John Woo's 'The Killer': What happened to dude's arm?

Given the date, I have to waste at least a sentence to say this entry isn't an April Fool's Joke. Which gives me a reason to waste a paragraph for a quick deranged story. I was very young, maybe 11 or 12, and I thought I had a great April Fool's Joke: wake up my mother and tell her my sister had been hit by a truck. I still hate my younger, immature self for this ploy because I'm sure my mother couldn't rest this morning. If an April Fool's Joke is measured by how much you fuck with a person's mind, I scored a big one. I'm done with the shit, and before I leave this matter, fuck your Web sites today. I hope you lose readers, you annoying badgers!

I rewatched John Woo's "The Killer" Sunday with a friend who had not seen it. His reactions to the out-of-control gunfights reminded me of my amazement years ago when I first rented the VHS from Blockbuster. I would go on to rent the VHS five or six times. Then something happened that I will never forget: Blockbuster began selling all of its video tapes. I own the very VHS that changed the way I look at action films. (However, my friend and I watched the DVD, a gift from my mother, God Bless Her Poor Soul Today.)

The violence in "The Killer" is hard to capture with writing. It is silly, extravagant, staged, funny, emotional, and ultimately captivating. Chow Yun-Fat, whose varied facial expressions are a treasure, is the killer. He shoots men as many as 10 times with his two .45s in case the first shot to the head isn't enough. He doesn't seem to reload often enough, but the bullets fly anyway. The way he shoots people are almost stories by themselves. The killer dispatches one man by firing into the legs, the man eventually falling to his knees for a final hole at the bottom of his neck. Another man pumps a shotgun as the killer stomps the end of a table to pop a revolver into his hand for two shots into the man's chest.

And then there's the scene where the killer stops a jeep beside a car. The main villain opens a back door of the car to lean out, and the killer blows the main villain's Entire Fucking Arm off with a hand cannon resulting in a lurid black spray.

Here's the mystery. It is obvious to anyone that the Entire Fucking Arm fell off the man's body like a rotted log. But the main villain continues to have that arm in the film. He continues to fire weapons with the arm. He even presses a gun to the forehead of a hostage with that arm, the sick lucky bastard.

The DVD has a commentary track with John Woo. Excited, I skip to the scene in question for insight on the arm. With slow English, Woo discusses the relationship between the killer and his best friend while the violence occurs.

I was disappointed initially. But upon reflection, it's better this way. The arm completely fucks the continuity of the film, but so do the endless bullets and sparse reloads. It's a humorous and impressive move by Woo, and an explanation would cheapen the laughs and shock. Perhaps this is the reason P.T. Anderson has refused to do a commentary track for "There Will Be Blood." Maybe it's the reason David Lynch only says "Inland Empire" is about a woman in trouble.

It is definitely the reason I am smiling on April Fool's Day.

Why the hell do I like 'Slumdog Millionaire'?

I dislike it when new movies end with people dancing (I don't mind ironic cases: "Inland Empire" and "Tropic Thunder") because the idea exemplifies cliched filmmaking.

I watch "Slumdog Millionaire" with my mom and friend. The story is over. I am ready to leave my seat and walk down the steps and hope that people don't lumber like stupid cattle. But there's more than credits on the screen. People are dancing, including the two main characters. Everyone in the theater stops. I can't leave.

Later, I have a discussion with another friend about the film. I point out the lame dancing, and he says, "But that's Bollywood."

Fuck it.

(Note: I talked with my Indian co-worker about dancing in Bollywood films. He said people are very entertained by dancing in India, and sometimes audience members even dance in the theater themselves.)

Notwithstanding that I could not easily leave the theater because of an annoying tradition, I liked "Slumdog Millionaire." Director Danny Boyle goes wild with the flashbacks, but I never felt lost. The cinematography is wonderful at times. Anil Kapoor's role as the host of "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" deserved an Oscar nomination. And A.R. Rahman's music amazed me.

But the dancing isn't the only thing I found troubling.

While the direction is great for the most part, Boyle sometimes displays tendencies in line with Michael Bay, quickly cutting from shot to shot as if he's in a competition for most shots within one minute.

While the protagonist's brother is essential to the story's development, he is wasted about halfway through when he unbelievably becomes Scarface within a few minutes and sticks a gun in his sibling's face.

While the audience got a big laugh out of a kid covered in human shit, I didn't. (Although the scene is more innocent than what my statement would imply.)

While the music kicked ass, the film often struck me as five or six music videos strung together.

For almost every good thing about "Slumdog Millionaire," I can come up with a counterpoint.

Why the hell do I like it? Manipulation. The film just knows how to make you like it. It lays the foundation with an underdog character, frames the story within an entertaining modern game show, utilizes Freida Pinto's beauty for all its worth ("I just looked her up on wikipedia, and she was born ONLY a month before me!"), and includes colored boxes for subtitles.

Colored boxes for subtitles, that's why I like the film, goddamn it.

'Duck, You Sucker!' blew me away because it's about dynamite and explosions and shit blowing up.

In case you're wondering what the hell I'm writing about, "Duck, You Sucker!" is a spaghetti western directed by Sergio Leone. If you don't know anything about Leone ("The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" and "Once Upon a Time in the West"), then shame on you, Mr. President. You have neglected your duties long enough.

(Note: You are not allowed to read anymore of this blog entry until you watch some of Leone's films.)

Alrighty, there's another potentially confusing thing I need to address. This film is also known as "A Fistful of Dynamite." "Duck, You Sucker!" was Leone's preference, but the studios changed the title to "A Fistful of Dynamite," hoping to attract audiences who watched "A Fistful of Dollars." And yes, "Duck, You Sucker!" is said a few times during the movie, but James Coburn doesn't overdo it.

Fuck! I don't feel like I've said anything substantial yet.

Alrighty, so one might think that this is a silly comedic western with a title like "Duck, You Sucker!" And honestly, it feels silly for a while. The beginning of the film is essentially Coburn the Irish dynamite expert and Rod Steiger the Mexican hoodlum flirting with each other, albeit dangerously. Steiger shoots Coburn's bike tire. Coburn blows a hole through Steiger's stagecoach. Etc. This mating ritual is similar to how Clint Eastwood and Eli Wallach treated each other in "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly," only more suggestive. Yeah, Eastwood and Wallach were flirting in that film, but they almost killed each other. Coburn and Steiger would never take That Risk, or at least that's the impression I got.

And the music is silly for a while, too, which is not the norm for Ennio Morricone. In fact, I sort of hated the music until the last third of the film, when the tone of the music is juxtaposed against some disturbing and weird flashbacks. Thank the living Christ it finally suited my ears because I've never disliked a Morricone score.

The second half of the film is clearly stronger than the first, mainly because the characters finally come into their own. Steiger's character is pretty much Wallach's "The Ugly" before The Significant Event That Changes Him. Leone's camerawork during The Significant Event is devastatingly great. At that point, you realize he's not simply fucking around with a colloquialism.

Coburn's character is explored throughout the film in flashbacks, but it's not until the second half that they get juicy. Of course, flashbacks were also used in "The Wild Bunch" to develop characters, but Sam Peckinpah doesn't make you wait for the meat. Leone is a completely different mammal. He wants you to wait for Everything. But without patience, Leone would be nothing. There's just something so damned interesting about watching two characters look at each other for minutes in silence.

The message is watch this immediately, but only if you're familiar with Leone's filmography. I can't see someone appreciating this one too much without some knowledge of spaghetti westerns. Just remember to get the collector's edition DVD at 157 minutes and prepare your ass for a long sit.

The Oscar Nominations Are Out, and It Seems I Must Slap My Grandmother.

I was surprised and giddy and thankful to find Robert Downey Jr. nominated for Best Supporting Actor. If you read the last paragraph of my "Tropic Thunder" review, you'll notice two things:

(1) An explanation of why Downey Jr. is brilliant.

(2) Doubt that the Academy would ever recognize Downey Jr. for his work. The specific comment: "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."

No, I did not slap my grandmother, but maybe I owe her one.

For your official records, here is a list of the Oscar nominations. There has been a lot of savage weeping online about "The Dark Knight" being snubbed. It's not in the Best Picture or Best Director lists, and this fact causes Pain to shoot into people's Groins.

I'm glad Heath Ledger was nominated, as my "Dark Knight" review was totally dedicated to his manipulation of the audience and menacing effort. But I will not sob about any snubbing.

You might be disappointed that "The Dark Knight" wasn't nominated for Best Picture or Best Director, but it doesn't deserve either, Mr. President. Here is the intel:

1. Maggie Gyllenhaal's performance was flaccid, and her cheeks are too fucking monstrous. But I won't put all the blame on her because her character never had anything going for it. Childhood friend, sweet lawyer, shaking her head back and forth while she talks to Bruce Wayne. Jesus Christ, no film deserves Best Picture or Best Director with a savagely uncreative beast like that.

2. Christian Bale's Batman is a Sissy attempting to hide his tears by speaking in the lowest, brawniest voice he can muster behind his pathetic hyperventilation and disposition to panic attacks. This is not how a knight speaks.

3. The Nolan brothers can't incorporate themes into a script without having characters indicate that the themes are indeed there. What the fuck is this, Bible school?

The final line of the film:

Gordon (Gary Oldman): Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we'll hunt him because he can take it. Because he's not our hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector. A dark knight.

God bless Oldman for going through with That Shit.

The truth is that eight nominations for a comic book film is a huge achievement, and that's all it deserves, friendz.

'Gran Torino': Race and Religion in the Theater

I had never heard so many different racial slurs in one sitting, barring that one George Carlin routine about how bad language is bullshit. The first instance occurs when Clint Eastwood opens his door and finds a Chinese boy standing on his porch. "Zipperhead" is fired from Eastwood's mouth before he shuts the door.

I wasn't counting the slurs, but I remember the audience laughing the most when Eastwood directed his anger toward a group of three young black men.

But hell, I thought Eastwood was funny, too. But when Racism is involved, an important distinction is whether you are laughing at something fucked up or laughing because you are fucked up.

OK, sermon over. I have no right to make assumptions about white people in a Mississippi theater.

Speaking of sermons, I felt like I was leaving church when I made my way to the exit. I saw young adults, middle-aged folk, and senior citizens--and what seemed to be children standing around the very front row. And most people looked solemn and respectful. Eastwood got his guts blown out, which gave me a feeling similar to when I watched John Wayne die in "The Cowboys" (two death spoilers in one sentence, OUCH). But the other audience members. Looking at their faces, it would seem they had watched Christ die.

But who better to worship than Eastwood? "Gran Torino" was a straightforward story, even cliched. But the man with slits for eyes and the warmest scowl made it special.

Jesus, Eastwood, don't let it be your last one. You wrinkled old cracker.

Second Viewing of 'Burn After Reading' Exposes Me As a Fool with No Sense of Humor

Second viewings should be a fear of anyone who writes about movies. Not in the sense that you should be frightened of watching a film twice. But a second viewing can give you a better idea of what you think about a film, and sometimes your opinion can change drastically.

Months ago I reviewed the Coen brothers' 2008 comedy "Burn After Reading" and implied the idiotic characters of the film were not as entertaining as those found in "Fargo" and others. (I also used a pretentious Fellini reference like a Whore.)

Well Mr. President, I was wrong. I fucked up on that intel.

Throughout my second viewing of "Burn After Reading," I found myself laughing considerably more. I could easily watch it again. Yeah, I still think Swinton was weak, and it's nothing that original for the Coens. But it is insane and well crafted, just like that Dildo Machine.

Same thing happened years ago with "The Big Lebowski." I thought the characters were too contrived, so I kept missing the punchlines.

OK, I'm cutting out the confessions. I can forgive you for thinking I was a dumbass if you can forgive me for being one.

No, no, no. No need for formal apologies and mercy and grace. This is getting shameful and Pathetic.

(And hot damn! "Burn After Reading" made it to DVD quick, my friends!)

I do not get it, Spielberg.

I do not get it, Spielberg.

Your wallet is already Immense, so maybe you just wanted to play with George. If that is the case, I am disappointed in you and I wish that goddamn robot shark had worked and given your first blockbuster less of a suspenseful and horrifying Grip.

Fuck man. The same year you take the Third Risk in your life, you serve a bogus and inconsistent H.G. Wells family drama instead of ... well, I'm convinced the movie would have sucked no matter what.

"At least I don't do shitty special effects" is an old excuse you cunning bastard--and one that no longer is the truth. Those goddamn gophers you let George shove into an Orifice ... we all saw that in May.

You are in TROUBLE. Get it together or the respect you earned will be gone. You had better not Fuck Up our 16th President.


JP, a sometimes Spielberg defender