View From Row Four

Batman V Superman

2016-03-28T09:21:00.001+08:00

I normally shy away from doing a movie review because I'm not a critic. But there are just some things out there that I feel strongly about and just have to get out of my system. Just an audience member who paid for something that I hope could entertain me for a short period of time and maybe provide a bit of escapist route from the mundane routine of the real world.

And what better form of escapism than watching a superhero movie. I liked Man Of Steel despite the negative feedback it had from fans and critics alike, and I was willing to give the sequel a shot depite my reservations about Ben Affleck's casting in the Batman role. Nothing against Affleck (I'm a big fan of Argo) but something about him seems off when cast in things like comic book/sci-fi/fantasy genres. His appeal seem to work best in fiction still grounded in reality; where suspension of disbelief is at a minimum.

I saw the film and left the theater with my ears ringing but with no definable reaction to it. I commented on the trailer in Youtube a few months ago that despite my doubts about it, I'd still see it. It's not fair to judge a movie because of its trailer. Sometimes I hate that my instinct was spot on.

To blame it solely on the miscasting and somewhat off-putting characterizations of the main characters --- Affleck's Dark Knight and Jesse Eisenberg's Lex Luthor (Totally off-tangent characterization and casting. You'd think Eisenberg wandered into a Joel Schumacher superhero set.) --- would be short-sighted. The blame goes to director Zack Znyder and his writers. I liked David S. Goyer's works (Nolan's Batman Trilogy/Blade) but this time I'd have to concede with what most critics have been whining about: It simply sucked. You'd think that after the existential angst of Man Of Steel, Superman would at least have grown a bit of sense of humor and wit about his outsider status. But instead we're subjected to the same scowl and dilemma that's already bordering towards the superhero brand of self-pity.

If there's a single word to describe the whole mess, it would be sloppy. I was astounded by how detached and indifferent I was to what the characters were going through the entire time I was sitting there. And I do not take that lightly. I was misty-eyed watching the second trailer of the upcoming Jeff Nichols feature Midnight Special. That was a two-minute sampler that managed to evoke more emotions in me than the entire two hours I sat through Znyder's balls to the wall royal rumble that is starting to look like something that Michael Bay would do.

The entire movie gave off that vibe that execs at Warner Bros were pressuring the production team to cram everything in one movie to get their Justice League franchise up and running. It was a case of too much, too fast. And in order to do that, sacrifices in story-lines and character development had to be dropped. All three protagonists (Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman) could have died and I---and I believe some people---could not have cared less. It was that bad.

Drop the brooding Christopher Nolan treatment. It worked in Batman precisely because that's how Batman is. To use that very same formula on other characters will be a sure-fire way to churning out a real turkey.

Whiplash

2015-04-03T04:09:00.000+08:00

For all the critical acclaim it got, Whiplash (2015) is not without its share of detractors. Most of of whom are jazz musicians and music writers who described the brutal strategies of the music instructor played by J.K. Simmons as unrealistic.

In a Huffingon Post article written by Brian Ross he stated:

"The suspense of disbelief is mission-critical in the movie biz. If you're doing Fast and Furious 93, you have a lot of latitude in what you can do because it's all largely fantasy. In career-oriented dramas, though, whether it's about fireman, doctors, lawyers, poets, scientists or social evangelists, the buck stops at the writer and director's door to ground the story well enough. To a point at least where people who do that job for a living would find some "reasonable" level of authenticity."

I do share the sentiment about certain types of movies being grounded on a sense of realism despite the obvious reason that they're works of fiction. There are certain genres that can get away with outlandish premises and situations like the Fast And The Furious series, or maybe Pirates Of The Carribean, or Star Wars. To go out and watch movies like these expecting "realistic" situations other than just simply sitting back and enjoying a bit of pure escapist fare is a bit like watching a porno flick and complaining about the gratuitous and graphic sex in it.

Films like this, on the other hand, really can't rely on the "but it's just a movie" riposte .

But that's as far as I agree when it comes to the objections toward the film.

Of course mentors like that are highly improbable in schools in more developed countries. But I don't think it's impossible. Especially in the Philippines. I heard my grandfather in my mother's side of the family suffered a similar traumatic experience in the hands of his own father---a big band leader/conductor himself. Though not exactly leading a jazz ensemble (more like a band for hire for specific social events) or looking out for the next "Bird", his spartan approach to teaching and maintaining the quality of the band was legendary.

I do admit the bleeding hands were a bit of a stretch but the movie succeeded in communicating its main purpose in making the audience ponder on whether Machiavellian approaches are effective in achieving excellence or not.

It's not exactly a feel-good movie despite the somewhat optimistic ending. Unlike movies of this sort that touches on the triumph of the human spirit over adverse conditions (i.e. Rocky, August Rush).

But the drum solos. That alone was a blast.

Robocop 2014

2014-02-09T16:13:00.001+08:00

At first I thought MGM decided to mock their famous Lion with a bizarre soundclip that replaced the trademark growl.

Turned out it was Samuel Jackson's Pat Novak. The guys's pre-broadcast mouth calisthenics that produced all that sound. It's there where I concluded Jose Padilha's remake of the 1987 Paul Verhoeven classic was a different entity altogether.

Like the 1987 incarnation, the upgraded version never fails to underscore media's role into molding the public to puppets dancing to the tune of the most powerful corporations. That of course, and the neverending romantic theme of every successful fairy tale about the ages-old question of what makes us all human.

The over the top R-18 violence that made the 1987 version so compelling was toned down for a more PG-friendly version this time. OCP is still the evil corporatation, and in place of the 'Old Man' we have a Steve Jobs-like CEO named Raymond Sellars. I never really liked Michael Keaton before The Other Guys but his performance in RoboCop made me a fan. The guy managed to make the character a very likable villain. Along with Jackie Earle Haley's mercenary and company military tactician and Jay Baruchel's goofy marketing executive, the film had all the makings of a very compelling movie by virtue of its villains (no Clarence/Jones but equally good) but somewhere in the middle the entire thing goes...level.

It's not that the movie was bad. In fact it's good---if it didn't have the specter of the original hanging around the back of your head to compare it with. The story and the overall direction of the new one is totally different in tone and even in story than its predecessor. That alone is reason enough why the movie is an excellent stand-alone entity on its own. I guess my major gripe about it is that the main character somehow lacks the charisma and bad-assness you'd expect from it. Granted that it's somehow a major improvement over the original considering it can move faster and has a whole lot more sophisticated access to technology and weaponry. I can't blame the actor (Joel Kinnaman) if that was how the character was written. You just can't empathize with it enough. Desensitized? Probably.

Had it not been for Gary Oldman's character, the film would have been a total waste. Dr. Norton is the moral and humanist center of the story. They detached it, because RoboCop seems to be more like a machine in this version despite his human memories being intact.

There are a lot of allusions to the original other than the shared similarity of the characters' names. In place of the notorious 'Directive 4' we have the red band. Still a powerful tool to remind our hero that he's still just a product and still in the mercy of the company that made him. Good action/drama film overall. If only you haven't seen the original to compare it to. You just can't avoid it.

Men of steel and titans of metal

2013-08-04T14:53:00.001+08:00

Been a while since I posted anything here so might as well talk about the two movies I really loved so far this year.

MAN OF STEEL

More of a reaction to the negative feedback of most viewers/critics whose rallying cry was that the thing was "too dark" and---my favorite--- that "Superman doesn't kill". Wonder if those same people had the same sentiment about issue #75 of the comics where the Man Of Steel met his "demise" in the hands of Doomsday. I'm sure that titanic face-off between the two ridiculously superpowered beings didn't produce any casualty at all. Just buildings and other inanimate objects because it would have been too dark a tone for the Norman Rockwell-esque world the blue boy scout lives in. Or that Superman has no intention of killing someone whose threat level is insane because, well, he doesn't kill. I'm sure that final blow he gave to that character was meant to only "stun" him.

I don't know. Maybe these chronic complainers have a better solution to that Zod-Superman smackdown that does not involve desperate, last minute solutions like snapping your opponent's neck to prevent him from killing some more. And that the character who did the killing was a first-timer at this kind of business.

As for the "critical" mass who apparently found the violence and "lack of humor" so off-putting, well tough luck gentlemen, sometimes genre entries like this revolve more around actual action than subtle artistic metaphors on life and deep meditations on existence. Snyder's unfairly lumped into the Michael Bay category of all flash and mindless mayhem devoid of good stories that may in fact be grounded on something---except that David Goyer and the Nolans are behind the writing that any more comparison with the former is far-fetched. This film was simply a reaction to the Singer-directed Superman Returns that managed to stoke the critics but left a stale taste on the mouth of most its target audience, including myself.

Donner's version is fine, but it's time for another take on things.

PACIFIC RIM

Best movie of the year. If only for the sheer ambition of making a big-screen tribute to those
Japanese mecha/kaiju anime and manga that gained popularity during the 70s and 80s. I was a huge fan of Voltron, Daimos and Voltes V when these shows aired on free TV. And watching Guillermo Del Toro's fanboy output of giant robots bludgeoning giant monsters with makeshift weapons like a massive ship, that elation you had as a kid jumping out the sofa mimicking those cartoon robots as they administer their brand of justice to those giant invading monsters with extreme prejudice---comes back. Del Toro obviously made something he wanted to see as a fan, and that translated very well on the big screen.

This obviously won't be winning any awards for best picture but this is clearly the best picture of the year. You advertise robots beating monsters to a pulp and live up to it.

In this aspect Pacific Rim lives up to its promise.

The Amazing Spider-Man

2012-06-30T16:51:00.000+08:00

There were the doubts about how someone known primarily for 500 Days Of Summer could possibly pull off a seemingly ambitious superhero blockbuster flick like The Amazing Spider-Man.

I had the same doubts at first but were quickly dispelled by those small promotional clips taken from the movie they released gradually up until the opening date. Most notable of them was the clip where Spider-Man was trolling a carjacker. So far so good. At least they got the trash-talker aspect and sense of humor of the character right. Whenever Tobey Maguire tried those one-liners off the Sam Raimi version, it came off being delivered by a nerd trying so hard to be cool. Granted that Peter Parker was a real nerd, he was one without any of those cliched social handicaps filmmakers try so hard to hammer down the heads of the audiences to the point of actually preaching how great it is to be one. He's a nerd, but not of the Big Bang Theory-variety. With over a truckload of re-invention and reboots ranging from comic books, TV shows, the occasional direct to video B-movie treatments to Sam Raimi's version, the last thing the world needs is another 'reboot' of an established franchise.

But the movie is everything the first three were not: It's better.

Rabid comic-book purists will no doubt complain again about the entire re-invention of the Peter Parker backstory and how un-Norman Rockwell-esque the treatment of the hero's relationship was to his aunt and uncle up to the inclusion of a conspiracy theory regarding his parents' disappearance, but it's all irrelevant yapping at this point.

Webb and his pool of writers created a fresh and grittier take on the evolution of the iconic web-slinger. There's a certain realistic feel to it that's apparent and devoid of any excessive melodrama or long speeches on nobility. And Parker naturally gets back at the bullies who made his life miserable and exacts a level of enjoyment for his small revenge; as any normal person who suddenly discovered the power to fight back, would do.

But the two lead actors [Andrew Garfield/Emma Stone] were perfect for the parts they played. Specially Stone, who did not come off as the token hysterical neurotic female lead with a sense of entitlement despite knowing her partner's nocturnal activities and responsibilities.

The fight sequences with the Lizard, which most people actually go for in movies like this were excellent. And the Spider-Man contortions made famous in the comics when he was web-slinging was given due recognition specially in the ending. It also showcased Peter Parker's scientific wizardy and his creation of the web-shooters. Without a doubt this Spider-Man is better compared to the one-dimensional version Raimi introduced. Webb and the others hit all the right note with this first installment, and a possible inclusion to The Avengers.

And basing from the extra footage at the end credits [as with all Marvel movies], looks like The Green Goblin is up next. I hope they still get Willem Dafoe for it.

Minus that horrendous helmet, this time.

Face-offs: 1

2012-05-02T20:03:00.000+08:00

There are a lot of movies that featured memorable fight/action sequences. These are the ones that came to mind on such short notice. I'm sure I missed out on a few excellent ones but we can always create a new list. Preferably on the next five of the list's continuation.

Gun-Kata duel, Equilibrium

Of course Gun-Kata is a load of BS director Kurt Wimmer invented to make the action scenes in his Dystopian film more flashy and palatable to the movie-going public. Lucky for him lead actor Christian Bale was involved or else the film would be a total disaster. It's an ambitious film, and entertaining mostly because of the unique blend of weird samurai style melee fighting and calculus shooting.This is also the film that convinced me Bale could pull off a decent Batman. His cleric (killer mode) is a lot more Batman than Batman, actually.

Train, From Russia With Love

The titanic faceoff between two elite killers in the 2nd film installment of Ian Fleming's quintissential spy is, up to now, voted as one of the most intense and realistic celluloid fights of all time. Robert Shaw's SPECTRE assassin Red Grant, had been pursuing Sean Connery's 007 in the course of the movie to terminate him. In the train, disguised as the M16 agent he killed, engaged Bond in a hand to hand combat to the death. Grant with his trademark garrote/wristwatch and Bond with his knife/gas/briefcase. No quarter, winner take all.

Mall skirmish, Terminator 2: Judgment Day

This is one of the breathtaking sequences in James Cameron's sequel to his killer cyborg movie in 1984. Up until then we didn’'t know squat about the new villains' abilities. Until his T-800 nemesis (Schwarzenegger) cratered him full of shotgun blasts. What follows is the two terminators’ introduction to each other’s capabilites and limitations by throwing each other around, while retaining a sense of stylish aesthetic that still looks cool more than 20 years after its release.

See http://youtu.be/VDVVAuz1v7U for the first encounter between the two cyborgs

Coliseum, Return Of The Dragon

Bruce Lee's best film, in my opinion is this. Not onlybecause he beat he crap out of everyone’s totem of machismo Chuck Norris, but broke the man’s spirit first. One of the best choreographed and realistic hand to hand movie fights that not only gave a sense of satisfaction by seeing the arrogant bad guy beaten, making you feel a bit scared for the protagonist because of his own formidable skills.

Intro, Blade 2

Wesley Snipes’ underrated Marvel half vampire hero is all swagger and precision. He knows how to make the character more intimidating than the monsters he kills on a regular basis. The first sequences of him storming a vampire mafia stronghold is gleefully brutal. Nothing like seeing monsters pissing their pants because of a hero a lot worse than they are. Snipes’ own martial arts flare of punishing the villains with extreme prejudice is an added bonus.

Theed Duel, The Phantom Menace

While the entire movie leaves a lot to be desired, the deadly dance between Jedi and Sith was best exemplified by the energetic and ballet-like lightsaber fight against a deadly Sith warrior played to feral perfection by Ray Park. Despite it being choreographed to appeal more to style than actual reality [you can practically see the actors aiming their strikes at their opponent’s blade rather than their opponent], it’s still an arresting sight, specially if you were weaned to the first trilogy’s brand of conservative lightblade duels.

Battle Of Pelennor Fields/The Rohirrim, The Return Of The King

Nothing can match the epic grandeur of the arrival of Theoden’s forces just as Gondor is about to fall. And the battle the followed shorty thereafter. And the Nazgul is always a sight to behold.

Phantasm

2012-04-15T11:39:00.000+08:00

‘Let me liberate you from this flesh construct that binds you to time and space. All that is unknown will be known to you once more…’ – THE TALL MAN

Phantasm was a little-known 1979 film from a relative unknown named Don Coscarelli. It is one of the most unique, strange, and bewildering contribution in the world of popular film boogeymen populated by the likes of A Nightmare On Elm St., Friday The 13th, Haloween, and Hellraiser.

Chief of it is the film's antagonist. A tall, lanky geriatric mortician sporting a Prince Valiant haircut simply called The Tall Man. Wearing black suits a size too small and with the habit of pillaging graveyards and turning corpses into pint sized-zombies, and using their brains to power his floating metallic orbs. A graphic scene involving these deadly spheres drilling into the head of a victim and sucking out the blood from them is a gory, but amusing bit of cinematic creativity. You'd feel the tongue in cheek humor like the creators were having a joke while conceptualizing it.

Angus Scrimm as the nefarious Tall Man

It's the same tone that separated the film among the pack. It knew about the seeming absurdity of the premise and decided to inject a few self-deprecating humor while it had fun scaring audiences out of their wits.

Thanks in no small part to Angus Scrimm's portrayal of the villain. The Tall Man is unnerving, weird---in a funny way---while at the same time able to conjure just enough fright, especially when he's in pursuit. Always in that wide, steady and purposeful stride with the echoing TOK-TOK-TOK of his heavy- cleated boots. Never ran. Not that he needed to, in the first place.

As with all other monsters in the genre, the guy seemed to magically teleport into that place where you thought you were the safest.

Unlike the motormouthed Freddy Krueger, or the one-track mind of Jason Voorhees, The Tall Man’s motivations are slightly a bit more complex than just thoughtless mayhem. You never quite know what the guy is up to; even when you know mankind’s best interest is the farthest thing in his head. He goes from town to town, harvesting graves and leaving a wasteland that almost wipes out a town’s population and leaving not more than a few ‘lurkers’[undead rejects] in them as well.

But what really set the movie apart was that the series [all four of them] had a comic book approach to it that references the classic hero vs arch –enemy routine that promises a perpetual conflict between the opposing sides. The film’s protagonist trio – A young boy, his elder brother and their ice cream vendor bestfriend have been steady characters in all the series. Whereas in other fims in the genre, the average shelf-life of the main characters were two movies at most. The actors even aged in it. By the time the fourth installment came [1998], Scrimm’s appearance was in stark contrast to his 1979 incarnation.

The series has a dreamy, and predominantly melancholic tone to it more than outright terror. Don Coscarelli is fond of long, drawling footages of bleak landscapes and isolation mostly focused on A. Michael Baldwin’s character Mike, who had been the target of the Tall Man’s pursuit since the first film. There are times when the movie even feels like a Joy Division or The Cure video, with all the footages of landscapes devoid of human habitation and complete solitude. It’s closer to David Lynch than Clive Barker or Wes Craven.

Even the origin of the villain or his relation to one of the characters has no visible explanation.Whether the guy is an alien, demon or death himself. The only clue is that there is vital information for whatever plans he has on Mike’s [Baldwin] head. That Mike might even be of the same origin as the Tall Man remains vague, despite the latter extracting one of the killer spheres in his head by the end of the fourth film.

In a lot of ways it’s one of the best films to have come out of the last 30 years. Just on the out of world premise to it that is as confounding as anything Terry Gilliam did and just as funny in some parts as Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead. It’s one of the better big ‘indie’ films ever made. I doubt if the premise was pitched in today’s gore and sensory overload-addicted climate, it would get any kind of approval then go straight to the can in favor of celluloid cruds big on explosions, more explosions and sub-par storyline.

It’s not without its flaws, and there are surely enough of them to go around in the series, but as with any other films boxed in the same genre, the demographics for this kind of movies aren’t exactly moustache-twirling cineastes. To go watch it and expect any profound statements on the human condition other than watching it for thrills would be an exercise in stupidity. In fact going out to watch any films with that kind of mindset is ridiculous.

Unless you’re paid to be like that.

Dark passengers

2012-03-20T20:23:00.000+08:00

The original premise of George Romero's least-popular installment to his zombie trilogy called Day Of The Dead, was that underground settlements of scientists and soldiers have finally figured out how to combat the ongoing zombie plague: fighting fire with fire.

It's practically humans rounding up zombies and training them to take out their own kind. One early concept design of it had zombies wearing GI gear and carrying rifles and assorted weapons to kill their 'untrained' ghoulish ilk.

A promising premise and I'm sure would have been great fun to watch, but the machinations of capitalism and studio meddling proved to be a more horrifying and debilitating factor for the kind of grand production Romero had in his head ("Ben Hur with zombies", according to top FX master Tom Savini).

The result: a weak installment that paled to its predecessors. Zombie vs zombie out, another installment in the study of human fragility: in. The only residue left from the original treatment was Bub, the domesticated zombie pet of the demented scientist played by Richard Liberty.

Face-offs between monsters have always held a high place among fanboys. Since the 40s, where Universal monsters were made to square-off (Frankenstein Meets The Wolfman) to an East vs West battle between Godzilla and King Kong to Freddy vs Jason and Aliens vs Predator. There's always the nagging question of how one monster would fare against another.

Because let's face it: we're in awe of the villain more than the hero.

That's why it's good that there's a TV show that features a serial killer whose victims are the same kind of sick monster that he is.

Dexter (Showtime) features and provides a deeper treatment of serial killers than most films on the subject, notably its protagonist Dexter Morgan. A forensics blood-spatter specialist for the Miami Police who happens to have a very interesting hobby when he's not out working.

The show's format is seen through Dexter's eyes most of the time, interspersed with some of his voice-overs reminding us how completely detached he is from the rest of humanity. That everything he shows people is an act and a camouflage to hide his real identity. Even sex, as the first two seasons have shown, holds little interest for him than that of killing someone in his "kill room". By all accounts his behavior fits the profile of a real sociopath serial killer to a tee, with only a slight difference. While the likes of Hannibal Lecter picks on just about anyone who offends him, Dexter follows a peculiar code instilled by his adoptive father to only kill those who also kill without remorse. Apparently most people who fit the code's limitations are serial killers as well. And what better way to find his victims than looking through the files and utilizing the investigating facilities of a police station.

Michael C. Hall's portrayal of the character is an excellent guide on how not to underestimate the most boring and normal looking guy in the crowd. You'd be amazed at how the character actually go to such great pains in putting out an effort to look and act like the most mundane and uninteresting person in an environment where everyone wants to be noticed. But that's the real thing about these kind of people isn't it? Whenever one of them gets caught the usual reaction from those who think know them best is always a resounding "He looked so normal".

Every season pits the guy against an assortment of killers with different methods of satisfying their urges, but by far the best (in my opinion) was Season 4; where he butts heads with John Lithgow's 'The Trinity Killer'. Lithgow, a brilliant actor who can play gentle, almost pathetic characters to funny clueless guys like 3rd Rock From The Sun's Dick Solomon is stone cold disturbing as Arthur Mitchell, a seemingly affable family man who in truth is a vicious and calculating monster. Even his villainous roles where he played mentally unstable characters like that in Raising Caine aren't as compelling. And the banter between the two serial killers at the end is priceless.

Having just concluded a terrific run for Season 6 where he fought off two religious doomsday zealots---Edward James Olmos & Colin Hanks---the cliffhanger of an ending looks for a very promising Season 7.

And if all the shows you ever watch are anything except this, I'd like to leave a quote from TMZ's Harvey Levin: "You watch lame shows."

Re-Animator: Why more films like this should be made

2011-11-10T18:50:00.000+08:00

It's a bit embarrassing to admit that I just saw Re-Animator (1985) for the first time last Saturday.

One of the most popular and must-see cult classics of all time. It's up there with The Evil Dead, The Return Of The Living Dead, and Braindead (Dead Alive) in the honors section of this type of genre. That small group of films that exploit all fear of cadavers and turning that fear and trepidation into a potent mixture of schlock, gore, and black humor not commonly seen in more mainstream Hollywood drivel these days.

Prior to seeing it I have already seen and are familiar with most of director Stuart Gordon's movies. Mostly adaptations of HP Lovecraft's shorts, that were given unique film treatments. Gordon has a knack for transforming Lovecraft's stories---difficult reads I must admit; given to long, drawling narratives that rely all-too heavily on the reader's own imagination---into compelling films that have so much visual impact that it lingers with you even after a while when you first watched it.

The first film I saw was his 1987 adaptation of From Beyond, Lovecraft's take on stimulating the pineal gland via a machine called a resonator, which enables people to see otherworldy creatures existing in another plane of existence or dimension not readily visible to man's average senses. That was also the first film I saw frequent Gordon collaborator Jeffrey Combs, who played the tragic protagonist Dr. Crawford Tillinghast who eventually had his pineal gland pop out of his head like a gross, bloody insect antennae with a mind of its own due to the constant stimulation and exposure to the machine.

For an 80s horror film, it stood out from the rest that jumped in on the whole slasher craze that swept the horror genre. It's Lovecraft, for one. The late author's fascination with interdimensional existence, beings, as well as the Elder Gods and the notorious Old Ones gave rise to the Chtlulhu Mythos that no more than a few members of the society actually believe to be true. Add in Gordon's natural talent in conjuring celluloid shock material that include morbid sexual fetishes, gore, and humorous/shocking ways of watching people get killed. That was put into good use again with the lesser-known but equally disturbing Dagon (2001), this one an adaptation of the author's Shadow Over Innsmouth---about a race of hybrid human/aquatic creatures that worship one of the notorious deities allied with Chtlulhu that resides in the black abyss of the sea.

But among all of Gordon's outputs, Re-Animator has got to be the most widely known and, to some of the squeamish members of the society, reviled. It's the kind of R-18 film where even adults are driven to nail-biting discomfort, specially when that famous cadaver with the severed head decided to molest a woman in some of the sickest ways a celluloid zombie could ever think of.

It starts off with the introduction of Herbert West (Combs), a medical student kicked out of a European school for his radical theories on brain death and re-animating dead tissue via his special re-agent formula he discovered with a deceased mentor. he transfers to the fictional Miskatonic University Medical School where he met and befriended the other half of the film's two protagonists, student Dan Cain (Dark Justice's Bruce Abbot).

Jeffrey Combs as the notorious Herbert West, re-animator

What follows is the standard partnership between the brilliant, but weird partner and the other grounded, mediocre, and more socially popular one. It was only a matter of time when both people's experiments on re-animating cadavers goes out of hand (like what happens to all horror movies that involve 'experiments') and the fun really goes into overdrive.

For one thing this is not the typical zombies the George Romero school of zombie-making has taught us. And that's how I view and expect to see how reanimated corpses would behave. Gordon's corpses are different in a way that they are also deadly homicidal monsters but not with the same motivations as standard zombies (sorry, living dead) usually do. The Walking Dead, this isn't.

But for all its gore and ample shocking footage of violence, the most surprising aspect of the film is its ability to make you laugh and cringe at the same time. Mostly in the space of one frame. One second a character does something totally hilarious like bumping over things while holding his own severed head, and the next moment become an evil diabolical mastermind that rivals all other film villains in existence. Not to mention adding a lecherous side to the heavily-cliched portrayals of the living dead.

It's over the top entertainment, for sure. But it won't reach cult status if it wasn't any good.

TAG: Advocacy for theater actors' welfare

2011-10-22T14:02:00.001+08:00

Photo courtesy of TAG

Like any occupation, acting---or in this case theater acting---is actually as real and as taxing, and as exhausting as, for example, being an air traffic controller or a stockbroker. I can already hear the different sides fuming about the audacity to compare their respective professions to the other. Relax, nothing's being compared here. And nothing's better than the other. Just illustrating a point about the realities of an occupation common people like me always associate with the glitz and glamour, but are thoroughly unfamiliar with, especially when it comes to the real problems and challenges that happens behind the curtains when the audience is not present.

It's always a point of personal amusement as to how ordinary people could possibly aspire to have a life in the limelight or in front of the stage or camera. To only see the glamour side of it and not the real work---not to mention the intense rivalries, back stabbings, rejections and the humiliating kick-in-the-crotch kind of criticisms hurled towards you by overzealous directors and/or co-workers you share more than half of your waking time with on a regular basis.And to actually believe that the ease with which these professionals make their chosen craft appear so effortless that the average person thinks he can actually do it.

Just reading articles on the lives of performers should be enough to at least give you an informed insight on the profession you are aspiring to have, if that actually does not deter you in the first place. Like any endeavor that requires the participation of a professional, acting is real work. "Backbreaking", as some wrestlers would say, though their brand of theatrics borders on a much more brutal and literal backbreaking aspect of 'acting'. Just for that alone, our actors deserve unwavering respect.

Last October 10, a large gathering of theater actors and freelancers as well as representatives of other branches of the media converged at the PETA Theater Center for the First General Assembly of the Philippine Theater Actors Guild (TAG). This is a notable event simply because this is the first time a formal gathering about actors' welfare when it comes to working conditions and compensation has been formally discussed and launched.

Its inception was hardly the type of serendipitous circumstance that spawns good things out of personal tragedies. But a dangerous incident of sleeping on the wheel while driving that involved TAG founder and guild president Kalila Aguilos proved to be the right catalyst to spur long-dormant sentiments into motion.

In her Facebook status update following the incident, Aguilos stated: Does someone have to die before a law curtailing shooting / taping hours is passed?

The long discussion that followed because of that declaration led to an agreement on the urgent need for at least a union to oversee the welfare of the actors and other concerns related to theater work.

Shortly after that, Elmar Beltran of the Commission For Culture Of The Arts or NCCA invited her for a dialogue that was also attended by groups like Philstage, The OPM, AMP, AWF and KAPPT. That was where Aguilos realized there was no group that represented theater actors in the Philippines as a whole. Her further discussions with members of the theater community ultimately lead to the formation of TAG---whose main directive is to be a platform for the actors' development through additional education, training, welfare, and assistance in more practical aspects of the profession like health care, security, and taxes.

The October 10 event was well-attended by various representatives of diverse media backgrounds like music, the performing arts, film and journalism. Award-winning director Jose Javier Reyes delivered the key note speech, stating, in one of the most poignant parts of his talk: "This gathering is important. It is not only an expression of camaraderie, a renewal of friendship or a sharing of common interests. Tonight is a vital first step. This gathering is a statement. We want change".

If that declaration is not an indication of the the kind of working conditions our actors have to endure up until then, then I don't know what is. As I understand it, theater is high in prestige but not exactly something that commands an intimidating paycheck as far as chosen professions go. Not that money is the prime motivation of people getting into this life is the only reason why they do what they do. But as with other art forms, it can only thrive when adequate financial support and security to the ones making it are provided.

TAG's board of trustees are composed of volunteers from various sectors offering free advise or any other forms of ready assistance to actors. Board member Cesar Apolinario, GMA 7 mediaman and award-winning filmmaker said, " I know this is a long journey but I'm giving it a shot. This is pro-bono. It's the only prestige I guess and the fact that I will be able to help our actors." Other members include: Celeste Legaspi, Jett Pangan (The Dawn), Tony Moncupa, Mayor Guia Gomez, Ronald Pineda of Folded and Hung and Repertory Philippines' Menchu Lauchengco. The October 10 general assembly confirmed each trustees' position. Lea Salonga and PLDT's Butch Jimenez are currently being considered for their respective expertise.

But an organization can only do so much. Especially a civic-oriented, non-profit one like TAG. What it can do, aside from assisting the people it aims to assist, is also spearhead awareness toward the general public on the realities and current state of Philippine theater. Unless some serious noise or any form of public sentiment reaches the correct legislative body into doing concrete laws on theater people's welfare, it would be a constant struggle with no discernible outcome. 'Sometimes up, sometimes down' as that animated Disney Robin Hood song goes.

As with all challenges and undertakings, the first step is the most important. And with that first meeting, became the compass that set the travelers on the right course.

R.E.M.: 1980-2011

2011-09-24T21:29:00.000+08:00

I considered calling this post It's the end of REM as we know it. An obvious tongue-in-cheek reference to the recent retirement of the band, and their 1987 single off their album Document. But that has an unpleasant ring of permanence to it as if the members died or actually wouldn't do any other productive things thereafter. And the fact that a million others titled their article like that.

All bands eventually succumb to this; it's just a matter of time. It's actually surprising the band held out for as long as 31 years.

I never considered myself a big fan of the group. But I do have three albums I enjoy spinning every now and then, mostly the later works they did for Warner Music after they departed from IRS Records.

"Losing My Religion" was the single that sparked my interest for the band, and I even had the mistaken notion that it was a debut single coming from a new act that obviously benefited from what Nirvana did in ushering the alternative era and making college music cool enough to merit endless airings in MTV and mainstream radio. It had a jangly, catchy pop hook to it that was missing in most of the hard rock crunch of the distortion-heavy groups I listened to in heavy rotation that time. The lead singer, a good friend would later comment, even looked like a geek and slightly gay version of 90210's Luke Perry.

R.E.M was my introduction to 'rock' music minus the cock-rock and macho BS-posturing and moping evident in some of the buzz bands that took up most of my collection. While the band may take it negatively being referred to as rock musicians, or being purveyors of music anywhere remotely near the term rock, is beside the point. I always believed 'rock' meant not doing the same asinine disposable top 40 single with the shelf life of two days.

R.E.M., Murmur era, 1983

Out Of Time (1991) was the first album I had of the band, mainly because of "Losing My Religion" and my budding interest to a local newspaper (Teddy Locsin's TODAY) column by someone named Jessica Zafra. She practically worshiped them, not unlike a religious zealot---most especially lead singer Michael Stipe---that I had to find out for myself that the group was more than just the single I came to know them for.

I did not like the album that much. It was good, but not great. At least in my opinion that time.

It was too adult contemporary rock for me, being only 14 and still maintaining my stand that Megadeth is the best band of the last 1000 years. It was hardly the kind of band who channeled the angst, confusion and rebellious sentiments of the turmoils of adolescence unlike Green Day or Pearl Jam.

I walked out of it more than a little disappointed and thinking only "Losing My Religion" and "Near Wild Heaven" were the only great tracks on it. It was relegated to the last section of the drawer where I kept most of my cassettes (CD cost too much back then, even more so now) to be played now and then when I have had too much of the ear-splitting approach of their much louder Seattle counterparts or the token thrash metal records I had in abundance. In other words, it served as an intermission record for the next how many years I had left in high school, and had to get another copy of it when I entered college due to an unfamiliar deck's messing up the cassette ribbon into a tangled mass of trash.

By this time, and probably because of the hormones starting to stabilize coupled with reading some of the major music publications as well as an unconscious need for variety in listening materials, I gave the album (the new copy) another spin and found myself warming up to it a lot more than the first time I listened. I found myself sitting through the entire tape, with a few rewinds to the track "Belong"---wondering how the hell I missed such a good song and skipping it all these years.

Automatic For The People (1992) is the best R.E.M album according to most publications and even Peter Buck (guitars) himself, but the one I wore out due to repeated playing was the little known New Adventures In Hi-Fi (1996). Out of the three albums I had, the latter was probably the one that had the most resonance to me. I don't know, maybe the fact that most of the songs were recorded live in various locations, sound checks and dressing rooms while on the Monster tour and still sounded a lot better than other overproduced garbage of that time was the reason. And that the songs had a floaty, introspective feel to them not even readily apparent in all other earlier songs I heard from them. If I were a superstitious man I'd attribute the overwhelming sense of melancholia that pervades the entire record as an omen for drummer Bill Berry's departure a year later.

Hardcore fans thought the abrupt departure of the drummer would deal a blow so big the band would quit shortly after that. They didn't. Even made at least five other albums, with the latest released just last March of this year. What makes REM unique is that unlike some of their peers who achieved legendary cult statuses due to stopping at the peak of their artistic apex, they decided to milk the possibilities dry.

Bands like Nirvana, Pavement, Radiohead, and Live all proclaim reverence to the group. And rightly so, because while Michael Stipe and Co may sound weird and so out of touch to today's contemporary music scene, their brand of DIY cool set the template for all other bands to follow. What I liked most about the band was that they were never saddled with the hubris that came with the 'indie' or college music tag. They helped define the indie genre that produced them, and at the same time maintained a comfortable distance from it that you rarely hear snotty indie aficionados name drop them in discussions. An indication that they never allowed to let themselves get pegged on a certain spot. And even when the later albums and songs were not as sharp or as potent as the singles that defined them, you'd have to give them credit for not copping out on it all too quickly.

And that, as they say, is that.

A nightmare, alright

2011-09-10T18:48:00.000+08:00

I held off watching the remake of A Nightmare On Elm Street for a variety of reasons. One of which is Michael Bay being attached to the project. And the other, most important point: Why bother?

It's always Hollywood and its endless fascination with remakes. There's always an enterprising studio exec in there somewhere, with a bright idea that probably goes somewhere along these lines: "Hey! Why not reboot an 80s era blockbuster to fit today's braindead audience who has no chance of seeing the original despite the presence of Google and man's innate nature to go looking for things? Let's save them from that 'looking' and make truckloads of money while we're at it."

If the studios are doing it to explore artistic reinterpretation, then Michael Bay is a modern day Fellini.

The thing about remakes is that 9 times out of 10, most are simply sub-par, and dreadfully inferior versions of the original work (see: Psycho, The Ring). Unfortunately 'Nightmare...2010' is no exception.

Remakes do unimaginable harm than good to almost everything, especially on movies that require suspense and rely heavily on the viewer's apprehension and uncertainty about what character will die on the next sequence.

And on a horror-thriller at that. What's the point of watching a 'thriller' if you already know what happened to every major character? For the new generation to be familiar with a 20+ year old celluloid boogeyman? Has spoonfeeding really degenerated to this?

There's the hype of it being the more 'serious and less comical interpretation' that is guaranteed to give you more scares than the original. That Jackie Earle Haley's Freddy Krueger is a lot more brutal and scary than the original Robert Englund version.

Freddy, 2010 incarnation

That would have been very promising except that Freddy is not Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers. Dour, silent killers with no sense of humor.

Freddy's appeal on the other hand, is in the various creative ways he toys with his victims. Always in that nasty sadistic toying and humiliation before going in for the kill.In a lot of ways "Nightmare..." is not exactly a 'horror/slasher' film than a curious fascination on how Freddy will come up with new ways to dispose of his prey.

One memorable sequence in an early installment had him transfer a teenager as a playable character in a video game he was playing. Or a woman bring eaten face-first by a television set. Or Johnny Depp being swallowed by the bed and regurgitated as a bloody mass of pulp back to the ceiling. Horrifying at first, but then you realize it's a movie not meant to be taken seriously.

Englund nailed the character's brilliance, nastiness, and most of all, amusing sense of humor and the acerbic kiss-offs that's noticeably missing in Haley's version. Not his fault---a good actor---but what can you do with a character that is so familiar and embedded so deeply in the pop culture landscape people practically know him as how Englund played him?

They already started with Freddy vs Jason, a fun and satisfying fanboy celebrity deathmatch fantasy came true. Whatever these studio heads are smoking for them to see things like this and resort to the abominable stance of doing a remake, ought to be very expensive.

I wonder how that Fright Night remake is gonna pull it off.

'No'

2011-09-04T14:51:00.000+08:00

The last time George Lucas decided to improve the aspects of his original trilogy, fans (by this I mean people who loved the original set from 1977-1983) were outraged as to why he even bothered with 'fixing' something that isn't broken in the first place.

I had no problem with it at first. This was a chance to see the originals in the theater, the way they were meant to be seen, anyway.

The only one I was lucky enough to catch on its original theatrical run was Return Of The Jedi in 1983. I was 4. Didn't even know what I was watching was the last part of an epic trilogy. Just that it completely blew my mind, specially those humming lightsabers and how bad guys can actually redeem themselves in the end.

The earlier films, I watched repeatedly on the VCR.

The 1997 special editions had, as was previously reported before they opened, some pretty good upgrades and additional scenes that were previously envisioned by Lucas back in '77 but was unable to do so due to the limitations in special effects technology then.

CGI Stormtroopers on CGI dewbacks absent in the original version

That was okay as far as I'm concerned. Who would not want a little additional refurbishing or addition to the landscapes you practically knew even in your sleep? As long as it did not interfere with the story or any major character's presentation.

What raised the red flag for me while watching it in the theater, particularly on A New Hope (Episode IV), was the scene where Han Solo was confronted by one of Jabba The Hutt's henchmen (Greedo). In the original '77 version, Solo shot the villain first.

On the upgraded version, the scene was played out in a way that made me suspect a defect in the movie reel they were using. There was an awkward shift in Solo's head that made it look as if he evaded Greedo's blast first, and fired his own to kill his nemesis.

Turns out Lucas did not want him to look too ruthless by firing off first.

That scene turned everyone's favorite smuggler/gunslinger from a badass, tako-no-shit kind of person to a boy scout with a tough exterior. Whatever convoluted sense of morality Lucaswanted to impart on the Solo character, totally destroyed how people knew him.

For starters the character really is unlikeable. At least at first. He's supposed to be the balance to the all around good guy country boy hero in Luke Skywalker. You're supposed to view him as an opportunistic scumbag until the end when he turned out to be a great person after all.

What's even more puzzling is that this is hardly one of the 'technological setbacks' Lucas kept complaining about that he wanted to improve. This is already about changing characters' motivations and actions.

It happened again in The Empire Strikes Back. Several key changes in the dialogues were noticeable. A bid for political correctness, most likely. Whatever 'upgrade' Lucas did in the effects department were surely eclipsed by the new things old characters were saying. In other words, the brilliant screenplay of Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan were not spared from the 'refurbishing'.

But the worst part of it in the best part of the film as well.

This time in the climactic fight between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker in Bespin's Cloud City.

In the 1980 version, instead of giving in to the temptations of power his father promised him if he turned to the dark side, the young warrior from Tatooine chose death by quietly jumping off the small platform he was holding unto.

In the 'improved' version, Lucas decided to insert a long girlyman scream as he was falling to the chasm. It also sounded distrurbingly similar to the Emperor's own freefall screams when Vader threw him to his own death in Return Of The Jedi.

Gone was the brave freedom fighter who defied the lures of power. In its place was someone who was probably about to go on traipsing in to the dark side for all we know, and just slipped.

Even Lucas realized how stupid the move was and decided to remove it in the subsequent DVD releases.

But what really is infuriating about all these changes is how the guy's obsessive drive to 'perfect' the materials that practically does not need it as far as fans---the real owners---are concerned. Even that kind of motivation or drive is forgivable. At least that shows you the depth of the man's dedication to his art.

However, marketing ploys are another thing. Specially on specialty products like this you know for a fact are held in high esteem by rabid fanboys who'd automatically gobble anything remotely attached to the series.

Insanity for your art is one thing. Butchering a beloved piece of work to sell more of it, is another.

A few days ago news about the Blu Ray version of Return Of The Jedi caused another stir when a leaked footage of the scene in question was seen by most fans.

Perhaps Mr. Lucas felt slighted about the negative reactions to Vader's prolonged "NOOO!" in Revenge Of The Sith, that he decided to rub it in by letting the iconic character at it again just to get even.

Or maybe he's just being magnanimous by offering audiences countless options on how they want their Star Wars served. Like a twisted version of the Choose Your Own Adventure series.

In any case, if there's any Lucasfilm movie that badly needs a major overhaul, it's Howard The Duck.

Ball tongue

2011-08-11T19:54:00.000+08:00

I made a bet with my wife saying that Korn's opening song in last night's Araneta concert in Cubao would be "Blind", the first track off their impressive self-titled debut. We walked in presumably several minutes after the opener's (local group Slapshock) performance. There was a DJ/programmer onstage who was probably a tour member of the band entertaining the crowd and no doubt, doing a little intermission before the main show.He was playing tracks like Ramms+ein's "Du Hast" and The Prodigy's "Smack My Bitch Up", doing his best to alleviate the crowd's growing impatience for the band.

True enough, a few minutes later someone growled a guttural "ARE...YOU...READYYYYY?!!" from the darkness of the stage and the band erupted into a frenzy of throbbing intensity that sent audiences jumping around like living pogo sticks. I collected my winnings and joined the communal jumping and repetitive head-bobbing.

Jonathan Davis, wearing a kilt, black tank top and badass boots and the rest of the band---guitarist Munky, bassist Fieldy and drummer Ray Luzier--- looked pumped and ready to prove once again that they are the real deal when it came to dealing out hard-driving music that is equal part introspective musing and antagonistic missiles delivered via Davis's trademark scat and unique singing and snarling.

The venue may not have been that packed (some areas within the upper boxes had entire sections devoid of people), but the band went at it like the true professionals they are and gave their all as if playing to an audience of thousands. Just a little surprised at the noise-mongers situated near the general admissions area earlier before the show started to have quieted down the moment the band took stage. You'd think the rowdy bunch shouting catcalls and demands to already start the show would live out to their promise earlier.

Pansies.

You'd think a crowd showing such passionate cries for attention would have enough left to take them through the rest of the show. Never did trees look so alive compared to most of them when the show was already on full swing.

I admit my familiarity with the band is limited, having heard only the first three albums they released from 1994-1998. There were songs last night I was not familiar with or heard only in passing in some rock radio, but seeing the band performing live is a sight to behold. Specially Davis, whose gyrations and overall appearance was sure to leave a lasting impression to both hardcore fans and casual listeners alike. Someone at the back even asked why the hell the guy wore a 'skirt'.

But the highlight of the evening was when "Shoots and Ladders" was played. I always wanted to see them play that on a live setting. The bagpipes adds a touch of majestic grandeur to an otherwise heavy and sludgy music. And it doesn't hurt that it was also the first time I actually saw someone playing a bagpipe on a concert.

Singles like "Ball Tongue", "Freak On A Leash", "Falling Away From Me', and other songs were interconnected by a little playful medley that featured parts of Metallica's "One" and Queen's "We Will Rock You". They played masterfully, as expected from a band well-versed in hip-hop throb and hard rock crunch. But more than that, it was the band's good-natured humor that sold everyone.

I was afraid Fieldy's drop-tuned bass would blow the speakers from the inside-out, or flatten everyone's chest all the way to their backs with its incessant pounding. It was that heavy and no doubt the driving rhythm responsible to everyone's communal headbanging and jumping. Along with him and Davis, Munky (guitars) is the other original member left from the old line-up. Out of all the members I expected the guy to be the most aloof and quiet member but turned out to be a very warm and accommodating person to his fans, acknowledging the audience every now and then.

They ended the set with a promise to return.

This time don't miss it.

Spellbound

2011-07-23T12:32:00.004+08:00

Aside from Alan Rickman's Snape sharing a striking resemblance to Trent Reznor (circa 94's Self-Destruct tour), Celia Rodriguez and Joey De Leon's genetic offspring, the rest of the final movie installment for JK Rowling's titular wizard had plenty of other visual spectacles that tops all the other films in the series. Understandably so because as far as endings go, the second part of The Deathly Hallows ends with a bang.

The movie starts off immediately following the events of Part 1. Voldemort retrieving the Elder Wand and the protagonist trio on the quest to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes (items where Voldemort hid pieces of his soul) to have a fighting chance against their enemy. There was always an impending sense of doom one can feel while watching, like someone or something was lurking in every corner out to make another famous character disappear from the series forever.

This is, after all, the second part of one story (and the last act of an entire series, at that). If there's anything to be gleaned about storytelling is that the boring part usually happens at the first act and it's all hyperkinetic pacing and climax at the end. At least when done properly. And David Yates and the screenplay by Steve Kloves handle the tale with just the right amount of precision and pathos to make even non-fans of the series appreciate what the characters are going through.

The cast members could practically do their respective roles in their sleep. But it was Alan Rickman's portrayal of Snape that got the most reactions from people. Especially so for those who had not read the books and got the surprise revelation about his role on the entire story. It was one of the most heart-rending vindication ever captured on film since Darth Vader came to his son's rescue and threw the Emperor to his death.

It's one of those things that make watching movies on the cinema worthwhile.

X-Men: First Class

2011-06-07T19:49:00.003+08:00

Perhaps the most astonishing thing about Matthew Vaughn’s take on the recent installment of the X-Men franchise is the director’s audacity to actually take a well-established series and wrench it out of its mold, and reshape it into a brilliant and original near-reboot that is a far-cry, yet similar in tone to the ones that Brian Singer did.

When initial news about the prequel hit, it was greeted by an onslaught of dismissive and vitriolic kiss-offs from fans and casual moviegoers alike. Largely because it looked like it was jumping into the trend of putting out prequels with the hope of ressurecting a dying, or already dead franchise, and because Brett Ratner’s ‘Last Stand’ did not generally sit well with most critics and fans of the comics. It left a bad taste to most that any mention of making another movie remotely connected to the franchise is deemed to be a guaranteed failure.

But in 2010 Matthew Vaughn directed and produced Kick-Ass. A very underrated, but excellent and ultraviolent and funny movie that talked about extreme superhero fanboy fantasies. In a way it is a lot more ambitious than actual superhero movies. Here was a guy making a superhero movie about average people trying hard to be superheroes in a ‘realistic’ world and actually coming across the screen as such. As far as misifts doing things for the greater good is concerned, the guy is no stranger to the material.

Early reviews from advance screenings had critics comparing Vaughan’s work from JJ Abrams’s Star Trek. That was all the guarantee I needed to conclude the film won’t be a letdown. Or at least a minor disappointment at worst.

The fact that I’m not a Star Trek fan and I walked out of that movie happy with what I saw is no easy feat for a director--- to make an almost exclusive series with a rabid fanbase palatable to the average moviegoer who couldn’t care less about quantum physics, technobabble coming from pointy-eared Vulcans, or the fact that the film is often identified with 40-year old geeks living in their mother’s basement.

The film did not require a first-timer to read through all the fanfiction and sift the entire Star Trek Wiki before watching it just to get a rudimentary grasp on what he’s about to see. And that is the mark of a good movie. Or at least for an adaptation of an established material.

And it it precisely the reason why Vaughn’s take on the ‘origin’ of the seminal super group worked. I was seated next to moviegoers I knew who, based on their comments, had zero knowledge about the main characters yet managed to appreciate and empathize with them (“Sana wag mamatay si Charles”, “Ay… naging magkalaban pala sila?”). Even cheering constantly that proved to be a little annoying. But I do understand their enthusiasm. It is a genuinely good movie after all.

A large chunk of the credit goes to the two lead actors. James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender (Professor Xavier and Magneto respectively) work through the tale of two friends-turned bitter enemies with great precision. It’s great to watch the two bounce off each other’s differences and complement the other’s shortcomings. It contrasted the different circumstances on how the two men were brought up: Xavier in a life of wealth and surrounded by people who loved him; and Lehnserr being a concentration camp lab rat and holocaust survivor-turned Nazi hunter.

Kevin Bacon’s Sebastian Shaw was unfortunately not given that much breathing room as far as showing off or engaging other mutants in a titanic face-off of pitting his full power against his enemy’s (presumably Magneto) than his henchmen. The little-known Riptide and Azazel had the most fun. But as the leader of The Hellfire Club, he nailed the smug, arrogant air of the mutant aristocrat with a crazed Darwinian theory about human evolution that ultimately found its way to Magneto.

As for the discrepancies with the comics/continuity that most purists have been complaining about, what can I say? Go make your own damn movie.

Radio for your head: Why Radiohead elitists make me puke

2011-05-07T22:58:00.001+08:00

Radiohead's 'Creep' was one of the few alternative-era songs I didn't respond to favorably at first when it hit the local airwaves.

I was in high school listening to existential and angry music of that era like Metallica, Pearl Jam Guns N' Roses, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Megadeth, Alice In Chains, and the rest of the brooding, throat-shearing, guitar shredding, and flannel-clad, Doc Martens-wearing posse that dominated the pop music climate back then.

What struck me with that song was how whiny and un-badass sounding it was next to bare-knuckled alternative rock singles like 'Rape Me' and 'Jeremy'. Me and a good friend even joked about the band's trying-hard attempt to sound grunge-y with that all-too familiar crunch guitar noise that comes out of nowhere just before the chorus hits.

That lead singer Thom Yorke sings in a higher falsetto register that sounded too... girly... compared to the popular testosterone-heavy, baritone growl that Eddie Vedder unwittingly set loose upon the world to be used as an instrument of evil by the likes of Scott Stapp and Nickelback, did not help at all. The band members even looked like scrawny, effeminate Vogue model extras who probably got bullied all the time when they were still in school.

Due to endless rotations on MTV, label promotions and strong word of mouth following, Radiohead was ushered into the alternative scene with their unique brand of music that spawned at least another single ('Stop Whispering') that I found more catchy than their banner hit.

But Pablo Honey (1993) won't make it to my collection for at least another ten years. By this time, I have already concluded The Bends (1995) is the best Radiohead album (and one of the best of all time). The overhyped OK Computer (1997) was good, but it was a little too electronica for the band. I like electro-beats, and mechanical bleeps just as much as the next Kraftwerk and Aphex Twin fan---no doubt the template with what they wanted to emulate that time---but I always liked them better singing introspective songs with traditional instruments with the least assistance from synthesizers and sound processors. Case in point: 'High And Dry', 'Fake Plastic Trees', 'Just' and 'Lurgee'.

Devastating songs that hit you straight in the chest instead of the intellect that mutated into something annoying via rabid fanboys of the band during their later years.

Call me an ignorant philistine but every single Radiohead review, forum discussion, and even the occasional celeb rant almost always contain words likes 'avant-garde', 'erudite', 'artful', 'profound' 'boldest artistic statement', 'genius' and every other intellectual jerkoff terms people scoured the thesaurus with just to describe the band's music. I have never seen/read so much hubris outside of a few forums and video sites that are frequented by snarky jazz music, and Stanley Kubrick enthusiasts.

They are exceptional musicians. Make no mistake about it. Definitely up there with the greats like The Beatles and Miles Davis. But what I do find annoying is the constant edification of the band's fans like they were incapable of making a bad-sounding record because, well, they are Radiohead. It's one of the universal truths, apparently. Understandable behavior from fans, of course. But I suspect a more phoney motivation in that type of following.

There's this unwritten rule that floats around music snobs and indie circles that you can never go wrong with weird. Of course, the moment MTV plays you, you cease being weird and it's adios muchachos as far as street-cred and artistic integrity is concerned. Even if you're a musician utilizing chainsaws as major instruments or singing about the most mundane things and giving it a little twist by, say, doing something totally self-deprecating and crazy but art-y, that (usually) bespectacled twits are gonna call deep and artistic.

Radiohead are equal parts pop and indie music, in that they are often featured prominently in some of the most popular music rags like Rolling Stone Magazine and SPIN; be seen on MTV and other music channels, and can even elicit a slight ripple of familiarity form today's TOP 40 audience. And indie, because most of the latest material the band had produced aren't exactly designed for Starbucks, high school proms, or your average Katy Perry-listening teenager. They're just popular and relevant while retaining a sense of being alienating to most casual listeners, that a lot of the members of their fan base lap up. Like what I previously said about most indie music fans, they'd gobble anything not particularly appealing to most because they see/hear something most of the braindead MTV audience do not. Ergo, superior taste and intellect than most.

Not to mention the elitism and pomposity that goes with the honor of being a 'fan'. Time and again I have witnessed people insinuate, even in a respectful discussion, that a person is "too far off in the mainstream conditioning" or simply" just do not understand the band" when he expresses an opposing, but respectful opinion. Instead of a regular 'its just your opinion' kiss-off, you'd get a full page, single-space lecture on how bad your taste is for not comprehending the glory that is the band. And their boldness to push the limits of music to another level. Rolling Stone writer Rob Sheffield received it with both barrels when he spoke about the band's latest opus in less than flattering terms.

Radiohead has become the musical equivalent of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Some parts are spectacular, some are not; and you don't particularly get it.

But you just have to like it.

Musings on holy weeks past

2011-04-23T10:32:00.002+08:00

Black Saturday, 23 April 2011

As a child living in a rural area during the early 80s, I have witnessed and even partook on some of the old customs practiced by people in a Catholic country like the Philippines when the Holy Week arrived.

Before transferring to the housing compound in an aquaculture research facility where my parents worked, our family stayed in the center of a small town in a small municipality populated by die-hard Catholics and a small congregation of Seventh Day Adventists. It was a town where everyone knew each other, and was predominantly composed of old folks well over the age of 50. In our neighborhood alone there were a total of more than five people my parents addressed as either 'Tay' or 'Lola', titles of respect for elders.

Our elderly landlady was an Adventist who owned an impressive gallery of illustrated children's biblical books I enjoyed browsing and reenacting to everyone's amusement (Especially the David and Goliath duel. I tried fashioning a makeshift slingshot that ended up shooting a large rock straight into the Adventist church's glass window next door). At least in these books, a clear demarcation of good and evil existed and illustrated clearly enough for a 5 or 6 year old to understand, simply by looking.

Sitting on the wall of the Adventist Church, early 80s

Somehow all that Biblical reference balanced whatever fears I had about the reality of supernatural evil that I also found in great abundance in my father's equally vast comic book collection (I was five. Imagination runs rampant at that age.) that featured creatures you won't find in any issues of Kerygma or Bible Weekly anytime soon. Jesus Christ was up there with Knight Rider, Luke Skywalker, and The Incredible Hulk as the defender of truth, justice and the safety of your very soul before being relegated regrettably, many many years after, more as an expression of exasperation.

That knowledge somehow made me one of the most devout Catholics during that time, complete with prayers before meals as well as bedtime. And when Holy Week arrived, I also observed the proper protocols. That meant no boisterous noise from activities like outdoor playing, loud music/TV, and abstinence on eating meat. I even opted for not actually taking a bath on good Friday but my mother, an academician that leaned towards liberal thinking forbade it. All these activities because the elderly told me that Christ is dead at this time: and that the forces of darkness are at full power because of this.

Talk about absent security. I spent the next few years always armed to the teeth with a crucifix, wooden stake, cloves of garlic and salt during Good Friday and Black Saturday. A little dose of paranoia never hurt anyone.

All of that information I had gathered from either our house maid, my father's stories on what his terror of a grandmother forced upon him and his siblings during the Lenten season, and the people on the streets I asked as to why several people were being paraded on the road torturing themselves by flailing their backs with a nasty barbed object that produced tiny rivulets of blood every time it hit bare flesh.

It was a surreal experience. Shirtless men with covered faces and bloody backs; I think it was the face covers that actually did it: a hood totally covering the entire face and makeshift crowns made out of assorted leaves and branches that were no doubt inspired by Christ's thorn-version he wore all the way to Golgotha.

Flagellants in the Philippines, uncredited photo

And it was always a big deal. People were actually lining up along the road, waiting for the penitents to pass by, and some of them were actually carrying huge crosses where they'll be crucified, no doubt. God knows what kind of sins these people were so desperate of purging from their system that they believed they needed to resort to extreme acts like this. But who am I to question a Judeo-Christian tradition that existed thousands of years, anyway. To each his own method of appeasing the soul.

Now that I'm an elderly cranky old man I am highly dubious of these people's motivations in doing what they do. Somehow I suspect it's not too far off from some Christian fundamentalists' suck up stance toward salvation ("Do you love God?! I have accepted Christ! I am saved! I am loved! Hello Julia!"). Yeah, nice try in accepting the savior only to smirk at hell-bound sinners who does not share your sentiments. Nice display of tolerance and compassion.

The brutal penitents, in the meantime, are probably shady characters with too much religious conditioning on the brutal God of the Old Testament that demanded equal suffering to crimes committed against his fellow man. Not that everyone who does that is actually some homicidal maniac or a thieving pederast but one has to wonder about the motivation behind such agonizing self-mutilation.

One thing about them though, is that they actually put a lot of conviction to the term 'penance'. Not a lot of people with that kind of intense single-minded determination nowadays.

Next episode

2011-04-10T06:41:00.007+08:00

In light of the recent brouhaha surrounding everyone's favorite media punching bag, I came to realize how big a chunk Willie Revillame takes up in Philippine culture. Landing the headline of a major newspaper means you’re, well, somewhat of a big deal anyway.

I can empathize with the blind adulation and near canonization of the guy by the hordes of disciples/acolytes ready to act as human shields should anyone threaten the safety of their so-called savior. If one knows anything about Pinoy society, especially those living within the spectrum of the urban poor section of the metropolis, is that most people are willing to sell their allegiance for peanuts and the smallest gestures of goodwill; or for even the tiniest acknowledgements of their existence. Especially when it comes from a media personality extolling the virtues of championing the cause of the 'lowly' poverty stricken denizens of the country. And a millionaire to boot. It's not like these folks have time for actually doubting the motives of the guy; maybe they did at first, but when you live in a desperate existence and somebody showed up with a Robin Hood promise of helping -- just the word 'tulong' (help) is enough: nevermind if it's tulungan kita mag-saing o tulungan kita sa pera.

I believe the whole 'cult of Willie' is composed of people who want to stick a big middle finger to others they view as belonging to a higher social class than they are. I have no empirical evidence to support this--merely observations of the guy's TV programs and his countless YouTube defenders whenever some unsavory comment is thrown toward one of his videos.

No one mentions class war but it has always been there. It was present in the EDSA 3 riot and it's present in the jeers of the crowd last night when Revillame enumerated the scores of celebrities who lambasted him in Twitter. That most of them, like Leah Salonga and Jim Paredes were not exactly 'Masa' material, only exacerbated the situation. It's the classic indirect diss: by dissing the object of everyone's affection, means they are also dissing his supporters. At worst, the message was: The guy's obviously an asshole. Only an idiot would like him. That they were on Twitter bashing him---no doubt in 'inglis'---sealed the deal.

Tribalism, as my psychiatrist uncle once pointed out, figures a great deal in Pinoy society. And I agree. It’s not that his followers are cretins who do not know how big a creep the guy really is. It's just that they probably don’t care. He's one of them. And he's practically family. The kind who smacks his wife around only to be told by his folks that he's just exercising his authority as the king of the abode because his wife is probably a nagging b*** who needed to be reminded of the order of things. And that 'nagkakasayahan na nga kami dito, bat nyo kami pakekelaman?' Revillame's circle is no fraternity/sorority, but in many respects, the loyalty his people accord him can rival any Greek, Latin or any other secret society in terms of how protective of him they really are. Him to them, and them to him. It may all be phoniness on his part, but if hearing what they want to hear is the way, then Willie is the man.

The guy is not unlike ERAP, in that he always underscores the MASA card and debilitating poverty as fodder for the very people who experience this plight. His antics were never geared toward the academe, middle class nor his peers in showbusiness.You have got to admire the guy for playing the MASA card so brilliantly. Never has appeals to emotion over intellect been in full display on national TV. That he can conjure equal intensities of disgust and admiration from people is a feat in itself; and the networks cashing in on the abomination they have created.

Shutting him down will no doubt create a short term solution for getting rid of the kind of television Revillame promotes. But what it really means for the thousands---millions---of Revillame admirers is another blow coming from the pompous rich academic know-it-alls who has nothing better to do but bully the 'little people' so loved and protected by Revillame. Another persecution from the hoity-toity upper classes, this time in a bigger scale.

It's only a matter of time when another TV network hungry for ratings comes along and a guy willing to cash in on the desperation of the poor decides to don the sheep costume and dance and preen to Dr Dre's 'Next Episode'.

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'Bout a boy his name was Sue

2011-03-10T16:52:00.002+08:00

Loud. The damned thing was too loud.

Of all the series of concerts from foreign artists I have watched in Araneta Coliseum, the Stone Temple Pilots gig will probably come across as the most sonically punishing of the lot. Not even the fabled abrasive industrial noise of Nine Inch Nails produced such ear-splitting intensity when they performed back in August 2009.

It was so great of an auditory assault I felt that familiar New Year's eve sensation when you detonated a horrendously huge firecracker at very close proximity; it is characterized by that constant ringing drone and the feel of an ear stuffed with cotton. That was the case after each song. It was 'loud' in a volume knob turned all the way to the right kind of loud; Disney's Happy Monster Band could be playing and your ears would still hurt. Nothing to do at all with the genre of music or musical intensity of the artist, but an abnormally cranked up volume control. Even singer Scott Weiland's voice, that great melodic set of pipes got drowned amidst the guitar and drum attack of Dean DeLeo and Eric Kretz (both playing with supreme skill and mastery) more than half the time.

I don't know if the band intentionally did that but I'll be damned if my hearing has not deteriorated after that concert.

They started late, presumably because they had to rouse Weiland from a drug-induced coma. I'm not so sure how sober the guy is nowadays but he looked relatively healthy last night compared to the gaunt and skinny publicity photos he had at the height of his drug addiction. The singer danced and preened through several radio-friendly hits, much to the delight of the audience, which was composed predominantly of people within the late 20s and early 30s mark. We were in high school when STP hit it big. Do the math.

'Crackerman' was the opener, and that set everyone on their feet. It was mostly a catalogue of old hits from their top 3 albums: Core (1993), Purple (1994), and Tiny Music...Songs From The Vatican Gift Shop (1996). ALL the singles were played except for 'Creep'. Now that mystified me not because I needed to hear them play it (I'm partial to 'Wicked Garden' and 'Tripping On A Hole In A Paper Heart'---and they thankfully played those), but compared to 'Plush', that song has a lot more going to it, in my opinion. A smattering of new and decent-sounding singles from their new record were played, causing most of the audience to sit down and keep quiet, which can be embarrassing to both performer and some viewers.

All through the entire proceedings bass player Robert DeLeo kept the groove, horsing around most of the time with the audience members nearest him. But his highlight came when 'Interstate Love Song' was played. If there's one thing that stands out about that single, it is the great bassline done by this Deleo brother. And Weiland's great singing. That you cannot dispute.

It was a performance punctuated by Weiland's occasional joking---even parodying professional ring announcer Michael Buffer as he introduced his guitar player as Joe Frazier and bass player as Muhammad Ali. No doubt, referring to the Ali-Frazier Thrilla In Manila fight in 1975, also held in Araneta Coliseum.

It was a great concert, no doubt. If only my ears would stop ringing.

These wonderful media outfits

2011-02-12T21:59:00.004+08:00

Of course everyone is talking about the recent suicide of ex-AFP chief Angelo Reyes.

Thank God for overruled office policies concocted by idiots with penis-envy for people listening to portable music devices.

Everyone who were tuned in to radio stations (Im more of an MP3 listener---my playlist blows all radio format to bits) jerked their head back in unison as if stung by some nasty insect when the news flash from whatever top 40 FM station they were listening to hit them.

By 9:30 AM people at the office were scuttling like ants with their antennae pulled out bumping at each other on the way to the huge TV in the lobby.

As expected, the network covering the event was all business at giving the people their daily dose of intrigue, suspense, and the sick glorified form of voyeurism.

The coverage didn't disappoint: The hyperkinetic style of talking, interviews of people 'shocked that the man went through with such a dastardly act because he seemed in control and cool all the time', and police reports peppered with delightful terms like 'probably', 'probable', and 'we can assume'. In hindsight, all police media statements in the Philippines have been that way since I was born.

And the collective 'tsk' 'tsk' coming from the audience that either meant they were sorry for the dead man or they were sorry that not another one of the accused joined him. Either way, it's amusing to watch the audience react to the images and sounds splattered all over the boob tube.

Nothing like a little high-profile death as a worthwhile distraction from the mind-numbing routine of updating the database for shipping clients.

It's not until the first primetime news coverage that I actually complained.

When someone dies, specially high-profile military officials accused of corruption, I tend to go overboard with my imagination that it may have been an elaborate murder setup meant to look like a suicide; as well as a host of other questions I wanted to ask like why the hell did he deviate from the usual method of the fastest, simply blowing-your-brains-out and opted for the chest where the likelihood of suffering before you die is a lot higher.

Simple, common questions like those were never asked even once during the entire week of primetime news broadcasts. What you get in exchange, is the most cringe-inducing 'tribute' about the deceased courtesy of interviews (testimonials actually) with his closest friends, family, a neverending rotation of his scholastic achievements and professional success. It practically accomplished what soap operas can only dream about these days in manipulating the emotions of the viewers.

Makes you wonder when someone will appear onstage all teary eyed saying some cliched testimony about how great a fellow the guy really is. Oh wait, they already did that. Just how exactly do broadcasting media practitioners in this country operate? At least the big, prominent ones. Because the whole time they were focusing on the suicide story the only relevant information that came out of it was how much Filipino viewers were undiscerning in the news content of their news programs.

Even if it's already insulting to the intelligence.

Why The Social Network is the best film of the year

2010-12-29T00:02:00.005+08:00

Or the decade.

For the simple reason that Facebook---or pisbuk, as some of my colorful acquaintances lovingly call it---has taken control of every aspect of your life.

Even Friendster---that archaic incarnation of all things revolving around the spectrum of social networking has not conjured the kind of rabid following and dependence from people not unlike substance abuse and chain smoking the way Facebook did. I joined it with no real intention of actually spending any time toward it but MY HEROES ABILITY happened and it was all downhill from there. Underestimate the site at your own risk.

Even networking peers like Twitter and MySpace haven't successfully tapped into the collective sensibilities of all types of social strata, culture, and interests of the entire planet. Which makes the guy who came up with Facebook one of the most creative geniuses the human race has ever produced. A broad generalization, but I'm sure many will agree.

And that is what the entire movie was all about. But it was as much a story about Facebook's inception as that of highly talented individuals willing to sell their soul and screw each other over for profit. It's no more than a movie about Facebook than "SAW" is about a handyman tool.

Mark Zuckerberg is not a very likable person; at least if the way he was portrayed in the film and popular media is to be considered. But like most visionaries and innovators, a generous heaping of talent and imagination is apparently balanced by, well, let's just say being a 'people person' is not part of the package. 'Asshole' was a generally agreed-upon trait the guy's detractors were fond of throwing at his direction; and the real person the movie was based upon even went on record with a surprisingly civil statement about only wishing the filmmakers hadn't done a picture about him while he was still alive. Who could blame him? While the movie obviously painted a very 'human' side of the guy, pretty much everything else successfully painted him as an unfeeling and calculating manipulator capable of rivaling any reptilian entity in the planet.

David Fincher (SE7EN, Fight Club) managed to pull off an ambitious subject matter that would have been abysmally catastrophic had it fallen into the wrong hands. That it's a film where dialogue and a few shots of those rare 'Eureka!' moments Zuckerberg had in starting off the soon-to-be gigantic site, his Machiavellian strategies, and his different lawsuits are the only foundations to keep you interested and engaged instead of the kinetic action sequences, sappy teenage love scenes, toilet humor and CGI eye candies that are the staples in crafting movies for an audience who is increasingly devolving into a mass that's adapting the attention span of a housefly.

Another big revelation was Trent Reznor's involvement in the project. Another artist who I am confident can't do anything wrong. From ear-splitting anthems like 'Happiness In Slavery', the eerie soundscapes he did for the sound design of iD Software's Quake, to the gentle and ambient tunes off 1999's The Fragile and 2007's Ghosts I-IV, the guy is a walking incarnation of a modern musical renaissance man. He and longtime collaborator Atticus Ross created the music that enhanced the film's potency. Not that the NIN frontman is a relative newcomer to the film scoring scene; some of the early remixes of songs from The Downward Spiral was also used in Fincher's SE7EN. And now it looks like Reznor is going to be nominated for the Oscar for this recent project.

Jesse Eisenberg's Mark Zuckerberg, while clearly played to suit the celluloid medium and probably a million times as obnoxious as well as interesting as the real deal, comes off as one of the best anti-heroes to have come out of the last decade. Eisenberg's Zuckerberg is up there with the likes of Travis Bickle, Gordon Gekko and Tony Montana.

Asshole? You bet.

But he's still a billionaire, and he's the CEO bitch.

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In praise of B-movies

2010-11-27T15:14:00.005+08:00

Martin Kove was the bad master in The Karate Kid.

This came to me after about 15 minutes of intense brain-wracking as to who the hell this very familiar-looking guy is who was doing a campy version of Sylvester Stallone's RAMBO and Arnold Schwarzenegger's COMMANDO (as if Commando wasn't campy enough) on TV.

I was channel surfing when I came upon it on the MGM channel. It had the look and feel of the classic 80s military/bodybuilder-themed action film that dominated the market back then. I haven't watched it from the beginning but I had a pretty good idea what the story's about basing from the dialogue and the lead actress's (Sela Ward) appeals of not wanting to "see him commit suicide in front of his family" should he choose to confront his enemies. It's the classic plot about the docile-looking guy who turns out to be a one-man execution army when somebody did a very wrong move against him. And it has the unmistakable B-movie appeal to it that made it a lot more interesting than half of the polished, but boring big studio releases recently.

Between this and glossy big-budget cinematic travesties like, say, Revenge Of The Fallen, I'd pick this any day. At least the laughs are genuine. It has that "so bad it's good" vibe to it whereas the latter is only bad and annoying (I recommend investing in the entire Season 1-4 of the original animated series. Infinitely better than the film versions.).

Kove plays a guy with a not- so subtle moniker called Steele. A retired Vietnam vet hellbent on avenging his friend's death by a newly-immigrated Vietnamese drug lord. As expected, it was full of cheesy dialogue meant to empathize with the characters that only came across as funny and fight scenes where the combatants actually looked like they were waiting for their opponent to strike them after they delivered their own attack. Very hilarious. I counted myself lucky for having caught it as I haven't laughed so hard in a very long time. Like many films under this category, don't expect top-notch acting, deeper meanings about life under the plot or even believable/kick-ass action sequences.

It is similar to other movies released by the Canon Pictures Group that dominated the mid-80s to the early 90s like Chuck Norris's Missing In Action and Delta Force, and films by Lorenzo Lamas, Michael Dudikoff, Don "The Dragon" Wilson, Jeff Speakman, Jeff Wincott, Cynthia Rothrock, and early Jean Claude Van-Damme features.

These types of films were mostly direct to video releases and had no illusions about any kind of artistic integrity and hubris about film making. Everything is stereotyped down to the villains (Where I suspect most Filipino action filmmakers took their cue from. What's with the leather jackets?) and the voluptuous leading ladies straight from their pictorials off Playboy (Shannon Tweed) and Penthouse, and the gratuitous sex scenes.

It was also common for these productions to have ties with our very own Cirio H. Santiago as co-producer and, most of the time, director. Kids, if you don't know who this guy is, Google and Wikipedia are free. Just take comfort in knowing that no less than Quentin Tarantino himself acknowledged Santiago as a major influence in his craft. If Roger Corman is to the United States, Cirio Santiago is to the Philippines. And the two also collaborated on several occasions. Mostly shooting on location in several locations across the country. Of course those didn't make the news the way Francis Ford Coppola, Oliver Stone and Tom Cruise did when they came here.

And film snobs aren't the target demographic of these films. If you go around parading your love for quote unquote art films then you'd be an idiot to watch these types of films and walk out from it dismayed and angry. Try heckling a film like that in a billiard hall where it is screening in the middle of the wet market in the province and see if the audience who haven't the time nor care for artsy-fartsy pursuits in life don't beat the crap out of you.

It's like watching Deep Throat and then complaining about the graphic sex in it afterwards.

EK2RZBTD8FAE

Tomorrow we can drive around this town

2010-11-21T10:24:00.010+08:00

For all its worth, The Gin Blossoms are still the same way I remembered them eons ago when I was still struggling with homework done in the middle of school halls and rest rooms. Not counting singer Robin Wilson’s obvious progression from a fresh-faced contender for the new alternative poster boy of the 90s to a scraggly-haired middle aged performer, guitarist Jesse Valenzuela’s weight, and absence of drummer Philip Rhodes, the music is pretty much what I expected to hear. Their appearance and lineup may have changed but the sound---despite the new singles from their latest album (No Chocolate Cake) pretty much sound the way you’d expect from something by the Gin Blossoms.

Whether the band will take that as an insult or a compliment is not relevant. Personally I like that they never deviated from what formula they used in crafting songs. There are just some bands that look and sound stupid (Chris Cornell’s “Part Of Me”, anyone?) when they tinker with the approach on how to create music. Gin Blossoms belongs to that category. Doing what they did best and snagging new fans out of evoking nostalgia from the old ones. The same catchy, hooky pop songs you wouldn’t mind humming to or hearing from the nearby coffee shop or PUV and tapping your hands along to the beat. Thank God the band has a good head on its shoulders and enough sense not to overstep their capabilities just so people would take them ‘seriously’ as “artists”.

When I first heard about the news of the concert I surprised myself by not being too enthusiastic about it the way I’d probably had been when I was still in high school. I knew my high school version would kill just to see the concert. Two worn-out cassette copies of New Miserable Experience (1993) would attest to that. I was just a little apprehensive that they might not play a lot of their early materials because when I recently Googled the band I found they had a bunch of new albums after Congratulations I’m Sorry (1995), their second album and the last collection of tunes from the band I’m familiar with. I figured it’s okay if I missed the concert since they’ll probably promote the latest album anyway. And I’m only interested with the singles I knew.

Then the 18th came and I found myself with my wife in the middle of Araneta Coliseum yet again for a concert with another band that belongs to our generation (NIN: Wave Goodbye Tour last year.).

The band launched into “Follow You Down” and the entire place turned into a massive karaoke sing along complete with the token howls and shrieks from the female fans. It was followed by other lesser known singles like “As Long As It Matters”, “Until I Fall Away” and a whole batch of new materials nobody knew because every time the band played them everyone kept quiet and sat down. I was waiting for the Douglas Hopkins-penned singles like “Hey Jealousy”, “Found Out About You”, “Lost Horizons” and “Pieces Of The Night”. Those were the songs I came for. As long as they played them, I couldn’t care less if they played a Linkin Park or April Boy single afterwards. And they did, with “Hey Jealousy” saved for the encore.

For a few minutes it felt like it was the summer of 1993 again, somewhere in an old town with a big looming water tank standing before the mountains.

Seeing Red

2010-10-09T11:23:00.002+08:00

The gist of it is that you'd be branded as the town leper.

Sore eyes---Conjunctivitis if you'd like to come off like one of those pompous sorts who always insist on using "Photocopy" instead of the very proletarian "zerox"---can really hurt you in many ways. And I'm not talking about waking up in the morning feeling as if your eyeballs are about to pop out of their sockets like that disgusting film sequence in Gov. Schwarzenegger's Total Recall.

Like getting stuck inside a bus in a 4 hour trip with no possible means of stopovers, and it hits you: A subtle tingling sensation at the very core of your stomach; nudging, even playful at first., like a fart that's itching to get out as silently as possible. Then a sudden gut-wrenching pain that demands your full attention. And you're barely 45 minutes into the trip.

At first I thought it was just your average, shampoo-irritated red eye after bathing. I mean how would I know? The handbook says you'd have to wake up with your eyes sealed off by a disgusting sticky discharge with enough adhesive strength to repair broken vases. I went off to work thinking it'd just disappear like most of my bathroom mishaps. When a colleague commented on the grounds for termination because of smoking grass, I knew I was in trouble.

That the damned things stated itching only confirmed it. Before you know it, everyone starts telling you to go home lest you contaminate the workplace and spoil everyone's great time. Fine, it gives a sort of notoriety and fame that can't be achieved by endless preening and name-dropping like most guys at the office do, anyway.

The eyes are the windows to the soul.

I'm using tobramycin to heal my soul.