"Tropic Thunder" was scheduled to start at 7:25 p.m., but I walked in around 7:27, just in time to catch the last 20 seconds of the "Max Payne" trailer. A video game movie trailer, no matter how short, is a depressing way to kick off a theatrical experience.
A few minutes later, I thought we as a country were fucked. A rapper was advertising a drink called Booty Sweat with women showing their skin and enough horrid dancing to kill my hope for today's wayward youth. Why didn't these vicious bastards show off the product before the trailers?, I thought. Then I heard the rapper's name: Al Pacino. What the hell. He commenced to jabber on and on about how he loved "Pussy." I laughed, I had been duped, and this kind of outrage set the tone for the following 100+ minutes.
I had been introduced to the fictional actor Alpa Cino, played by actor/comedian Brandon T. Jackson, someone I hope to see more of. Three more trailers presented the other "stars" of the "movie" (this metatextual drivel is confusing here but straightforward when you see it): Tug Speedman (Ben Stiller), Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black), and Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.).
That was the biggest surprise: four trailers being the actual beginning of the film. The second biggest surprise, occurring as I recovered from laughing so much throughout "Tropic Thunder," was revealed with the first closing credit: "Directed by Ben Stiller." In contrast to my initial reaction to the Booty Sweat trailer, I felt hope after that credit. If Stiller, utterly flaccid after the terrible "The Heartbreak Kid," can direct a reasonably intelligent comedy, we can fix the education system. We can.
(I don't feel like I need to write anything else but will confirm that Downey Jr. is a freak. He nails playing an Australian actor playing a black man. Downey's role called for him to satirize method acting by method acting, and this accomplishment solidifies him as one of the best actors in the world. It is highly unlikely Downey will get an Oscar nomination for this performance, but I would slap my grandmother if it would get him a nod.)
Friday, August 15, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
'The Lives of Others': A Bald Man Can Smile
As a friend said to me recently, it is hard to get excited about watching a two and a half hour movie involving the Stasi. After finishing "The Lives of Others," the debut of German director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, it is hard to get excited about writing this entry, but I have not been updating as often as I promised and this is the only film I have seen this week.
"The Lives of Others" is a great and unsettling movie, but the material is very dull on paper. So why in God's name did I watch it? Because "Pan's Labyrinth" lost Best Foreign Language Film to it, and I wanted to see whether the Academy blundered as usual or if "The Lives of Others" had any merit.
It took me a long time to sit down and watch the movie, much less pick it up. Reading the plot description on its DVD case in a rental store brought up a troubling question: what poor bastard had to watch the movie in order to write this description? The last thing I wanted was to end up like that writer, too bored to do his job anymore.
I also do not want you to end up like me. I almost did not put the DVD in my player because some people were stubborn enough to mention the story, virtually impossible to render into interesting language. Another futile attempt would torture you and me and give this movie an even smaller pool of potential viewers.
Perhaps the best approach here is to casually remark on a few seemingly random pieces of fascination within "The Lives of Others." A fat bald politician pulls down his embarrassing underwear to force himself on a writer's insecure girlfriend. A bald play director commits suicide and inspires an article that tangles the collective panties of the East Germany government. And the Main Bald Man finally smiles after frowning so much.
The bottom line is baldies drive the story of "The Lives of Others," and you will not find a more enticing comment than that.
"The Lives of Others" is a great and unsettling movie, but the material is very dull on paper. So why in God's name did I watch it? Because "Pan's Labyrinth" lost Best Foreign Language Film to it, and I wanted to see whether the Academy blundered as usual or if "The Lives of Others" had any merit.
It took me a long time to sit down and watch the movie, much less pick it up. Reading the plot description on its DVD case in a rental store brought up a troubling question: what poor bastard had to watch the movie in order to write this description? The last thing I wanted was to end up like that writer, too bored to do his job anymore.
I also do not want you to end up like me. I almost did not put the DVD in my player because some people were stubborn enough to mention the story, virtually impossible to render into interesting language. Another futile attempt would torture you and me and give this movie an even smaller pool of potential viewers.
Perhaps the best approach here is to casually remark on a few seemingly random pieces of fascination within "The Lives of Others." A fat bald politician pulls down his embarrassing underwear to force himself on a writer's insecure girlfriend. A bald play director commits suicide and inspires an article that tangles the collective panties of the East Germany government. And the Main Bald Man finally smiles after frowning so much.
The bottom line is baldies drive the story of "The Lives of Others," and you will not find a more enticing comment than that.
Friday, August 1, 2008
'El Topo,' or When Confusion Is Delightful
Here to be divulged is my reaction after seeing Alejandro Jodorowsky's 1970 film "El Topo" the first time. Notwithstanding my love for spoilers evident from previous entries, I serve you by withholding details (hence, no wikipedia link for the movie itself). I was delighted to be confused. I will say this much. Both for its protagonist and whoever watches it, a large part of "El Topo" is not finding the way, not stumbling near understanding, being blinded by the sun.
A thought followed after watching the film. That "El Topo" was David Lynch before David Lynch. But having recovered from confoundment, I am not sure I can agree with myself.
With his trademark abstractness, Lynch utilizes not knowing for mood. This can be frightening as anyone with "Inland Empire," Lynch's most abstract film, checked off his or her to-see list will attest.
Jodorowsky has another mind game. Not to say mood does not come into play during "El Topo," but the film does not feed as heavily on it as Lynch's pictures. "El Topo" affects you more after you watch it than it does during its two hours.
The confusion inherent in much of Lynch's work gets me talking. Hey there, were you freaked out, did bunnies doing the family sitcom show up in your nightmares? I simply look back at the experience.
After "El Topo," I am looking at the future. What is coming. What I may not ever understand.
And one other thing. A concern of mine and many others I assume: is "El Topo" a western? Not really, but any genre should be proud of being confused with it.
A thought followed after watching the film. That "El Topo" was David Lynch before David Lynch. But having recovered from confoundment, I am not sure I can agree with myself.
With his trademark abstractness, Lynch utilizes not knowing for mood. This can be frightening as anyone with "Inland Empire," Lynch's most abstract film, checked off his or her to-see list will attest.
Jodorowsky has another mind game. Not to say mood does not come into play during "El Topo," but the film does not feed as heavily on it as Lynch's pictures. "El Topo" affects you more after you watch it than it does during its two hours.
The confusion inherent in much of Lynch's work gets me talking. Hey there, were you freaked out, did bunnies doing the family sitcom show up in your nightmares? I simply look back at the experience.
After "El Topo," I am looking at the future. What is coming. What I may not ever understand.
And one other thing. A concern of mine and many others I assume: is "El Topo" a western? Not really, but any genre should be proud of being confused with it.
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