiting for me to leave so the real fun can start." He has buried seeds of doubt and nurtured them so well, that I rarely trust what I see and experience. Questions flood my mind, overcrowding and suppressing more rational logical thinking: Am I misreading the situation? Are they just humoring me because I arrived attached to someone that they like better? Depression says, "Yes," and I'm persuaded.

To bypass the energy-sucking experience of battling Depression's persuasive arguments, I avoid the situation, isolate myself from family and friends. Logically, this is a stupid move. According to every specialist, isolation only makes things worse. Even the most ascoial human being needs some form of companionship. But, again, Depression doesn't rely on logic. To him, the specialists have no authority. Depression's credibility is the only credibility that matters, and his arguments quickly strip down the specialists' well-researched, rational arguments. For him, it's easy. After all, he's had plenty of practice stripping down my own well-researched, rational arguments.

Depression forces me into isolation, but only so that he can break me down, force me into thinking that I don't exist. Against, Depression's onslaught, I am no match. Not without help, that is. I need to feel like I'm present, like I'm real. For me, nothing is more terrifying than questioning my own reality, my own physical presence. And that's exactly what Depression does to me. Give him enough time, and I'll start thinking I don't deserve to exist, that I don't exist.

The lyrics of the Tony-Award-wining musical, Dear Evan Hansen, capture these complex and conflicting emotions well, particularly in the songs that reflect my own experiences with depression: "For Forever" and "Words Fail."

In Dear Evan Hansen, Evan has recently broken his arm after falling out of a tree, and so he's wearing a cast at the start of the play. When the play starts, Evan is starting another year of school. Connor, one of Evan's fellow students, starts the same day. Unlike Evan, who retreats inside himself, Connor rebels against his family. At school, Evan and Connor bump into each other, which results in Connor pocketing a letter Evan had written to himself. The letter is part of Evan's therapy to overcome depression and social anxiety. Later, Connor commits suicide, and school officials find the letter. Because he doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, Evan lies and confirms the officials' conclusion that Evan and Connor had been best friends. The rest of the musical follows the consequences of Evan's lie.

I understand the desire to lie. I lie all the time, mostly to avoid conflict or to avoid stating uncomfortable truths that upset the clockwork machinery of the day.

Random person: "How're you today?"
Me: "Oh, I'm fine."

I'm rarely "fine," but saying "I'm fine" is better than launching into an hour-long explanation of how I'm feeling. Who wants to hear about all that? Most people don't. It's too much to process for me, so I lie to spare others the details of my sad life.

Moreover, I understand the desire to fall into fantasy. Part of Evan's motivation for lying is the desperate desire for friendship, to connect with others, which is something he and I find difficult to do. We just can't seem to find a comfortable spot to dive into other people's lives. Creating our own fantasy worlds--where communicating is effortless and seems rewarding--is easier than dealing with real people.

I cried the first time I'd heard "For Forever" because I recognized that yearning. At this point in the story, Evan is having dinner with Connor's family, and his mother asks about their friendship. Evan starts inventing on the spot, creating a friendship from nothing. And in that creation, he retells the story of how he broke his arm. In the new version, Evan is describing a carefree day with his best friend that culminates in both boys climbing a tree. Evan sings,

And I suddenly feel the branch give way
I'm on the ground
My arm goes numb
I look around
And I see him come to get me
He comes to get me
And everything's okay

Evan's recounting of the story is true except for one fact: He was alone when he broke his arm. No one came to get him. In truth, on that day, Evan had been suicidal. He wanted to die.

Retelling the story is Evan's opportunity to wipe away reality, to create a better version of the story, one where he wasn't broken and alone. Despite the fictional nature of the new memory, it does offer Evan the opportunity to feel something he didn't that day: connection. To feel that someone was there to lift him up when he was at his lowest. Because the fictional world can be better than the real one, it's understandable that Evan would want to supplant reality with this fantasy. Is Evan's choice commendable or ethical? No. The real-world consequences are--though the musical doesn't explore this--devastating, and Evan's lies are motivated by selfish desires. Still, I get it.

The musical climaxes with the powerful song "Words Fail." Finally, the truth comes out, and Evan has to explain himself. He can't. Not really.

I guess I wanted to believe
'Cause if I just believe
Then I don't have to see what's really there

No, I'd rather pretend I'm something better than
These broken parts
Pretend I'm something other than
This mess that I am
'Cause then I don't have to look at it
And no one gets to look at it
No, no one can really see

'Cause I've learned to slam on the brake
Before I even turn the key
Before I make the mistake
Before I lead with the worst of me
I never let them see the worst of me

'Cause what if everyone saw?
What if everyone knew?
Would they like what they saw?
Or would they hate it too?

Many times I've felt like I was pretending to be fun and gregarious because I was too afraid for people to see the real me, afraid that I'd be rejected.

The sad thing is, people like Evan and myself have been rejected. Not maybe in the sense that we've been completely ostracized in society, but in the fact that at some point we expressed our true selves only to be rejected in some way. For people like us, those moments have a powerful effect. One rejection means I probably won't open up like that again in front of that person. The risk of being rejected again is just too painful, so I shut down.

That's Depression talking again, making me think that people don't want to hear me, that they aren't interested enough in the real me hidden beneath layers upon layers of psychological shielding. In reality, the context was wrong, inappropriate. In reality, there's a reasonable explanation for the rejection. But, again, Depression's logic twists reality until all I see is the rejection.

Evan's recreated memory reveals the desire in my--and I suspect other's--experiences with depression. We need to feel connected, like we're being heard and understood, that someone cares enough to reach out and pick us up when we're broken and alone. The simple act of reaching out, even something as small as a "Hi. How're you?" can be powerful in combating depression. Acts like that make it harder for Depression to convince me that no one cares; it makes it more difficult for him to convince me that I don't exist. As such, in my experience, acts are more powerful opponents in the fight against Depression. More powerful than empty platitudes at any rate.

As a student of rhetoric and language, I know--and so does Depression--that language isn't always trustworthy. The words that spill out of people's mouths are unreliable. And so, they are easily swept aside, their meanings twisted into wildly inaccurate representations. Statements alone open the door for Depression to say, "They're lying. Where's the proof?" Acts are harder for him to shout against, harder for him to twist because they are visual proof of a connection, of care.

A few months ago, I ventured out to a local bar to meet friends. By myself. Which is a rare achievement because of the days/weeks of "building myself up" that have to occur before I can do something as simple as walk out my front door alone. On this occasion, I did venture out into the real world. I walked about a little over a block and met up with a good friend I knew would be there.

At first, we chatted. Then, as the night wore on, more and more friends arrived, and, as expected, the bar grew louder and louder. So loud, in fact, that I couldn't follow conversations. Slowly, because I was sitting on a stool--but still turned to face people, not away from them--these friends started grouping together, coalescing into conversational cliques. And I was left out.

This is not their fault. I'm a quiet person who doesn't forcefully insert myself into conversations very often, not unless I have something to add. Most of the time, I can't think of anything fast enough, so I remain quiet. Sometimes I'm very talkative, but those moments are rare, and they usually occur only when I know the topic well and have thought out what I want to say beforehand. If I haven't thought out a response beforehand, I won't say much.

And so, once again, I found myself outside of the conversation, looking at people's backs, unable to hear a word of what they were saying despite being crammed within the same five-foot circle of space. After some time passed, when I realized that I wouldn't be able to participate, I turned away from the laughing/talking groups and watched the music videos playing on the television screen in front of me.

Just when I was thinking of paying my tab and leaving--Why stick around if I'm going to be ignored?--a friend spoke to me. "You're feeling anxious, aren't you?"

First, I was surprised because this particular friend isn't known for his thoughtfulness, at least not from what I had observed up to that point (he can be quite harsh in his criticisms of others). He then chatted with me for a bit and tried to include me in on one of the conversations happening around me.

I never told him, but that was the kindest thing for him to do at that moment. As as a result, I stuck around the bar longer than I would've if he hadn't spoken up.

I've been moved most often by people who recognize my discomfort in a situation, who reach out to me and bring me into the conversation. It feels like I'm getting permission to feel included. Since it's difficult for me to press myself into a conversation, it's nice when someone takes a moment to include me. Even when my friend stepped away, that small gesture--a mere minute of conversation--sustained me for a couple more hours. It was kind. And I needed kindness in that moment. I won't forget it.

But placing the onus of lifting me from the suffocating pit of depression on my family and loved ones puts all the burden on them. I need to work harder to reach out, too. And that's probably the most difficult part, at least for me. Still, I must remind myself that maintaining a presence in the lives of my family and friends isn't burdening them, despite what Depression says. Pushing myself into people's lives isn't a sign of unwanted aggression--which is how Depression describes it. It's just the norm for building relationships.

In the end, just like I'm sure people reading this wish (that's Depression speaking through me), I just need to stop thinking and act. Acts are effective techniques to make a shy, depressed person feel included. They build relationships better than words. Caring acts are the weapons we need to fight depression, to fight the ever-growing thoughts of suicide that plague so many, myself included.

Defining Justice: Vacillating between Order and Chaos in "The Dark Knight"

2014-07-04T17:11:00.001-05:00

Christopher Nolan's take on the Batman legend seems to present the protagonist, Bruce Wayne, as a figure dealing with competing definitions of how society should function. Within the framework of the first film, Batman Begins, Wayne finds himself redefining "true justice" as he works against corruption in Gotham City. The Dark Knight branches out from defining justice to answering a larger question: Can justice and morality survive in a battle against chaotic forces? Naturally, the two figures that draw the most intriguing focus are Batman and The Joker. In the context of The Dark Knight, the definition of justice, represented by Batman and established previously in Batman Begins, is challenged by The Joker. He tests the limits of Batman's and the justice system's sense of identity and its sense of morality. This might suggest that Nolan's film series would prefer one position over another, but that is not the case. Nolan, in The Dark Knight, argues for a flexible system of justice, one that embraces order and chaos.

Before discussing the flexible societal system within The Dark Knight, a brief outline of justice and how it is defined with the Nolan's conception of Batman, specifically within Batman Begins, will be helpful. Batman Begins, through the Bruce Wayne's exploits, defines justice and how it can work in a corrupt system. Wayne and his alter ego, Batman, reinstate a very American definition of justice, where criminals--those who break the governing codes of society--are arrested and tried. Nolan, then, advocates due process and the notion of "innocent until proven guilty."As Wayne himself states when confronted with an execution: "This man should be tried" (Batman Begins). According to Wayne, the burden of proving guilt lies upon the societal system that accuses a person of a crime. Of course, in a perfect system, this would be ideal, but Gotham is not perfect. In fact, systems of order--government, police--frequently fall under the influence of corruption. Henri Ducrad himself mentions this very phenomenon when he responds to Wayne's refusal: "By whom? Corrupt bureaucrats? Criminals mock society's laws. You know this better than most" (Batman Begins). In a way, Ducard is right to question society's ability to enact justice. Corruption keeps society from being able to function properly. However, Nolan rejects Ducard's philosophy that "a purging fire is inevitable and natural" (Batman Begins). Reducing Gotham to ashes in order to build anew is not a good solution; it is not even a moral one. In order to restore balance to the justice system in Gotham, Wayne finds himself breaking the law, transforming himself into the super-vigilante known as Batman. By the end of the film, order is on its way to being restored. Batman Begins is, as the title suggests, a beginning. However, the follow up complicates the system of order Batman and company attempt to instill. Order is disrupted by the introduction of chaos.

Order is important to the Gotham of Nolan's films. Even in a corrupt system, order is necessary for the functioning of society. The system is unbalanced in Gotham City, yes, but there is still an ordered system. Crime lords, like Carmine Falcone, in Batman Begins have rigged everything so that they benefit from the exploitation of others, yet order remains. That is, until The Joker challenges the logics of the system to prove his argument that an ordered system is unnatural and inherently corrupt. For The Joker, chaos is the only true system worth following: "Introduce a little anarchy in your life, and everything becomes chaos. Oh, and you know the thing about chaos? It's fair" (Dark Knight). Indeed, The Joker lives this his philosophy in every scene. Take, for instance, the two different stories he delivers to explain the scars on his face. Both stories involve mutilation, but both differ in the source of that mutilation. In the first version of the story, the child-Joker is cut by his father in a domestic dispute; and in the second version, The Joker mutilates his face to make his wife feel better about her own scars. Oddly enough, in a way, the sources of both come from a perversion of love, both of which result in the permanent physical and mental scarring of The Joker. Although both stories are different, the result is still the same. The Joker sees familial and romantic systems of order as destructive and unsustainable. This results in the birth of his own brand of social philosophy: individual choice, regardless of the consequences. Naturally, the societal systems in place within Gotham City cannot allow such a thing to happen. Chaos, after all, is not very efficient. And so, the city becomes the battleground between two forces: order and chaos.

A key victim in this battle is Harvey Dent, whose transformation reveals that a rigid system of order does not allow for a more complicated approach to the ordering of society. The Joker's opposition--those representing order--include Batman, Commissioner Jim Gordon, and Gotham City District Attorney Harvey Dent. All three figures are pushed to the limits in their efforts to instill order in Gotham City, and Dent discovers that enough of a push can cause a person to descend into the same line of thinking as The Joker; at film's end, Dent transforms into the villain Two-Face. As the representative of law and order within Gotham City, Dent faces the nearly insurmountable problem of ridding the city of crime and corruption. Even before Dent was elected as the District Attorney, he was an investigator at Internal Affairs, trying to route out corrupt cops. The tension between Dent's ideals and the realities of Gotham's corruption is present during an early scene when Dent and Gordon discuss the possibility of tracking the mob's money. Dent expresses reservations because he does not trust the cops in Gordon's special task force; "I don't like that you're working with cops I investigated at Internal Affairs"; to which Gordon replies, "If I didn't work with cops you investigated while at IA I'd be working alone. I don't get political points for idealism. I have to work with what I have" (Dark Knight). Dent is clearly uncomfortable working with corrupt cops, yet he has to go along with Gordon's line of thinking. Otherwise, nothing would be accomplished. Dent even goes along with Batman's assistance in establishing order, but the focus is always on bringing order back to Gotham City. At some point, Batman will have to atone for his crimes; "The Batman will answer for his crimes... to us" (Dark Knight). Dent's eventual goal is order, the rigid kind of order that must clean up the corruption within the system; and yes, even Batman is a symptom of the city's corruption, at least in Dent's eyes.

Dent's idealism shatters in the face of death, and the rigid system of order in which he places so much faith crashes around him, thus breaking his identity and replacing it with Two-Face. After the thrilling arrest of The Joker, Dent and Rachel Dawes--his girlfriend and Wayne's former love--are both kidnapped and placed in different warehouses filled with drums of gasoline rigged to explode. Despite the efforts of Gordon and Batman, Dawes is killed and half of Dent's face is burned away. The Joker uses this situation to push Dent into insanity, an insanity so powerful that Dent takes revenge against Gordon and Batman. Dent's insanity seeks fairness in chance, hence the two-sided coin Dent uses to determine his victims' fates, and blames Gordon and Batman for Dawes's death. The coin reflects the binary that dominated his thinking before the attack. Before he viewed reality as a binary: a choice was either right or wrong. Despite embracing The Joker's philosophy of chaos, Dent still sees the world through a binary, but one that embraces chance rather than morality. It is still a rigid system, regardless the application. Even the scene when Dent (before Two-Face) kidnaps one of The Joker's men, Dent exhibits what looks like psychotic tendencies, like he has the capacity to embrace a more fluid sense of justice. However, this scene instead reveals that Dent as an "on/off" switch when it comes to his application of justice. And as the focal point, the face, of the reformed justice system in Gotham City, Dent has to present a pure and clean face to the public. As Batman notes, "If anyone saw this, everything we have fought for would be lost" (Dark Knight). In Nolan's Gotham, justice must present a clean face to the public; in order to legitimately fight corruption and the mob, Dent must be free from corruption himself. Yet, the pressure of such a stance ends up breaking him, especially when he realizes corrupt cops had taken both him and Dawes, the same corrupt cops Dent had warned Gordon about. Dent's transformation is the result of following a binary system of justice, instead of protecting the public from criminals, he becomes one with just a little push.

So, if Dent falls because of his rigid philosophy, what kind of system is Nolan advocating in The Dark Knight? Through the characters that survive, Gordon and Batman, it is possible to detect the kind of system that works within Gotham City. Gordon and Batman together represent a fluid system of justice, a system that recognizes that judgments need to be based on context, using the law as a guide rather than dogma. Two scenes in particular bear out this idea. The first depicts Gordon's special task force in their search for Batman. On a board are all the pictures of possible "suspects." Abraham Lincoln and Bigfoot are the two most prominent figures. Obviously, Gordon's task force is not actively looking for Batman, but working with the vigilante in order to clean up the city. Dent is smart enough to recognize the duplicity of Gordon's unit, but he only uses their resources when the law fails--as it does in regard to extraditing Lau from China--and then he reverts back to the law when Lau is back in the United States. The second scene highlights highlights Batman's willingness to break principles of privacy when he asks Lucius Fox to spy on all the cell phones in Gotham in order to track down The Joker's location. Interestingly enough, this is the first and only time in the entire trilogy that Fox and Batman occupy the same space. Yes, Wayne and Fox spend quite a bit of time together, but the jarring nature of Batman's request is made even more powerful because Wayne appears as Batman. Wayne recognizes that his request is a violation of civil liberties, but the context of the situation demands a bending of moral principles. Fox recognizes the uniqueness and the dangerous potential of the situation; "I'll help you this one time. But consider this my resignation. As long as this machine is in Wayne Tower, I won't be" (Dark Knight). During this final section of the film, Batman comes close to exhibiting tyrannical behavior--a theme touched on in The Dark Knight Rises, but never quite examined thoroughly. Batman's actions in the film's final act demonstrate his potential for villainy, but it also revels a moral response once the danger passes: the return to moral principles. Fox is rewarded in the final moments of the film when the machine is destroyed; Batman had never intended for the machine to used on a permanent basis. Both Gordon and Batman recognize that the fluidity of their system must, at some point, settle closer to order than chaos, but that moment proves elusive by the film's end.

The fluid movement from hero to villain, from order to chaos and back again, helps to illuminate the final moments of the film, which some critics find baffling. The film's final images are viewed under the rather poetic narration of Gordon: "He's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now" (Dark Knight). Like the narration suggests, both Gordon and Batman must exhibit a more fluid definition of justice. This definition must bend and break rules when the situation calls for it. However, the idea, the intention that grounds their definition is that the severe bending and breaking of moral principles must come to end, must give way once order is established. Of course, as the end of the film seems to suggest, such an ending may never be quite possible, at least not completely. The complete establishment of order is impossible due to the realities of civilization. Therefore, the final moment of the film is appropriate: The Dark Knight riding his mechanical horse, forever fighting, forever rising to the light, but never quite reaching it. He and the system he represents is the system that works best, at least for now, because reality is a blend of chaos and order, which means our definitions of justice must be adaptive.

Engaging in Public Discourse: Part 1

2014-06-25T17:04:00.001-05:00

It's been a while since I've posted anything here. School, work, writing, reading, French studies. All seem to get in the way of posting stuff to this blog.

Well, here I am posting something I find fascinating.

Over the past two days, I have engaged in a dialogue with a friend of mine. He's Christian, I am agnostic. Therefore, we approach the subject of homosexuality from two different angles. Yesterday, he posted a blog that addressed the issue of homosexuality and how Christians should approach the issue, based on teachings found in the Bible.

This post has led to, I believe, a productive dialogue, highlighting the possibility that public discourse doesn't have to involve antagonistic rhetoric, like the kind found in public discussions of "hot-button" issues, like the kind found in modern American political discourse.

Therefore, I'm posting our dialogue for all of you to see because I found it intellectually stimulating, and I'm curious to know how others might view this discussion.

Scott and I consider each other friends, which means we see each other as human beings. And that, I think, is a great place to start.

*Fair warning, this post requires a bit of reading.*

Scott's original post can be found here.

Now, here's my response.

Scott:

Me: (This response required some research on my part.)

Scott responded to this comment on his blog: here.

I have yet to respond to Scott's most recent post. I plan to, but there are only so many hours in the day, and while I do find the subject fascinating, I will need more time to compose a response.

Nevertheless, I want to preserve this dialogue before it lost among the multitude of Facebook posts. I think we handled ourselves well. We may not have completely satisfied each other's aims, but I think we've come to a common ground. Despite what some may think, reaching a compromise is not so bad a thing. In fact, I think it only makes use stronger as a society.

Thoughts?

The Hobbit and a Desolation of Tension

2013-12-16T15:21:00.000-06:00

You know, I think I'll start this review with an admission that will probably surprise no one: I love long movies. Think about it, movies today are expensive, and if you forgot to smuggle in drinks and snacks (or maybe you don't have anyone carrying a large bag or cargo pants), the whole movie-going experience can set you back quite a ways. And this is why I love long movies. Long movies make the expense worth it by giving you enough entertainment to sustain the kind of money spent. Of course, usually, longer movies tend to be better, at least in my eyes. They spend more time developing characters and worlds, thus making the whole experience more fulfilling, more enriching.

Of course, as some have pointed out to me in the past, long movies are an expense in time as well. And, finally, after three Lord of the Rings movies and one Hobbit, I believe Peter Jackson has tested my limits, which is a weird thing to write since I'm anxiously waiting for the final book in Robert Jordan's fourteen-book series to come out in paperback.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug has enough entertainment and spectacle in it that it's a fun outing, but it lacks something I so enjoyed about the first Hobbit and Lord of the Rings: purpose. Yes, I know, the purpose is the get to the Lonely Mountain and remove the fiery Smaug from the dwarf kingdom, but Desolation is so concerned with throwing the characters from one adventure to the next, that the characters have little time to discuss, well, much of anything.

Desolation starts with a rather unnecessary flashback. Gandalf (Ian McKellen) meets Thorin (Richard Armitage) in a familiar tavern fans of the first trilogy should recognize. Really, all we get from this scene is something which we could have inferred from previous events and character developments. We know Gandalf has a funny way of turning up when needed, a knack for pushing people to do things they would not have do otherwise, so this scene is pointless. As a point of comparison, take a look at the scene with Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond, and Saurman in which they debate Thorin's purpose. It's a wonderful scene that is both informative and fun considering Gandalf is only there as distraction. The first scene of Desolation does not have any of that going for it.

From there, we flash forward to the merry gang of dwarves, one wizard, and Bilbo. They are still running from the pursuing orc gang and therefore hide in the home of Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt), who may or may not be a friend. He hates dwarves, see. But really, that doesn't matter because just a couple of scenes later and we're off again.

Next is one of three extraordinary set pieces. I'll only say that if you're scared of spiders, be prepared to spend the scene covering eyes and squirming in your seat. I know I was. But even this scene seemed to be over far too soon because just a couple of minutes later the dwarves are saved by Bilbo (Martin Freeman) and captured by the woodland elves, Legolas (Orlando Bloom... in case you didn't know) among them.

I'll stop there with the plot summary because from that moment on it's just more of the same, one adventure after another. Now, I'm not upset about this. The book pretty much does the same thing, but the book at least had the lyricism of Tolkien's writing to break it up. At least there was a steady build up of tension. This film lacks that kind of build up.

You may say that's because it's the middle chapter in a longer story. You'd be right. But even Two Towers had a steady build up, a growing momentum that concluded with two fantastic battles (three if you count Frodo's near capture at the end of that film, still one of my favorite visual images from the original trilogy). Even Empire Strikes Back built up to that famous final confrontation. Desolation is one confrontation after another, and while they are staged wonderfully, there's no build up, no tension.

In fact, the only amount of serious build up is near the end of the film, right before Bilbo descends into the mountain to face the dragon. That was the only point in the film when I had time to feel unease about the approaching moment. And boy does Jackson deliver.

Smaug (voiced with the delicious baritones of Benedict Cumberbatch) is the most impressive aspect of the film. For once the characters are allowed to have a conversation where the outcome could mean life or death. In addition, this was the only moment when I thought the use of a higher frame rate necessary. In 3D and HFR Smaug and that gold-horde of his come alive in a way I never thought possible.

The other scene I thought was quite memorable is the dwarves' escape from the woodland elves. Now that was a piece of filmic brilliance, where the absurdity of the situation threatens to be too much but it nevertheless delivers as a piece of visual storytelling. For some, I can imagine that it may go on for too long, but I thought it was quite brilliant. I was smiling during the whole sequence.

The other addition I thought was surprisingly effective is the potential romance between an elf of Jackson's own invention, Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly), and one of the younger dwarves, Kili (Aidan Turner). The chemistry between the two characters works, even if their storyline borders on the melodramatic in this film. I actually wished Legolas would disappear to allow the pairing a little more space to breathe. After all, his big romance is still to come in the Lord of the Rings trilogy (*wink, wink).

All in all, the film is entertaining. And for those who thought The Hobbit too long and boring, I guess this film is the antidote. However, I missed the playful language and witty banter of the first film. Too many films nowadays avoid that kind of lyricism, which is sad. Tolkien, among his many other talents, loved language. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey reminded me of this fact; Desolation forgets.

P. S. Was anyone else bothered by the aesthetic design of Gandalf's magic? I thought it looked too much like a video game, as opposed to the wonderful displays in Fellowship and Return of the King. How can Jackson go from the beauty of Gandalf charging down the Nine or standing up against a balrog to this?

Tragedy and Random Thoughts

2013-11-12T16:11:00.001-06:00

Today, I am furious. Sad and furious, really. But the anger and frustration outweigh the sadness.

In my life, I've never known anyone who suffered a violent death. Yes, I've known family members, friends, and coworkers who passed suddenly, unexpectedly, but never violently.

To be honest, I don't know what to say here. My mind is still trying to process all of this, searching and grasping for some logical foothold, but these things are rarely logical, are they?

Those of you who follow my blog are probably wondering what the hell I'm talking about and with good reason. I haven't provided the story yet, the reasoning behind my bewildering words. Well, the truth of the matter is I just don't know where to begin, so I started with my thoughts.

Yesterday, I received an email from my dean, informing all of us here at Mountain View College that the director of Writing Center--and soon to be official Instructional Support Leader--had died early Sunday morning. As these things go, there was very little information regarding exactly what had happened.

I thought, well, Kevin's too young to die so suddenly. It could have been an unknown health issue. Or maybe even a car accident. Yeah, a car accident. That's what it has to be. Nothing else makes sense.

However, I soon learned that like everyone, Kevin had more going on in his life than work.

I won't go into too many details. One, because I have very little. Two, because Kevin was a private individual and probably would not have wanted his private life spread across the Internet (not that I'm presumptuous enough to assume it will make it beyond my circle of friends). So I'll just say this: He died a victim of domestic violence.

Naturally, I feel sadness for the loss of such a wonderful coworker. Kevin worked tirelessly to improve the student experience here at Mountain View College, often working long hours. He accomplished so much in his year and a half tenure as Writing Center Director that it's actually quite astonishing. He constantly promoted the cohesion of all areas in instructional support and constantly reminded us that our first priority is developing students' potential.

A gaping void has been left in his wake here at MVC.

And now to the fury.

For today's class, we were discussing a chapter of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own, specifically the part where she tells a hypothetical story involving the question, "What if Shakespeare had had a sister of equal talent?"

Basically, Woolf argues that women were incapable of reaching their full potential in Shakespeare's time because women were not allowed to cultivate their talents, and those women who had the talent to be artists of Shakespeare's caliber probably died without ever finding an avenue for their talents. It's a very good essay to remind students that education and opportunity are rather recent gifts.

In addition, it raises the question of women being treated like property, and I usually bring up the fact that even today women are not always treated with respect and dignity. Even today, violence against women is more than alarming, it's horrifying.

Yet, while in class, I couldn't help but think how violence plays such a large role throughout human society. And I'm not just talking about large acts of violence, those acts that grab most of the headlines, those acts of violence that spur gun owners to purchase bullets for protection against random acts of violence.

No, I'm more concerned with the alarming statistic that we are more likely to suffer violence at the hands of someone we love, someone close to us, than at the hands of some random stranger.

Just a couple of weeks ago, police officers were called to my apartment building because a couple had gotten into a fight and a guy had broken a mirror over his boyfriend's head. Thankfully, nothing more serious had happened, but still the incidence reminds me that domestic violence is not a problem for just one gender, but for anyone in a relationship. Violence is a human problem.

But I guess it angers me a bit more when it happens in the LGBT community. We face so many other obstacles in our lives that domestic violence seems to be forgotten, hidden, especially when coupled with the societal pressures that force us to remain hidden. Why must we hurt each other when there are plenty of people out there who are more than willing to hurt us?

Of course, this is not to diminish the violence women experience. To misquote Martin Luther King Jr., violence anywhere is an injustice everywhere. No relationship is worth taking a life. I don't care how "in love" you think you are. Obsession is not love, but merely a product of a human desire to possess.

Kevin was a kind and considerate individual. And while his slow manner sometimes frustrated my more squirrel-ish pace, his work as an educator and administrator is inspiring. He will be missed.

"Pacific Rim": Propulsive, Massive Fun

2013-07-19T13:15:00.001-05:00

From the trailers, Pacific Rim didn't look like much. At least, not if you'd seen Transformers, Godzilla, or the many different "giant robot" series from Japan. Because the film is directed by someone who is quite well-loved, I thought Guillermo del Toro must have been angling for a paycheck. After all, this is the same man who gave us the great Pan's Labyrinth. Pacific Rim looked nothing like the brilliance found in that film, and so I was skeptical, opting to wait for the video/instant streaming release. However, the reviews started coming in, and since they were mostly positive, I decided this must be something to see on the big screen.

Indeed, I was right. Pacific Rim is a massive, overblown, special effects extravaganza; the plot is familiar, but that's the point. While Pacific Rim may be a close sibling of the Transformers films, del Toro's flourishes of style elevate the material far above anything Bay could produce, or rather, hasn't produced since The Rock. Pacific Rim's style propels the story, even during the slower moments, creating a fun and frequently beautiful film. Even though Pacific Rim didn't have quite the gut-punch Man of Steel delivered, del Toro's child-like film is the most fun I've had at the movies this summer, aside from The Heat, that is. Indeed, the film reminded of those long-gone days of spreading all of my action figures across the top bunk bed and spending hours creating "movies".

A few years in the future, Kajiu (giant, GIANT monsters) rise from the oceans and rain destruction upon the cities of the world. Faced with extinction, humans create Jaegers (giant, GIANT robots) to fight and kill the monsters. Years pass, and the humans piloting Jaegers find themselves famous, and the world begins to feel safe once again. However, the restful status is short-lived. A pair of Jaeger pilots, Raleigh Becket (Charlie Hunnan) and his older borther Yancy (Diego Klattenhoff), face off against the largest Kajiu anyone has ever fought. While the Kajiu is killed, its death comes at a terrible price.

Fast-forward a few years, and Raleigh is working on a huge wall world politicians believe will be enough to stop the Kajiu. Since Jaegers have been falling over the world, world leaders have dismantled the Jaeger program and have placed all their hope into the wall. Naturally, since this is a more than two hour film, the wall doesn't work. Raleigh finds himself in search of a new piloting partner as the world embraces imminent demise.

And let the battles commence!

I know I've already compared Pacific Rim to Transformers, and I'm sure you could infer how I feel about that series, but I think the comparison is needed to demonstrate that skill and planning can create an experience more fun than simply pointing the camera at stuff that blows up. Frequently in the Transformers films (with the exception of the first, which is actually pretty good), I have trouble keeping up with the action. Blocking and shot placement tends to confuse rather than inform. In the third film, Bumblebee is fighting a number of bad robots in what I thought was one part of the city, and then he magically appears to save Shia LaBeouf's character in what I thought was a completely different part of the city.

See, in those films, the action's sole purpose is to look really cool. Who cares about time and space, so long as the shots look cool? Well, time and space mean something, and when one character can simply appear at will to save someone else, there's no suspense, no sense of danger, so what's the point?

Guillermo del Toro, on the other hand, knows exactly where his camera is in time and space. He knows exactly where his characters are. Although the film mostly takes place at night during torrential downpours, I was never lost. Although both the monsters and the robots are CGI creations, there labored movements, and the actor's performances created action set pieces that seemed grounded in some semblance of physical reality. And that makes a huge difference in films with fantastical elements.

However, del Toro knows he's creating a "monster movie," and so he throws in fun moments where he seems to be winking at the audience, bringing them along for the ride, knowing that the film is first and foremost a ride. When one Jaeger wields an oil tanker like a sword, I laughed. The image is absurd, but fun nevertheless.

Of all the summer blockbusters that have been released this summer, at least the ones I've seen so far, Pacific Rim has a director who has a sense of style but doesn't let that style distract from the story; instead, that style propels the narrative forward, bringing the audience along for the fun. Thank you del Toro for reminding me that there are directors out there who can take mediocre material and elevate it beyond the promise of its story. Well done.

"Sharknado"... NO!

2013-07-16T20:52:00.003-05:00

A few months ago this movie was brought to my attention on Facebook. Humorously, a friend provided a link to a movie that was seeking distribution during the festival circuit. The movie poster promises insane silliness, especially considering the tag line is "Enough said!" With a poster that features great white sharks spinning around in a tornado, I was a little skeptical of the film's merits. But, that same friend requested a full review, including the velocity required to pull so many sharks out of the sea. Unfortunately for us both, the film fails to deliver the goods.

I was looking forward to the silly shenanigans afoot in the film. Hell, one of my favorite past times with my dad is dissecting the absurdities found in cheesy sci-fi films. We even do that with the good ones. The fun of watching a terrible movie is making fun of it. Just look at the Twilight movies; those are a riot. From the reviews and the advanced press, Sharknado promised to be the type of silly entertainment my dad and I would enjoy watching together.

And so, with bated breath, Tim and I prepared ourselves for a truly awful movie. Tim wasn't nearly as prepared for the horror of cinema he was about to watch. We settled ourselves onto the couch and cued up the DVR. There it was... Sharknado... just as they promised. A preposterous title, with an even more preposterous story. This was going to be great.

In my head, I was imagining sharks flying everywhere, something like a cross between Night of the Twisters and Jaws 3, with special effects so terrible that the filmmakers had to have known what they were doing. Sharknado promised to be a self-parody of disaster movies, a film that didn't take itself too seriously. And with a premise like that, how could they?

The first shot was actually pretty cool. Across a dark sea, shark fins, hundreds of them, pierce the surface of the water as the sharks attempt--or are they?--to flee the oncoming storm. And in the distance, a tornado bears down on the school of sharks.

It's a great start. But the budget of the film and all its creativity seems to have been used up in the first shot. Pity.

Los Angeles is facing an unprecedented hurricane. And in the midst of this unprecedented storm is a very familiar story: estranged father reconnects with his ex-wife and children while trying to save them. Naturally, my first reaction to all the melodrama was this: "There are sharks flying through windows!" How can anyone be concerned with who is doing what to whom when sharks are swimming through the streets, flying through the air, and causing mayhem everywhere, even in Beverly Hills?

But, that's a small problem. There are larger issues to be dealt with, for example, the film's complete disregard for its own absurdities. If the script had been wittier, more self-referential, more aware of its craziness, I could have forgiven the bad filmmaking. I could have forgiven the fact that the film was filmed in daylight, hoping that the grey filters and infrequent rain would be enough to confuse us. That was probably intentional, but the characters never seem to recognize that this is one odd hurricane, even more odd than the flying sharks. The hurricane doesn't act like a hurricane. The rain and wind are sporadic. Now, I've never been through a hurricane, but it's my understanding that the rain and wind don't stop, not unless you're in the middle of the storm's eye or the storm has passed. However, I may be wrong on this. Florida friends, help me out!

Sharknado's actual antagonist is boredom. Here I was hoping to see sharks flying all over the place with twenty, fifty, possibly hundreds of tornadoes, and the filmmakers only gave us four. FOUR! That's it?! That's what I waited months for? A measly four tornadoes. What a rip off! I suffered through terrible special effects, subpar attempts at humor, characterizations and plot developments that insulted the actors, and all for what... four tornadoes. Ugh!

When the heroes of the film finally (FINALLY) found themselves facing true "sharknadoes" it was too late. I had given up, even when the characters suggested that bombs could defuse the tornadoes. I was despondent and furious. Even that couldn't make me laugh. Awful thing to watch what promises to be a terrible movie, and it turns out only to be a terrible movie. I was hoping for more. I was hoping for the absurdity to reach epic proportions.

And that's exactly what the filmmakers gave me. (Spoiler Warning! Like any of you are actually going to see this...) One character, in her attempt to destroy the final tornado, falls from a helicopter and is swallowed whole by a shark. The scene is funny... But wait! It gets even better.

As the terror is over and sharks are falling from the sky, the hero sees his daughter threatened by a falling shark. He runs, wielding a chainsaw, pushes her out the way and leaps into the maw of the shark. Like his friend, he is swallowed whole. All is lost.

But no, what's that sound? Is that the sound of a chainsaw? Why, yes, it is. The hero is not so dead after all. He is cutting his way through the innards of the shark.

When the chainsaw cut its way through the shark fell onto the ground, Tim said, "Naturally birth: That's some terrifying shit!" Indeed, I was thinking about the same thing.

Wait, the hero is going back inside the shark. What is he doing? You know what he's doing. He's pulling out the woman who had been swallowed earlier. A quick round of CPR and she's saved.

Tim just stares at the screen, open mouthed, and I can't stop laughing. At the end, when all hope is lost, Sharknado finally delivers on the potential presented in the poster and opening shot. However, it was too late. Even on the level of so-awful-it's-good, I cannot recommend this movie with a clean conscience. If you do want to see the good bad stuff, simply skip to the final half hour of the film. Or find the ending on YouTube. I'm sure someone posted it.

I, for one, will have to wipe clean the stains this film left on the walls of my consciousness. Maybe Caligula is out there somewhere... Or even Howard the Duck... Then again, no. Sharknado isn't THAT bad.

"Upstream Color": A Glorious, Hypnotic Tale

2013-07-12T18:30:00.005-05:00

The first time I ever watched 2001: A Space Odyssey I knew immediately that I had watched something great. What the damn thing meant in a larger sense, I wasn't too sure, but it was great. Years later, I have a better understanding of 2001 and have watched a similarly thought-provoking, beautiful film. Upstream Color is hypnotic, literally as it turns out, and stunning. It's impact lasts long after the final shot. In short, I wish I could watch more movies like this. I wish I could go to festivals and watch an unknown film unfold with the kind of exhilaration that comes from not knowing exactly what's happening next.

On IMBD, the plot is the following: "A man and woman are drawn together, entangled in the life cycle of an ageless organism. Identity becomes an illusion as they struggle to assemble the loose fragments of wrecked lives." That is the most unhelpful synopses I have ever read. Intriguing, yes, but essentially unhelpful. The film starts with a woman, Kris (Amy Seimetz). She's successful, living by herself, with the normal obligations of a successful person in life. Pretty much, she's normal. However, her world is forever altered when an unknown man drugs her by forcing her to drink an worm-like organism; he takes her back to her home and begins a long hypnosis. Kris is forced to take out a loan and empty her bank account (in addition to performing mind-numbing tasks), and the days upon days of her absence cost her her job.

Kris' life is destroyed, and she doesn't even remember what happened. She only remembers waking up to her apartment's mess, a scar on her ankle, and a huge loss of time. But life goes on, and so must she. In the middle of her new life, she encounters Jeff (Shane Carruth). The two slowly fall in love, even through all of their eccentricities, for the most part unaware of the deeper bond they share.

The synopsis above does little to convey the style in which this story is told. The plot unfolds in repeated scenes, overlapping dialogue, huge leaps in time, and parallel stories that are hard to connect at first. In fact, very little dialogue is spoken, only enough to facilitate the scene. After the initial hypnosis, the film feels like how I imagine hypnotism. The mind wanders and questions reality, questions identity, wondering if everything it's experiencing is nothing more than illusions, suggestions, planted there by someone else.

Upstream Color is study on the nature of free will, on our own capacity to break free when outside forces attempt to control our lives. But it's also a wonderful love story. What's even more impressive is that this film is as effective as it is. Pure cinema at its finest. Indeed, I frequently thought of silent films while watching this one. How joyous it is to watch a film that doesn't feel the need to assault our senses with unnecessary noise. Instead, we can watch a story being told through gestures, through images. Lives unfold this way; memories are stored this way. Upstream Color is emotional and truly hypnotic in its presentation, a wonderful experience overall, and a glorious addition to the science-fiction genre. 2001 has great company.

The End Justifies the Means in "Monster's University"

2013-07-11T16:30:00.004-05:00

Monster's Inc. is a wonderful, thoughtful, inventive, and emotional film. So, from the moment the prequel was announced, I felt disheartened. Pixar, a company that has produced some of the finest examples of animation since Toy Story, has run out of ideas. At least, that's what I thought when I first heard about the prequel, Monster's University. In fact, my first question was "Where do they have to go?" I mean, how interesting will it be, really, to see Mike (Billy Crystal) and Sulley (John Goodman) in college? As it turns out, thankfully, I was wrong to despair. The people at Pixar know what they're doing. Monster's University is not equal to its predecessor(?), but it comes pretty darn close.

As the film opens, we see a very young Mike being escorted to Monster's Inc., the factory that produces the energy for the monster world by collecting the power from children's screams. He's fascinated and wants nothing more than to be the best scarer ever. Unfortunately, there's a problem: Mike just isn't that scary. Nevertheless, he works hard and gets accepted into the Scare Program at Monster's University. Also accepted is Sully, the son of a long line of quality scarers.

Enter the scariest creation Pixar has yet created: Dean Hardscrabble (Helen Mirren). She's the stuff of nightmares, with a body that combines centipede and dragon for terrifying effect. Dean Hardscrabble decides that the Scare Program does not need students who aren't up to scratch, and so provides an ultimatum: If she is not impressed by a student's performance during the final exam of Scare 101, that student will not be invited back the following semester. She's a hard one, that Hardscrabble.

Mike, clearly motivated to do his best, studies as best he can. Sulley, feeling like he can pass the exam in his sleep, slacks off. Naturally, they both get under each other's skins. Mike is jealous of Sully's natural ability, and Sulley is embarrassed because a green little eyeball is outshining him. However, circumstances force the pair to work together, which obviously results in them becoming the best of friends.

The plot of Monster's University follows the usual path. A motley crew of misfits must work together to prove their worth. Actually, I was frequently reminded of Revenge of the Nerds. The film does work, but, as I said, it's pretty standard stuff, even with all those monsters. Standard though it is, the film is well made.

For most of the film, I was feeling that Monster's University was never going to live up to the precedent set by Monster's Inc. Yes, the film is funny. Yes, the characters are likable and relatable. But I felt too much of the film had a "been there, done that" atmosphere. One exception is a scene in a library that proves that, even in the monster world, librarians are terrifying. Thankfully, the end redeemed the earlier sections of the film. I won't give away any spoilers, but I was pleased to see the delicate and sensitive way the film's creators handle a truth Mike comes to discover about himself. In addition, that final scare is a highlight. Watching the characters mature into the adult monsters who quite literally change the world is a joy, not to mention a nice refresher in a season filled with explosion-heavy, character-light action films.

McCarthy reigns in "The Heat"

2013-07-11T14:22:00.003-05:00

Melissa McCarthy is quickly becoming a one-woman show. To tell the truth, the plot of her more recent film, The Heat, teeters on the edge of forgettable. It's pretty standard stuff, really. That is, if you're comparing it to other buddy-cop films: the awkward straight-and-narrow type meets the rough-around-the-edges type; they hate each other, but grow to respect their differences; and hilarity and action ensues. The Lethal Weapon series is a good template here. However, this film is vastly different from those films, and in a way, it's a lot more "real," or better yet, "believable"... kinda.

The Heat follows Ashburn (Sandra Bullock) and Mullins (Melissa McCarthy) as they investigate the operations of a Boston drug lord. As an FBI agent, Ashburn wants to take lead and work alone. After all, no one wants to work with her anyway because of her arrogance and awkward social skills. Mullins also works mostly alone, but with her everyone is too scared to work with her. Even her captain makes disparages the effects his job have on his looks: "My kids call me 'Grandpa.'" Neither Ashburn and Mullins want to work together, but they are forced into the relationship due to extenuating circumstances, meaning "the plot." But enough of the plot, let's get down to the real meat of this review.

The main difference in this film, the most notable and obvious difference, is gender. How rare is it to see two women headlining an action comedy. Such things don't happen very often, yet The Heat proves that such things can happen, and they should. The Heat benefits from Bullock and McCarthy's unique charisma and chemistry. But it also benefits from a lack of herculean actions scenes. You know the kind. We've already seen tons of these scenes this summer. TONS. Take, for instance, Man of Steel, a film I actually enjoyed. Nevertheless, I grew frustrated with the level of destruction Metropolis suffered when gods fight. For a film involving superhuman strengths, this makes sense, sort of. However, this is pretty common in most action films today. The leading men of action films perform impossible tasks, regardless of the real-world effects on their bodies. McCarthy and Bullock, at least in this regard, feel more human, more vulnerable in this film, which raises the stakes whenever action scene is inevitable. The biggest action scene in this final, I would argue, involves a knife, just a knife. The result is priceless, and I found myself more involved than when I watched Superman and Zod tear apart metropolis.

Action, however, is suitably pushed to the background. Instead, the film is a nonstop barrage of profanity, most of it coming from McCarthy, and it's hysterical. This is McCarthy's film, for the most part. She delivers lines without holding anything back. Mullins is a woman working in a male-dominated field and has to push for every single bit of recognition. Mullins, and Ashburn too, reminds us that in many fields, women have to work twice as hard as their male counterparts, if not more. However, profanity alone does not create a likable character. Here McCarthy is an expert. In all three of her hit films (Bridesmaids, Identity Theft, and The Heat), there are moments when her character reveals vulnerability, wisdom, and a lifetime of pain. McCarthy excels at this, and we love her all the more for that. Now, don't think when I say "vulnerable" I mean "weak." No, McCarthy's characters, so far, have been far short of weak. All have displayed a level of confidence that is admirable and attractive. Indeed, one running gag throughout this film involves Mullins running into past lovers. They have fallen in love; she has not. It's great.

Bullock, likewise, brings plenty of laughs, but not by trying to outdo her partner. No, Bullock is smarter than that and plays the "straight" in the relationship to perfection. Indeed, Bullock's best scene (in my humble opinion) is an early scene that beautifully captures the arrogance of her character. Upon arriving in Boston to begin her investigation, Ashburn orders the police captain to take her to a perp. Not wanting to give up any control in the situation, she blindly starts walking, without the slightest clue where she's going. In fact, she has to be told about four times, "Special Agent, this way."Bullock plays the scene wonderfully, just the way comedy should be played: with a straight face, unaware of the ridiculousness of the situation.

McCarthy is on a role, and I hope it continues. Furthermore, I hope the suits at film studios realize that there is a market for female-driven films, outside of the rom-com bilge that populate the box office throughout the year. And McCarthy proves that she can steal scenes and headline an action film (I'd argue Identity Theft was her first action film). If The Heat is a taste of what could be in cinema, I can look to the future of movies and smile. Change is good.

"Man of Steel," Indeed

2013-06-21T13:15:00.001-05:00

My partner's first reaction upon seeing Henry Cavill, as he looked up into the camera, was "Darren Criss who?" Seeing as how Darren Criss from Glee held a special place in Tim's heart, this was a BIG pronouncement, and to tell you the truth, I couldn't blame him. While I've never been a huge Superman fan, I have occasionally enjoyed watching the movies and at least two of the television series (Lois & Clark and Smallville) depicting the adventures of the boy from Krypton. Over the years, I've preferred the more tortured antiheroes of Batman and Spiderman, those heroes who save the day but must always face the consequences of their actions, many of which are not so good.

Finally, at least in the realm of film, Superman has joined their ranks, and I for one am glad for it. The big-ol'-teddy-bear finally has to face the consequences of both "not acting" and "acting." This was done in previous films, but to a much lesser degree, always with an attitude that Superman was just one of the "good 'ol boys" and would get a pass. Not so much these days. Man of Steel places Kal-El in a complex world where choices are never easy, and sometimes you make the wrong choice, even though it's for the right reasons. The best heroes are those who are brought low only to rise above tragedy and failure with a stronger moral center.

The plot of Man of Steel takes a winding path, looping back in forth in time, starting with Jor-El (Russell Crowe) facing the death of his world. After repeated warnings, it appears his people have brought about the destruction of Krypton. For Jor-El, the end is inevitable. The Kryptonians' only hope is in a newborn baby boy, who came about in the natural way.

However, Papa-Superman faces stiff opposition in the form of General Zod (the brilliant Michael Shannon), who attempts a coup but is foiled and banished to the Phantom Zone. Like the best of villains, you almost feel sorry for Zod, and sympathy makes antagonists more terrifying because their plight is sympathetic.

Krypton cannot escape its fate, and neither can Kal-El. The baby blasts off into space, heading for Earth, and Krypton implodes.

Fast-foward, and we find a young Kal, now Clark Kent, discovering his powers in a brilliant sequence. How terrifying it must be to see through the skins of your teachers and classmates; how overwhelming it must seem to hear everything with ear-splitting clarity. This scene is handled in a wonderful way when Clark's mother, Martha Keny (Diane Lane), is called to school to coax Clark out of a closet (hehe!).

Truly, these early scenes of Clark with his Earth-parents are the best of the film. With a quiet yet moving performance from Kevin Costner (Jonathan Kent) leading the way, I found myself feeling for the boy from Krypton. When, after learning about his heritage, Clark asks Jonathan "Can't I just keep pretending to be your son?" My heart about broke, and I wanted to give the poor kid a hug, too. And in one particularly heart-breaking scene, Costner proves just how effective a simple hand gesture can be.

Years later, that same feeling continued as we watched Clark as an adult quietly moving about the country in search of a purpose, helping people out whenever needed. Though, when he burst through a door, shirtless, his body on fire, I would have passed on the whole hugging thing. Save that for later when Clark was merely smoldering and not on fire.

But I digress...

Another wonderful touch is the characterization of Lois Lane (Amy Adams). In pervious versions, Lois has always been smart and driven, but not smart enough to figure out Clark's real identity. This has always bothered me, and it was something which my dad pointed out frequently. Yes, I realize that when it comes to Superman, like with the most intelligent when facing a love interest, Lois got a little stupid. Still, knowing a few reporters, that journalistic instinct of putting things together is never turned off. Never. Adams plays Lois as intelligent, driven, yet never once is she fooled by a pair of goofy glasses, and I like that. Like with Pepper Potts in Iron Man 3, this is a woman who can handle herself.

Spoilers Ahead, Be Warned!

If you've seen the movie and have been following some of the responses to the film, you probably know that a bit of a controversy has cropped up, all revolving around Kal-El's choice at the film's climax. Superman makes a choice that has upset a lot of faithful fans. This choice doesn't upset me, but it is a curious addition to the rhetoric of the Superman legend.

After decimating much of Metropolis (hey, it happens when gods duel), Kal-El and Zod are locked together in death grips, Kal with the advantage. A group of people are huddled in a corner, desperately wishing they had avoided the train station I'm sure. Zod then tests the limits of Kal's morals by blasting lines of red fire from his eyes. Slowly, the burning lines approach the innocent civilians. Kal pleads with Zod to stop, but it's clear he won't. In a final act of desperation, Superman violently breaks Zod's neck, killing him.

"Superman does not kill!" is the criticism many have lodged against this act. While I must agree, I have to address the situation in which Kal is placed. Metropolis has been attacked (in scenes that eerily remind us of 9/11), and Zod has said that his place is protecting the legacy of Krypton at any cost. Hell, that's what he was bred for. Here's a man who is trapped. Zod cannot change, nor does he want to. His final act, I feel, is two-fold. First, he recognizes the futility of his actions and longs for release, longs for death. Second, his final act is a test to see if Kal is capable of descending to Zod's level of ruthlessness; it's his proof that Kal is no better than he.

This act, while definitely sullying the reputation of Superman, is a part of a larger rhetoric on American society, and thus an intriguing element of the picture. Superman, who has always stood for "Truth, justice, and the American way," is lost, like so many of us after 9/11. What exactly does it mean to be an American when our morality as a country has been so severely tested? Like Superman in this film, we've lost our identity, to an extent, and are desperately seeking to find our place in this world. Kal-El's primal scream after killing Zod is the scream of millions of Americans when forced to see the consequences of our country's actions. Man of Steel is a clear representation of our times, and any attempt to bring back the happy, dopey Superman of past incarnations would not have had such a powerful effect (see Superman Returns).

Spoilers Finished, You May Continue:

Man of Steel is probably my favorite blockbuster of the year (sorry, Star Trek!) because it is the only blockbuster that had my braining whirling after watching it. In fact, that's why it took so long for me to write a review; I felt I had to process what I'd seen before putting word to page. My only critique is that the action and destruction hardly give us a break, an effect of the blockbuster market, I know, but still, I would have loved a little bit of a breather. Hell, the final battle takes forever, and it doesn't even seem like Superman is trying to protect the people of Metropolis from the destruction, at least not until the end.

However, on a lighter note, I came across this video regarding the true power of Superman. And now that I think about it, the destruction in the film is mild compared to what could have happened.

Either way, I hope the filmmakers follow through with the complexities presented in this film. This is a Superman who I can stand behind, not because he's flawed, but because he is willing to sacrifice his own soul in addition to his body for the rest of us. He's a hero who knows that his actions have consequences in the real world, and that sometimes terrible choices have to be made under the worst possible circumstances. Superman has always represented America at its best, and in this film, he shows that even fallen heroes can rise above the horror of our world and reveal the beauty hidden beneath.

Iron Man 3: Just Shy of Greatness

2013-05-28T10:46:00.002-05:00

When the first Iron Man came out in 2008, expectations were blown away. That film proved, much like The Dark Knight, that a comic book movie could be fun and emotionally affecting. Iron Man demonstrated why comic characters have built such a strong connection with people across the world.

However, films like Iron Man and The Dark Knight are the exception rather than the rule. Iron Man 3 fits somewhere just below those great films. It's a good movie, but the film lacks the global consciousness, the social awareness, of the first film. Of course, that doesn't mean it's completely devoid of social critique, but its presence in the film seems to take a back seat to other more localized concerns.

Iron Man 3 begins not long after the events depicted in The Avengers. Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) is dealing with the effects of PTSD, not surprising considering he nearly died. Meanwhile, Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) is feeling emotionally distant from Stark and just a little jealous of the time he spends in his garage tinkering with a large number of different Iron Man suits.

Meanwhile, a terrorist known as The Mandarin (Ben Kingsley) is making televised threats (Osama-bin-Laden-style) against the whole of America. Indeed, one of Stark's closest friends is seriously injured during one of The Mandarin's attacks. In addition, Stark's past is starting to create problems for his present, and Stark has to deal with the consequences of his actions pre-Iron Man. After The Mandarin destroys his home, Stark is left to pick up the pieces of his life in the middle of Tennessee.

And that's all the plot I'll provide here, but this is a great place to begin my actual review. See, the section in Tennessee is my favorite part of the film. I love the exchanges between Stark and Harley Keener (Ty Simpkins), a young boy who ends up helping Stark with more than repairing his suit. A major difference between good comic book movies and lesser ones is the emotional connection between the superhero and the audience. If the audience does not feel anything for the hero, then there's no suspense, no real risk of danger. This section of the film wonderfully builds on Stark's vulnerability as a soldier dealing with the effects of war and coming so close to death. This section is where Downey's abilities as a fine actor really have a chance to shine.

Another wonderful moment in the film is a bit of a spoiler, but I'll try my best not to ruin anything. I'll simply hint. One of my favorite moments in The Dark Knight Rises involves Selina Kyle's rescue of Bruce Wayne near the end. I loved that moment because a woman rescuing helps build the possiblity that women are just as capable at saving the men they love. A similar moment occurs in Iron Man 3, and I loved it. Women need a larger presence in these types of films. It's a shame it doesn't happen more often.

*This picture is very Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2.*

My next favorite moment involves Ben Kingsley, and the only thing I'll write here is that his performance is brilliant. Brilliant, I say!

I was never all that interested in Iron Man as kid, so that may be the reason why I'm not as interested in these films as others. Iron Man 3 is a well-made movie with a lot of really good things going for it, but there is something missing, something I can't really pinpoint (call it a lack of sufficient interest), that keeps me from delving into the frenzy of fandom. That being said, Iron Man 3 is a lot of fun and much better than most comic book movies out there. It just isn't a boundary pushing film; it doesn't elevate the material beyond the expectations of its genre, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but this does mean Iron Man 3 is just shy of greatness.

*This artistic reworking of the Iron Man 3 poster below is a wonderful example of the strange, subservient positions women often take in movie posters. I'd love to see the movie depicted in this drawing!*

Star Trek Into Darkness: Criticisms aside, Still Great Fun

2013-05-27T13:45:00.002-05:00

Generally speaking, I do try to approach each film I watch with a certain amount of critical, dispassionate distance. However, I am human, and there are just some films and series (maybe more than some) out there that bring out the "fan" in me. Star Trek films are exactly those types of films for me. It's hard not to get emotionally involved in the series. After all, it's a series I have grown up with.

While I did not watch many of the the original series episodes growing up, I loved the movies with the original crew. Even when I didn't necessarily love one of the entries in the series (Final Frontier, I'm looking at you!), there was still a measure of love for the effort and for seeing my favorite galaxy-hopping crew.

So, where is all of this leading? I'm getting there.

In the weeks leading up to the release of Star Trek Into Darkness, I've felt compelled to read a few of the early reviews. For films like this I normally avoid reviews because there's a chance my feelings might get hurt by what the critic has to say. Over the past two weeks, my head and heart have been battling it out. Reviews with negatively suggestive titles, I avoid. Reviews with more positive titles, I read. Some times this worked, other times... not so much.

Not exactly fair and balanced, I know, but then again, this is Star Trek.

Anyway, from the reviews I've read there have been considerable criticisms leveled at Abrams and company regarding the new installment. Some feel that the essence of what made Star Trek great is being lost in the push for a more action heavy summer blockbuster. Others feel that specific plot points pushed them passed the threshold of belivability.

To some extent I agree with these criticisms. The philosophical quandries presented in the earlier films and television series seem to be severely limited in favor of practically tearing the Enterprise to pieces. (I am worried that poor Enterprise won't survive its five year voyage at the current rate of destruction.) Little time is given for the characters to truly contemplate the consequences of their actions, and the film does end in a quick and lazy manner.

However, I'm taking this film as a step in character development, an episode in a new series, if you'll allow.

Critics have been complaining about the immaturity of Kirk (Chris Pine) in this film. While I agree with them that Kirk is far from the morally-centered captain of the original series, what I feel is forgotten in the rush to complain is the fact that Abrams' Kirk is a fresh, young captain, not the experienced version we have seen in William Shatner's Kirk. Even in the original series, Kirk was already a mature and capable captain. Pine's Kirk, while quite capable, has yet to reach that level of maturity, so I actually find it refreshing to see him making mistakes.

Another criticism I've read involves the fact that Spock (Zachary Quinto) is far more emotional in this film than Leonard Nimoy ever was. There is an answer for that as well. In this alternate timeline, Spock's character is in the midst of reconciling his emotional human half with his logical Vulcan half. The vacillation Spock experiences in this film, like with Kirk, indicates a lack of maturity. These are young characters, not quite mature, but almost. They are learning, and I find witnessing this process
fascinating.

Star Trek Into Darkness does, at least, correct a major problem I had with the first film in Abrams' series: a complete disregard for modern science. Yes, years and years ago, a common trope of sci-fi was the black hole. Any problem in the plot that cannot be fixed? Use a black hole.

However, today, our knowledge of black holes is substantial enough to suggest that the events in Star Trek are quite improbable, if not impossible. I'm still wondering why they didn't just use worm holes, something that's been around for a while now in sci-fi, having taken the place of black holes. It seems like such an easy fix, especially considering the backgrounds of all the people involved (Fringe, Lost). For this film, I didn't have any such reservations, so that in and of itself is an improvement.

There is one problem I do have with the "science" of this film: Beaming seems to be both a insurmountable obstacle and a safe and easy escape route. Characters seem to have no problem hoping across the galaxy thanks to Scotty's (the hilarious and perfectly cast Simon Pegg) "trans-warp beaming" equation. However, beaming one person from the center of an active volcano is a massive problem. The logic here escapes me, and I can usually argue such problems (part of the joy of Trek-science discussions among friends).

That being said, this lapse in scientific know-how doesn't bother me as much this time around because these obvious plot devices serve a much larger purpose: the moral growth of the crew and the larger critique of a war-mongering state. Because these plot devices work to establish an intriguing rhetoric, I can forgive them. The same cannot be said of the first film.

And now, my friends, I have written my way into spoiler territory. Much of this review has lacked any plot specifics because I've been trying to save that for the end, where I must discuss another character, and I'm afraid I have to give the film's major secret away. So, if you have not yet seen the film, I'll leave you with the following: Star Trek Into Darkness is an overall improvement, a welcome addition to Abrams' stamp on the Trek universe.

Spoilers begin now.

Benedict Cumberbatch, oh what a glorious name! For months, plenty of people have been speculating on the true identity of Cumberbatch's villain. And for months now plenty of people have guessed right. Cumberbatch's John Harrison is none other than Khan Noonien Singh.

The moment Cumberbatch finally reveals his true name, I got chills. This dude is seriously creepy and a far cry from Ricardo Montalban's iconic, scene-chewing/stealing, villain from the original series and the classic Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

Again, some critics have cried foul because of rehashing of a classic. However, I don't consider this a rehashing at all. In fact, the film's writers have gone out of their way to change as much as possible. This story has very little to do with the original series episode or the previous film. There are similarities, of course: how Khan was found (kind of), Khan's basic history, and Khan's own psychosis. But everything else is different thanks to the alternate timeline. Indeed, I'm hoping any future entanglements with Khan will revolve around Spock's brilliant subterfuge at the end of the film. This time around, Khan will have a much bigger beef with Spock than with Kirk.

As far as Cumberbatch's performance goes, I loved it. He's fierce, charming (not to mention a bit sexy), manipulative, intelligent, and Scotty's reaction to seeing Khan take down three Starfleet officers is priceless and quite appropriate. Khan is a much more physically intimidating presence this time around, no wonder both Spock and Uhura (played by the lovely Zoe Saldana) are needed to take him down.

Well, if you've stayed this long, thank you. Believe me, I had no intention of writing a lengthy review, but that's how writing goes sometimes. And as my family and partner have experienced on multiple occasions, I can be quite talkative when the "fan" in me comes out. It's the essence of fandom, I'm afraid, and I'm hardly immune.

Overall, despite and because of its flaws, Star Trek Into Darkness is a great summer movie and a wonderful continuation of the Star Trek universe.

*On a lighter note... Here's some grammar humor for you. And look! There's a Contact reference in there, too! :)

Favorites: Little Shop of Horrors

2013-05-21T09:54:00.000-05:00

After two months of nothing, I have a new post for you all, and it's an new "Favorites" essay.

Now that work has slowed down considerably, I have the time and energy to devote to writing on here, something I've greatly missed over the past couple of months. This particular post has been swimming around in my head since before Christmas, and I have now decided to sit down and write it.

Years and years ago (who knows exactly how long ago), I remember watching a peculiar little musical that my parents had rented (probably from Blockbuster, remember those?). It was filled with catchy musical numbers, strange caricatures of humanity, and one vulgar plant. I say "vulgar" because near the end of the film the plant utters an obscenity, and I was young enough to be totally shocked by it. After years of restaurant work and playground antics, words like "shit" no longer have quite the same effect. However, Little Shop of Horrors's lack of obscene language proves the old adage "less is more." But I digress.

Little Shop of Horrors is one of those films, I believe, which marks the beginnings of my current infatuations with dorky, nerdy, socially awkward guys. Yes, for some inexplicable reason I had the biggest crush on Rick Moranis as Seymour Krelborn. I think it was the glasses. Yes, I blame the glasses. Either way, he was a first in a very long line, leading all the way up to Sheldon Cooper.

The film itself is actually a remake of an old(er) B-horror film starring Jack Nicholson. Seymour, as an employee of a failing flower shop, is lovesick and depressed, which is a condition that seems to be contagious on Skid Row. That is, until one day when he stumbles upon a "strange and unusual" plant. In an obvious bid to win a coworker's affections, Audrey (played by Ellen Greene), he names the plant, Audrey II.

After receiving a paying customer, drawn to the shop by the "strange and unusual" plant, the shop owner, Mr. Mushnik (played by Vincent Gardenia), orders Seymour to keep the plant alive. Odd thing, the plant doesn't want any of the usual pant foods. It doesn't even react to anything Seymour tries. That is, until Seymour pricks his finger on a thorn. The plant then makes a sucking sound and reaches for Seymour's bleeding finger. Blood is the plant's food preference.

Of course, any rational thinking human would chuck the plant out the window and go on about his/her life. However, the film sets up the characters as being so despondent that they are willing to take a beating if an escape from Skid Row lingers on the horizon. After receiving such positive reactions from those around him, especially Audrey, Seymour forgets about his misgivings and decides to feed the plant the blood it craves.

There are other complications, however. Audrey is dating a dentist. Not just any dentist. No. She's dating the most sadistic dentist the world has every known, Orin Scrivello, D.D.S. (played by Steve Martin). Like Seymour's own unwillingness to avoid abusive behavior, Audrey illustrates an unsavory willingness to accept Orin's repeated beatings so long as she's dating a "doctor." Like most partners suffering from abuse, she doesn't think she deserves better.

From the description above, it might be hard to tell that Little Shop is a musical comedy, and a hilarious one at that. The film lovingly pokes fun at the characters and the absurd plots of monster movies, but it does so without hating its characters.

Under the direction of Jim Henson (of Muppets fame), the film is not just a musical and comedic treat, it's a beautifully shot film as well. Henson knows how to set up jokes and effectively uses light and shadow.

The opening is a perfect example. Little Shop opens with a beautiful view of a starry sky, swirling in cosmic colors. The shot then dissolves to a similar swirl of color that turns out to be an oil slick on top of curbside puddle of water. Henson brilliantly sets up the tone of the film with the first couple of shots: the grand brought low.

The film is filled with filmic wonderment, but the best effect (of course) is Audrey II. If the film were to be made today, Audrey II would be a CGI monster, and that would be a mistake, a huge mistake.

Watching the film on Blu-ray, I'm struck with how well the movie has held up over time. Audrey II is just as impressive, even more impressive today as it was when I first saw it on my parents' enormous 12-inch screen.

Using his own prodigious skill with puppets, Henson creates a gigantic plant with such fluid movement that it's hard to imagine just how he could have pulled it off. The trick involves no animation (computer or otherwise), but a lot puppeteers and a slower film speed. Basically, ever shot with the plant and Moranis was performed at a slower speed than normal so that when the film is run at a normal speed (24 fps), the movements look normal. Impressive, indeed. In camera special effects are at times more realistic than anything computer animation has produced so far. Even by today's standards, Audrey II looks amazing.

But the effects and directing are not the only reasons I consider this film to be one of my favorites. The performances are also fantastic. To start, Henson uses his penchant for cameos just as superbly as he does for the Muppets. Appearances by James Belushi and John Candy are great, but the one cameo that steals the show is one which is not in the original musical. Thanks mostly to great ad-libbing, Bill Murray's quick onscreen presence is hysterical. Murray plays an overeager patient to Martin's sadistic dentist. Their one scene together is a brilliant joke involving S & M. Of course, it's a PG movie, so the joke is mild, but still funny as hell.

The heart of the film, however, is in the performances of Moranis and Greene. Moranis seems made to play the awkward Seymour, and Greene (with her distinctive voice) originated the role of Audrey on Broadway. Moranis is loveably dorky, and Greene proves that a wispy, quiet voice does not necessarily mean one can't belt out a showstopper. Both characters are desperate to escape from their own personal traps, hoping to move beyond the boundaries of their psyches and the borders of Skid Row. I remember watching their journey as a kid and being moved.

And after all these years, I still love to watch both characters gain each other, gain their own piece of happiness, gain that special place somewhere it's green.

Oz, the Not-So Great and Wonderful

2013-03-21T11:10:00.002-05:00

Once again, it seems I have neglected my duties here. This blog seems to suffer the most while I'm busy with my teaching requirements--you know, grading and such. Every once in a while, an idea will pop into my head, but before I have the chance to write it down, I start to feel guilty: Grading has to be done. But now I'm in the middle of Spring Break, and while there is still grading to be done, my guilt is outweighed by my desire to relax and write something that has absolutely nothing to do with teaching others how to write.

And so, I bring you a review of Sam Raimi's latest film, Oz the Great and Powerful, a prequel to the classic, The Wizard of Oz. This time, we follow the adventures of Oscar (James Franco) before he became all "great and powerful." Turns out, he was a poor, philandering magician attached to a traveling carnival. Then one day, a twister whisks him away to the land of Oz, where he meets three beautiful witches. Sounds like the making of a wonderful and intriguing story, but sadly no. For the most part, this film's story is rather dull. The visuals are great--especially the CGI character, China Girl--but the real tragedy is in the casting of Mila Kunis as Theodora (The Wicked Witch of the West).

Mila Kunis is a fine actress, but she is tragically miscast here. Yes, she can play an cold, evil seductress--just look at her wonderful performance in Black Swan--but a cold seductress is not what this film needs. Oddly, enough, this film needs a scenery-chewing, bold performance, one that is not too scared to be over-the-top wicked. And that's where the tragedy thickens, because the film DOES have a scenery-chewing performance in the delightfully wicked Rachel Weisz, who plays Evanora (The Wicked Witch of the West).

Now, I'm not saying Kunis should not have been cast, but I think she would have been better served playing Evanora rather than Theodora. Weisz's character is cold, calculating, and down-right manipulative, something Kunis could have pulled off with ease. And as I watched Weisz deliver the stand-out performance of the film, I kept asking myself, "Why didn't Raimi cast HER as The Wicked Witch of the West? She's terrifying."

Of course, I do hate to compare this film to its classical "sequel," but Margaret Hamilton's performance is the stuff of nightmares, even when she's playing Miss Gulch. Kunis' performance, not so much. Kunis looked the part, but she couldn't sell it. Instead of going over-the-top, Kunis goes under. Bless her heart, she tries. But doesn't quite get there. On a good note, Kunis will probably have another opportunity in the sequel. After all, the film is doing well at the box office, so Kunis should spend the time studying how to sell being over-the-top wicked.

That being said, the rest of the film looks wonderful, even the 3D presentation looked good. But there's a huge problem with a film when the preview for a 3D version of Jurassic Park produces more tension then the film I paid to see.

*As a side note, I can't wait to see Jurassic Park in 3D. Not only does the 3D look better than anything I've ever seen, I'm also looking forward to experiencing the film on an IMAX screen. The T-Rex's performance, now that's selling terror.

Finally! Something New: A Few Short-ish Reviews

2013-01-28T15:23:00.001-06:00

For the last month and a half, it has seemed like such a chore to put words to page--so to speak. With the holidays, the end of the fall semester, I've had a general lack of interest in writing anything new. Well, that's not necessarily true. I'm actually in the process of rewriting the first couple of chapters in my book, Guardians and Dreamers. But that's not something I'll be publishing here any time soon.

My apologies.

Instead, I'm going to post this short-ish piece on the last few movies I've seen at the theaters. All were quite good, well, more than good actually.

Skyfall

I'm a James Bond fan. Not so great of a fan that I've seen every single Bond movie, but I've seen enough to recognize the formula and to have a favorite Bond actor. To be honest, I believe the first Bond you see will always hold a special place in your heart, and for me that actor is Roger Moore. I remember the excitement, the fun, I had watching my first Bond film, For Your Eyes Only. From the opening scene that led into Sheena Easton's titular song, I loved it.

However, I think Roger Moore has been replaced by Daniel Craig, especially with the glorious film that is Skyfall. While I do enjoy the Bond movies, I don't go into them expecting "great" filmmaking. Quality filmmaking, yes. A good time, usually, even with the subpar Bond movies. But I definitely don't expect great filmmaking. Skyfall is great filmmaking.

Sam Mendes has made some wonderful films: American Beauty, Road to Perdition (a film I absolutely love), and Revolutionary Road (a devastating look into a failing marriage and failing lives). He has elevated the Bond series; he has raised the possibilities of a Bond film. Like with The Dark Knight, after Skyfall, I'm not sure I'll be able to go into another Bond film without comparing it to Mendes' film.

The script is tense and fun without forgetting to pay homage to the Bond legacy. The performances, especially Judi Dench and Javier Bardem, transcend the usual caricatures. And the cinematography, by Roger Deakins, is truly beautiful. Watching the film in IMAX only served to highlight the qualities of the film.

In a couple of weeks, Skyfall comes out in Blu-ray, and I can't wait.

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

The moment I heard Peter Jackson had committed to filming The Hobbit, I was very excited. After Lord of the Rings, how could I not be. And then came the delays, the drama, and the news that the short novel was going to be, somehow, split in two and then three films. Needless to say, I was getting frustrated and worried.

Thankfully, my worries were groundless. The Hobbit is a wonderful addition to the Lord of the Rings films. It even spends a bit more time on character development than any of its predecessors, especially in regard to Bilbo (played by Martin Freeman) and Thorin (played by Richard Armitage).

The opening of The Hobbit starts slow, but it's the good kind of slow. Jackson takes him time, allowing the audience to enjoy the return to Middle Earth, and allowing for the humor of Tolkien's work to build naturally into the story.

And when the action sequences come, they come in droves. From the moment Bilbo decides to accompany the dwarves on their journey, the action hardly lets up. One of the best action sequences occurs as the company tries to make their way through the Misty Mountains east of Rivendell and are captured by the orcs that have made the mountains their home.

Of course, the best scene of the film doesn't involve much action at all, just Bilbo and Gollum discussing the former's fate. Unlike when Tolkien first wrote the scene, Jackson knows the importance of this particular meeting and so does the audience. That he was able to capture the importance of the scene is a testament to Jackson's uncanny handle of the material.

A personal favorite scene is the meeting between Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond, and Saruman. As a Lord of the Rings fan, I'm happy to see the parts of the story Tolkien saved for the appendices. Instead of being time-fillers, they work with the narrative Jackson is attempting to build.

For now, I've been satiated, and while I'm still wondering just how Jackson can fill out two more films, there's just a little less worry.

Les Miserables

The first time I remember listening to the soundtrack to the original Broadway cast recording, I was sitting in my junior Chemistry class--having finished my work, of course, and free to spend my time however I saw fit. Les Miserables moved me to tears, and only one other musical had done that before: Rent.

Now, all these years later, I was very excited to finally SEE a version of the musical. Despite my disappointment with the film version of Rent, the trailers and the people behind the film version of Les Miserables raised my hopes. I walked into the film with high expectations.

Unfortunately, Tim and were a little late getting to the theater--at least later than we usually like to arrive--and so we were forced to get a couple of less-than-stellar seats: right next to the entrance to the theater. We watched as people poured into the theater, filling up most the seats. The talking seemed louder than when we normally go to the movies.

I was starting to worry that the audience was going to ruin my own experience. However, this proved unfounded. The moment the film started we were all transported by the opening chords and the opening visuals to a post-revolutionary France.

Tom Hooper, who made the brilliant The King's Speech, directed the film in a style that was, for some reason, surprising. The film looked like how I imagine France of that time period, but it still looked a bit stylized. It was simultaneously real and fake. Right now, I can't describe it in any other way than as a stylized representation of reality. Weird as that sounds.

The opening shots seemed to travel by far faster than I would like, especially during "Lovely Ladies." Here was a song where you'd want to see all those lovely women, but the shots just flew by in a distracting whirlwind.

And then the film settled into Fantine's lamentation, "I Dreamed a Dream," where the camera drew in close to Anne Hathaway's face for an almost unbearable, single-shot, performance. Now, I don't mean Hathaway did a terrible job. No, when I say unbearable, I mean that the performance was so good, I felt guilty watching Fantine's descent into prostitution and loneliness. It was quite nearly unbearably sad. And from that moment on my eyes were filled with tears. Twice, after that, those tears fell from my eyes, unabashed and unashamed, for there were quite a few other people around us sniffling, and not just women either.

One of those moments caught me off guard. The first occurred during what has to be the saddest moment of the musical. The second was a moment I was not aware of; I'm not even sure it happened in the musical. It involved Javert (played by Russell Crowe) and Gavroche (played by Daniel Huttleston), and I'll say no more.

I haven't cried like that since I was surprised, once again, by Bridge to Terabithia--and I blame the misleading trailers for that one.

Anyway, I have focused on my emotional response to the film because that's what I remember most. Yes, the performances were topnotch--although Crowe doesn't exactly fail at singing, he does not do a swell job, but his acting fits the character. The production design was outstanding. My only critique is that the early scenes were editing at a pace that didn't fit the style of the film. It was a pacing more fitting for a Michael Bay film.

Other than that, I absolutely loved it.

Django Unchained

And finally, we've come to Tarantino's latest film. This was a surprise, too. A surprise because it happens to be Tarantino's most straight-forward narrative. The story is told from beginning to end without very many flashbacks or loops in storytelling. Django Unchained is almost like Tarantino wanted to prove he could tell a straight-forward story. It must have been a strain on the poor guy. And I keep hearing about a five hour edit he may or may not release.

Goodness... I'm not sure I want to see a five hour version of Django. The nearly three hours was plenty, just right in fact.

Even now, I'm not sure where I'd place Django against Tarantino's other films. While it does pack an emotional whollop, and the characters are fascinating; Django seems to be missing something although I'm not entirely sure what.

Maybe it has something to do with the uncomfortable subject matter. After all, culturally speaking, slavery is not something many Americans are proud of. I read an article that Americans are having the same reactions to Django that Germans had to Inglourious Basterds. I can now imagine how a revisionist film about WWII could make almost anyone whose cultural history encompasses that period might not embrace the film with overt enthusiasm.

Yes, even today, I'm not sure how I feel about Django. It's a good film, a wonderful example of a heroic journey. Think Odysseus, but instead of Sirens, Cyclopses, pig-soldiers, and many other terrors of the ancient Greek world, you have slaves, slave-holders, abolitionists, and every other unsavory aspect of slavery.

The story follows the format of a traditional heroic journey. The hero is freed, trained, and has to overcome some serious obstacles to achieve his goal, in this instance, the freeing of his wife, Broomhilda (played by Kerry Washington.

Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio give stellar performances, but I think my favorite performance--the one that's the most memorable--has to go to Samuel Jackson. He plays Stephen, the devoted head servant for DiCaprio's Calvin Candie. Jackson has the hardest job of the entire cast: a black man who is terrifying and yet willing to do his master's bidding, no matter what happens to the black people around him. For Jackson, it's a performance rivaling the best of his career. Indeed, I'm disappointed he wasn't nominated for an Academy Award. He certainly deserves it.

Like with most of Tarantino's film, I'm unsure of how to approach the film, from a critical perspective, that is. It will definitely take time to process, again, like his other films. Truthfully, I may never find a way to approach his films other than to just sit back and enjoy the right. And Django Unchained is a swell ride.

A Response from a Part-Time Teacher

2012-12-17T15:56:00.000-06:00

The past weekend has been a mixture of joy and depression. Joyful because Tim and I held our first holiday cocktail get-together on Saturday and depressing in large part because of the recent school shooting in Connecticut. But it's not the senseless death that has been depressing me, at least not entirely. What happened in Connecticut is overwhelmingly sad and no amount of words, no matter how eloquently used, will speed up the recovery process. Such acts leave gaping holes in the soul and only time will lessen the pain.

What has been depressing me over the last few days are the responses from friends and family on Facebook. It seems, over the last few months, that what I once found enjoyable about the possibilities of the social networking giant has now become a burden. I started noticing the disturbing trend during the election process. Misinformation is passed around with absurd ease and is much harder to dispel than the "forward" emails that fill my inbox on a daily basis. Outright hatred, vile and deplorable speech, and insensitivity are all hurled from one end of the political spectrum to the other with indecent abandon.

There was a distinct and disturbing "us vs. them" mentality that seemed to grow every single day. The point came when I just scanned my Facebook wall for certain key words, most notably: president, presidential candidates, Romney, Obama, politics, right-wing, left-wing, moron, idiot, socialism, communism, wealthy, healthcare, welfare, taxes, economy, and whatever other words associated with the election. I started simply skipping overtly political status updates because I just couldn't handle the rhetoric anymore.

Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate a well-reasoned argument. But so much of what passes as fact or an attempt at persuasion are nothing more than one or two sentence long "sound bites" used to simplify highly complex issues. And what's worse is that politicians on both sides of the aisle used those very techniques as short-hand to spur their respective constituents into a frenzy. It worked only all too well. So well, in fact, that I saw the very same points made on my Facebook wall on student papers, without the slightest attempt at backing up the claims made. It's like they simply "reblogged" or "shared" what they had seen without giving any thought on the matter. And instead of a well-reasoned, calm discussion we get an increase in volume and ferocity, like changing the manner in which the words are spoken or written gives them more authority.

I've had plenty of phenomenal discussions with people who think and believe differently from me. I try not to descend into a yelling match, but I know, it's sometimes hard, especially if I'm really passionate about the issue. I generally try to walk away from that kind of discussion. The moment my blood starts to boil, or my face burns, I try to take a deep breath and just stop talking. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I do this because engaging in a discussion or debate while angry is not in the best interest of whatever I'm wanting to support. In persuasion, anger is not a valid way of getting your point across to someone who thinks differently; it's only appropriate--kind of--when conversing with those who already with you.

After five paragraphs, you may be wondering how all of this connects with the tragedy in Connecticut. Well, I'm starting to see the same things happening in the wake of the shooting. Instead of mourning the victims and their families and starting a serious discussion of why shootings like this have become an almost yearly occurrence.

The discussions that are starting to take place on my Facebook wall can hardly be considered serious. I've seen posts suggesting we arm teachers and administrators. I've seen posts suggesting we "bring God back into the schools" (a curious statement, but I'll get to that later). While I understand the sentiments behind such claims, they seem more like knee-jerk reactions to a horrific event.

First, let me address the "arming teachers" argument. I am a teacher. I'm also opposed to owning a gun. This is not because I think guns should be outlawed or anything like that. No, I support a person's right to possess a firearm. I just honestly don't think I could take a life. Plain and simple.

Now, I know what some of you may say: "What if your loved ones are suffering?" "What if someone broke into your house and was about to kill you?" and many other "what ifs?" The short answer to such questions is, "No, not even then." However, that statement makes it seem like I don't care about my loved ones or my own safety. That's not all the case, and this highlights the problem with simplistic answers. My answer is more complex than that. After all, I have given it some thought.

So here's the longer answer. In a life or death situation, there can be no hesitation. You either pull the trigger, or you don't. When the heart is pounding, the adrenaline is flowing, no one really knows what they are going to do in such situations. Yes, we fantasize what we think we would do, but there's no way of really knowing, not until we have actually faced that situation, not until we have a gun pointed at our faces. Only then we will know exactly how we're going to react. I, for one, don't want to hesitate. For, in hesitating I give my would-be killer the opportunity to overpower me, thus arming them. That moment of indecision could cost me my life. That moment of indecision could give a robber a reason to kill me and my loved ones.

But there's more. I also don't believe I'd be capable of taking a life. Once again, plenty of people have told me I could if put in the situation where it's my life or someone else's. Honestly, I can't be so sure. Just like with the scenarios presented above, they are fantasies, fantasies fueled by films and television where the hero rarely hesitates, rarely makes a wrong decision.

Life is far more complex than that. In tragedy after tragedy, there are heroes and cowards. We glorify the heroes for their selfless acts, as we should. But then we simultaneously abhor those who are seen as cowards. Why didn't they act? Why didn't they do more? Fear. That powerful emotion that propels us in times of stress, fear can paralyze us, cause us to not act. Is it really cowardice when fear overwhelms the senses of a person who may have never truly experienced it? I don't know how I'd react in a similar situation. I have never faced fear like that. Hopefully, I'll never have to.

The complexities of tragic circumstances deserve more than a call to arm all teachers and administrators. After all, aren't they human, too? Aren't some of them dealing with the same emotional instabilities as Adam Lanza, if to a lesser degree? An alarming number of teachers and administrators have used their authority to abuse the students in their care. I shutter to think what might have happened if Sandusky had been able to carry a weapon around with him at Penn State.

The next suggestion, "bring God back into our schools," seems to be just as insensitive. As an agnostic, I don't hold to any particular form of religion, yet I firmly believe that people have a right to express their religion. The problem is that a school has to serve a wide variety of students, all with differing religious beliefs and cultures. Putting God back into schools in today's world is fine as a theory. Spirituality and religion give plenty of individuals hope, guidance, and offer opportunities for social connections. However, it can also lead to oppression and fanaticism. I understand the intentions behind allowing God back into schools, but as an individual who feels religion is private affair, I wouldn't want it in my school. Not as a student, not as an educator. The last thing I want to do is be insensitive to my students' individual religious beliefs; the last thing I want is to be involved in a oppressive environment in my classroom.

Furthermore, I have a problem with the rhetoric itself. The phrasing used is troublesome for me, and I'm amazed people who are more religious than I am haven't noticed. "God isn't allowed in our schools" is a phrase I wouldn't think the devout should be able to say with a straight face, but they do. An all powerful being, whose omnipotence far exceeds the limitations of our collective intelligence, should not be concerned with not being allowed anywhere. Indeed, the faithful should carry God with them in their hearts, regardless of where they are. It's not like the government has posted signs or erected sensors that block an individuals faith or belief from entering a school building.

Such rhetoric suggests that God is not all-powerful, and it suggests that the government is attempting to take away religion entirely. It's not, despite what is being said on my Facebook wall. The government is merely attempting to address the changing cultural landscape of our country. I've taught Asian, African, European, and Middle Eastern students, yet I've never felt compelled to ask them to pray with me, or consider the Bible's teachings. That's not my job. I'm not qualified to be a religious leader, nor would I want to be one. And even if I did, I'd be pretty intolerant if I assumed that just because my students reside in the US that they'd want to be preached to by a Christian teacher. Again, that's something best left for church, temple, synagogue, or wherever a student wants to worship.

Freedom of religion is about allowing individuals to make their own choices; it does not mean one religion can make judgment calls for everyone. The government and public school systems around the country have recognized this. I just wish more would, too.

All of this seemingly random prose leads me to the following conclusion, something many may have said before, but it deserves to be repeated: The social and cultural issues behind the increase in mass shootings are far more complex and deserve more thoughtful responses than simply arming school officials or putting God back into our schools. I suggest a stronger focus on mental health and research into recognizing the potential triggers of such behavior. We desperately need to recognize the pressures that can lead to this kind of destructive and horrific action. I suggest the media, and those who watch the endless cycles of speculation and simplistic problem-solving, to stop focusing on the sensational aspects of such tragedies.

And I suggest we, as a society, stop looking for quick-fix solutions to our problems. Despite the action adventures we love, not all problems can be solved with the firing of gun. Good and evil are not so readily recognizable in real-life. If they were so easily distinguishable, then we could solve our problems with the firing a weapon. How can we really tell if someone is "evil" or not? What if we're wrong in that judgment? The Connecticut shooter, in his own mind, may have made that very same judgment call, completely convinced his actions were justifiable. This is not a justification for actions that are deplorable, but a recognition that our judgments, as individuals and as a society, are sometimes not so clearly thought out as we hope.

The Connecticut victims and their families deserve better. Humanity deserves better.

Cloud Atlas: A Symphony of Sight and Sound

2012-11-04T21:51:00.001-06:00

The last few weeks have seemed like I've been focusing on nothing but Cloud Atlas, which is partly right. There have been other things going on in my life other than David Mitchell's novel and the Wachowski siblings/Tom Tykwer's adaptation. And even though I will ease up on the gushing a bit after this review, these two wonderful works of art will continue to occupy some head space.

I've already written a very long sentence describing the plot in my book review a few days ago, so I'm not sure I'm up to writing it all over again. Will it seem crass to ask my readers to scroll down a bit to another post to read that long plot description? Well, I don't know about crass, but it's certainly lazy, so I guess I should at least quote myself below:

Just to give a brief rundown of what the book contains, the novel starts with the diary of Adam Ewing, a man who has gained passage on a schooner called Prophetess; then the story moves to a series of letters written by Robert Frobisher to a lover, Rufus Sixsmith; from there the story jumps to a journalist in the American seventies, who uncovers corporate greed and a murderous plot; and then the reader is blasted to the near present for the funniest section of the novel, where a poor elderly editor goes through a most ghastly ordeal; over a hundred years later, a fabricant named Somni-451 starts describes ascension into consciousness; and finally, we are propelled even further into a post-apocalyptic future as the remnants of humanity fight for survival and try to connect to their own distant past.

Hopefully, dear reader, you'll forgive my laziness. The film doesn't alter much of the basic plot of the novel, but it does change many of the details, which I found refreshing since I just finished the novel and didn't want an exact replica of the novel. What I did find with the film is a symphonic adaptation of the novel, almost like they took Robert Frobisher's symphony and set images to the melody.

From the first few minutes, the Wachowski siblings and Tom Tykwer set the overall tone and pace of the film. They provide a kind of prologue that gives the audience a chance to get used to the style of the film and as a way to introduce all the main characters and the times in which they live.

This is a brilliant move on the filmmakers part. It's like they realize that an audience will have trouble keeping up with all the individual stories unless they've all read the book, so the filmmakers try to give the audience all the stories at once, cutting rapidly from one story to the another and back again. While this sounds like it could be a disaster, and it very well could have been, the film succeeds beyond expectations.

It's success centers on the editing together of all six stories. Rather than making the same choice as Mitchell, who focused on one story at a time, giving the reader the first half of each story and then giving them the second, the directors decide to cut the stories together to provide the greatest emotional effect, so that when a character succeeds or fails in their endeavors, all of them fail or succeed.

I'm not sure if that last sentence makes sense. As I mentioned in the title, the film is a symphony. The individual parts may not sound like much separately, but when they are put together, they create an experience that is quite powerful. This is especially evident in the directors' choice in casting many of the same actors for all six stories. Take for instance, Doona Bae (whose main character is Sonmi-451). She's pretty recognizable in all of her parts, and so it's easy to pick her out. There's a moment in the film when two of Hugo Weaving's characters threaten and intimidate Doona Bae's. The director's focus on the Bae characters' reactions heightens the emotions of both characters. And they do this with all of the characters, creating a symphony of human emotion that echoes and reverberates in the mind long after the film is finished, much like how I feel whenever I watch a good Shakespearean play, where the language lingers on afterwards in a spectacular kind of afterglow.

The only negative I found in the film was the varying skill of the makeup effects. Some the work was phenomenal. I dare each of you not to be surprised in missing at least a few of famous actors who make appearances. However, some of the work was not at all great, most notably for one of Hugh Grant's characters and one of Doona Bae's. Thankfully, neither is on screen for long enough for the errors to become too glaring. After all, another minute later, the story will move on and the horrible makeup will be soon forgotten.

But this is nitpicking. After all, with the exceptional work throughout the rest of the film, I'm surprised there aren't more horrible makeup jobs. It took awhile for me to recognize Jim Broadbent in the Adam Ewing section.

The book is phenomenal in its style and its propelling narrative. The film works as an accompaniment to the novel, expanding on the themes, translating the novel for a visual and auditory experience. One focuses on language, while the other focuses on sight and sound. This film shouldn't be seen with a mind trapped in trying to figure out the plots and how everything connects. Instead, like with a good symphonic recording, you should just sit back and allow the sights and sounds overwhelm you, allow the film to take you on a journey through time. Cloud Atlas is an experience, and even though it seems like the film doesn't take enough time for me to develop connections to individual characters, I found myself caring for all of them. And that's quite a trick to pull off.

Favorites: The Halloween Edition

2012-10-31T15:20:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to get back to reviewing movies for a while now, but for some reason this just hasn't been happening. With my teaching and tutoring schedule, there hasn't been much time for thinking, much less writing. However, at this moment I have stolen a few moments to write up at least something pertaining to movies.

Below is a short list of my favorite horror films, the movies I love watching at this time of year. Granted, horror is a genre, like comedy, where individual tastes play a huge role in defining what's good and what's not. And again, like comedy, it's hard to get it right all the time; but when it is, the result is a magical experience.

1. The Shining

The Shining is my favorite horror film. It's the type of film that's unsettling from the opening shot all the way to the last. And even though Stephen King was not too happy with the adaptation, I find the film is one of those rare exceptions when the film outperforms the book. The film is not gruesome, gory, or really all that violent (at least compared to today's horror standards). Nevertheless, the film always satisfies by providing the kind of haunting creepiness I hope to experience this time of year.

2. The Exorcist

This film is frequently at the top of "best of" lists, and it's for a very good reason. The only reason this film isn't at the top of my list is because there are times when I find the movie unintentionally humorous. On the other hand, there are times when I feel a overwhelming desire to listen to Christmas music after watching the movie. After all these years, it's still the model by which other horror films are judged. Sadly, not many come close.

3. The Blair Witch Project

This is not a film I can watch all the time, not because it's too scary though, because the camera shakes too much. When I saw the movie at the theater, I spent most of the movie covering my eyes because I felt like throwing up. But this doesn't take away from the fact that The Blair Witch Project is still one scary ass movie, especially for anyone who has spent any amount of time camping. Even with the ever increasing dread, those final moments in the house still haunt me.

4. The Cabin in the Woods

The Cabin in the Woods has just recently shot up this list because of its brilliant story and its genius blend of laugh-out-loud humor and some pretty good scares. Roger Ebert, in his review of the film, wrote that the audience won't see the end coming. He was right. I didn't. Nothing prepared me for the final twenty minutes of the film. I will say this: I don't recall the "ding" of an elevator ever being quite so funny, or satisfying.

5. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Leave it to me to put a musical on my "favorite scary movies" list. Stephen Sondheim's macabre masterpiece proves that musicals can produce quite a few good scares and whole helluva-lot of creeping dread. Add to the mix, Tim Burton and a brilliant performance by Johnny Depp, and you've got a beautiful and terrifying film on your hands. And what's even better is that by the end of the film, you realize that Sweeney Todd isn't the worst guy on Fleet Street.

So, there you have it. My favorite movies to watch in October. They may not be the most terrifying ones out there, but they do provide quite a few good thrills, enough to keep me coming back every year.

Cloud Atlas: Our Past, Present, and Future.... All in One Fantastic Narrative

2012-10-31T11:40:00.001-05:00

Quite frequently, as I've written before, movies affect my reading habits. And it has happened again. A couple of months ago, I heard of a new movie coming out by the Wachowski siblings, whose imaginative filmmaking talents brought us The Matrix trilogy. Needless to say, I was excited. Then, of course, I saw the trailer for the film, which is an astounding piece of work all by itself. The trailer is thrilling and mysterious, an exciting combination of sight, sound and powerful emotions. Yes, some of the lines seem a bit pretentious and preachy, but that didn't bother me. I trust the Wachowski siblings; they can handle a visually imaginative epic just fine.

However, I was then faced with a dilemma: I had yet to read the book. Back in 2004, when I was coming ever closer to the end of my undergraduate degree, David Mitchell released Cloud Atlas, a book that would eventually go on to be nominated for the Man Booker Prize. For another seven years, the novel's existence remained a mystery to me. That is, until I found out about the film adaptation.

So, I downloaded a sample of the book from the iTunes bookstore and started reading. Once I blazed through those forty pages, I decided to go ahead and download the rest of the novel, just like I was prompted to do at the end of my sample. I can't say I was disappointed. In fact, having just finished the book last night, I can say that Cloud Atlas is one of the best reading experiences I've ever enjoyed. Just like another favorite book of mine, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, I found myself emotionally drained and exhausted by the book's end; even more, I didn't want the book to end. Those final hundred pages were torturous because I knew the end was coming, yet I loathed the point when I'd have to step out of Mitchell's world and put the book down.

Describing the plot is an exercise in futility. However, I'll try my best. The book does contain six "novellas," all interlocked, weaving back and forth on each other, connected by coincidence, a birth mark, and the art of story-telling in all its wonderful forms. The novel's focus seems to be on the power and effect of narrative on people, history, and time itself. Nothing quite connects the human race like narratives.

Just to give a brief rundown of what the book contains, the novel starts with the diary of Adam Ewing, a man who has gained passage on a schooner called Prophetess; then the story moves to a series of letters written by Robert Frobisher to a lover, Rufus Sixsmith; from there the story jumps to a journalist in the American seventies, who uncovers corporate greed and a murderous plot; and then the reader is blasted to the near present for the funniest section of the novel, where a poor elderly editor goes through a most ghastly ordeal; over a hundred years later, a fabricant named Somni-451 starts describes ascension into consciousness; and finally, we are propelled even further into a post-apocalyptic future as the remnants of humanity fight for survival and try to connect to their own distant past.

Whew! Now that was a long sentence. Forgive me. The wonderful part is, I just covered only half of the novel. After the post-apocalyptic section, the novel goes back and wraps up the narratives the first half had begun. I use the word "wonderful" because while I wanted the various narratives to wrap up, I didn't want them to end. Each section could have been expanded into six separate novels.

If the narratives weren't compelling enough, the writing is quite beautiful and impressive. Through each section, as Mitchell moves forward and backward through time, the style and format changes. So drastic are the changes that it truly feels as though different people wrote different parts of the novel. Mitchell combines a stunning array of genres in the book, a feat that feels overwhelming at times, but at no point does the book fail to entertain, even in the nineteenth-century section--a style of writing that is far from my favorite.

Throughout my reading experience, I have not felt like crying very often. The final Harry Potter book, and Wicked both moved me close to tears. Now, I can add Cloud Atlas to that list. By the novel's end I felt emotionally exhausted, drained in the effort to finish the book, and drained in the journey across time. The moment I reached the end I had to resist the urge to start the book all over again. After all, sleep sometimes trumps reading... but only sometimes.

For now, I'll settle for watching the movie. I've already made Tim promise that we'd see the movie this weekend. I can only hope--fingers crossed--that it extends the wonderful experience I had in reading the novel.

The Power of Art on Memory and the Heart

2012-10-08T19:44:00.005-05:00

Every so often I come across a film or book that is so affecting that I can't bring myself to watch it multiple times. Watching such films, or reading such books, again is an exercise in emotional torture, albeit the good kind. And last week, I experienced yet another example of this very phenomenon, and in a very unlikely place: It occurred while I watched last Thursday's episode of Glee.

This is the second post I've written about Glee; and while I usually think of Glee as a wonderful and fun show, I don't think of it as great art. Inspirational? Yes. Art? No. However, this particular episode surprised me and stabbed me right in the heart; it unearthed some memories that have long been buried, some hurts that have long been forgiven. And I was wholly unprepared for it.

Last week's episode lived up to the title, "The Break Up." (Beware! Spoilers abound!)

Even before the episode started, I figured one of the power couples in the show would be breaking up. I was surprised when damn near all of them broke up, and not all for exactly the same reason.

I've loved this season so far because the show has started to venture outside of the choir room. Oddly enough, I am loving the Rachel and Kurt story lines much more than the New Directions story lines. Well, I guess that's not quite so odd considering that both Kurt and Rachel are the driving forces of the show. Without meaning to, I'm sure, they both have taken center stage.

Anyway, this episode followed the four main "power" couples of the series (Rachel/Finn, Kurt/Blaine, Will/Emma, and Brittany/Santana) as they journey through some treacherous emotional terrain. Each couple is dealing with some kind of separation, mostly through distance, but also in growth and expectations.

As some are experiencing life after high school, those left behind are having to deal with the developing voids in their lives. And those who are experiencing life in "the real world" are having to deal with juggling their past lives with their present realities. The transition from high school to college/work is a difficult one, especially when there are some incredible ties to your former life.

"The Break Up" resonated with me so much exactly because it brought out some long buried memories. It was like watching the emotions I had once lived through. Indeed, a very specific memory came to mind while watching the show, and I found myself becoming overwhelmed.

See, like the characters of Glee, I was in a relationship during high school: my first love. We knew that the transition would be difficult, and so it was.

Now, here's where my memory becomes a bit faulty. I distinctly remember having a conversation that entailed our being free, but still together. Forgive my ignorance, I was in love at the time, and willing to agree to anything to keep that feeling alive, however feebly. That being said, my boyfriend at the time doesn't recall us every having that conversation, so who knows what we had agreed upon.

Really, our lives were taking different paths. He was moving across the state to finish high school and start a college program at a university. I was staying in my hometown (good 'ol Odessa... yay) to work on my basic courses in college.

Our first semester apart didn't seem to be too hard. We talked on a regular basis, at least as regularly as we could; and soon into the fall semester I decided to pay him visit. This visit was the moment when the end of what was became a reality in my mind.

While watching Glee, I was struck with how much they got right. The awkward merging of two people's lives when they have some time apart. Both Blaine and Finn travel to New York to visit Rachel and Kurt. However, it soon becomes apparent that their lives have become vastly different. The pace, the rhythm, the very energy all of them once shared has altered. One pair is enjoying the direction their lives have taken while the other only feels stuck, incapable in truly sharing in the joy.

I felt that awkwardness. I felt that shift in rhythm. It was not pleasant.

The moment I found myself in my boyfriend's apartment I knew something was different, but I told myself that the difference lied within me. After all, I am not the best traveler, and I don't react all that well to change.

He was living a life vastly different from my own. He was living the typical "college life," enjoying classes, new social connections, and (naturally, I guess) partying with friends. My life at that point focused almost entirely on work and classes. There wasn't much time for new social connections since so many of closest friends had moved away.

Despite the alteration in how we related to each other, I persisted. I was going to enjoy my time there. And I did. Right up until the point when I found myself vomiting in a bathroom.

I was so determined to have a good time and prove that I could hang with his new-found college friends that I found myself playing a drinking game at an apartment, not my boyfriend's. I don't even remember the game. All I remember is playing the game and becoming, for the first time in my life, excessively intoxicated. I think the most accurate word is "plastered."

My memory here jumps from playing the game to finding myself alone at the table, smiling rather stupidly I imagine. Suddenly, I knew a trip to the restroom was going to be a necessity. So, I gingerly made my way through the crowd of people in the living room, found the line to the restroom, and patiently waited for my turn.

The rest, I'm sure, is not too hard to imagine. I was gone.

The only things that were real to me in that moment were the toilet, the coolness of the restroom floor, and my own spectacular retching. To this day, I can't stomach a vodka cranberry.

An old high school friend (not my boyfriend) found me in the restroom (I'm guessing that people started to complain about how long I had occupying the one restroom in the apartment) and led me to a bedroom, where a trash can was produced so I could continue vomiting without interfering with the other partyer's restroom breaks.

Through the fog of memory it soon became clear that I had been left there by the very people who had brought me. I was taken back to my boyfriend's place (grocery sacks were needed for the car ride), and I was guided up the stairs, stumbling and apologizing all the way up that spiral staircase. I can honestly say it wasn't my shining hour. And for the next month and a half I couldn't stand the smell of alcohol, which is interesting when one considers the fact that I was the only one at my restaurant who could serve alcohol.

The point of this is not to place blame on anyone. It is merely the memory that surfaced while watching Glee last week. And I don't want anyone to think negatively on my ex-boyfriend. To be honest, we both didn't have the same expectations, desires, or even the same goals after high school, so my persistence in believing there was anything left of our relationship has a lot to do with my inability to let the relationship die. For the longest time I was unable to let go of the love between us. I didn't want to face the fact that we had moved beyond what we'd had in high school, beautiful though it was at times.

Just like certain smells can suddenly, forcibly, remind us of a loved one passed, a good piece of art can pull on those bits of emotions we'd thought long buried. The love I was felt for my ex-boyfriend is long gone. However, I was surprised to be reminded of the hurt and awkwardness of feeling stuck, of feeling left behind.

Weird, so often as adults we try to act as though the experiences of our younger years have no bearing or effect on our present. But it only takes a smell, a photograph, a story, or even a brilliant piece of art to force those emotions to the surface, purge them, if you will. In my line of work, we call this a catharsis.

It is rare for me to actually feel catharsis in today's art, but it still happens. Even more rare is discovering a cathartic moment in a television series. I cannot remember a moment in any series I've watched feeling so viscerally moved by an episode. Honestly, I can't believe such a reaction happened while watching Glee. However, it did, and I have to be honest with how I feel. Art is subjective, after all. And while I don't expect to feel this way again for a long time, I am happy to have experienced it.

Under the Dome: A Not-So-Subtle Allegory, Then Again, This is Stephen King

2012-09-28T14:54:00.002-05:00

After making my way through the horror that is Fifty Shades of Grey, I was happy for a dose of reality and good storytelling. So, I decided it was time to finish Stephen King's brick-sized behemoth, Under the Dome.

It was a relief to read something that pulled on my attention, as opposed to something that made my soul weep with every turn of the page. King's own unique style is not one of my favorites (although it is enjoyable); however, he is nothing else if not a strong storyteller, right up to the end, where he will invariably cut you off. King doesn't do this with every book and story I've read, but he does do it frequently enough that it can result in a frustrating reading experience. The only time I found this actually worked for the story is in his Dark Tower series. As for Under the Dome, such an abrupt end only served to leave the story lacking despite the incredible build up.

King begins with a very simple premise: What would happen if a small town was suddenly and inexplicably isolated from the rest of the world? How would the citizens of that town react to being cut off from everyone they love?

The answers are pretty frightening.

Within the first chapter, the town of Chester's Mill, Maine is cut off from the rest of the world by a giant, clear dome. People and animals are immediately killed as it comes down, most cut in half, and at least two people die because their plane crashes into the dome.

Almost immediately, the town is further split into two distinct factions: good guys versus bad guys. And believe me, it's very clear who is who. The Good are led by Dale "Barbie" Barbara, a former military interrogator, and Julia Shumway, the editor of the local newspaper. The Bad are led by the second selectman of the town, James "Big Jim" Rennie, who also happens to be enjoying the profits from a massive "side project."

As the events unfold, the town joins one camp or the other, with more following Big Jim ("we support the home team") rather than Barbie, who after all is an outsider, a newcomer to the town, and thus untrustworthy.

King is a master at developing multiple story lines, juggling a seemingly endless array of characters, and at generating pulse-pounding suspense. The last is especially important since the book is over a thousand pages long. Each character is distinct and developed enough to propel the story. Even better, the plot doesn't seem like it's following a generic path. The characters make decisions that are believable and determined only by how King draws them. Despite this, King creates an unpredictable atmosphere, where the reader is constantly wondering what the characters are planning, in addition to wondering what will happen next.

The story begins to fail near the end, where everything wraps up far too quickly. After a phenomenal build up, the climax and resolution of the plot arrive in rapid succession. It was like I had awoken from a wonderful dream because someone threw a bucket of ice cold water into my face. I needed resolution; I needed to know what came after.

Unfortunately, King doesn't pander to my needs as a reader, only to what the story requires; and apparently this story only covers what happens under the dome. Even so, it was a frustrating end to an otherwise wonderful experience.

On a side note: Under the Dome is a thinly veiled political allegory, an intriguing look at the years following 9/11, and how America now exists in and creates policies in reaction to a state of terror. As stated in my title, the book is a not-so-subtle cultural statement by a not-so-subtle writer.

Fifty Shades of Grey, or, Yet More Proof I'm Gay

2012-09-12T17:54:00.001-05:00

Finally! After what feels like an eternity, I have finished reading E.L. James' popular erotica novel, Fifty Shades of Grey. I cannot say I was impressed. Maybe it has something to do with my own preferences. I think not. More than likely it has something to do with the other books I have been reading, or finished reading, lately. Two of those books were The Other Wes Moore and Nickel and Dimed. Some of the others I've started and finished while reading James' book include The Great Gatsby and The Bell Jar. I've also been reading Stephen King's Under the Dome, which I haven't finished, but that's not because of a severe lack of interest; no, it's just a damn big book.

James' novel suffers from a very serious flaw: It's boring. To be fair, I did think, for a time, that my boredom could be a result of being gay. It's a fair assumption to make until it becomes clear that I've read a lot more about straight sex than gay sex. The world of literature is filled with straight sex. Henry and June, by Anais Nin, comes to mind. As does Lady Chatterley's Lover, by D.H. Lawerence. Both of those books contain quite a bit of sex, and I didn't find either one boring. So it seems that my reaction to Fifty Shades of Grey has nothing to do with sexual orientation.

Then why did my eyelids grow heavier and heavier every time I picked up the book?

First, I believe the biggest culprit is in how James establishes and draws her characters. To be frank, they are just not that interesting. Even Mr. Grey, who is supposed to be this incredibly beautiful man, suffers from a lack of personality. And no, his preference for S & M style sex does not make him interesting. Nor, really, does he become interesting through how he was introduced to sex, courtesy of an older woman (who's name, Mrs. Robinson, produced an eye roll from me every time I read it). Of course, Mr. Grey is also incredibly wealthy, but I think that's only to serve the fantasy element of the plot--that Grey can do pretty much anything he wants--and doesn't really provide any interesting information about Grey. Thankfully, being rich is not a personality trait.

The main character, Anastasia Steele, also suffers from a lack of personality. Oh, James tries very hard to demonstrate just how intelligent and well-read Ms. Steele is, usually by dropping references here and there to other famous works, like Tess of the d'Ubervilles, by Thomas Hardy. Granted, Thomas Hardy is not my favorite writer. I was forced to read Jude the Obscure in college and have recoiled from his name ever since. The fact that Ms. Steele actually loved him didn't exactly make her endearing.

The most egregious reference, a reference which stabbed me in the heart, occurred when James referenced a line from Hamlet, "what dreams may come." She inserted the line arbitrarily, where it had no discernible reference to the original work. Ms. Steele was falling asleep after an especially "hardcore" sexual escapade and the line just popped into her head as she thought of what dreams she might have that night. Since the line from Hamlet has nothing to do with literal dreams but what the soul may see while journeying through that "undiscovered country" that is the afterlife, the line does not fit well within the scene. It's as though James thought, "Oh, that's a nice line, and it's about dreams, so I'll just put it there." It doesn't work.

But, moving on....

References to other works don't create a personality, and Ms. Steele's lack of personality is even more disheartening in that James chose to write the book in first-person. This choice, and a few other similarities, reminded me a lot of another popular novel with a very boring character: Twilight. Like with Bella and Twilight, I found Ms. Steele so uninteresting that it was a chore to finish the book. I pushed my way through the headache inducing writing, through the boring sex scenes, and through all those literary references hoping that something good would come out of the whole experience. Sadly, no. I have absolutely no desire to continue reading the adventures of Steele and Grey. I'd much rather read more from Anais Nin.

Hell, I'd much rather read the latest volume of Boys on Boys, or something like it. At least with those books I'll have something to relate to, even if the writing is mind-bendingly awful. Those books aren't trying to be more; they're a "wham, bam, thank ma'am" kind of affair. And, sometimes, that's all right with me.

The Bourne Legacy: Good Acting, Good Final Chase, but Missing a Reason for Existence

2012-08-30T10:30:00.006-05:00

Whew! I've been busy the last couple of weeks. So much so that I have had little time or energy to sit down and write this review. In fact, I saw The Bourne Legacy before the start of the madness that is the first two weeks of the school semester. However, the intervening time between viewing and this piece of writing has not diminished how I feel about the movie. In short, the film has some good parts, but the whole left me rather unfulfilled, wondering why the film needed to be made in the first place.

Legacy's story actually starts near the beginning of The Bourne Ultimatum's timeline, when poor Simon Ross is assassinated for looking too deep into the Treadstone/Blackbriar projects. Integrating Legacy's plot with the previous installment is one of the best attributes because there's a sense of unity between the two projects.

In the middle of all that drama and intrigue is Aaron Cross (played by Jeremy Renner), who is navigating his way through a snowy, mountainous terrain. That is, until he meets up with another CIA operative like himself. Apparently, everyone within the program has been taking medications that have increased their mental and physical capabilities. Jason Bourne is a curious anomaly because he has somehow weaned himself off of the "chems" and still managed to outsmart the entire CIA.

Cross is different; he needs the "chems" much more than Bourne does, and most of the film follows his progress as he searches for the people that make the pills. His endeavor is made even more difficult. As it happens, because of Bourne's antics, the "higher ups" at the CIA (namely Retired Col. Eric Bayer, USAF, played by Edward Norton) have decided to scrap the entire program, which means killing everyone connected with it, including field operatives and the doctors who developed and administered the medications.

This unfortunate development also affects the life of Dr. Marta Shearing (played by Rachel Weisz). Due to the complications mentioned above, she has to flee her home and enlist the protection of Mr. Cross. The rest of the film is basically one long chase. There's lots of running, lots of vehicles speeding and crashing, a moderate amount of gunfire, and lots of hand-to-hand combat.

As a whole, the film just didn't work for me. I left feeling, well, "blah." See, the previous night, I had watched Ultimatum to immerse myself in the world of Jason Bourne. The direction of the Bourne films is famous for its fast editing style and tight direction. Legacy seems to move away from this style in the beginning, opting for longer shots and wide vistas. Normally, as someone who gets nauseous with the "queasy cam" style, this would seem to be an improvement; however, Tony Gilroy (director) doesn't create much tension with the composition of his shots.

Indeed, there wasn't much tension at all throughout the entire movie, which means I spent much of the film bored. The only highlights came from the performances of Renner, Weisz, and Norton, but even their acting skills could not save the story. Characters are not introduced in such a way for us to care about them. Even the final chase sequence lacked tension because we had no idea who was chasing Cross and Shearing. Why should I care about them surviving if I haven't seen the assassin in action? Cross shows himself to be more than capable of handling himself and dispatching various law enforcement officers and assassins, so why couldn't he turn around, face the bastard, and get rid of that guy just as quickly? (I'll tell you why, because the film just had to end with a spectacular chase. That's why.)

These questions keep popping up when I think about Legacy, and I hope any future installments will have more story and character development. Renner, Weisz, and Norton are all gifted actors. I just wish they had been given something more to work with. The Bourne Supremacy still remains my favorite of the series.

*On a side note. Why did Cross have to kill people who were simply doing their jobs? Bourne tried not to kill people, simply knocking them out. Some may not have found Cross' actions disturbing, but I found them a serious flaw in a character who was supposed to be the hero. Not very heroic in my eyes.

A Year and a Half and I'm Still Writing.... What do you know!

2012-08-10T11:06:00.000-05:00

For some reason, over the past few months, I was under the impression that I had started this blog in 2010. Apparently, I hadn't really looked at my archive because if I had I'd have noticed that my first blog post was posted in February of 2011. Oh well, you know, I've never said my memory was the greatest.

Well, it's a year and a half later, and I am pleased to note that I have yet to give up on this little project (though it may seem that I have forgotten about some of the writing projects I'd started here). This blog has been a fascinating experience so far, and the most fascinating part is seeing which of my posts generate the most pageviews. From the beginning, I had always planned on writing about a variety of things: work, writing, movies, books, whatever strikes my interest. This has led to a random series of blog posts that don't seem to have a connection to one another, nothing but a series of essays.

For those of you that have taken the time to read even one of my blog posts, thank you. I know that I tend to write a lot, especially for reading on a computer, but hey, that's what you get for knowing someone who fancies himself a writer.

This post will be considerably shorter than most. Really, I just wanted to use this post to mention a few of numbers, and to hit another: 60. Sixty is the number of posts I have written in the last year and a half. Some of them aren't very long, but I'm proud of writing so much. It's proof that I can write a lot in a year, and if I ever get published, it's proof that I can write the equivalent of a first novel relatively quickly. As of right now, I've written around 60,000 words on here (small fist pump!). That's about 40,000 words fewer than Guardians and Dreamers.

In honor of my sixtieth post, after a total of nearly 1,070 pageviews, I wanted to list my top five most viewed posts, complete with links. Granted, these aren't huge numbers (definitely not Perez Hilton numbers), but I'm happy to have generated over a thousand.

Top 5 Posts by Views:

5. Hanging with Karlee: Part 3: 25 views

I loved writing my "Hanging with Karlee" series. It was probably the most fun I've had writing this year, and I'm very happy it has generated such interest in others as well.

4. The Gay Bubble Just Outside My Window: 37 views

This post was written after spending a wonderful birthday with my family, my 30th birthday to be exact.

3. Reflected Images: JK Rowling's Posthuman Epic: 39 views

You have no idea how happy I am that this post makes this list, or maybe you do, I wouldn't want to presume. Needless to say, this shortened version of my thesis is one of my favorite posts. It provided an opportunity for people to read my theory without having to slog through my entire thesis, with all it's academic jargon and heavy reliance on theory.

2. A Life Full of Food, Family, and Plenty of Laughter: 42 views

This particular post was posted in order to reach out to family who could not make my grandmother's memorial services, to express my own grief, and to leave a more permanent reminder of my grandmother's life. I deeply wish I hadn't had the occasion to write it, but I'm glad others will know she lived and loved.

1. It's More than Chickn' Ya'll: 105 views

Somehow, I wish some of my other posts had made this spot. I wrote this one out of frustration and irritation. I can't say writing this was a happy experience, but at least I had an avenue to vent how I feel. And it seems to have struck a chord with many of you as well.

Thanks for reading everyone!