TLA Attacks the Movies

Double Feature Double Dates

justtovarich@gmail.com (Tovarich) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 17:40:00 +0000

or Making The Most of a Crappy Economy

Let's face it: the economy sucks. Sucks to the point that suddenly, spending $12 for a ticket, $8 for parking, $15 for snacks, and $wayTooMuch for dinner has ceased to be an impulse night out has evolved into a major financial consideration. It's in times like these that video rentals and libraries become all the more important, and really, what better way is there to take our minds off an awful reality than with a couple of awful movies? To that end, I present my list of bad movie double features - one a week should keep you going well into blockbuster season, by which point hopefully you'll have saved enough for a night out.

Paul Verhoeven Misogyny Night (Total Recall and Showgirls)
Ah, the 90s - when nihilism was in and feminism was a dirty word. Sharon Stone basically treated her role in Total Recall as a warm-up for the more-coherant Basic Instinct, and Showgirls is...well, Showgirls. (Note: get the VIP edition if possible - the pop-up trivia track alone is worth the price of admission.)

Movie Monster Smackdown Night (King Kong vs Godzilla and Freddy vs Jason)
Icons will be icons, after all, whether they be the rubber-suited behemoths of the 60s or the latex-makeup goremeisters of the 80s. Just be careful you don't get both of these discs going at once, as I'm fairly certain a Fatal Fourway matchup between these titans would rip a whole in the fabric of spacetime.

Mass Media Will Kill You Night (Videodrome and Death Race 2000)
When you think about it, it isn't that big a leap from a UHF channel showing snuff films to a government-endorsed national obsession with gladitorial road rallies. This is the ultimate in meta message - TV won't just rot your brain, it will turn your very dismemberment into entertainment. Toss in the Max Headroom pilot (or better still the original BBC teleplay) as an appetiser if you can track down a copy.

Let's Sing About Eating Each Other Night (Sweeney Todd and Cannibal! The Musical)
It'd be a close vote as to whether Tim Burton or the creators of South Park are more divorced from what the rest of us call reality, and nowhere is that simple fact put on better display. That said, I dare you not to hum "Shpadoinkle" after all is said and done.

Road Trips From Hell Night (House of 1,000 Corpses and The Doom Generation)
You'd think it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that entering an off-the-beaten-path hillbilly hovel adjacent to a museum of serial killers might not be wise. Meanwhile, the next time you discover that every purcahse you make at a convenience store costs $6.66? Just turn around and go home. Even if you're hanging out with naked Rose McGowan.

The Bard Is Spinning In His Grave Night (Tromeo & Juliet and Strange Brew)
Shakespeare will serve as inspiration for new movies forever due to one simple fact: he's public domain. That said, it takes especially twisted minds to turn Romeo & Juliet into a lesbian-infused, Manhattan based Hatfield/McCoy feud - let alone to turn MacBeth into a Bob & Doug Macenzie brewery wet dream.

Can't Sleep, Doll Will Kill Me Night (Dead Silence and Child's Play)
All modern killer sculpture movies, of course, owe an inestimable debt to the classic Twilight Zone episode The Dummy. But each of these takes is a classic in its own way. For a lighter chaser, see the Buffy season 1 episode The Puppet Show.

Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance, Gotta Throw Shit At the Screen Night (The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Hedwig and the Angry Inch)
If you watch these alone in your living room, you're a loser. Yet if you spend countless hours to perfect a costume and hairdo, memorize ritualized call-and-response lines that sync to a years old script, and get together with a bunch of ther similarly-afflicted afficinados, you're part of a countercultural movement. Go figure.

Bonus, not-actually-bad-but-campy-as-hell theme:
Witty Dialogue-Based Comedy Night (Clue and The Princess Bride)
Campy, guilty pleasures at best, but I'll lay dollars to donuts that between them, these two movies account for most of the catchphrases spouted by any self-described movie buff under the age of 35. An entire generation of snarkers can't all be wrong, can they?

— Tovarich

More Oscar Predictions

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 15:13:00 +0000

Because I enjoy public humiliation, I thought it was time to throw my hat into the ring with my Oscar predictions. No need to share your Oscar pool winnings with me, as long as you don't blame me when you lose. When it's all over, in hindsight it might look predictable, but right now I'm having trouble guessing many of the categories (and Tovarich's insights only make things trickier).

Best Picture
The last award to be given out is, necessarily, the first one you should try to predict. Often, the most-nominated film turns out to be the Best Picture winner, but in this case, Slumdog Millionaire had no shot at being the most-nominated because of its no-name cast and inability to fit into some of the other technical categories. It's also the most loved, and most talked-about, film in just about every demographic.

WINNER: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

Best Actor
Richard Jenkins and Frank Langella are in the happy-to-be-nominated category, and Brad Pitt's performance was several steps below the others. I would have said that Mickey Rourke was a shoo-in a month ago, but he's been so overexposed and borderline embarassing on the talk show and tabloid circuits that I'm going to go with Sean Penn nailing his second Best Actor award. I bet the final totals will be close, though.

WINNER: SEAN PENN (MILK)

Best Supporting Actor
There are three things you can do that help you to win an Oscar. You can be one of the biggest, best-loved stars. You can give the best performance in the category. And you can die tragically during the year. Heath Ledger is the shooingest of shoo-ins.

WINNER: HEATH LEDGER (THE DARK KNIGHT)

Best Actress
Sentiment leans toward Kate Winslet, who has never won, but The Reader is so awful (and little-seen) that I don't see her being canonized in this role. People love Angelina Jolie, but they didn't like Changeling. Melissa Leo may have given the best performance, but there aren't enough votes for Frozen River. So it's between Anne Hathaway and Meryl Streep. Like the Acting category, this is a really tough call. I can see Anne Hathaway winning, as the Academy loves seeing young, beautiful and talented actresses up there. But Meryl Streep has only won two Oscars, and none since 1983. The fact that Doubt has four other nominations and Rachel Getting Married none should put her over the edge.

WINNER: KATE WINSLET (THE READER)

Best Supporting Actress
Doubt is going to split its votes, Marisa Tomei already won in this category, and Taraji P. Henson seemed to ride Benjamin Button's coattails. That leaves Penélope Cruz as the only possible winner, despite being in the least-watched film among the nominees.

WINNER: PENELOPE CRUZ (VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA)

Best Animated Feature
Not only is Wall-E a shoo-in, its only competition is two light mainstream films. At least Waltz with Bashir might have provided some drama.

WINNER: WALL-E

Best Art Direction
Though these categories can look tricky, they can be among the easiest to predict. In this case, Benjamin Button not only has the most nominations, it has rich and complex settings throughout many different eras. This film is going to pick up a few consolation prizes.

WINNER: THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON

Best Cinematography
The academy loves big, sprawling epics, and it also loves to ride the coattails of whatever wins Best Picture. In this case, I'm going go with Slumdog Millionaire because it nicely balances both of these trends.

WINNER: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

Best Costume Design
Recent period pieces never win, and having elaborate costumes on the movie poster helps as well. So it would be hard for The Duchess to lose this one, even though nobody has seen the damn thing.

WINNER: THE DUCHESS

Best Directing
Only with rare exceptions does the director not match the film, so enjoy your moment in the sun Danny Boyle.

WINNER: DANNY BOYLE (SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE)

Best Documentary Feature
As fun as it would be to see Werner Herzog on stage, the most popular (and most stirring) documentary of the year was Man on Wire. Bonus points for being put together in the most traditional manner, full of talking heads and still photographs. Voters in this category don't like their boat to be rocked too much.

WINNER: MAN ON WIRE

Documentary Short Subject
Your guess is as good as mine. Sorry, there's no Holocaust film, unless you count The Conscience of Nhem En, which is about the victims of the Khmer Rouge. The one that's most unlike the others, and the most traditional, is The Witness: From the Balcony of Room 306, a film about the last living witness to MLK's assassination and, in the Academy's mind, a tribute to our new president of sorts. But seriously, who knows.

WINNER: SMILE PINKI

Best Editing
Usually this goes to the longest film, and the one that plays the most with chronology. Hello, did somebody say Benjamin Button?

WINNER: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

Best Foreign Film
Waltz with Bashir has been blowing people away, and has to be considered the front-runner.

WINNER: DEPARTURES

Best Makeup
Comes down to people voting for The Joker's memorable makeup and Benjamin Button's aging process. Will the fact that Button had so much character CGI affect the vote? Heck, even Hellboy could sneak in for a win. Flip a coin, I say. I'll go with The Dark Knight as a sentimental second vote for Heath.

WINNER: THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON

Best Original Score
With Slumdog Millionare getting so many Best Picture votes, and people remembering the music most of all, this should be a fairly easy pick.

WINNER: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

Best Original Song
Slumdog might split some votes, but the Peter Gabriel Wall-E tune is so awful that I think people will do the research to find out that Jai Ho is the boisterous closing-credits song that they hummed all the way home.

WINNER: JAI HO (SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE)

Best Animated Short
Pixar has never won this category automatically (only one win), and while Presto is a lot of fun, it also feels derivative of old Looney Tunes. Let's go with La Maison en Petits Cubes, which has the most unusual (yet elaborate) two-dimensional look.

WINNER: LA MAISON EN PETITS CUBES

Best Live Action Short
Toyland is the Holocaust short of the year, so let's go with that for old times' sake.

WINNER: TOYLAND

Best Sound Editing
Loud and poppy is better (this is the special effects category) so The Dark Knight should nail it.

WINNER: THE DARK KNIGHT

Best Sound Mixing
Sometimes the Academy has trouble differentiating between music, sound, and sound effects, so let's see if Slumdog Millionaire can ride its Best Picture coattails.

WINNER: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

Best Visual Effects
Benjamin Button sure was impressive, but The Dark Knight is the type of film that usually wins this category.

WINNER: THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON

Best Adapted Screenplay
Follow the lead: Slumdog Millionare will win, unless you're picking a different film for Best Picture.

WINNER: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

Best Original Screenplay
Quirky films usually get this category, and Mike Leigh is well-liked. But Milk is the only film among the five to be nominated for Best Picture, so it will probably get the most votes.

WINNER: MILK

Final tally: Slumdog 7 wins, Dark Knight 4, and nothing else with more than 2.

FINAL COUNT: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE 8 OSCARS, BENJAMIN BUTTON 3 OSCARS, MILK 2 OSCARS, THE DARK KNIGHT 2 OSCARS

– David Gorgos

The Original Video-on-Demand

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 15:46:00 +0000

Photo: © Norman McGrath

Formerly the Museum of Television & Radio, The Paley Center has two locations (NY and LA) where anyone can view thousands of classic (and not so classic) TV shows at the flip of a switch. Queued up at a mainframe and beamed to individual sets, it not only predates Hulu and Comcast on-demand but surpasses them with the breadth of offerings. (YouTube may have millions of videos, but they're mostly on the DIY level rather than professional commercial productions).

My first visit there, during my early '90s collegiate era, I arrived armed with selections jotted down from pre-world-wide-web research, and instantly became one of the few to witness the only episode of "Turn On." Ahead of its time, yet also painfully unfunny, it took the rapid-fire gags of "Laugh-In" to an extreme postmodern level. Later shows like "Monty Python's Flying Circus" would crib such concepts ad sketches without beginnings or endings and credits shown out of order, while "Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job" would crib the ironic lack of punchlines... or intentionally unfunny ones. Best part of "Turn On"? The parade of headache commercials by the show's sponsor. Most appropriate.

Next up was the second, and final, episode of "You're in the Picture," Jackie Gleason's ill-fated game show. Reception was so bad that he cancelled the show in its second week, live on air. Rather than play the game, he pulled out a chair, fired up a cigarette or twenty, and ad-libbed a half hour of apologies for various failings throughout his career. No wonder he was so well-liked!

The great disadvantage to this collection, of course, is that you have to travel to one of the coasts to see it. There is a small amount online at www.paleycenter.org but it pales in comparison to other websites. So until Hulu, Netflix or your local cable company can offer such delicious rarities, video-on-demand will be left wanting in my book.

– David Gorgos

Revolutionary Road screwed at the Oscars? Not so fast...

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 15:30:00 +0000

(2008, 119 min) Revolutionary Road is, above all else, an exquisite example of that tired old adage: great books make bad films. Actually, a more accurate twist of the phrase, in this case, would be: great books make disappointing films. Not that they lacked effort but Sam Mendes and Kate Winslet have reduced a beautifully written, psychologically revealing tale of the two-headed dragon of lost romantic youth and the hopeless spiral into conformity into a histrionic and ultimately shallow acting exercise.

One is often remimded, when viewing this adaptation, of a one act play put on by Method-trained high school students who yell all their lines in a vain attempt to project the psychological complexities of their characters. Winslet, the driving force behind this adaptation, acquits herself the most. She has moments when April Wheeler's damaged psyche actually bubbles to the surface and punches the audience in the gut. But, too often, her scenes with co-star Leonardo DiCaprio feel like a toe-to-toe acting bout, one in which DiCaprio is getting bounced all over the ring. Aside from the film's inability to even scratch the novel's depths of character insight, DiCaprio's performance is the most disappointing thing about the film. Having re-established his acting chops with exceptional performances in The Departed and Blood Diamond, he thoroughly regresses, making his Frank Wheeler into a callous mook who never demonstrates just what it was that made everyone think he was so special. He screams nearly all of his lines and affects an accent more suitable to a suporting player on "The Sopranos" than the once-Byronesque, disaffected salaryman that Yates detailed so beautifully.

Not everything about Revolutionary Road is a disaster. Roger Deakins' cinematography is lushly lit and perfectly composed (and exactly what one would expect from award-bait) and Tariq Anwar's editing occasionally takes a stab at quietly making points... at least, that is, when the actors stop shouting at each other for long enough for a subtle, poignant cut to register. Thomas Newman's music, however, is an embarrassment to film composers everywhere. It's as if he and Mendes got together to discuss whether the score should emphasize the action on-screen or run in counterpoint to it, but never came to a decision. Frankly, the score could've been lifted from any pathetic attempt by an indie arm of a major studio to grab a few golden trophies made in the last ten years.

Perhaps the saddest effect of this production is that those who haven't read the novel will be left with the work as a shallow, melodramatic and, above all else, clichéd tale of an unhappy couple in the midst of a tragic spiral. Those who see this film and leave the novel on the shelf, or worse, try to read the novel but can't escape the visions of DiCaprio and Winslet desperately screaming at each other will be cheated out of the experience of enjoying one of the twentieth century's greatest novels.

– Daniel Reed

Oscar the Grouch

justtovarich@gmail.com (Tovarich) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 21:13:00 +0000

I saw 7 in theaters, this year. I think that's a new personal best.

I should qualify that. I don't really have the same taste, personally, as the Academy; I tend to watch movies in theaters specifically because they demand a giant screen and kicking sound system, less because they're objectively good movies. I suffer from no illusions that My Bloody Valentine 3D will get an award (though it's a damn fun little film if you're in any way a fan of 80s slashers) but I'd rather pay 30 bucks to see that than, say, Doubt (with dialogue that Merchant & Ivory would have found overwrought and costumes that would make the History Channel blush). So it's unusual for me to have that much overlap with the stuff that actually gets nominated. Whatever, that's what DVDs are for.

BEST ACTOR
Who Will Win - Sean Penn, because California's anti-gay Prop 8 will be fresh in the minds of the Hollywood Elite.

Who Should Win - Mickey Rourke. The Wrestler was not a happy movie by any stretch, but it's unquestionably one of the best performances of Rourke's career.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
Who Will Win - Heath Ledger. Even if he was still alive, it was a riveting performance, easily the best in The Dark Knight.

Who Should Win - Honestly? Heath Ledger. Sucks to be Robert Downey Jr.; against just about anyone else he'd get it, but Ledger really pulled out all the stops.

BEST ACTRESS
Who Will Win - Meryl Streep. Doubt is An Important Movie™ and Streep is An Important Actress™.

Who Should Win - Meh. Hollywood is never known for giving women good roles in general, but this year was particularly uninspired on this front.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Who Will Win - Someone other than Marisa Tomei, so who cares.

Who Should Win - Marisa Tomei, for committing completely to an unflattering role and making it come to life. Pity that our culture punishes sex workers.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Who Will Win - This one's a tough call, but I'm gonna give the edge to Wall-E. With the first half hour being dialog free, it would have been easy to make missteps, but they pulled it off with grace and aplomb.

Who Should Win - Don't get me wrong, Wall-E is a work of art and a milestone for the ages, but In Bruges deserves at least an honorable mention here.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Who Will Win - Another tough call because none of them stand out as the obvious choice. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say Slumdog Millionaire, with no "who SHOULD win" entry because, frankly, none seemed especially better than the others.

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE
Wall-E. Period.

BEST DIRECTING
Who Will Win - Danny Boyle for Slumdog. Of the five picks, Slumdog is the only one that shows a real variety in directing styles and manages to still remain coherent as a picture.

Who Should Win - Jon Favreau for Iron Man. (Hey, I can dream, can't I?)

– Tovarich

Of Golden Globes and Undead Trollops

justtovarich@gmail.com (Tovarich) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 17:42:00 +0000

Poor Marissa Tomei. Despite giving a bold and provocative performance in The Wrestler, she got screwed out of a Golden Globe because she forgot one of Hollywood's cardinal rules: in much the way that the Academy doesn't reward those who go full retard, mainstream actressess aren't supposed to actually strip. Just ask Elizabeth Berkeley, who committed career suicide with Showgirls; or Jessica Alba, who kept her bra on in Sin City and lived to tell about it; or Demi Moore, who went from playing an empowered, self-actualized ecdysiast in Striptease to a brutalized sexual assault victim in GI Jane. There is a corollary to this rule, however, which is that "exotic dancer" is one of the few roles an adult actress is allowed to portray in the main(ish)stream cinema world. Thus we get Jenna Jameson in Zombie Strippers, the most ambitious exploitation flick you never saw.

At once political satire and titty flick, Zombie Strippers is set in a dystopian near-future in which the religious right and now four-term president George W. Bush have made sex so socially unacceptable that strip clubs have been driven completely underground. A soldier infected with a government-created disease wanders into one, infecting the star dancer. What follows is a 90 minute examination of philosophy, the meaning of life and death, and the obligatory stripping and gore sequences such a premise would demand - and this is likely the only review i ever expect to write where a sentence like that is recorded without a trace of irony.

The zombie plague, you see (it's always a plague these days - an infections disease with a well understood, bodily-fluid-based transmission vector, with no known cure and an unavoidable conclusion; it's zombies that are the cultural allegory to AIDS, not vampires) only turns male victims into the classic Romeroesque shamblers with no soul or vocabulary. Women, meanwhile, retain their intelligence, and gain new powers of speed, strength, and dexterity, accompanied by a lack of fear and incredible unstoppability. The only drawbacks: the slow but inevitable decay of the flesh and an insatible hunger for brains. This means the resultant undead super stripper has essentially unlimited earning potential until she eats her customers, a fact exploited by club owner Robert "Freddy Kruger" Englund, playing against type as a germophobic queen in a performance that has to be seen to be believed.

Though never seeking to rise above a b-movie chuckler, Zombie Strippers actually plays lip service to some fairly complex ideals about the meanings of life and death. The goth dancer, for instance, is fascinated by the state of undeath and longs to experience it for herself; Jameson reads Focault and isn't afraid to drop the names of his theories; the farmer's daughter and her boyfriend grapple with the meaning of existence and whether or not God exists. It's not Shakespeare, but it suggests that the writer and director at least had a search engine and weren't afraid to use it. The script does tend to bog a touch with refereneces that don't really go anywhere, but let's face it - with a title like Zombie Strippers, are you really here for the dialog?

At the end of the day, this is in many ways your basic low-budget camp fest that fails to hit the legendary level of badness necessary to become a cult classic, but is entertaining on its own merits. The acting is over the top as it should be, the stripping is entheusiastic and well-shot, the effects are silly but show continuity, and the film makes just enough zombie oeuvre references to work. You even get a commentary track with both Englund and Jameson, which is almost worth the price of admission alone. The real question is whether Jameson can rise from the death of her adult film career as an undead Julie Strain.

– Tovarich

Award Fatigue

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 16:06:00 +0000

Ratings for all awards shows have been slipping for years, so this isn't exactly a new concept. But even around the TLA offices, where awards-season buzz has continued unabated through thick and thin, the apathy has become palpable. To wit: Not a single Golden Globes party has been scheduled by any of our employees. And I'm not even upset about it Why is this happening?

Celebrity Culture Used to be, the news was full of news, and only the occasional variety or talk show would delve into the movie business. Now, the movies are the news, and celebrities from Angelina Jolie to Kevin James are overexposed even before their movies are released. Shows like The Oscars were your chance to see them with their guards down, as real (yet undeniably fabulous) people. No more.
Everyone's a Critic Do I really need the Golden Globes to confirm that Slumdog Millionare is a fucking great picture? I've already had 20 people tell me I need to see it. Hell, the homeless guy down the street hasn't been to a movie in three decades and even he's telling me to go see it.
Too. Many. Awards. I'm not talking about Cinematography and Editing, which are actually among my favorites. I'm talking about the Indie Awards, the Film Critic Circle Awards, the Extradited Eskimo Awards. Half the awards are doled out before the films even play in Philly! I think the reason the Golden Raspberry Awards (pictured above) are gaining in popularity is because it's the only organization doing something different than the rest.
Time's Up Comics like to joke about the epic length of the Oscars, but somehow back in the '70s, they got the show done an hour earlier, with full dance and song numbers, and no need to cut off the speeches early. The speeches are the best part! Honestly, I look at old broadcasts and I can't tell what they're doing differently. Yesterday I listened to The Beatles on my iPod and "Eleanor Rigby" clocks in at 2 minutes and 2 seconds. Oasis can't even get to the first lyric by then. Time used to be more precious.

That said, I'm sure I'm going to be on my couch on Sunday night, watching the stars get drunk during the Globes. But it feels more like an obligation than a joy. Would I even be watching if I didn't still work in the industry? Are you watching?

– David Gorgos

This Is Your Brain On Anime: Paprika

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 02:57:00 +0000

There is a story of the Chinese sage Zhuangzi that goes:

"Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuangzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuangzi. But he didn't know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi. Between Zhuangzi and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things."

Though on its face this may seem an almost childish idea to most, if you have ever experienced a lucid dream, or if you really pay any attention at all to your inner life, you may come to realize that there is truth to it. What is more, there is a real terror that can accompany realizing that the ground we stand on, at least figuratively speaking, is not solid. All experience is simply experience, whether it involves balancing your checkbook or talking to the monk levitating above a colossal, marching procession of cymbal-crashing frog men.

Many movies have dealt with this idea. (The Science of Sleep and Vanilla Sky are the first two that come to mind that do it any justice, but there are many more.) However, few have done it with such a brilliant flare for the surreal as Satoshi Kon's Paprika. Like his previous film, Perfect Blue (review here), the animation is top notch, and the script solid, though even the best animes tend to be a little stilted in translation. He also utilizes many of the same techniques in both movies, including breaking that fourth wall nearly every scene. In the case of Paprika, these techniques are being applied for a different purpose, and I would say they are done somewhat more gracefully.

However, the genius of Paprika lies in the sheer inspired weirdness that exists in the realms of consciousness between waking and deep, dreamless coma. There is a certain logic to dreams, which tends to only make sense within the context of the dream itself- while dreaming it makes perfect sense that you are talking to a fox, while underwater, that is somehow both your mother and your dead future self at the same time. Whenever we wake up and try to recount our dreams to friends, they oftentimes sound foolish for this reason. It really is true that you "had to be there." Paprika succeeds at dealing with these realms, bringing us there without it feeling too forced. (Unlike your stereotypical dream sequences where the director is like "it needs to be weird. Get a smoke machine and find us a midget!")

Though I will admit I have not (yet) read it, I would imagine much of this influence comes from Yasutaka Tsutsui's novel that the movie was based on. On the strangeness scale, between Full House and Naked Lunch, this movie is definitely a trip to Interzone.

So if "off the beaten path" is your thing, and you haven't taken the trip yet, I suggest you strap yourself in for quite a ride. Just don't be surprised if you have some really strange dreams afterwards.

--James Curcio.

Excuse Me... Who Are You?

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 16:16:00 +0000

In a world where we are expected to play a variety of conflicting roles, in which our lives are all interconnected, broadcast and dissected, we invariably develop situational identities. We are not one person, we are many people who go by the same name.

Though all of us deal with this in varying ways as we go through life, nowhere is it more of an issue than in pop culture. The long list of psychologically and emotionally fractured ex-teen stars is ample proof. "Who are you?" Mima, the central character in Perfect Blue, asks of herself. It is her first line in our 'play within a play.' It is a question that really seeks no answer, instead expressing the complete lack of a frame of reference.

Just a decade after its release some of the devices of this film may now seem old - websites pretending to portray the 'real life' of pop idols, obsessive paparazzi, frothing J-pop fans - however, many of the questions explored by Perfect Blue remain as vital as ever. In fact, it is possible they have become even more so as the line between reality and fiction continues to blur.

Britney Spears vs. Perfect Blue -- Mashup

In many ways this movie seems downright prophetic. To the Myspace Generation, everything is either performance, or irrelevant. If you can't photograph, blog, videotape or otherwise record something, it may as well not have happened. I'm sure you've heard this before: A.D.D. running rampant in our children, cultish obsession with actresses that only recently got their periods, on and on. I'm not about to contribute to all of that alarmist noise.

However, it is rare that we take a step back and think about how all of these things are symptoms of underlying identity crisis, a crisis that actually transcends most of our other sexual, cultural or racial boundaries. The teen idol, acting out the pre-scripted, cut-out role, and their screaming fans are united in their lack of intrinsic identity. The former plays to the expectant dreams of the latter, yet neither of them actually are that illusion. When it shatters, there is nothing there. Playing to the expectation of a lover is ultimately no different than playing to the hopes of the audience. It is all acted in the mirror.

Is she Mima the pop star? Mima the actress? Mima the shy girl who loves her tetra fish? Unless if pantomiming is all it takes, the answer is "no." She is none of the above.

Sure, there are several things about Perfect Blue that don't quite hit the mark. The film-makers probably could have made their point without busting the 4th wall every couple minutes once the film gets rolling. It also may have gone further if Mima's actress-persona developed an actual personality of its own.

However, despite its occasional stylistic heavy-handedness, this movie is positively brilliant for it's ability to deal with the 'heavy' themes of identity and cultural expectation without being a 'heavy' movie. (It doesn't hurt that the animation has the ambiance and grace of older classic anime's such as Akira.)

"Who are you?" Mima asks herself, never really finding an answer. Everyone in the film is united in their desire to be this perfect idol. This is the reality Perfect Blue gives us a glimpse of, although you see it anytime you turn on the television. Japanese or American, all of our cultures seem to meet at this crossroad: we are a planet of voyeurs.

This was a syndicated review first run on Alterati. Next up, I'll be running an original review of another film by Satoshi Kan, Paprika.

Order Perfect Blue on TLAvideo.com.

Interview with Satoshi Kon, Director of Perfect Blue.

--James Curcio.

Unleashed

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 21:08:00 +0000

I've been a fan of martial art films for going on a decade. It might not be readily apparent now, but once upon a time I even practiced kung fu rather obsessively, though I always shied away from the acrobatics that is the bread and butter of these films. In this genre, Jet Li has always been a favorite for me. (This was a point of contention with my se gung back in the day, who apparently trained Jackie Chan for his Drunken Master role, and was really bent out of shape that I was impressed by Jet Li's "Northern style bullshit." Drunken masters and their weird rivalries.)

Jet Li became known as a stand-out martial artist in Shaolin Temple and the Once Upon A Time In China films, though I was especially a fan of Fist of Legend, a Bruce Lee remake, which in this re-interpretation is possibly more dazzling, even if both suffer from the stereotypical rival-school, you-killed-my-master-now-you-have-to-die premise. For the martial arts buffs out there, I suggest them all.

He is not, however, well known for having acting chops to accompany his martial ones, and many of the American-made movies that don't recognize this fact suffer for it. In fact, his acting is oftentimes downright agony.

As a result of this, I was somewhat stunned to discover that Unleashed (a.k.a. Danny The Dog) is a gritty and touching drama first, and a martial arts film second. Without a solid acting performance from Jet Li, this movie would have been even more painful than the glitzy but vapid Romeo Must Die. Even with this, solid direction, and supporting roles, scuttlebutt on Rotten Tomatoes seems to be that the premise of this movie is "unbelievable." How this is a valid criticism to level at a genre that allows people to fly and get tossed through brick walls, I'll never know. But there it is. If you can accept the premise that someone can be beaten down and re-programmed like one of Pavlov's dogs (no pun), and still retain enough humanity to get really excited by the ripeness of melons and gourds (seriously), then pipe down and enjoy the film.

It struck me that, while it is true that Unleashed clearly has one foot in martial arts-action and the other in drama, this genre-blending isn't done haphazardly. The sappy, child-like Danny seems almost absurd against the stark back-drop of the violence, but that's the entire point, and I can't see any other way the point could be made. In other words, the strength or innate flaw of this movie comes straight out of its central premise- but if you can accept that, and want to watch a martial arts film that is a bit more than "you killed my master, now it is time to die," I suggest Unleashed.

(A final note, the atmospheric soundtrack for this film, beautifully composed and produced by Massive Attack, is a regular in my iPhone playlist. The music alone is reason to check it out.)

--James Curcio.

Drunk For Your Amusement (pt 2)

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 18:50:00 +0000

My stomach still hurts from laughing. This weekend I saw Doug Stanhope at the Trocadero theatre, and I got exactly what I asked for- raw truth and bitterness, served by a drunken lunatic.

Here are some of the thoughts I had when I first encountered his work, (from Alterati). They still hold true, and I'm not a fan of regurgitation:

"For years now, I’ve wondered who the next Bill Hicks was going to be. As things grew more and more grim, I wondered if maybe we would have no more ranting, fool messiahs, because the meter was just fucking broke and we’ve all become too whitebread and insecure to recognize the rallying call if it comes. “COMEDY IS DEAD, GO HOME, GAME OVER.”

There are times when being proven wrong is the best thing in the world. The other night I was stopped dead in my tracks by this man. He made me want to pick up three of the bad habits I’d managed to kick, and start up about twenty new ones. Most importantly, he made me laugh. A lot.

Really, we’re all laughing as Doug goes down like a screeching 747, and we will probably laugh when invariably it crashes and turns into flaming wreckage. Maybe it’s like the sacrifice that gets slaughtered every year so the crops can grow- more likely, we’re just laughing at a world that many times seems too fucked to do anything else with but laugh at it.

Society needs its “fool messiahs”, its jesters. Comedy allows us to express thoughts and feelings that might otherwise cause a lot of trouble. Consider what the Daily Show has done for, or to, news and journalism in general. Stephen Colbert lampooned the president to his face. Comedy gets written off because it’s half pretend, but oftentimes we forget that the things that make us laugh are the things that are true. Doug takes this process a step further though. With him, I don’t think there is actually any satire here. There is no ‘pretend.’ He gives it like he sees it at that particular moment in time. I imagine it might be somewhat alienating for those who don’t understand what’s going on, (arguably the title of his most recent DVD, No Refunds, has something to do with that.)

So, I acknowledge that there’s a fair chance you’re not going to be able to take this journey with me, and by the end of this article I’ll be figuratively standing in an empty hall, drunk and naked, ranting while riding a crack-whore bareback across the stage. (I guess in this fantasy I’m wearing a wireless mic.)

All the same that would at least leave me in the right frame of mind to enjoy Doug’s erudite body of work. So come with me on this one, or don’t. Either way- I think we’ve found this generation’s Bill Hicks. Enjoy it before he finds a nice hole in the ground."

He rightly predicted that many of us would go home and blog about the performance, and pre-emptively told us to fuck off. Which isn't to say he won't be ego googling himself at 2am and come here. So in deference to that, "Doug-- I'm sorry, but your reverse psychology worked. Here I am, like a tool, telling everyone to buy your shit because you told us all to fuck off. Honestly, I'm not sure which one of us is the tool here. But you'll get the royalties."

Fuck it. I'm not going to delve into critique. But I will give you a quick litmus test- if your insides shrivel in the presence of bullshit, if you think an ambien, vodka and mirapex binge in Vegas would be a fantastic time, if you are too smart to buy into the corporate brainwash, but too stupid or apathetic to create something better- then welcome! We can all laugh together as we float into oblivion.

Start with No Refunds. But don't end there. Go out, see him, and buy him a drink at the bar.

--James Curcio.

Anti-Xmas 1: Black Christmas (2006)

justtovarich@gmail.com (Tovarich) — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 01:07:00 +0000

The original Black Christmas, made in 1974, was one of the archetypal slasher flicks - a sort-of contemporary of Halloween, and one has to wonder if it's any coincidence that we got two movies wreaking bloody havoc over highly targeted consumer holidays in the midst of the biggest economic slump between WWII and a month ago, but that's a different essay. As were all the proto-slashers, Black Christmas was low-budget, sparse, and effective as much for what it didn't show as for what it did.

The remake, naturally, is slick, highly produced, and well-lit, so of course everyone hates it. That's not a totally unreasonable stand to take, but I'm here to put forward a radical notion - the reason other reviewers hated it is that they're applying the wrong criteria. Black Christmas '06 isn't a classic horror movie; it was just marketed as such because Madison Avenue lacks imagination. If you review it as a critical commentary on modernity, it's both a more interesting story and, frankly, a more credulous review.

The plot doesn't take much explaining, but here it is in a nutshell: a traumatized kid grows up to become a psycho with woman issues and a peeping fetish, and one Christmas he escapes the asylum to return to his family home; since his family home is now a sorority house, you can probably guess where all this is going. With a plot like that, what could it be if not a slasher in the classic vein? Let's look at the charges against:

1) The sorority sisters are essentially interchangeable. Yes, this is pretty true - all the girls are basically bitches to each other, all of them are shallow, and we don't really get to know any of them before they start dying. This makes it difficult for the audience to connect with the protagonists or particularly care when they get offed. Fine, but compare that to watching the nightly news and ask yourself how much you care for the faceless strangers you hear about having been run over by trains or gunned down by gangs.

But it goes further than that. Consider, for example, any season of America's Next Top Model - do those girls each portray a distinct archetype? No, especially as the end draws near, they're basically interchangeable - aside, I suppose, from how their eye and hair color sets off the fabric of whatever bizarre catwalk fetishwear they happen to be selling that day. Consider also the central characters in Mean Girls, Clueless, or hell, even Jawbreaker - the same sort of interchangeability transpires among the the collective groupings of high-fashion anti-heroines. For better or worse, entertainment has evolved since the 70s, and the update of Black Christmas insists only that the slasher genre evolve to pace.

2) The killer's backstory humanizes him. The '74 killer, like most proto-slashers, had no reason for his acts; he just shows up and kills teenagers in what is apparently an existential nod to Descartes (Contrucido ergo sum - I slaughter many, therefore I am). 32 years later, Billy is a messed up cookie who spent his formative years locked up in an attic, spying on people with a telescope and fathering his own sister (in, I will grant, the movie's biggest WTF? moment). Some people say these scenes are overwrought and unnecessary, doing nothing but reducing the splatter per minute ratio; I say they're put in for anyone who watches Lost and is annoyed by the smoke monster.

This, in many ways, is the corollary to the point above - just as entertainment itself has evolved, so too has the audience consuming and interacting with it. Starting arguably with Hill Street Blues in the 80s, television plots have become more and more complex, and movies have had to rise in density to keep pace; even the smugly self-aware Scream had to turn not having a motivation for its murders into yet another cliché to be riffed. If this seems contradictory right after having dissected the genericness of the girls, consider that we know as much about them as we need to - we know the different reasons they're staying in the house, we know their relationships to one another, and we know the kinds of people they are as much as they'll let anyone else know, either. Their only purpose, ultimately, is to be slaughtered; Billy's purpose is to serve as both deus ex machina and metaphor, so a deeper exploration is required.

3) There's no tension. The scars left on my forearms by my girlfriend's fingernails beg to differ. Nonetheless, one of the hallmarks of Christmas horror movies (and this trope was used, albeit with a different intent, in the original as well) is the blasphemous tarnishing of nuclear family togetherness into a portent of unspeakable horror. This is not a haunted house on a lonely hill on a dark and stormy night with a full moon and howling wolves; this is brightly lit, comfortable territory - and despite that you still aren't safe, even if you have a coterie of shallow, self-interested "friends" to back you up. Indeed, one might even see it as a commentary on the lack of modern community - if all you have to count on is friends who don't think about anything but themselves, and then only in vague notions, how can you hope to stand against unstoppable forces of nature?

So we're left with a 94-minute meditation on the futility of modern individuality, the inevitability of death, and the illusory nature of safety. And we get several good death scenes and a few breasts along the way. Starlet Michelle Trachtenberg sums it up: "Merry Christmas, motherfucker."

–Tovarich

Movies For People Who Hate Christmas Movies

justtovarich@gmail.com (Tovarich) — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 07:56:00 +0000

I hate It's A Wonderful Life.

Always have, from the moment I laid eyes on it. It feels every bit as disingenuous to me as a Norman Rockwell painting, envisioning an America that never existed and a set of values that would even give Ned Flanders pause. I understand the whole concept of suspension of disbelief, don't get me wrong - I just prefer to get something out of my suspension other than an early take on The Secret.

Which makes this a pretty atrocious time of year to consume media. The boob tube and silver screen abound with titles in which a schmaltzy kid learns A Valuable Lesson™ and everyone wakes up to fully-wrapped gifts under the tree as a non-aerodynamic vehicle pulled by eight grounded quadrupeds invades our airspace without setting off UFO detectors and a booming voice utters "Ho Ho Ho" at a volume adequate to be instantly audible from 30,000 feet without causing a sonic boom.

If we're going to get stupid seasonal fare, says I, at least do something interesting with it.

So over the next few weeks, allow me to indulge in a bit of seasonal whimsy with a few of my favorite anti-Xmas flicks. All will give you a valid seasonal alternative to the Hallmark channel, and all will be linked from this post for easy reference.

Black Christmas (2006 remake)

–Tovarich

The Fountain

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 18:47:00 +0000

Darren Aronofsky first gained notoriety in the film world through his movie Pi, a black and white excursion into the fine line between genius and madness, riddled with fascinating but largely unexplored Kabbalistic overtones. Later, his film Requiem For A Dream, though masterfully shot and lushly scored, seemed to lead us into an even deeper abyss, without even the scantest light at the end of the tunnel. I remember feeling the desperate need to shower after watching the film, (and scrub my insides with steel wool)- but was left with little more than the realization that it was an accurate portrayal of the shallow, beautiful horror that is the downward spiral of addiction.

His most recent film, The Fountain, which was in and out of production for several years and almost never made it onto the screen at all, is in my opinion by far his best to date. Partially as a result of these production issues, it was also made into a graphic novel as well, based off of the original script for the movie. The graphic novel, which I recently picked up at a comic convention, is a true work of art in its own right, with a sketchy and yet strangely painterly style that is uncommon and much called for in comics.

The Fountain deals with some of the most central issues we face as humans, the big ones: life, death, what is lost, and what remains. He does so in a visually stunning, deeply moving manner. Aronofsky’s background in myth and metaphor is as clearly apparent as most people’s complete lack of understanding in these areas. To begin with, from review to review, and even in the wikipedia entry (a source well known for its standard of infallibility), there is talk of this story taking place in three times, or of consisting of three plots: a Conquistador, set in the time of Spain’s conquests and search for glory, a scientist, dead-set upon saving his dying wife, and an astronaut or mystic, exploring a nebula referenced in the other “time-lines” as relating to the Mayan creation myth. These converging and diverging time-lines seem to confuse people, as they try to track how they might relate to one another, and try to wrap their heads around three different stories.

News flash: there is only one story here. This is encompassed within three narratives filled with symbolic devices, all of which exist primarily to enrich each other. It is constantly baffling to me what a hard time most people have with layered metaphors. At it’s most extreme, this literary problem results in holy wars. In this case, it just results in baffled critics. The through-line of a plot is most clearly expressed in the narrative of the scientist, as the other two, one above and one below, express emotional and spiritual elements of his futile quest to save what cannot be saved. For, as we learn through millenia of the worlds myths, from various derivations of the pagan “green man” to the Egyptian Osiris and even the more familiar Christian icons, there cannot be gain without loss, and it is not the flesh which remains. In many of these myths it is in fact the flesh which must be ultimately sacrificed to the spirit, which is to say to the rest of the universe so that more matter can come into being, in new forms. This is not unlike the Kabbalistic idea of permutation of symbol, energy, and form. (See: the Sefer Yetzirah.) All of these thoughts were almost undoubtedly in Aronofsky’s mind, in one form or another, when he gave birth to this story.

The true fountain of immortality is a bittersweet potion, as flesh feeds on flesh, life feeds on life. The pain and bliss of love are the same, and some of the overwhelming potency of love comes from it’s immediacy, which is also to say, its fragility and temporality. What remains is a seed, a kernel, which floats willy-nilly from one place to the next. It is irrelevant what time period these characters exist in, as ultimately they are all merely devices for expressing and exploring those ideas which otherwise cannot be explored, cannot be expressed. As with Requiem For A Dream, The Fountain is oftentimes a dark meditation, but here at the end there is a form of redemption, and many insights into what truly matters, as we all make this journey from one shore to the next.

As such, The Fountain takes its place as a work of stunning visual poetry, and should be enjoyed as such. I’ve watched it twice so far, and was rewarded with fresh insights with each viewing. I’ll leave seeking out those delicious secrets to you. Happy hunting.

--James Curcio.

Too Clever By Half

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 17:29:00 +0000

I'd like to share a film with you that I think is, on the whole, highly underrated. "Too clever by half," as a friend of mine put it. That film is Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.

But before I discuss the movie directly, let me unpack the idiom. Many people seem to feel that if something is "too" clever, "too" smart, it's an affront to their common sense, an assault upon their salt-of-the-Earth dignity. I don't know if this belief carries across cultural boundaries, but it seems endemic enough in the states that it even determines the results of elections. The Republican party has made this issue a corner-stone of their assault upon the "liberal elite," a fact well recognized and explored by Sorkin's own "too clever by half" drama, The West Wing.

I'm not entirely sure when being witty became a negative, frankly I don't care. Maybe this just makes me another member of the "liberal elite." But if you're not offended by self-aware satire and snarkiness, you'll likely find Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang one of the most entertaining, funny movies you've seen.

The basic structure of the plot is based on a dense collection of noir cliches, but thanks to expert storytelling and execution, this doesn't turn the movie itself into a cliche. In fact, the techniques they employ could make it a worthwhile study on post-modernism narrative: the narrator will stop a scene mid-way, or jump back because he forgot something, or realize mid-stream he was remembering something incorrectly. (Personally, I found it too funny to be a "study" on anything. But that's just me.)

Yet another reason this film works: that narrator is Robert Downey Jr. Though his acting skills have been well recognized, it's his understated comedic genius that keeps what could be irritating meta-commentary both pity, and often hilarious. The surprising chemistry between Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer also keeps the boat afloat, with Val more than comfortable as the unwitting side-kick, "Gay" Perry.

One of the reasons this film may have lost large audiences is that on its surface it is an action noir, and though these "post-modern" elements I've mentioned are simply used to drive the movie forward, it is anything but an action noir, and the "who done it" is in the end about as important as who the best boy or grips were. (No offense to best boys, grips, or anyone else who are parts of big scary Unions. Really. Don't hurt me.)

Can you tell I love this movie? I've seen it possibly ten times now, and it still makes me laugh. If you haven't had the opportunity, do not pass go, buy it now. That is, unless if you are a salt-of-the-Earth Republican. In that case, get Talladega Nights. And storm out halfway through when you realize that it isn't actually a movie about how awesome Nascar is.

--James Curcio.

Showtime Showdown (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 19:56:00 +0000

Last year I wrote an article on Alterati about the lineup of shows on networks like Showtime and HBO that have taken episodic TV to a new level...

"Since the success of HBO’s Six Feet Under, many series on subscription based networks (HBO, Showtime, etc) have continued to up the ante on the theatrical and conceptual possibilities of episodic basic television. Though I do not envy the production team’s task on these projects- attempting movie-level quality at the pace of television- I have very much enjoyed the results."

(Read the full article on Alterati.)

All of the shows reviewed in the Alterati article are available for purchase through TLA, and I'll provide those links in a moment for those of you that are frightened by search boxes (I know I am.) Before then, I'd like to review a couple of other shows that have joined the fray-

True Blood

P.S. Yes. I know it's an HBO production. But "HBO and Showtime Showdown" just didn't have the same ring.

It's altogether possible that the vampire trope has reached a saturation point. (Or did that already happen in the late 90s?) While reactionary movies like 30 Days Of Night capitalize on the humanization of the vampire by taking it the other way, True Blood seems to be fully comfortable with it. Vampires are portrayed as highly sexualized creatures driven primarily by lust, and with the exception of their supernatural powers, and penchant for femoral arteries, they could easily pass for human. Without providing an actual tip-of-the-hat, True Blood seems to react to the core concept of White Wolf's Vampire: The Masquerade role-playing game: Vampires come out of "the coffin" because, thanks to the advent of a synthetic blood substitute, they don't need to be lurking monsters any longer. No more masquerade. (This provides an attempt at racial commentary, though thusfar it has been vapid at best.)

And this is also the greatest flaw in this show: cheesy, kitchy phrases like "out of the coffin," vampires that still dress like seventeen year olds at goth/industrial clubs that look like a Burning Angel promo party, a particularly humane vampire protagonist-- all of these things seem to get in the way of a show with some interesting, and often entertaining characters. I find myself wondering if the show would have been better if they got rid of the vampire "hook" altogether, though admittedly it wouldn't sell as well.

In that, we get to the next point. The hype, "viral marketing," and surrounding web extras are all painfully forced. Maybe it's because I work in this industry, or at least nibble around its edges, but it seems like the moment that viral and social networking marketing practices became institutionalized, they completely lost their point. What's "grass roots" about a the million dollar viral campaign for a multi-million dollar show?

Well, if you're like me, you'll likely find yourself wincing at quite a few things in this show- and yet, I still find myself watching it. Moreover, I find myself wanting to watch. At the end of the day- at least thusfar- this is a show that is made tolerable, if not exceptional, on account of the supporting characters: Tara Thornton, Jason Stackhouse, and Lafayette Reynolds in particular. It's fun, it's silly, and it's not at all what I'd expect out of Alan Ball.

Compared to his previous episodic series (Six Feet Under), I would call this show a painful failure. But that's only because Six Feet Under, in its best moments, reached the level of art. (I would say the same of American Beauty, though I realize I might get shouted down from the back row. Quiet down back there. You don't have posting access, alright?) True Blood is an entertaining respite, but you're not going to come away any better for having watched it.

The Tudors

On its surface, this show exists in the "loose historical adaptation vein" that Rome grew and ultimately (and mysteriously?) floundered in. However, I'm not altogether certain it couldn't be classified as historic softcore. In truth, Henry the VIII was far from a rock star, and he certainly didn't look like Jonathan Rhys Meyers (at least from the paintings I've seen), but he sure as hell was a bastard. That goes far in television these days. However, none of these are the sole reasons the show has done so well: it is well cast, well written, and well acted. For some reason it hasn't held my attention as well as some of the others, but if you enjoy literate, sexy historic drama, you simply can't go wrong with this show.

Personally, I don't enjoy rubbing my hands in anticipation of the next episode- I often wait for the season to finish and get the DVD so I can force feed myself an entire season of a show in a weekend. What can I say, I'm a glutton. So here they are:

Californication Season 1
Weeds Season 1
Weeds Season 2
Weeds Season 3
Rome Season 2
Rome Season 1
Dexter Season 1
Dexter Season 2
The Tudors Season 1

-- James Curcio.

A BRAND IS BORN

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 20:13:00 +0000

Today I’m going to give you a backstage pass in the exciting world of brand design, here at TLA.

I admit, technically this isn’t a film review. Hell, it isn’t even figuratively one- but I was told I could blog about “whatever,” so let’s see if that holds. If my posts stop, and I am later found, gnawed at by rats and cannibals in a back alley in Chinatown… well, you know what happened. Raise your glass to another patriot who died for his convictions.

For me, the process began about a week ago. I was told that we will be unveiling a new review blog, angled towards our gay male market. After much deliberation in the editorial and marketing departments, I was presented with the name of the new blog: “Homo Pop.”

Now when you’re presented with something like this as a designer, your job isn’t to make copy suggestions- it’s to “make it work.” (Project Runway can’t sue me for just saying that, right?) I’m not ashamed to admit that at first I was stumped. To the writer, and to the designer, the blank page is terrifying. You pace, think you’re nowhere, call your friends and ask for their condolences on your impending demise, appeal to higher powers that you don’t believe in, and then suddenly- you have something. Hammer it out in a flurry, and pass out in a pool of your own sick.

Well, that’s my usual process, anyhow. Don’t try it at home kids, I’m a professional. This time it was a little different. Around midnight I had a mighty hunger, a hunger so mighty that I actually walked down the block to the Chinese food place that seems to sustain itself primarily off of the “business” provided by crackheads and drifters.

While waiting in line, I blithely struck up a casual conversation with several of these crackheads about the economy, in particular the bailout and shrinking buying power of the greenback. One of the aforementioned crackheads made a brilliantly apt point: that he would love a bailout himself, in part, I would assume, to help him get some much needed fake teeth. It’s “corporate welfare,” another pointed out, while swilling an oily, paper-bag sheathed 40. (He offered me a swig. I politely declined.) These were some smart crackheads, I’ve got to tell you.

At this point I found myself staring at the wall, and my eyes drifted to an ad for popsicles and ice cream. There, in garish and awful Technicolor, was the solution to my problem. Eureka! Homo Pop. It’s a fucking popsicle.

Of course!

I pulled out my iPhone and quickly snapped a photo. This terrified several of the crackheads, and one of them asked me if I was “with the government.” (“No,” I replied ominously. “This is for… research.”)

Following this, the usual design process ensued. I won’t bore you with the details of the real meat of the design process- revisions, meetings, crying, revisions, masturbation, meetings, meanwhile my kidneys scream in pain from all the caffeine I’m force-feeding them. (Another element of my ‘creative process’: I punch them, scream “you like it, bitch!” and keep going. ) Here’s the final result:

Make sure to check out the blog when we launch it!

In case if you were just skimming this and need the cliff-notes now, here they are: new blog coming soon, a really unnecessary reference to Project Runway possibly for SEO reasons, some useless rambling about creativity, a group of surprisingly informed crackheads, and Chinese food.

Oh, if you’re wondering, the General Tso’s wasn’t bad.

--James Curcio.

Adventures in Marketing

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 21:51:00 +0000

HBO has just announced the DVD for George Wallace, a 1997 made-for-HBO movie that garnered some acclaim. Here is the original VHS art:

And here is the new DVD art:

I'm not sure what's more surprising: That Angelina Jolie's rise has been so meteoric that I can't even remember a time that she would not be on the box cover, or that Gary Sinise was ever popular enough to anchor the cover all by himself.

– David Gorgos

Shock the Bottle, Not The Monkey

justtovarich@gmail.com (Tovarich) — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 07:10:00 +0000

And so we find ourselves in the second Dead Zone of the year - that odd period when the summer blockbusters are behind us but the winter awards season has not yet begun, and so we have but a tepid smattering of also-rans with which to amuse ourselves. It is, in other words, the perfect moment to go back and get caught up on those smaller summer hits you just haven't had time for. Like Bottle Shock, a charming festival entry that was one of the few films this summer to receive actually independent distribution.

Bottle Shock is being unfairly compared to Sideways. I can understand why people would make this comparison since they're both about wine, but it's sort of like comparing Blade Runner to The Transformers because they're both about robots. Where Sideways was a vicious little meditation on the emptiness of a culture populated by those bereft of soul, Bottle Shock is a feel-good dramady, loosely based on actual events the way I, Robot was loosely based on Isaac Asimov. The central event in this case is the Judgment of Paris, a 1976 wine tasting in France where California wines wound up taking the day.

At heart an underdog story, Bottle Shock spends a pleasant enough 110 minutes lovelingly caressing it's working class heroes in a remarkably authentic late 70s Napa Valley, the rugged wilderness that's just a quick jaunt up the interstate from San Francisco. After introducing us to our struggling band of plucky individualists (lead by an astonishingly ruddy Bill Pullman) who live on the constant edge of financial disaster, we're whisked to Paris, where one Stephen Spurrier (Alan Rickman, as usual oozing equal parts charm and smarm) wants to curry favor with the Parisian wine cartels, and conceives of a blind wine tasting to establish himself both as worldly and a slavish Francophile. By now we know how this story is going to end, even if we don't know the history, but the events that lead us to this conclusion fairly glow with craftsmanship and care.

This leads to the film's one weakness, as it can't decide what it wants to be - part road movie, part love triangle, part working-class-boy-makes good, it bounces between genres like a hyperactive Pong tournament. This tendency to lose focus is softened by the utterly grounded performances and rough-around-the-edges finish of the piece, perfectly capturing the Spartan simplicity of near-wilderness farming that California was known for prior to the age of silicon. As metaphor, however, the film wears its symbols openly and unapologetically on its sleeve. All the villains wear suits; the Napa women wear pants and are named Sam and Joe; and when our dashing young hero finally steps up to do the right thing, it's not out of a sudden epiphany of virtue so much as to avoid being perennially tagged a loser ("Did you realize that Woodstock was seven years ago?" he muses, laying flat on his back in a boxing ring).

Still, at the end of the day these are more tropes than missteps, and if the movie doesn't keep us in the grip of suspense, its lush cinematography and sweeping vistas nicely compliment the bouquet of earnest portrayals. As an exercise in the Commedia dell'Arte of Hollywood, Bottle Shock is well executed and joyful to behold. It won't expand your mind or change your life, but it's fun as a date-night film that will leave you smiling.

–Tovarich

NOTE: Since it is an independent film, Bottle Shock is playing in limited release. Check your local listings!

My Best Come-Hither Stare

justtovarich@gmail.com (Tovarich) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 23:50:00 +0000

If James is the cyber pimp of TLA Video, then you can think of me as a freelance prostitute who goes way back with him and won't join his stable, but maintains a friendly relationship, and we pass each other clients from time to time. In fact the metaphor works almost disturbingly well as a stereotype; I'm over-educated, bored, a bad fit for the workaday grind, and like to spend my time as I please, thank you very much. So here I am, ready willing and able to serve as the loose cannon of the TLA blog, unbeholden as I am to its corporate masters.

Which isn't to say that I'm here to stir up shit unnecessarily; even the most classless call girl knows better than to bite the hand that feeds. But as an outsider, my plan is to indulge you in the reviews of the movies that I enjoy, which may or may not tie into the larger revenue goals of TLA. Hey, they've got nine hard-typing worker bees in the column on the right, there - they can afford one dilettante with an agenda of their own.

What kind of movies are those? Well sure, we all loved the Dark Knight, but I tend to find myself wandering into the more oddball nooks and crannies. 70s exploitation classics, beaten-path-adjacent indies, the kinds of movies that no one likes to admit to seeing and even less like to admit to enjoying. Movies that we watch for hedonism rather than to appear cool. Some are stupid raunch and some will blow your mind. Many feature explosions.

–Tovarich

And before you ask: Yes, my name really is Tovarich. Yes, like really really. Yes, I know it's a word in Russian. Yes, I know what it means. No, I don't speak Russian. Yes, there is a story behind it. No, I won't tell you.

The TV Set

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 22:04:00 +0000

(2006, 87 min) Let me be upfront by saying that, though I am and remain a straight man, David Duchovny can do no wrong in my eyes. (Alright, he can do almost no wrong.) I have no particular interest in staring at his ass in the Red Shoe Diaries, but so long as the man is speaking, I’m listening.

I say this upfront because last night I watched The TV Set, and- though I felt like for some reason I shouldn’t- I really enjoyed it. And I think it wasn’t just because David was the lead. Admittedly, the humor was perhaps more lacking than it could have been, and the satire predictable, it nevertheless provided a surprisingly realistic and entertaining portrayal of why most television is an abomination. It also demonstrates what a colossal success it is when a show is actually half-decent- not because creating moving, honest media is difficult, although it is- but because the production process itself is seemingly hell-bent on mediocrity.

Knowing what I do about the film industry from the inside (I’m not just talking about TLA), I can safely say that it is amazing that films get made at all. Every step of the process is fraught with danger- unnatural dangers created by an unnatural, fear-driven industry. The same is true of television, only more-so: the industry that supports the production process is driven by fear, which drives the recycled shit sandwiches that we have all come to know and love. Sitting behind all of this is a public that glorifies escape, exonerates lazy artistry, and shies away from psychological confrontation. We get shit sandwich because it’s what the majority of us put on the menu. Don’t want it? Stop buying.

At this point you may be thinking, “thanks for all this, asshole, but I was kind of hoping for a film review, not a half-assed rant about the film and TV industry.” Well, consider it a “meta-review.” Because the film itself is an endearing, yet also half-assed rant about the film and TV industry.

If, on the other hand, you want David Duchovny to dial up the bitter and sarcastic dialogue, and throw a whole lot of gratuitous sex into the bargain, just take a pass and get Californication Season One. While watching The TV Set, I even found myself wondering if his character in this movie proved something of an inspiration for his character in the Showtime series, much as Sorkin’s The American President helped create the more polished West Wing. (“Mr. President? Since when did you become the Chief of Staff?”) But my guess is no: we may have a case of Duchovny just being Duchovny.

Thankfully, many of us like him that way.

--James Curcio.

Ghost Town

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 20:26:00 +0000

(2008, 102 min) While screenwriter David Koepp has built a solid reputation as a reliable hitmaker (Jurassic Park, Spider-Man), he has built an equally solid reputation as a director who consistently fails to live up to his ideas (The Trigger Effect, Secret Window). Even while demonstrating a rarely-seen lighter side in Ghost Town, this film winds up as weak-kneed and cliched as any other middle-of-the-road romantic comedy.

At least he had the good sense to cast three fascinating leads, even if they don't belong all in the same movie. Greg Kinnear plays the straight man, or straight ghost at least, wandering the Earth in a sort of high-concept purgatory. After a near-death experience, the insufferably antisocial dentist played by Ricky Gervais finds (much to his chagrin) that he can see these ghosts, all of whom seem to want something. Kinnear wants him to stop the pending marriage of his ex-wife (Téa Leoni), leading to the usual romantic comedy complications, of course.

Yes, you'd think that with all this fantasy floating about, that it would be used for more than setting up a series of misunderstandings and betrayals that ultimately lead to some sort of offbeat fuzzy ending. With those expectations now dashed, however, Ghost Town at least reveals itself to be an amiable timewaster. It's always a pleasure to see Leoni let loose in a screwball role, displaying talents that have been on the back burner since the days of Flirting with Disaster and "The Naked Truth." And it's oddly rewarding to see Gervais start out in his sardonic "Extras" mode and wind up believably warm and cuddly. The two together, of course, are severely lacking in chemistry, and Kinnear's usual ironic detachment isn't helped by his physical detachment to the other characters. Finally, while I won't spoil Kristen Wiig's part, which seems to have been lifted out of a whole other universe, I will plead for her to leave the stagnant SNL and become a big-screen star like she deserves.

– David Gorgos

By Way of Introduction…

noreply@blogger.com (james curcio) — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 18:04:00 +0000

Technically, my role at TLA is web designer. I’ve taken the liberty of adding “cyber pimp” to my job title, so as to give myself slightly greater leeway in terms of the tasks I can throw myself at. The way I see it, they hired me as an idea man, even if they didn’t know it yet.

So, before I get to reviewing movies for all of you, I’d like to pass one of these gems your way. It’s a new marketing incentive, and you are hearing it here first.

I want to push TLA to be the first movie distribution company to launch an ape into space. Now forget for a moment that there is no connection between film and strapping a primate to the end of a Titan missile. (Did I say strapping? Placing. Gently placing.) Also forget that it would be an incredibly expensive venture- I imagine the net cost per pound of monkey launching could be in the millions.

All of these things taken to mind, I recognize that this might be a hard sell in marketing. But American business is about taking bold steps, and more importantly, it’s about getting there first... even if it turns out there was no sensible or even sane reason that we should have taken the journey in the first place.

Just you wait. We’ll be the first to launch a monkey into space. And despite Blockbuster’s attempts to get into the space game, well. Clearly, they are outmatched. And clearly, I’m on the straight-arrow path to some lofty executive position with this idea. But until then, you’ll get movie reviews from me.

See you then.

- James Curcio.

Lessons from "Mad Men," or It Has Come to My Attention That There Is Entirely Not Enough Booze In This Office

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 15:17:00 +0000

My colleague, Mike, just brought a few ads to my office that he'd like for me to proofread. They're still sitting there on my desk. Now, if he had taken a lesson from "Mad Men", he would know exactly how to get what he wants. Mike would invite me into his office and offer me a drink, preferably scotch on the rocks. His secretary would assure our privacy while we shoot the shit about baseball (even though he's a Mets fan) and our mouths contemplate the nuances of the brown liquor. Firing up a stogie, we are relaxed with our defenses down, when he casually mentions some ads that he's working on, and would I mind taking a look? Why of course not, in fact, it would be a privilege to see a master at work. Checking the colors on "Bangkok Love Story," everything looks good, down to the typeface on the quotes and the correct British spelling on the overseas ads. Oh, what's this? An extra space between the punctuation and the end of the sentence... better take a closer look at that. Stubbing out my cigar, I say that I'll save the rest of this for our next meeting, and that it's always a pleasure to work with him. And could he maybe check out my blog when he gets a chance? Sure.

But there is no booze in this office. No smoking, either... you now must leave your office for a butt, which feels like a chore, and ensures that no work gets done on the smoking deck.

It has also come to my attention that we have no offices either. Just cubicles.

And no secretaries either. I guess in the big picture, the loss of office sexism is a good thing, but in the narrow, old-boys-club picture, you can certainly see why none of the privileged men wanted it to change.

Instead, I will have to keep watching "Mad Men", one of the few shows about the workplace that doesn't feel like work. Hard to believe that escapism can come from stressful jobs and societal expectations, but then, that may be what the elite think when they watch Clerks or High Fidelity. Season One was the best show of 2007, and season two is only getting better.

– David Gorgos

What's your favorite movie?

noreply@blogger.com (Godard) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 19:07:00 +0000

Roger Ebert posed this question on his blog, and for once I have an answer. I've found it very helpful in life to have stock answers for commonly asked questions. How are you? Fine. What's up with the Phillies this year? Inconsistent hitting. Why'd you become a vegetarian? I'm a finicky eater. And when someone finds out I work for a video company, people perk up and either ask "What's good right now?" or "What's your favorite movie?" Nothing is worse than watching someone hem and haw at a fairly easy question, so I have a stock answer that also usually leads to a pretty animated discussion. (Never answer Citizen Kane, Lawrence of Arabia or Gone with the Wind as the conversation will come to a crashing halt.)

The greatest movie ever made is Rear Window. Two deep characters that are impossible to not fall in love with, the sassy comic relief of Thelma Ritter, and a self-reflexive deconstruction of filmmaking and voyeurism in the film's perfect construction. Whenever this film appears on TV, I end up dropping everything and sitting down and watching it all the way through, and I can't say that about any other movie. It never gets old.

But my favorite movie is Jerry Lewis' The Ladies Man, a revelation that inevitably leads to discussion of Jerry and not the actual film. He carries a lot of cultural baggage, so I have to beg people to please, simply watch his movies. Interestingly, his essential book The Total Filmmaker outlines many tenets of comedy directing, culled from lectures he gave when teaching a film school course. While he was giving those lectures, he was directing One More Time, the nearly unwatchable sequel to Salt & Pepper, and seemingly ignoring every single lesson from his course.

But earlier in the '60s, Lewis was taking his inspiration from Frank Tashlin and producing some of the most innovative, insane and even breathtaking comedies since the silent era. The Ladies Man in particular had the innovation of "video assist," a hookup to the camera that provided a live feed that would become commonplace in just a few short years. It also boasted a massive indoor set that, in the photo above, looks like a dollhouse built to human scale complete with a functioning elevator. This set allows Lewis to set up beautiful physical comedy throughout the house unencumbered by the usual laws space and physics.

Interesting that, for me, two of the most cinematic films ever made take place almost entirely on two single sets. It's the opposite of the massive vistas that are always rewarded come Oscar time. Speaking of Oscars, despite co-hosting the ceremonies several times, Jerry Lewis has never been honored. How about throwing an award his way, perhaps the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award for his tireless commitment to the MDA?

– David Gorgos