How could I ever have doubted them? My anticipation level for the fourth (and long overdue) installment of the Indiana Jones franchise has risen and fallen like the stock market. There was the countless rewrites with several big name, proven screenwriters taking there shot at Indy 4, and being shot down by Lucas in particular. How could he turn away Oscar nominees like M. Night and Darabont. Has he not seen the Sixth Sense or Shawshank? Darabont was a writer for the Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, but noooooo. So they settled finally on David "Spidey" Koepp (shiver)
Then there was the issue about the principals, namely Harrison "I don't care if I'm sixty-something I'm still going to wear an earring" Ford and Jones Senior himself the now-retired Sean Connery. Connery single-handedly saved the franchise in 1989 in Last Crusade, despite Spielberg moll Kate Capshaw's best efforts in Temple of Doom as the worst female action lead ever. But the news that he would not return for this summer's blockbuster, put the Jones crew on shaky ground. And could Ford, who has been without a hit since Air Force One, still don the fedora and crack the whip well enough?
But now for the three bits of good news I heard prior to actually watching the film. They cast Shia LaBeouf as Indiana the Third, the return of Marion Ravenwood, and the movie features aliens. At least the first and last of the these bits of news were met with some trepidation (some it my own).
Shia, lets face it, is everywhere these days. He apparently can't turn down any blockbuster script he's offered, and really why should he. An Emmy-winning child actor, he broke into the business in 2003 with a decent lead turn in a children's movie success Holes, took supporting roles in summer blockbusters for the next three years in hits (and misses) like I Robot, Constantine, and Charlie's Angels Full Throttle, and staked himself to some indie cred with an impressive performance in 2006 Sundance sensation A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints.
Then 2007 became the year of Shia as he carried a Hitchcock remake to March success, then became the envy of every red-blooded malehttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif in America as he became friends with Optimus Prime, and locked lips with Megan Fox in Transformers. Many people I think viewed his casting in Jones 4 to be a cheap ploy towards a younger audience, but I'm inclined to believe otherwise. I think this kid can act.
Then was the return of Karen Allen. Marion Ravenwood is one of the key points to my argument that Raiders of the Lost Ark is one of the greatest movies ever made. She was as balanced as a female character could be while still occupying that shoe-horned role of damsel in distress. She runs a bar, can drink any man under the table, and is very handy in a fight. Yet she goes gooey in Jones' hands, and becomes the girl that needs rescuing. I heard an inkling that Willie Scott would also cross paths with Indy in this film, but thank god someone put a kibosh on that. In fact, in the film when Marion and Indy fight, he notes that no woman he has been with since her had measured up. This was the ultimate slap in the face to Temple of Doom in my eyes, which of course is well-deserved. Crusade escapes harm from this though as Dr. Schneider turned out to be a villain.
And then of course there is the presence of aliens within the movies plot. My first thought was NO EFFING WAY. Indiana Jones deals with Mysticism, Nazi's, impossible-to-please parents. But then I realized that paring I should have considered was that this was Steve Spielberg yet again tackling alien encounters. As far as movies about aliens go, the man has absolutely knocked it out the park on two outta three tries, and according to Meatloaf "that ain't bad." (Plus I can ignore WOTW due to my hatred of Tom Cruise and the fact that its a remake)
My Cruise-loathing aside...this movie had me at hello. They opened with the original Paramount logo screen that dissolves into the movie's opening shot...just like each of the previous Jones movie's have done. The opening scene blares Elvis's Hound Dog over joyriding teens entrenching the movie in the 50's, and of course toys with its viewers with the reveal of your hero as he's pulled from the trunk of the car, first with the appearance of "The Hat," then the silhouette, and then of course Jones' annoyed snarl. As I viewed Ford at that moment I was drawn back to one of Jones' most memorable lines from the original film: "Its not the years honey, its the mileage." This would become this films mantra, as they fought every instinct along the way to modernize this film and made it just like the Jones movies of old.
Cate Blanchett does of course brilliant work as KGB psychic Irina Spalko, but I felt her casting was a bit wrong. I think that character would have been better suited to have been played by someone less high profile. Substituting the KGB as Jones' foil for the Nazis worked very well however.
But mainly this movie works because of homage and tradition. The introduction of LaBeouf's Mutt Williams is so steeped in movie lore its ridiculous. He appears on a motorcycle costumed almost to a T, just like Marlon Brando in A Wild One. Throw in a dash of Rebel Without a Cause, and stir in a pinch of the Outsiders, and voila there's Mutt. There was the Wilhelm scream featured for the umpteenth time in the library. There was even a rare homage reversal of sorts. The scene which features swarms of ginormous ants seemed to be taken directly from the man-eating scarabs from The Mummy...which I always so as a poor mans Indiana Jones movie anyway. And of course you can't have Harrison Ford ever deliver the line, "I have a bad feeling about this," without humming the Star Wars theme.
But the real homages are to the previous Jones movies. There's the blink-and-you'll-miss-it reappearance of the Ark of the Covenant in the opening hangar scene, and the return of the redline traveling via-map movie device. But I broke into a broad grin, when Jones reflected in his study on the photographs of Henry Jones Jr. and Marcus Brody. Both important cogs in the previous film they were justly acknowledged and remembered. The only person missing was John Rhys Davies's Salah, who I would like to have seen if only for a moment.
The movie worked, because it was an Indiana Jones movie through and through. Jones punched drivers out of vehicles to take the wheel himself. He was constantly kidnapped and forced to lead his enemy to their common goal (because they couldn't do it without him). He saw everything as a riddle, and of course solved them all. And he saw the bigger picture. While all those around him sought treasure and power, Jones, the perennially archaeologist sought to prove the legends he grew up believing, For him it was always about the hunt, and not the prize.
And of course the movie closes on a really well done scene. The wind blows the fedora at Shia's feet, and he picks it up to put it on his own head, only to have it snatched by its rightful owner. The scene encapsulates the film so well. Ford, Spielberg, and Lucas are deftly saying, "We've still got it, and this ain't the end for the ole Jones boys." These fellas are going to clean up with this film, and damn it they deserve it.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
I love the 90's
So I feel like I'm channeling Beck these days...Vintage Beck circa '94. The first song off the Mellow Gold album kinda encapsulates what I'm feeling right now.
And this doesn't relate to our family's cat Tick dying on Friday night. Tick had been in our family for 17 years, but that number can be misleading when referring to our emotional connection to this cat. Tick never took very well to house training so she quickly became the black sheep of our stable of animals. Losing Tick hurts a little bit, but not a great deal. Thank you to y'all who have sent your online condolences. I appreciate it. Sadly though it is a whole other ball of wax that has got me buried in my web of neuroses at the moment.
In only a few words, I had something I wanted at arms reach, and I apparently did everything in my power to let it slip through my fingers. I'm left with this horrible aftertaste in my mouth, because I really don't know what in god's name I did wrong.
I shouldn't be surprised. I've spent most of my life hiding from this sort of disappointment, by never putting myself out there. So I finally decided I would take that plunge, and I got WAY ahead of myself. And to say I crashed and burned would be putting it lightly.
Maybe good things aren't meant for me at this point in time. That doesn't mean I have to stop hoping for them, but my cynical nature will certainly do everything in its power to keep that from happening.
I guess the bright side would be I gained two friends out of the whole situation. I hope that benefit can help me stay positive about it all. This blog will undoubtedly serve as my closure for the whole mess (and it seems that will be the only way I will get it.
Tomorrow is a new day. We'll see what she brings.
And this doesn't relate to our family's cat Tick dying on Friday night. Tick had been in our family for 17 years, but that number can be misleading when referring to our emotional connection to this cat. Tick never took very well to house training so she quickly became the black sheep of our stable of animals. Losing Tick hurts a little bit, but not a great deal. Thank you to y'all who have sent your online condolences. I appreciate it. Sadly though it is a whole other ball of wax that has got me buried in my web of neuroses at the moment.
In only a few words, I had something I wanted at arms reach, and I apparently did everything in my power to let it slip through my fingers. I'm left with this horrible aftertaste in my mouth, because I really don't know what in god's name I did wrong.
I shouldn't be surprised. I've spent most of my life hiding from this sort of disappointment, by never putting myself out there. So I finally decided I would take that plunge, and I got WAY ahead of myself. And to say I crashed and burned would be putting it lightly.
Maybe good things aren't meant for me at this point in time. That doesn't mean I have to stop hoping for them, but my cynical nature will certainly do everything in its power to keep that from happening.
I guess the bright side would be I gained two friends out of the whole situation. I hope that benefit can help me stay positive about it all. This blog will undoubtedly serve as my closure for the whole mess (and it seems that will be the only way I will get it.
Tomorrow is a new day. We'll see what she brings.
Monday, May 19, 2008
game called on account of capitalism
Seeing as the though I still keep abreast of the goings on in the poker community (despite eschewing it these last several months for a menial newspaper job) I feel compelled to comment on the most recent dramabomb dropped by Harrahs Entertainment and ESPN. Apparently this year at the World Series of Poker Main Event, once the final table of nine is determined (which should happen around mid-July), play will stop, and those nine will be brought back in early November to play out the remainder of the world's biggest poker tournament at an "almost-live broadcast."
I had heard whispers of this development during my intermittent poker forum surfing over the course of the last month, but I summarily dismissed the idea as too radical, even for the money-hungry exec's in charge. Even those who supported the idea from the beginning never believed in a million years that the powers that be would have the sac to make this radical change. We shouldn't really be surprised though.
The only two years I've had the opportunity to get an inside look at the vaulted World Series of Poker (as a member of the much maligned "poker media;" not only the lowest of the low, but I worked for Card Player Media; which according to many of the smaller fish as Public Enemy #1) it was run entirely at the Rio, completely under the Harrah's Entertainment banner. I don't know a WSOP w/o the huge gaudy sponsors. What did one do when their weren't nubile young women in Milwaukee's Best Light gear, roaming around trying to give you free (and worthless) poker chips? Was the all-in moment less exciting when it wasn't the Degree All-In moment.
What I'm getting at is simply, what was the outcry when this poker event became ridiculously commercialized at the hand of NASCAR guru Jeffery Pollack, WSOP commish for the last three years?
Wow....as I turn the idea over in my head more....it actually makes sense. Yikes.
---
Since the invention of the lipstick pocket cam, the poker boom has enjoyed a huge rollercoaster ride. The best possible scenario happened in 2003. An unknown internet player, outlasted the field of 839 entrants to take down the $3 million 1st prize. He busted up pro after pro, and found the good fortune to outlast a truly shark-invested final table. But really it was all about his name baby. And as Mike "The Mouth" Matusow would say every day at the WSOP '07 the pros mantra became:
"God bless Chris Moneymaker"
He turned a $40 satellite into about $1.5 million, or at least thats what ESPN wanted you to believe The endless ESPN reruns, neglect to mention how he was so confident he would get smoked that he nearly sold off his entry after he won, only to have someone buy up 50% of his action. (Raymer had backers in 2004 as well. Strange how in 2005, the winner plopped down the full $10k entry, but the bigger story seemed to be runner-up Steve Dannenman, who almost gets less time on screen than his "business partner" who gets half his winnings.)
The win for Moneymaker itself was a blessing and a curse. He scored a huge sponsorship deal from Pokerstars, but also had his marriage collapse. All involved with poker could care less. The Maine Event swelled to huge proportions over the next three years. In 2006, Jamie Gold won four times what Moneymaker did (although his money-appropriate name only has half the media shine) besting over 8,000 players. They were predicting over 10,000 for 2007, but then karma slapped the poker community with a nasty one-two combo.
Gold was taken to court when he balked at having to fork over half his winnings to a man who he promised 50% of his action in exchange for that guy finding a couple of "celebrity's (see also.. two-thirds of the dynamo that headlined the critically acclaimed Without a Paddle) to wear the logo of Gold's backing poker site. Now the string of three charismatic main-event-champion-poker ambassadors was gone (Only one of the those last three was really perfect; Moneymaker has very few results to back up his win and "Salty Joe" Hachem was great at the marketing, but is a Mr. Hyde at the tables; he's downright nasty, only coming second to Hellmuth in the whining category)
And to kick the poker community while they're down, The UIGEA made it near impossible for poker players to deposit money on poker sites, shutting down the main resource for Joe-Schmo to enter the tournament.
--
So now the execs need a new way to market their television coverage. And by golly they've found it.
So when play is halted at the WSOP this year, each of the final 9 players will be awarded ninth place money. The remaining prize money will be placed in an interest-bearing account, which will simply add to the remaining prizepool.
The final table-ists will also now have months to plan their strategy for the big dance. This will include players paying for coaching, and discussing their opponent's play ad nauseam.
This means better play. This means I might actually know something about the final tablists, which means I can give a hoot if one of them wins.
Editor's note: This maybe the last poker related tidbit I post for a while...the end of bar league poker was none too kind to me. A freeroll for a TV is a daunting task, but I thought I had a better chance of winning then most. However, I saw my solid play wasted when I risked my tournament life for the first time when we were 4-handed, only to be torn a new one by the poker gods who decided the that the a guy willing to risk 90 percent of his chips on a flush draw should be rewarded. Nevermind that I had flopped a set and was 65 percent to win when the money went in. Oh well, thats poker.
I had heard whispers of this development during my intermittent poker forum surfing over the course of the last month, but I summarily dismissed the idea as too radical, even for the money-hungry exec's in charge. Even those who supported the idea from the beginning never believed in a million years that the powers that be would have the sac to make this radical change. We shouldn't really be surprised though.
The only two years I've had the opportunity to get an inside look at the vaulted World Series of Poker (as a member of the much maligned "poker media;" not only the lowest of the low, but I worked for Card Player Media; which according to many of the smaller fish as Public Enemy #1) it was run entirely at the Rio, completely under the Harrah's Entertainment banner. I don't know a WSOP w/o the huge gaudy sponsors. What did one do when their weren't nubile young women in Milwaukee's Best Light gear, roaming around trying to give you free (and worthless) poker chips? Was the all-in moment less exciting when it wasn't the Degree All-In moment.
What I'm getting at is simply, what was the outcry when this poker event became ridiculously commercialized at the hand of NASCAR guru Jeffery Pollack, WSOP commish for the last three years?
Wow....as I turn the idea over in my head more....it actually makes sense. Yikes.
---
Since the invention of the lipstick pocket cam, the poker boom has enjoyed a huge rollercoaster ride. The best possible scenario happened in 2003. An unknown internet player, outlasted the field of 839 entrants to take down the $3 million 1st prize. He busted up pro after pro, and found the good fortune to outlast a truly shark-invested final table. But really it was all about his name baby. And as Mike "The Mouth" Matusow would say every day at the WSOP '07 the pros mantra became:
"God bless Chris Moneymaker"
He turned a $40 satellite into about $1.5 million, or at least thats what ESPN wanted you to believe The endless ESPN reruns, neglect to mention how he was so confident he would get smoked that he nearly sold off his entry after he won, only to have someone buy up 50% of his action. (Raymer had backers in 2004 as well. Strange how in 2005, the winner plopped down the full $10k entry, but the bigger story seemed to be runner-up Steve Dannenman, who almost gets less time on screen than his "business partner" who gets half his winnings.)
The win for Moneymaker itself was a blessing and a curse. He scored a huge sponsorship deal from Pokerstars, but also had his marriage collapse. All involved with poker could care less. The Maine Event swelled to huge proportions over the next three years. In 2006, Jamie Gold won four times what Moneymaker did (although his money-appropriate name only has half the media shine) besting over 8,000 players. They were predicting over 10,000 for 2007, but then karma slapped the poker community with a nasty one-two combo.
Gold was taken to court when he balked at having to fork over half his winnings to a man who he promised 50% of his action in exchange for that guy finding a couple of "celebrity's (see also.. two-thirds of the dynamo that headlined the critically acclaimed Without a Paddle) to wear the logo of Gold's backing poker site. Now the string of three charismatic main-event-champion-poker ambassadors was gone (Only one of the those last three was really perfect; Moneymaker has very few results to back up his win and "Salty Joe" Hachem was great at the marketing, but is a Mr. Hyde at the tables; he's downright nasty, only coming second to Hellmuth in the whining category)
And to kick the poker community while they're down, The UIGEA made it near impossible for poker players to deposit money on poker sites, shutting down the main resource for Joe-Schmo to enter the tournament.
--
So now the execs need a new way to market their television coverage. And by golly they've found it.
So when play is halted at the WSOP this year, each of the final 9 players will be awarded ninth place money. The remaining prize money will be placed in an interest-bearing account, which will simply add to the remaining prizepool.
The final table-ists will also now have months to plan their strategy for the big dance. This will include players paying for coaching, and discussing their opponent's play ad nauseam.
This means better play. This means I might actually know something about the final tablists, which means I can give a hoot if one of them wins.
Editor's note: This maybe the last poker related tidbit I post for a while...the end of bar league poker was none too kind to me. A freeroll for a TV is a daunting task, but I thought I had a better chance of winning then most. However, I saw my solid play wasted when I risked my tournament life for the first time when we were 4-handed, only to be torn a new one by the poker gods who decided the that the a guy willing to risk 90 percent of his chips on a flush draw should be rewarded. Nevermind that I had flopped a set and was 65 percent to win when the money went in. Oh well, thats poker.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Greetings Starfighter
Poring over my DVD collection the other day, my eyes fell on an old childhood favorite, The Last Starfighter. I couldn't resist, so I popped in for what was probably my tenth overall lifetime viewing, but the first viewing in many years. As I waited for the old Universal DVD trailer to finish immediately the in-movie video game mantra sprang into my head:
"Greetings Starfighter, You have been recruited by the Star League to defend The Frontier, against Xur and the Kodan Armada"
Those words are emblazoned in my brain just like the Pledge of Allegiance. I couldn't wait to revisit the Starlite, Starbrite trailer park, or travel with Centauri to Rylos where he could put me in my very own Gunstar spaceship.
Oh wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. This forgotten piece of science fiction gold, was released in 1984. It was directed by Nick Castle, and starred Lance Guest and the late Robert Preston (in his final film role). This film's claim to sci-fi fame is that it was one of the first films (if not the first) to heavily feature CGI (computer-generated imagery) for its special effects. Star Wars used some in a practical sense, but to the scale of Starfighter or Tron. But I didn't see Tron until college, and besides I was deeply invested in the Starfighter universe.
It is common for any young child to place himself firmly into an engaging movie's canon. But this movie trumped them all for me. I mean come on the male lead's name is Alex Rogan. Yeah thats right, the main reason I loved this movie at all is because I shared the same first name with the main character. That sounds very flimsy, but I couldn't have been older than five when we saw the movie. And besides I have an older brother named Luke, who had THE effing Jedi Knight to share a first name with. Now I've never asked him if he ever grew tired of people joking that they "are his father" or reminding him to "use the force," but if he identified with that Tatooine-farmer-turned-intergalactic-hero even one iota as much as I hero-worshipped Alex Rogan, then I might be his best man, dressed as Boba Fett, at this Star Wars-themed wedding at the Skywalker ranch.
There are three things about this movie that I will always geek out about: the idea of the "Beta" unit, Centauri the alien's removable face, and a car that turns into a spaceship.
When Alex meets Centauri, he shakes hands with Beta in the back-seat, who then becomes a carbon copy of Alex to take his place as he's off the pilot his Gunstar. What sets this film light years ahead of other sci-fi films is the struggles of this robot to assimilate into a tumbleweed trailer park. When I was younger, the scene when he takes off his own head to adjust his ear blew my mind... Funny that watching it now I recognize that there's simply a hole in the desk, for Guest to stick his head out of.
The comic relief provided by Beta is terrific. The biggest thing he can't figure out is how to interact with Alex's girlfriend Maggie (played by Catherine Mary Stewart, before her turn in Weekend at Bernie's). All the couples go up to Silver Lake to fool around, and he's as clueless as a virgin on prom night. So uses his super-hearing to copycat what the lothario Blake says to his girl. Hilarity ensues. Robots are always funny; Just look at Threepio and R-2.
PG movie.... Alien that removes his human-face to clean it enroute to Space city... red glowing eyes... priceless. Nuff said.
And of course there's Centauri's space car. A full year before Doc Brown makes the Delorean hip again in Back to the Future, Robert Preston shows up with a car with wing doors himself. And get this... its actually a spaceship. When the brake lights peeled back to reveal the rockets beneath, I was hooked. Then again I was five or so, so it didn't take much.
As the movie wraps up, I've found that it doesn't hold up well. Thats not to say that I don't still enjoy it, but that now having studied film off-and-on, I see all of the terrible holes in the movie. The way it still works is in reminding me how simple my taste in movies used to be. I was hooked in to this almost solely by the main character's name. And now I'm a diehard sci-fi fan. Imagine how I would have turned out if I had seen A Clockwork Orange instead?
"Greetings Starfighter, You have been recruited by the Star League to defend The Frontier, against Xur and the Kodan Armada"
Those words are emblazoned in my brain just like the Pledge of Allegiance. I couldn't wait to revisit the Starlite, Starbrite trailer park, or travel with Centauri to Rylos where he could put me in my very own Gunstar spaceship.
Oh wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. This forgotten piece of science fiction gold, was released in 1984. It was directed by Nick Castle, and starred Lance Guest and the late Robert Preston (in his final film role). This film's claim to sci-fi fame is that it was one of the first films (if not the first) to heavily feature CGI (computer-generated imagery) for its special effects. Star Wars used some in a practical sense, but to the scale of Starfighter or Tron. But I didn't see Tron until college, and besides I was deeply invested in the Starfighter universe.
It is common for any young child to place himself firmly into an engaging movie's canon. But this movie trumped them all for me. I mean come on the male lead's name is Alex Rogan. Yeah thats right, the main reason I loved this movie at all is because I shared the same first name with the main character. That sounds very flimsy, but I couldn't have been older than five when we saw the movie. And besides I have an older brother named Luke, who had THE effing Jedi Knight to share a first name with. Now I've never asked him if he ever grew tired of people joking that they "are his father" or reminding him to "use the force," but if he identified with that Tatooine-farmer-turned-intergalactic-hero even one iota as much as I hero-worshipped Alex Rogan, then I might be his best man, dressed as Boba Fett, at this Star Wars-themed wedding at the Skywalker ranch.
There are three things about this movie that I will always geek out about: the idea of the "Beta" unit, Centauri the alien's removable face, and a car that turns into a spaceship.
When Alex meets Centauri, he shakes hands with Beta in the back-seat, who then becomes a carbon copy of Alex to take his place as he's off the pilot his Gunstar. What sets this film light years ahead of other sci-fi films is the struggles of this robot to assimilate into a tumbleweed trailer park. When I was younger, the scene when he takes off his own head to adjust his ear blew my mind... Funny that watching it now I recognize that there's simply a hole in the desk, for Guest to stick his head out of.
The comic relief provided by Beta is terrific. The biggest thing he can't figure out is how to interact with Alex's girlfriend Maggie (played by Catherine Mary Stewart, before her turn in Weekend at Bernie's). All the couples go up to Silver Lake to fool around, and he's as clueless as a virgin on prom night. So uses his super-hearing to copycat what the lothario Blake says to his girl. Hilarity ensues. Robots are always funny; Just look at Threepio and R-2.
PG movie.... Alien that removes his human-face to clean it enroute to Space city... red glowing eyes... priceless. Nuff said.
And of course there's Centauri's space car. A full year before Doc Brown makes the Delorean hip again in Back to the Future, Robert Preston shows up with a car with wing doors himself. And get this... its actually a spaceship. When the brake lights peeled back to reveal the rockets beneath, I was hooked. Then again I was five or so, so it didn't take much.
As the movie wraps up, I've found that it doesn't hold up well. Thats not to say that I don't still enjoy it, but that now having studied film off-and-on, I see all of the terrible holes in the movie. The way it still works is in reminding me how simple my taste in movies used to be. I was hooked in to this almost solely by the main character's name. And now I'm a diehard sci-fi fan. Imagine how I would have turned out if I had seen A Clockwork Orange instead?
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Apatow is bringing (un)sexyback
I have seen full frontal male nudity in a shocking number of films recently, and the man whose name seems to always be lurking behind the scenes is the comedy it-man Judd Apatow.
His latest headline-grabbing penis flash occurs at two pivotal moments in the new disaster comedy Forgetting Sarah Marshall. The lead actor (Jason Segel, who also wrote the film) bares all his manly bits when the girlfriend (the titular character played by Kristen "don't call me Veronica" Bell) breaks up with him, and he drops his bath towel in horror.
This was only the first of many cringe-worthy moments throughout the movie. Normally these moments aren't so bad. I revel this type of brash humor, but in this case I was seated only one row up from a row filled almost entirely with silver-haired grandma-types. Are they supposed to be laughing at the same sex jokes aimed at my demographic? And did they just get that joke that Jonah Hill made about "going from 6 to midnight"? I suppose my awkward-o-meter would only have been ratcheted up higher, by having obviously underage girls occupying the row in front of me. Nonetheless I was compelled to keep a few sarcastic remarks to myself in deference to the Golden Girls. And of course the film was laugh-out-loud funny.
But I digress....back to the money shot(s)...
The intial nudity scene works on several different comedic levels. Just prior to Sarah dropping her bomb, Peter (Segel), tries to entice her by opening his towel and shaking his hips in manner which slaps his manhood against each thigh. This of course is inferred as this action occurs below the framed shot, treating the viewer to the rhythmic "thwack-thwack-thwack." The noise elicits uncomfortable chuckles, and puts the viewer on edge. Then of course, Sarah lays it out, and in the next shot Segel is shown letting it all hang out (gasp!) the one-two comedic punch is doubly effective. The bookend to the male nudity comes at the end of the film, when a new romantic interest walks in Peter backstage changing, instantly diffusing was to be an immensely intense conversation. What a character arc.
This is remarkable on many levels. First that Segel wrote this scene essentially for himself. In interviews Segel maintains that this "naked break-up" actually happened to him, and he actually wanted the girl to hurry things up so he could get to writing the incident down, because it was so funny. Segel is also not the world's most in shape man, and I'd wager that his slightly doughy physique ramps up the comedy further.
And second because this is not the first bit of male nudity in a film in which Apatow is involved. And the progression suggests that it will become not only a regular element in his films, but a constantly evolving element.
I was first introduced to Apatow's universe with his second ill-fated teenage TV comedy "Undeclared." It was here I met two of his regulars who at that time hadn't become the names they are now: Seth Rogen and Segel. It debuted in 2001, and was a comedy about college life. I was in college so presto! I kinda dug it.
For some reason I missed his cult-hit first show "Freaks and Geeks" until last year when I finally was able to Netflix it and instantly fall in love. An IMDB search would reveal that I enjoyed some early Apatow even before "Undeclared" finding out that he was a co-writer on the Disney channel staple Heavyweights. Apatow finally attached himself to a bankable comedy talent in 2004. He jumped on the Will Ferrell juggernaut when Ferrell was hot off of breakout successes in Elf and Old School. He produced Ferrell's Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, and then began his world takeover with feature directorial debut The 40-Year-Old Virgin, launching his career and Steve Carell's simultaneously.
Apparently about this time he went to Segel who had hardly worked since "Freaks and Geeks" and said," Hey I can make movies now, do you have anything?" (or in the words of Ron Burgundy, "I'm kind of a big deal"), and so Segel got his first script and male lead in one fell swoop. Between now and then, he gave his buddy Rogen his first male lead in Knocked Up, produced Rogen's first three screenplays Superbad, Drillbit Taylor, and this summer's Pineapple Express. He also produced Ferell's biggest hit, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
Apatow's brand of humor has firmly brought back the concept of the R-rated comedy to American movies. Its remarkable to me how he's gathered such a wide audience with his brand of sexually-frank humor, and teenage mentality. I've loved Kevin Smith's films for so long, but recognize how his core audience is markedly smaller than Apatow's. Apatow has slowly pushed his dick jokes to the point where he now actively utilizes frontal male nudity shots.
The first instance was in his 2007 produced comedy Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, the first starring vehicle for the underrated John C. Reilly. Early in that film Cox (Reilly) has a serious conversation with his wife on the phone in the aftermath of an orgy, and at two points during this conversation one of his roadies approaches him to ask him fairly mundane questions. The only thing is the roadie is naked with his junk at eye-level, yet Cox is completely unfazed by this, which punctuates the hilarity.
Now Apatow is far from perfect. I still refuse to see Drillbit Taylor and he apparently co-wrote the latest Adam Sandler monstrosity Don't Mess With the Zohan that comes out this summer. But the R-rated comedy is surely back. Case and point will be this Friday's stoner sequel Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay (Apparently the boys will be attending a "bottomless" party, and there will be some reference to an old guy's nether region "looking like Osama Bin Laden's beard").
Apparently Apatow has spoken; to have a successful comedy, one of your boys is going to have to drop trou.
His latest headline-grabbing penis flash occurs at two pivotal moments in the new disaster comedy Forgetting Sarah Marshall. The lead actor (Jason Segel, who also wrote the film) bares all his manly bits when the girlfriend (the titular character played by Kristen "don't call me Veronica" Bell) breaks up with him, and he drops his bath towel in horror.
This was only the first of many cringe-worthy moments throughout the movie. Normally these moments aren't so bad. I revel this type of brash humor, but in this case I was seated only one row up from a row filled almost entirely with silver-haired grandma-types. Are they supposed to be laughing at the same sex jokes aimed at my demographic? And did they just get that joke that Jonah Hill made about "going from 6 to midnight"? I suppose my awkward-o-meter would only have been ratcheted up higher, by having obviously underage girls occupying the row in front of me. Nonetheless I was compelled to keep a few sarcastic remarks to myself in deference to the Golden Girls. And of course the film was laugh-out-loud funny.
But I digress....back to the money shot(s)...
The intial nudity scene works on several different comedic levels. Just prior to Sarah dropping her bomb, Peter (Segel), tries to entice her by opening his towel and shaking his hips in manner which slaps his manhood against each thigh. This of course is inferred as this action occurs below the framed shot, treating the viewer to the rhythmic "thwack-thwack-thwack." The noise elicits uncomfortable chuckles, and puts the viewer on edge. Then of course, Sarah lays it out, and in the next shot Segel is shown letting it all hang out (gasp!) the one-two comedic punch is doubly effective. The bookend to the male nudity comes at the end of the film, when a new romantic interest walks in Peter backstage changing, instantly diffusing was to be an immensely intense conversation. What a character arc.
This is remarkable on many levels. First that Segel wrote this scene essentially for himself. In interviews Segel maintains that this "naked break-up" actually happened to him, and he actually wanted the girl to hurry things up so he could get to writing the incident down, because it was so funny. Segel is also not the world's most in shape man, and I'd wager that his slightly doughy physique ramps up the comedy further.
And second because this is not the first bit of male nudity in a film in which Apatow is involved. And the progression suggests that it will become not only a regular element in his films, but a constantly evolving element.
I was first introduced to Apatow's universe with his second ill-fated teenage TV comedy "Undeclared." It was here I met two of his regulars who at that time hadn't become the names they are now: Seth Rogen and Segel. It debuted in 2001, and was a comedy about college life. I was in college so presto! I kinda dug it.
For some reason I missed his cult-hit first show "Freaks and Geeks" until last year when I finally was able to Netflix it and instantly fall in love. An IMDB search would reveal that I enjoyed some early Apatow even before "Undeclared" finding out that he was a co-writer on the Disney channel staple Heavyweights. Apatow finally attached himself to a bankable comedy talent in 2004. He jumped on the Will Ferrell juggernaut when Ferrell was hot off of breakout successes in Elf and Old School. He produced Ferrell's Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, and then began his world takeover with feature directorial debut The 40-Year-Old Virgin, launching his career and Steve Carell's simultaneously.
Apparently about this time he went to Segel who had hardly worked since "Freaks and Geeks" and said," Hey I can make movies now, do you have anything?" (or in the words of Ron Burgundy, "I'm kind of a big deal"), and so Segel got his first script and male lead in one fell swoop. Between now and then, he gave his buddy Rogen his first male lead in Knocked Up, produced Rogen's first three screenplays Superbad, Drillbit Taylor, and this summer's Pineapple Express. He also produced Ferell's biggest hit, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
Apatow's brand of humor has firmly brought back the concept of the R-rated comedy to American movies. Its remarkable to me how he's gathered such a wide audience with his brand of sexually-frank humor, and teenage mentality. I've loved Kevin Smith's films for so long, but recognize how his core audience is markedly smaller than Apatow's. Apatow has slowly pushed his dick jokes to the point where he now actively utilizes frontal male nudity shots.
The first instance was in his 2007 produced comedy Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, the first starring vehicle for the underrated John C. Reilly. Early in that film Cox (Reilly) has a serious conversation with his wife on the phone in the aftermath of an orgy, and at two points during this conversation one of his roadies approaches him to ask him fairly mundane questions. The only thing is the roadie is naked with his junk at eye-level, yet Cox is completely unfazed by this, which punctuates the hilarity.
Now Apatow is far from perfect. I still refuse to see Drillbit Taylor and he apparently co-wrote the latest Adam Sandler monstrosity Don't Mess With the Zohan that comes out this summer. But the R-rated comedy is surely back. Case and point will be this Friday's stoner sequel Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay (Apparently the boys will be attending a "bottomless" party, and there will be some reference to an old guy's nether region "looking like Osama Bin Laden's beard").
Apparently Apatow has spoken; to have a successful comedy, one of your boys is going to have to drop trou.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
And Now For The Starter's Gun...
I've been thinking about starting a blog of my own for some time now. I suppose now I will have to curtail my weekly quotient of blog-surfing. But maybe that's a good thing.
Don't suspect I'll settle on a specific theme for quite some time. I can certainly guarantee plenty of discussion about movies. Will probably mention baseball from time to time. And there will possibly be some talk of poker as well. Other various topics as well as they arise
For now....I'm going to cheat and repost my latest Myspace blog.
Originally posted yesterday morning
title: something's missing
I was loving life; on cruise control for the last few months, and now the train's derailed. Something's missing...I think I need a new hobby
(edit. this blog ended up being ALOT longer than I thought...I apologize in advance)
I'd like to kid myself and say that what I really need is a hobby because what I'm really scared to admit is that I really need is a change of venue.
Growing up on the Outer Banks, I've become attuned to the laid back lifestyle. But I think I've misapplied it to my own life. Instead of simply being laid back, what I've become is just flat-out lazy. I've never been surfing despite having lived here for nearly all my life. Part of that was my tendency to do my best impersonation of a radish after any prolonged sun exposure. That and I wasn't that athletic growing up. I suppose I hold some sort of misguided grudge against learning how to surf now. Might be quite like when I finally went skiing for the first time when I was 20. Being the oldest in the beginner's class was quite embarrassing.
So the reason I feel I need a new hobby now is due to my abundance of free time, and energy. I naturally have a tendency to over-analyze whatever it is I have tuned my focus to. Leaving things open-ended just sort of eats at me constantly. I've given myself this free time, but I'm not doing anything constructive.
I find myself these days needing to right a capsized ship, but unwilling do it quickly. Coming off my whirlwind stint on the Fun Ship Ecstasy. I found myself in a small financial hole. My following job in Las Vegas would have all but erased the hole, if I hadn't practiced bad game selection and lost a significant portion of my pay. So I find myself at home, needing to make money. But following my unceremonious dismissal from the breakfast shift at a shiteous 24-hour cafe in a second rate casino, I had little desire to go back to waiting tables (even though I figured it might be the easiest way to get back to black. I was determined to log some job experience to diversify my paltry resume. So now I work at the paper. My first 9-5 job.
My last blog notwithstanding, I can usually leave my thoughts on work, at work. So that gives me 6-7 hours per day, and many more on the weekend for myself. My three favorite things: poker, movies, and baseball just aren't doing the trick. I was consumed for the first three months of this year by a new diet. The diet itself and my adherence to it was very passive aggressive. It wasn't the most strict of diets, but I stuck to the parameters very closely. I lost a small amount of weight each week, and have finally plateau-ed for the last 3 weeks (a good 30 lighter than when I started).
Another solid I did myself with the diet, was cutting alcohol out altogether. Now that I've reached my target weight, I've slowly let certain concessions back in, but I've come to the realization that I've had a significantly destructive relationship with alcohol throughout the years. My problems pale in comparison to those of many others, but I fully recognize that I have at times self-medicated with a blackout. I see how often I would go out intending to drink to excess. I've discussed these revelations, and many people have told me how great it is that I can recognize these things. I think thats a crock. It doesn't take the feelings away. I've felt genuine frustration in the past couple of nights, and heard myself say inwardly, "I need a drink" for the first time in months.
So we come back to why I need a new hobby. I need something therapeutic. Something simple. Something mindless. I'm considering knitting.
Being that I'm slowly chipping away at at debt, I can't really afford to play poker. I've been entrenched in free bar-league poker since September. After the first 'season' I had told myself that I didn't want to play as often as I did in the winter. And yet I find myself there five nights out of the week. I pray regularly for something worthwhile to present itself each week night, to give me an excuse not to go. I occasionally play micro-stakes online, but that's ultimately more stress-inducing than stress relieving.
I've hit a rough patch the last few weeks with movies. I now juggle three different sources for movies: the theater, netflix, and the new bane of my existence = redbox.
The summer season for movies is almost upon us. My only foible now is waiting to see movies that I want to see. Ever since way back, I've never had a problem going to the theater by myself. The movies never made sense to me as a group activity. Particularly as a date they seem like a huge copout. You would take a girl to the movies with whom you have trouble finding things to talk about. In the past couple of months I've tried to go with different people to the movies. I guess it just sort of grates on me in a very self-involved way.
Netflix bothers me in patches. Occasionally I threre's a flick I want to watch that is the kind of movie that one needs to be in the proper frame of mind to watch. And sometimes that frame of mind just eludes you for an extended period of time. Case and point was Ang Lee's latest movie Lust, Caution. I held on to that one for nearly a month before finally struggling through it the other day. It didn't come close to my three-month "not-flixing" record (still held by the Seven Samurai; which I didn't watch). Caution Is a wartime, period piece with subtitles. And I can't watch it with anyone else because of its explicit content (if I were Kevin Smith I would refer to this as hardcore boning). Most of the time when I doze off the first time I watch a film I give it a second chance, but I just knew it might be another month before I gave it a chance again, so I wrapped it up. I've also found that since I've begun using redbox my netflix usage has slipped.
Redbox is fantastic. $1 a night, no clerk to ask if I want damage protection, online reservation. Because its so difficult to get new releases timely from Netflix, I find myself redboxing every "new movie tuesday." I've only had to keep three movies so far longer than the first night, and still is cheaper than going to the movie store (where I used to go for new releases). They actually enticed me back yesterday with a free rental, because I hadn't been in so long. The only problem with juggling these three sources of movies is that recently its made watching movies more like a chore for me. I would have never thought that was possible.
And baseball. My Braves are no longer nationally telecast (tear). They've had too many ridiculous injuries to their pitching staff already this year. Hopefully when I go to see them play the Mets in September everything is peachy keen. The most enjoyable part of my job has been covering local baseball. I few comments from some parents in the past couple of weeks, has polluted my serene baseball lake enough to bug me just a little bit. I'm driving all the way to Hatteras tomorrow night again (and if another parent makes some kind of comment about how we never cover their sports teams again; I will do one of three things: I'll laugh loudly in their face, hand them my most recent gas receipt, or slash their tires)
So I apologize to anyone I may have freaked out with my recent neuroses. I'm trying to mellow the fuck out. The things that I obsess over, pale in comparison to many things my friends are struggling/dealing with. Feel free if you are one of those people to ask me if I want some "cheese with that whine," and to shut my trap. I just need something to occupy my mind.
I've looking into picking up some random catering shifts with High Cotton. From the way I understand it, it is the simplest work, and the pay is in cash. I'm looking forward after this week to an uncomplicated tax return next year (while praying for my first refund in years). I think I've mentally blocked my recent tax check, because it was simply laughable that i didn't save nearly enough for it over the past year.
Feel free to leave a comment, or a leave similar rant if you like. We all need a good vent sometimes. I will also respond kindly to these rants in a pm if you don't feel like sharing them with my huge blog-audience (I think I had 11 views on my last one; though they could have been the same person 11 times--I don't really know how that counter works)
Don't suspect I'll settle on a specific theme for quite some time. I can certainly guarantee plenty of discussion about movies. Will probably mention baseball from time to time. And there will possibly be some talk of poker as well. Other various topics as well as they arise
For now....I'm going to cheat and repost my latest Myspace blog.
Originally posted yesterday morning
title: something's missing
I was loving life; on cruise control for the last few months, and now the train's derailed. Something's missing...I think I need a new hobby
(edit. this blog ended up being ALOT longer than I thought...I apologize in advance)
I'd like to kid myself and say that what I really need is a hobby because what I'm really scared to admit is that I really need is a change of venue.
Growing up on the Outer Banks, I've become attuned to the laid back lifestyle. But I think I've misapplied it to my own life. Instead of simply being laid back, what I've become is just flat-out lazy. I've never been surfing despite having lived here for nearly all my life. Part of that was my tendency to do my best impersonation of a radish after any prolonged sun exposure. That and I wasn't that athletic growing up. I suppose I hold some sort of misguided grudge against learning how to surf now. Might be quite like when I finally went skiing for the first time when I was 20. Being the oldest in the beginner's class was quite embarrassing.
So the reason I feel I need a new hobby now is due to my abundance of free time, and energy. I naturally have a tendency to over-analyze whatever it is I have tuned my focus to. Leaving things open-ended just sort of eats at me constantly. I've given myself this free time, but I'm not doing anything constructive.
I find myself these days needing to right a capsized ship, but unwilling do it quickly. Coming off my whirlwind stint on the Fun Ship Ecstasy. I found myself in a small financial hole. My following job in Las Vegas would have all but erased the hole, if I hadn't practiced bad game selection and lost a significant portion of my pay. So I find myself at home, needing to make money. But following my unceremonious dismissal from the breakfast shift at a shiteous 24-hour cafe in a second rate casino, I had little desire to go back to waiting tables (even though I figured it might be the easiest way to get back to black. I was determined to log some job experience to diversify my paltry resume. So now I work at the paper. My first 9-5 job.
My last blog notwithstanding, I can usually leave my thoughts on work, at work. So that gives me 6-7 hours per day, and many more on the weekend for myself. My three favorite things: poker, movies, and baseball just aren't doing the trick. I was consumed for the first three months of this year by a new diet. The diet itself and my adherence to it was very passive aggressive. It wasn't the most strict of diets, but I stuck to the parameters very closely. I lost a small amount of weight each week, and have finally plateau-ed for the last 3 weeks (a good 30 lighter than when I started).
Another solid I did myself with the diet, was cutting alcohol out altogether. Now that I've reached my target weight, I've slowly let certain concessions back in, but I've come to the realization that I've had a significantly destructive relationship with alcohol throughout the years. My problems pale in comparison to those of many others, but I fully recognize that I have at times self-medicated with a blackout. I see how often I would go out intending to drink to excess. I've discussed these revelations, and many people have told me how great it is that I can recognize these things. I think thats a crock. It doesn't take the feelings away. I've felt genuine frustration in the past couple of nights, and heard myself say inwardly, "I need a drink" for the first time in months.
So we come back to why I need a new hobby. I need something therapeutic. Something simple. Something mindless. I'm considering knitting.
Being that I'm slowly chipping away at at debt, I can't really afford to play poker. I've been entrenched in free bar-league poker since September. After the first 'season' I had told myself that I didn't want to play as often as I did in the winter. And yet I find myself there five nights out of the week. I pray regularly for something worthwhile to present itself each week night, to give me an excuse not to go. I occasionally play micro-stakes online, but that's ultimately more stress-inducing than stress relieving.
I've hit a rough patch the last few weeks with movies. I now juggle three different sources for movies: the theater, netflix, and the new bane of my existence = redbox.
The summer season for movies is almost upon us. My only foible now is waiting to see movies that I want to see. Ever since way back, I've never had a problem going to the theater by myself. The movies never made sense to me as a group activity. Particularly as a date they seem like a huge copout. You would take a girl to the movies with whom you have trouble finding things to talk about. In the past couple of months I've tried to go with different people to the movies. I guess it just sort of grates on me in a very self-involved way.
Netflix bothers me in patches. Occasionally I threre's a flick I want to watch that is the kind of movie that one needs to be in the proper frame of mind to watch. And sometimes that frame of mind just eludes you for an extended period of time. Case and point was Ang Lee's latest movie Lust, Caution. I held on to that one for nearly a month before finally struggling through it the other day. It didn't come close to my three-month "not-flixing" record (still held by the Seven Samurai; which I didn't watch). Caution Is a wartime, period piece with subtitles. And I can't watch it with anyone else because of its explicit content (if I were Kevin Smith I would refer to this as hardcore boning). Most of the time when I doze off the first time I watch a film I give it a second chance, but I just knew it might be another month before I gave it a chance again, so I wrapped it up. I've also found that since I've begun using redbox my netflix usage has slipped.
Redbox is fantastic. $1 a night, no clerk to ask if I want damage protection, online reservation. Because its so difficult to get new releases timely from Netflix, I find myself redboxing every "new movie tuesday." I've only had to keep three movies so far longer than the first night, and still is cheaper than going to the movie store (where I used to go for new releases). They actually enticed me back yesterday with a free rental, because I hadn't been in so long. The only problem with juggling these three sources of movies is that recently its made watching movies more like a chore for me. I would have never thought that was possible.
And baseball. My Braves are no longer nationally telecast (tear). They've had too many ridiculous injuries to their pitching staff already this year. Hopefully when I go to see them play the Mets in September everything is peachy keen. The most enjoyable part of my job has been covering local baseball. I few comments from some parents in the past couple of weeks, has polluted my serene baseball lake enough to bug me just a little bit. I'm driving all the way to Hatteras tomorrow night again (and if another parent makes some kind of comment about how we never cover their sports teams again; I will do one of three things: I'll laugh loudly in their face, hand them my most recent gas receipt, or slash their tires)
So I apologize to anyone I may have freaked out with my recent neuroses. I'm trying to mellow the fuck out. The things that I obsess over, pale in comparison to many things my friends are struggling/dealing with. Feel free if you are one of those people to ask me if I want some "cheese with that whine," and to shut my trap. I just need something to occupy my mind.
I've looking into picking up some random catering shifts with High Cotton. From the way I understand it, it is the simplest work, and the pay is in cash. I'm looking forward after this week to an uncomplicated tax return next year (while praying for my first refund in years). I think I've mentally blocked my recent tax check, because it was simply laughable that i didn't save nearly enough for it over the past year.
Feel free to leave a comment, or a leave similar rant if you like. We all need a good vent sometimes. I will also respond kindly to these rants in a pm if you don't feel like sharing them with my huge blog-audience (I think I had 11 views on my last one; though they could have been the same person 11 times--I don't really know how that counter works)
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